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jnnul · 5 months

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falling in love at first sight (x3)

a/n: so i woke up in cold sweat and i had to write this. there's like 30k i could've written about this but tbh, i needed to get this out lol. also taesan has been living in my head rent free so this is his eviction notice. quick note: feedback, comments, etc. GREATLY encourage writers! if you felt any sort of way (in a good or bad way!) about this fic, pls leave feedback!

word count: 6.3k

tags: college au!, basketballplayer!taesan x nurse!y/n, honestly it's just a fluff piece, idiots in love, dongmin is DOWN BAD and falls in love with the same girl 3 times, uhh y/n is a feisty nurse warnings: taesan is called dongmin, uhh alcohol + memory loss involved with getting shitfaced lol

HAN DONGMIN DIDN'T REALLY BELIEVE IN SUPERSTITIONS. to him, things like 'knocking on wood' or 'not opening an umbrella inside' were just old wives' tales that didn't have much substance to them.

but after dongmin had shattered his bedroom mirror this morning (he'd accidentally launched his alarm clock across the room after sleeping too late last night), nearly every single thing in his life had gone wrong.

he'd put expired milk in his cereal because kim donghyun (his roommate) hadn't switched out the milk like he'd promised to the day before. then he went to take a shower, only to be burned by scalding hot water since the landlord refused to change the heating system, even though they'd been suffering through the sticky heat of august for fifteen days already. as if all of that wasn't enough, he'd accidentally torn his favorite hoodie trying to clean up the fragments that'd fallen on the floor. and when he was trying to salvage his hoodie, he scraped his forearm against the fragments, meaning he had a nasty gash along the long side of it.

which meant he'd have to go to the hospital to take care of this stupid bloody mess instead of going to class.

that was how han dongmin found himself sitting in the waiting room of the urgent care center of the hospital, a shoddy rag wrapped around his forearm, his essentials hoodie covered in blood, expired milk, and mirror dust.

needless to say, dongmin had gotten more than a few strange looks from the other people in the waiting room in the last four minutes he'd been there.

"han dongmin!" the receptionist calls out, and dongmin launches himself out of his chair, impatient to get this over with as soon as possible.

something about hospitals just gave dongmin the heebie jeebies. the fluorescent lighting, the smell of rubbing alcohol, the tangible feeling of sickness that wafted through the air.

ugh. dongmin hated hospitals. in fact, he was so sure that he would never even step foot in a hospital after this. if he needed to wrap himself in bubble wrap to do so, then so be it because he hated hospitals and he would never come ba -

dongmin stops dead in his tracks, right next to the recovery bed that the receptionist had led him to. standing in front of him was the most gorgeous person he'd ever seen in his life.

you were smiling at something the patient in front of you was saying, leaning over to bandage the patient's scrape with a little bandaid that had cartoon ryans all over it.

fuck that.

dongmin was ready to break his leg if it meant that he got to stay in the hospital and stare at your beautiful face all day. before he could find something big and heavy to knock his leg into, however, you make your way over to dongmin, clipboard and first aid kit in hand.

"hello," you say with a soft smile. "my name is y/n l/n and i'll be taking care of you today. is there anything i can help you with?"

"will you go out with me?" the words escape dongmin's mouth before he can even process what he's saying and you immediately lean backwards, a disproving wrinkle between your eyebrows.

"excuse me?" you say, and it's clear that dongmin's not gonna be in your good graces if he hits on you. he really hoped you were like this with everyone and not that you just found him super unattractive or anything (donghyun swore up and down that dongmin was not ugly - especially now that he'd dyed his hair! but donghyun also never had to chase after a girl in his life so...). or worse, if you already had a boyfriend.

but before he can ruminate about your affronted stance too deeply, dongmin rushes to fix his mistake. "i mean, hospitals really freak me out. the ethanol smell and the lighting and everything kinda gets in my head, you know what i mean? do you think you could just slap some gauze on outside?"

the tension in your shoulders immediately relaxes and you take a step forward once more, setting the first aid kit down next to dongmin.

"oh yeah, that makes sense," you say, sounding relieved. "unfortunately, i can only provide care while inside the hospital to make sure that the instruments and gauze are sterile to prevent any contamination. i promise i'll be as quick as possible so i can get you out of here!" you explain, a slight pout tugging your lips down in the most adorable way as you seem genuinely sorry for dongmin.

it was official: han dongmin was in love.

"no, don't worry. take your time. i mean, the cut is pretty bad and i don't wanna leave any mirror guts in it," dongmin says. as quick as possible, my ass, he thinks to himself. i gotta find a way to make this last for as long as i can.

"of course!" you assure, before looking down at the clipboard. "so i assume you cut yourself on a broken mirror? does it hurt when you apply pressure?"

what was the answer that would keep you here longer?

"yes?"

"are you asking me or telling me?"

"telling?"

"very convincing. i'm gonna need to apply pressure and confirm for myself then, if that's alright with you?" you look at him in a way that seems to be somewhat apprehensive and dongmin has never wanted to reverse time more than in this very instant.

until he doesn't because your hands are on his forearm, examining the wound gently and applying pressure around the open gash.

"does it hurt when i do this?" you ask, eyes trained on the way that his forearm muscles ripple and move as you apply pressure in different places.

dongmin's not the most buff guy on the planet, and you checking out his muscles was definitely not for your own pleasure, but at least all of his time on the court and in the gym has paid off in some way.

"uh...no. not unless you're super close to the cut," dongmin says and you nod with a gentle smile. it's in that moment that dongmin decides that he would kill anyone and anything just to see you smile like that again,

"that's good to hear. well, i guess that all we need to do is 'slap some gauze on' after disinfecting the wound and making sure we don't have any 'mirror guts' in it," you say, a hint of cheekiness in your tone. dongmin doesn't know what it is about it but it makes him blush, regardless.

"yeah. that sounds good," he says dreamily, trying hard to compose himself once more when you flash him a questioning look.

you work carefully on his arm, making sure to give a tiny little stress ball to dongmin to use when you descend upon his wound with some antibacterial medicine and rubbing alcohol on a cotton ball.

"so, uh, you look pretty young for a doctor...?" dongmin says, trying very hard to focus his attention on you instead of the stinging pain that came with every touch of the cotton ball on his wound. the more he looked at you, the more he began to wonder if he'd seen you somewhere before.

dongmin wasn't the superstitious type, and didn't exactly believe in 'love at first sight', but no matter how much he thought about it, he couldn't place you anywhere in his memory.

"that might be because 'm not a doctor," you say somewhat distractedly. "i'm a nursing student."

"oh. oh! you're a nursing student?" he asks. student. that means that you were either his age or just a few years older than him. and it also probably meant that you were a student at a university near by - maybe his?

"yep. a second year. although, don't worry, i've completed all of my first aid clinicals last year itself," you explain, leaning back in satisfaction when you finish cleaning up the wound.

"my school has a pretty famous nursing program, you know. maybe you've heard of yonsei's nursing program?" dongmin asks, eyes shining with hope.

it's only then that you look up at dongmin with an excited look in your eyes, turning to throw away the used cotton balls.

"i go to yonsei as well! i'm just starting my second year. it's a little strange because the nursing program runs through the summer, which is why i'm working clinicals right now. i'm almost done though, so i'll be switching into a field i'm more interested in," you say and dongmin swears he hears wedding bells in his mind. beautiful, kind, intelligent, and the same age as him? it was like god was basically handing his soulmate to him on a platter. maybe love at first sight was real after all.

"me too! well, i'm not a nursing major, but i'm a second year electrical engineering major," dongmin says, watching you turn back towards him with a clipboard.

"mhm, well, i've gotta tell you to be careful for the next week or so. no heavy lifting, sports, and definitely no cutting things. we don't want to make the wound worse, now do we?" you say chidingly, scribbling instructions on the clipboard of how to clean the wound with rubbing alcohol and how many pills of ibuprofen to take per day.

"of course," dongmin says half-heartedly. as much as dongmin hated the feeling of pain, the was the only way that he could think of to get to see you again was to somehow hurt himself again.

"how about you come back in a week to just make sure that it closed up well? make sure it didn't get infected or anything?" you ask, handing him the sheet of paper.

god was real.

dongmin swore he was going to go to church and donate at least 10,000 won for the blessing after blessing he was receiving today.

"oh sure," he says, a mischievous thought popping into his head. "but is it ok if i find you on campus? i have a lot of labs over the next week and i can't miss them if i can't even participate in them, so i can at least get the information. i won't really have time to stop by the hospital," dongmin says carefully, watching your expression to ensure that it wasn't changing with every word that escaped your lips.

technically, it wasn't a lie. dongmin did have a lot of labs next week but that's definitely not why he wouldn't have time to stop by the hospital.

"i don't see why not. i don't need any sterile instruments to just check quickly, so that shouldn't be an issue," you say slowly, nodding to yourself as you look around the little station to make sure you wouldn't need any of the equipment.

"perfect," dongmin says, shuffling out of the bed that he was sitting in to leave before turning around nonchalantly. "do you think i could get your number? so i know where to find you?"

you look up at him, and dongmin tries his best to seem sincere and genuine rather than as calculating as he felt, trying every tactic possible to see you again.

"yeah. yeah, here let me type it into your phone."

he hands his phone over to you, and it takes every single fiber of his being to keep himself from looking excited about any part of this transaction. you were already suspicious enough of him; you definitely didn't need more reasons to add to the list.

you're frowning slightly when you hand the phone back to him so dongmin pockets it without a second thought, to prove that he wasn't trying to be weird.

"thank you so much again." dongmin waves as he leaves, flashing the award-winning smile that he usually reserves for aunties and restaurant owners for free sides. oh, and for his fans.

you don't blush and trip over yourself when he does like his fans do - although you offer him a soft smile in return.

although, dongmin muses, i guess it would be weird if a nurse who met me for the first time would be anything like a college basketball star's fan though. maybe.

he shakes his head, opening the door to the hospital, looking down at his arm wrapped in gauze. yeah. there was no way that dongmin was taking a break from basketball. season started in less than three weeks and as yonsei's point guard, he had no choice but to just power through the injury.

it might work out in his favor after all. at least it would give him more chances to see you.

+++

turns out, the universe gives him a chance less than two days after he sees you for the first time. and in any other case, dongmin would be incredibly excited to see you again. he'd probably be ready, waiting with freshly showered hair and clean clothes and nice smelling cologne.

instead, when he sees you again, he's wearing raggedy shorts, a stained shirt, and holding a basketball that he definitely should not be holding.

dongmin knew he was fucked the moment you walked in through the double doors that opened up to the indoor basketball court of yonsei, light spilling in from the outdoors, along with the chatter and excitement of students returning to university.

you walk in wearing white, along with six other people dressed similarly, the basketball team's physician (dr. moon taeil) at the head of them all. dongmin hopes that you don't recognize him - or at least don't see him actively playing but of course, you manage to turn your head to see dongmin throw the ball out of his hands in a random direction in panic.

the ball, then of course, managed to fall neatly through the hoop, as though dongmin had intentionally thrown it there, causing him to want to die on the spot.

so he couldn't do that during a game with korea university, but now that he was doing everything in his power to keep you from seeing him play basketball, now he manages to throw it in the one place it shouldn't go.

your eyes narrow when dongmin turns to face you, your gaze falling to his (poorly) wrapped forearm. he offers you a trembling grin, which slowly turns into a frown when you look away, shaking your head as you start talking to the girl next to you.

at least you wouldn't say anything to coach about how he wasn't supposed to be playing right now, dongmin thinks to himself. even if i've effectively ruined my chances of her ever believing me about anything ever again. uh. not that i've had more than one conversation with her. or might have more in the future.

dongmin shivers, jogging over to where the basketball had fallen to pick it up and return to his place at the three-point line and continue shooting practice.

he returns to where he's supposed to be practicing, so that his back is facing the group of people who'd entered - namely, you.

"i forgot coach mentioned that we've got new on-site medical staff," dongmin mutters to himself, dribbling the ball before lining up his shot. "i didn't know that she'd be a part of that though - she can't be the sporty type if she didn't recognize me from the hospital."

dongmin is so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't even feel the dark presence looming over him until the ball is released from his hand.

"HAN DONGMIN!" someone yells, right next to his ear, and dongmin scrambles to attention, wincing when the basketball bounces off the rim and into the cart of basketballs he was practicing with with a resounding clang!

he turns slowly, eyes closed, as if that would make you go away.

"i cannot believe that i bandaged you up so carefully just for you to start playing again! how could you be so careless? do you not want to be able to play during the season? you're yonsei's ace and you're being this irresponsible!" you're heaving by the end of your rant and dongmin blinks, trying to come up with a response.

you definitely didn't know him well enough to yell at him like this - much less in front of all of his teammates - but for some reason, that's not what stuck out to dongmin.

(much to his chagrin, you being angry was hot. like really hot. especially since he'd thought you'd be the soft and cozy type, not the impulsive and quick to anger type. he really liked this side of you.)

"you know who i am?" he asks slowly.

"OF COURSE I KNOW WHO YOU ARE! OH, YOU ARE GETTING ON MY NERVES. YOU ASS, I DIDN'T BANDAGE YOU UP THAT NEATLY FOR YOU TO BE WALKING AROUND SHOOTING THREES!"

you're yelling at him, and for some reason, dongmin has never wanted to kiss someone more in his life. he'd never though he'd be this attracted to someone that he's just met yelling at him, much less in front of his entire team and her own entire team. but for some reason, as dongmin looks at you waving your hands all crazy and annoyed, all he can think about it how much he likes you.

it wasn't just physical. of course, he thought you were beautiful - possibly the most beautiful person he'd ever seen in his life and he would die on that hill - but it was more than that. it was as though he'd genuinely fallen in love at first sight.

you could tell him that you were a serial killer and at this point, dongmin would just admire your bloodlust.

"uh. dongmin?" coach jung says behind him, hands crossed over his chest. "do you guys need a moment to step out and come back?"

even coach jung seems a little bit intimidated by your livid state of being and dongmin has to cough to cover up his life.

"no coach. we're done here," you say, turning dramatically on your heel to turn back to your friends. but dongmin moves quicker than even his own mind can process what happens.

before he can think, his hand is wrapped around your wrist, spinning you closer to him, almost as if the two of you were ballroom dancing.

you look up at him, shocked, but dongmin is slow to let go of your wrist, not wanting to lose contact with you.

"no, we need just a moment," dongmin says, his eyes never leaving your own. it's clear that you neither expected this nor were used to this kind of behavior from anyone and before the fight that's building inside of you bubbles out, dongmin tilts his head toward the door that leads to a hallway extending to the equipment room, practically begging you with his eyes.

you aqcuiesce - or at least, dongmin thinks you do - from the way that your shoulder melt just the slightest and you let him pull you into the hallway.

"what?" you snap the second the door shuts behind the two of you. "okay, maybe i didn't let on that i knew you from our encounter, but that's irrelevant. i didn't need to tell you that i knew you. and besides, as your healthcare provider, it would have been extremely irresponsible on my end for me to let slip that i'm a fan - or that i know you personally at all."

dongmin can't help but let a small smile slip. "personally? we know each other personally?"

you fluster in that moment, looking anywhere but at dongmin, bringing a large smile to his face. he'd never thought that the feisty, quick to temper and quick to lose it, loud type was his type but he was starting to enjoy it very much.

"alright, well i know you personally enough, alright?" you huff, crossing your arms over your chest. "we've met before."

now it's dongmin's turn to look flustered, as he wracks his brain, trying to come up when or where the two of you have met before. he wasn't the one-night-stand type, so that couldn't be it. he also didn't have an insane amount of friends outside of the basketball team and donghyun's friends, so that wasn't it either.

"i'm really sorry - and i'm definitely trying to hit on you, just not right now - but i don't remember. i'd definitely remember someone like you," dongmin says, and he's well aware of the fact that his tone does not sound any level of displeased, and rather dreamy.

you roll your eyes, looking down at the ground. "we kissed once. twice actually. but um. that's not my point."

you clear your throat, as if you hadn't just dropped the biggest bomb of the century on dongmin, shaking your head. "why the hell are you playing basketball on an injured arm anyway? i specifically said no sports!"

dongmin raises an eyebrow. "you say you're my fan and yet you're still asking me why i'm playing when we have our first game in a week. and hold on. i'm not letting go of that first part; we've kissed? twice?"

you shrug, but it's clear that you don't think of it as nonchalantly as you're trying to make it sound when you speak. "yeah. in freshman year. once in spring semester and then once in fall. it's not a big deal. to you at least. clearly you kiss a lot of girls, if you don't even remember us kissing at all."

"now that's not fair," dongmin pouts, but he's well aware that he's not conveying this well at all. suddenly, a flash of a girl wearing a red dress, looking up at him with big eyes and a pouty lips crosses his mind.

good god. were - were you dongmin's mystery girl?

+++

"what do you mean dongmin finally found his mystery girl? the one he's been crushing on for a full year?" myung jaehyun says incredulously, instantly pulling out his phone to look you up on instagram.

dongmin sits in the middle of his friends, all sitting at the same table as they were supposed to be eating lunch, his head resting in his hands.

"you mean the one that he swore was the love of his life? god, he wouldn't shut up about that for at least six months," lee sanghyuk says, shoveling noodles in his mouth.

"try a year," donghyun groans, rubbing his forehead in pain. "do you remember the state of this kid when he woke up the next day?"

"good god, it was horrible. all he could say for a full week was that he wanted to jump out of the window because he'd lost her number and that he was never going to find true love because he couldn't remember her name, number, or even what she looked like," sanghyuck adds.

park sungho, the newest addition to their friend group, blinks, looking at dongmin, who's head is still in his hands.

"you were down bad, man," he muses and jaehyun on the side of him snorts.

"down bad doesn't even begin to describe it. it got to the point where we had 'girl in the red dress' and 'true love' jars because he would talk about her." jaehyun sighed, looking at dongmin pointedly. "he'd put enough money that we'd bought alc for the rest of freshman year. just in spring semester."

"that's what you get for trying to prove that you could drink a 4lokos without getting shitfaced," donghyun says, nose crinkling as he recalled the hours he had to spend making sure that dongmin wasn't going to die by choking on his own spit. "and he went and did it twice. it took us months to get to the point where we could invite this guy anywhere so as long as he swore not to bring her up again."

dongmin looks up, almost excitedly. "do you think that if i drink another 4lokos, we'll kiss at another party?"

sungho leans over, smacking him upside the head. "you're so fucking dumb. and i can tell just by these stories. you're not allowed to drink until season's over, idiot. and she's on your medical team. why don't you start by making a good impression while you're not so drunk you're going to start insisting that spongebob is hydrophobic."

("you were there when that happened?")

("you idiot, you thought i was spongebob. you kept throwing my drinks away because you thought i was going to disappear into them if i drank them. which makes no sense because that's not what hydrophobic means.")

("oh. sorry man.")

"yeah. just go to the med clinic tomorrow, apologize to her, and bring her flowers or something. women eat that shit up!" sanghyuk says with a mouthful of noodles and jaehyun nods, pointing his chopsticks at him excitedly.

"they do! my girlfriend always feels better with food and flowers," he says, cheeks stuffed to the brim with carbonara.

dongmin's mind races with all of the implications of doing so, but every single one of his thoughts fade away in light of the fact that he could redeem himself in your eyes. he slams his hands down on the table, swinging his legs over the bench to run to the nearest flower shop.

"i'll be back before practice!" dongmin calls out over his shoulder, waving a quick goodbye as he sprints towards the florists.

he makes it to the edge of the courtyard before he hears the yelling of his friends behind him, turning to see them waving at him (and waving some very rude fingers at him).

"YOU FORGOT YOUR WALLET, YOU IDIOT!"

+++

dongmin's friends were useless. absolutely useless.

he'd went and bought the prettiest bouquet of flowers he could find, a nice meal from his favorite bento place, and had even bought three different types of ice cream bars because he didn't know which one you'd like.

he'd walked right into the medical clinic office, his apology gifts all in hand, ready to apologize to you, redeem his honor, and become your own true love.

the last part probably wasn't going to work anyway, but the first two should've been foolproof.

instead, he manages to prove that he was a fool.

as it turns out, he wasn't the only person who thought that the flowers were beautiful; dongmin had managed to bring the queen bee as a secret surprise in the bouquet, which meant that the rest of her hive was NOT very happy that he'd committed royal kidnap, as far as the bees were concerned.

"HAN DONGMIN WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU!" you yell from underneath your desk, where you were hiding from the sudden swarm of bees that had followed dongmin in.

he doesn't respond, too busy opening the window to drop the flowers out of, hesitating when he sees the number of people that were lounging around the courtyard that the medical office looked out of.

dongmin lines up the bouquet, sending a prayer to god (any one that would listen) as he shoots the best three he's ever shot in his life, so that the bouquet (and all of the bees that accompanied it) landed far away enough from people to prevent them from getting hurt.

of course, a few brave souls had stayed behind to exact revenge for their queen on dongmin, resulting in upwards of five bee stings, before dongmin finally evaded the great medical bee disaster once and for all.

he turns sheepishly, scratching the back of his head.

"i don't suppose i could find medical care in this clinic, could i?" he says, and he's well aware of the fact that he's flushed bright red, as he always seems to when he's made a fool of himself.

thankfully, there are only four or five people, including you, in the office to witness this disaster - although, dongmin can see the girl you were talking to yesterday surpressing a smile.

"yeah, of course you could. but we're all headed on break so unfortunately, y/n is the only person who's gonna be able to give you medical care. you know, since you've already brought lunch for her," your friend says with a knowing grin. she ushers the rest of the medical staff out of the office, closing the door behind her with a telltale click.

"you can come out from under the desk now," dongmin says, and despite the situation, he finds it adorable that in the case of a bee swarm, your first instinct had been to hide underneath a desk.

"i was going to," you grumble, slinking out from your hiding spot and dusting off invisible dust from your pants. "what were you thinking, bringing flowers with bees in them?"

dongmin blushes, tilting his head as he tries to look anywhere but where you were. "i wanted to apologize to you. in my defense, i kinda always thought bees were made up. i mean, they're so fat! there's no way they should be able to fly. that directly violates like every law of aviation in the world."

your eyebrow quirks upward as you look at the ice cream and lunch he had set down on your desk in his bee-induced panic. "i can't believe you're quoting the bee movie at me right now."

"i can't believe you know i'm quoting the bee movie. i should've known the love of my life was an internet connoiseur," dongmin says with a sigh, examining the bee stings on his arm. how did these bees even manage to crawl underneath the sleeves of his shirt?

"excuse me?" you bark, hands on your hips. "did you just call me the love of your life? when you couldn't even remember who i was like yesterday?"

"okay, wait. you don't understand. first, i need you to help me out by getting some ointment on these stings because they're starting to burn and i don't know if that's so normal. and then, i'll explain everything, trust me."

you reluctantly reach back into a cabinet that reads 'insect stings' and grab the kit for bee stings, pulling a cream out of it, beckoning dongmin to come closer so that you could treat it.

"do you remember what happened that night? or those two nights, i guess?" you ask softly, eyes trained on dongmin's arm so that you don't have to look him in the eyes and he nods.

"i remember. well, as much as i can, anyway. i was blackout drunk both times. and from what i remember, you weren't exactly sober either, so i don't know how you remember me but trust me, whatever you think about me is not true. i was - i was so down bad that my friends had to make a 'no y/n' jar!" dongmin yelps the last part when your hand on his arm presses a little too hard.

"i'm sorry! sorry!" you gasp, immediately leaning over to blow cool air on the place you'd accidentally put too much pressure. "what do you mean by a no 'no y/n' jar though? i thought you didn't remember my name."

"i didn't! and it killed me! i don't remember exactly what happened those nights but i remember how much i liked you. i remember thinking that i'd never meet a girl like you in my life. it still frustrates me that i lost your number - although, i do remember the part where you smacked me over the head the second time that we met. i think i suffered permanent brain damage from that.

"but i remember glimpses of that night. like that red dress you were wearing and how much you were rambling about stars. you were giving me an in-depth explanation about how black holes work and something about how rockets look like they're stuck in time in black holes. not the point. but the point is that i genuinely fell in love with you that first night we met.

"i've got this horrid habit though, when i get drunk - i become either super scared of water, or super infatuated with it. it's honestly a coin-toss. so imagine my feeling the next morning when i wake up with a dissolved piece of paper in my pocket that's supposed to have your number on it, semi-wet clothes, and a raging migraine.

"i thought i met the love of my life and i couldn't even remember her name, number, or even her face. it drove me and my friends absolutely nuts. me because i didn't know how to find you when i couldn't remember anything. my friends went insane because i would talk about you so much that they bought me those swear jars for every time i mentioned you.

"of course, i didn't know your name so you were just 'the love of my life' or 'girl in the red dress' but i think i dumped at least 300,000 won in those jars by the end of the semester. and then as if the universe was out to make my life living hell, we met again and i was shitfaced again. i swore to never touch a 4lokos after that, if that's any level of redemption.

"anyway. i brought you flowers and all this stuff because i wanted to tell you that - that i've liked you for a lot longer than even i've known! i remember most of the conversations that we had, even if i couldn't remember exactly who you were. when i saw you at the hospital, i genuinely thought i was falling in love at first sight. but i guess, that's kinda not true. cause that would be my third time falling in love at first sight."

"why, though? three times? i mean, i don't think i'm ugly or anything but three times? yeah, i mean i guess i kinda also had a thing for you after those two nights. god. i wish i remembered what we talked about for us to get this attached," you say, mumbling the last part. dongmin turns to you somewhat confused, watching you as you open up the bento box he'd bought you.

"you don't remember what we talked about? besides the black holes and stuff?"

"nope. but i've also got a horrible reputation amongst my friends for how much i talked about you. the worst part is that i remembered you but not what we talked about. it was so stupid because no one believed me that han dongmin, yonsei's point guard was the guy i'd had my heart for the past year." you instinctively smile the moment you take a bite of the food and even though it's so small, dongmin's heart swells with pride.

"why didn't you ever come up to me? i mean, this whole year of pining could've been avoided if you'd talked to me," dongmin says, accepting the ice cream bar you handed him. how the hell did you know that was his favorite ice cream?

"i gave you my number once, and i kissed you twice. i figured you were just ghosting me at some point if you weren't going to reach out to me. and besides, nursing really picked up right after basketball season so...i kinda just ended up torturing my friends for the past year," you say, somewhat sheepishly, but dongmin is barely even listening anymore.

after all, how many people can say that they fell in love at first sight with the same person three times?

"well. we're here now. will you go out with me? i promise i won't even touch a 4lokos!"

"deal. as long as you promise to tell me everything we talked about that night. i still can't tell why i fell so hard for you that i chased you down a basketball court in front of your whole team."

"my stellar looks? my killer smile? my stupidly handsome personality? my superb basketball skills?"

"try your stupid attraction to water molecules."

"i have a feeling i shouldn't have told you about that."

+++

freshman year, spring semester.

"really? you've never fallen in love before?" you ask incredulously. you and dongmin are sitting on the balcony of some random friend who decided to throw a party, feet dangling over the edges in between the bars.

"nah. i don't think so," dongmin says, leaning backwards on his palms. "i don't think i've ever met someone who's ever made me feel like my entire heart is their's to do whatever they want to do with."

"then let's play this game," you say, clumsily pulling out your phone. "that one thing on new york times, where you fall in love with someone within 36 questions."

"why? you want me to fall in love with you?" dongmin says, leaning over with a cheeky smile. you push him playfully, focused on trying to pull up the questions list.

"you'd do that whether i told you to or not," you fire back. "and besides, i think i'm a fantastic kisser. so you're probably already in love."

"you're right," dongmin says with a sigh. "i think i am."

freshman year, fall semester.

"question 36. i can't believe we never finished all the questions last time," you say. this time the two of you are sitting so close, dongmin can still taste the watermelon chapstick you're wearing. at this point though, dongmin might as well be the one wearing it.

"to be fair, last time i think we were otherwise preoccupied."

"get your mind out of the gutter!"

"i was talking about how many times you kept getting distracted by the dog."

"anyway. we're on question 36; are you in love with me yet?"

"i should be asking you that. i've been in love."

"han dongmin! i thought you weren't the superstitious type?"

"i'll be whatever you want me to be."

#jnnul #boynextdoor #bnd x reader #taesan x reader #bnd imagines #bnd fluff #taesan #bonedo #taesan fluff #taesan boynextdoor #taesan imagines #taesan bnd #bnd fic #boynextdoor fic #boynextdoor imagines

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haystarlight · 8 months

Text

What if mlp characters had Tumblr

🌟 smartypants Follow

I have a princess conference in the morning but that won't stop me from staying up till 3 am on AO3. Mama needs her bedtime stories

🐉 ogres&oubliettesenthusiast Follow

OP go to sleep or I will eat your crown

2,008 notes

🎈 smilesmilesmile Follow

All of you are like "would you fuck your clone?" hypothetically but, in practice, clones are too dumb to give consent and that's the real reason why I didn't sleep with any of my clones when I had the chance

🎈 totally-not-a-clone Follow

OP you still have a chance

10,000 notes

✨ great&powerful Follow

It's always "take off the evil amulet! it's corrupting your mind!" and never "oh! you look so pretty in your new amulet!"

✨ great&powerful Follow

Celestia forbid ladies do anything

102 notes

😏 sexiestvillaintournament Follow

🦋 Id-like-to-be-a-tree Follow

Um, would you guys please stop voting for my boyfriend?

🌪️ whatfunisthereinmakingsense Follow

I take it as a compliment

🌘 I-have-loved-you-for-a-thousand-years Follow

I am offended

500,467 notes

🍎 cmc-omc Follow

Y'all know how some families got a gay cousin and all 'em other cousins are straight? Well mah family's the opposite. Ah don't even think we got a straight cousin!

🍎 cmc-omc Follow

Mah sister says we have to assimilate other ponies into our family so the family name don't die out. She would do numbers here

5,667 notes

🌈 20%cooler Follow

GUYS I'M SO SORRY FOR THE DELAYS

I've just been on the hospital (again) cause I got zapped by lightning (again)

But I promise I'll update my Daring Do/Reader fic as soon as I can! Thanks for the patience, love you guys!

🌟 smartypants Follow

It's okay, take your time! I'll just reread the old chapters in the meantime

🐉 ogre&oubliettesenthusiast Follow

NO!!! YOU WILL GO TO SLEEP!!!

120 notes

💎 chicunique&maginifique Follow

"how are you so good at fashion" well you'd be an expert in fashion too if you'd spent 20 years in the closet

🔔 professional-theatre-filly Follow

My sister in Celestia that closet was made of glass

20,354 notes

🌘 I-have-loved-you-for-a-thousand-years Follow

Nothing like coming back from exhile just to find your bedroom was replaced by a whole ass forest

Some people have no respect for others belongings

☀️ cake.by.the.ocean Follow

I don't control the growing of the magical forest, bitch

🌘 I-have-loved-you-for-a-thousand-years Follow

Rude

☀️ cake.by.the.ocean Follow

Don't think I forgot about that time in 500 B.E. that you stole my ice cream

200 notes

🛴 the-agender-acrobat Follow

You can't hurt me I have mommy AND daddy issues I'm unstoppable

🌈 20%cooler Follow

OP do you need me to adopt you

🛴 the-agender-acrobat Follow

I would love that actually

1,554 notes

💎 chicunique&magnifique Follow

*levitates my cat out of the way so I can use the sewing machine, which I need for my job*

my cat: YOU LIFT OPALESCENCE?!?!???! YOU LIFT HER WITH YOUR WICKED SORCERY?!??!!!! YOU ASSERT CONTROL OVER HER WITH YOUR MAGIC?!?!??! OHHHHH!!! MOTHER IS EVIL!!!!!

🔔 professional-theatre-filly Follow

I agree with the cat

1,827,654 notes

🥕 Carrot-TOPING Follow

Girlfriend is out of town all week so I'm gonna dye my mane and tail green

💎 chicunique&magnifique Follow

WHY WOULD YOU DO SUCH A THING

🥕 Carrot-TOPING Follow

She's all my self control

364, 245 notes

🌘 I-have-loved-you-for-a-thousand-years Follow

Back in my day we tagged our fanfiction properly. There's a difference between / and & you rufians

☀️ cake.by.the.ocean Follow

Shut up old lady

🌘 I-have-loved-you-for-a-thousand-years Follow

YOU'RE OLDER THAN ME

30,150 notes

🩵 girlboss Follow

Sure, sex is great but does *your* husband help you check all your shipping fanfiction for grammar errors? Didn't think so

💎 chicunique&magnifique Follow

She's everything, he's just Ken

🛡️ malewife Follow

Happy to be of service 🫡

2,035 notes

#unreality #fake dashboard #dashboard simulator #tumblr dashboard #mlp fim #mlp g4 #mlp #my little pony #my litte pony friendship is magic #mlp headcanons #my little pony fim #my little pony friendship is magic #fluttercord #mlp shipping #fake tumblr post #fake tumblr dash #headcanon

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gor3-hound · 9 months

Text

can't fight this feeling pt.2

ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader

part one, part two

cw: 18+ content, dub-con, stepcest, mentions of past non-con and somno, obsessive behaviour, idek what the tag for this is so um - outercourse?? brief mention of murder n non-con recording

a/n: hiii! originally i hadn't planned a part two of this, but here we are! not sure if i like it as much as part one but we move... hope you all like it :))

word count: 1.7k words

Leon couldn't stop thinking about you. You'd crawled your way into his brain and settled down. His entire body itches when you are near, plagued with the knowledge he'd be unable to touch you how he wanted. How he needed.

He loved how pliant you were when he slipped a sleeping pill into your nightly tea, but it wasn't enough. He needed to know how pretty you'd sound moaning his name. He needed you to be awake. He'd had practice now, sneaking into your room at night. He needed to show you how good it would be, make you crave him as much as he craved you.

The perfect opportunity comes up a few weeks later. Your parents tell the both of you they're going away for a couple of days on a couples trip, leaving Leon in charge of the house. He gives them the sweetest smile as they get ready to leave, an arm casually draped over your shoulder as he promises to take care of his baby sister.

“Leon!” You start as soon as they're gone, smiling up at him excitedly. “We've got the place to ourselves! What d'you wanna do?”

Oh, he can think of a few things, alright. But he's gotta ease into it. It wouldn't do him any good if he scared you off, so he shrugs, playing it casual.

“I dunno.” He replies, using the arm that's still wrapped around your shoulder to guide you into the living room. “Play some games or something? Have a movie day? Up to you, sis.”

“God, you're so boring.” You whine, playfully pushing at his chest with a giggle. He grins at that, squishing you close with his arm and ruffling your hair, ignoring your protests.

“You sure you wanna start a fight with me? You know I'll kick your ass, right?” He says with a playful grin, sliding an arm down to your waist, his hand gripping you there.

“No you wouldn't. You're a big baby.” You say with a laugh, looking up at him and sticking your tongue out. He cocks an eyebrow at your display, and before you can react, he's pinning you to the couch and tickling you.

“Lee!” You exclaim, laughing and trying to kick him off of you. Your arms push at his shoulders, but he's using all of his body weight to pin you down. You wriggle and squirm as much as you can, but nothing seems to get you loose.

“Come on, I give up, alright?” You manage to force out between giggles, using all of your strength to tug at his fingers and try and get his hands off of you.

“Nah, too late for that.” He says with a grin, pressing himself against you as he continues to tickle you. His hips meet your stomach, and he seems to realize that's a mistake as soon as it happens.

His cock is rock hard, and he can see the exact moment you feel it. The way your eyes widen and you freeze up. His own movements halt, his breath hitching as he finds himself unable to move away from you.

“Okay, seriously. Get off now, Lee. That's so weird.” You say with a frown, pushing at his chest. When he doesn't budge, your brows furrow, and you try and squirm away.

His grip on your waist tightens, and you find yourself panicking slightly. “Leon! What the fuck? Let me go.”

“M'sorry. You're just so pretty. Can't help it.” He all but whines, grabbing your arms and pining the above your head with one hand, the other pinning your hip to the couch. “You got me so hard, princess. Just let me deal with it, yeah? Promise I won't hurt you.”

“Leon, this isn't fucking funny-” You start, your words being cut off by his lips meeting yours. Your eyes widen, and you jerk your head to the side to separate them.

He whimpers, pinning your thighs down with his own instead so he can use your free hand to grip your jaw and keep your head still. It hurts a little, but he tries his best not to grip you too hard.

He kisses you desperately, digging his fingers into your cheeks slightly to pry your teeth apart so he can stick his tongue into your mouth. He's never been able to kiss you like this before, always too scared of waking you. You're so soft and warm everywhere, it drives him insane.

He begins to rock his hips against you, shifting so he's rubbing over your clothed pussy. You moan quietly into his mouth as he brushes your clit, already feeling your panties dampen.

Your heart beats rapidly in your chest, the thoughts about how fucking weird this all is on the forefront of your mind. You let yourself be kissed by Leon, no longer trying to fight it. You find yourself kissing back before you even realize, tongue sliding against his as your eyes flutter shut.

When he pulls back, you feel a heat rising to your cheeks, and your breath comes out a little heavier than usual. He's still grinding against you, and you're doing your best not to show how much you like it.

“Leon, come on. That's enough. Mom and dad will kill us if they find out. This is so fucking weird.” You protest weakly, brows still pinched together as you look up at him.

“You're the reason that I'm so hard. The least you could do is help.” He grunts, dropping his head to suck bruises into the skin of your neck. You don't stop him when he reaches for your pants to tug them off, or when he starts fiddling with the bow at the top of your panties.

“Cute.” He says with a grin, sitting back on his heels between your legs to look at you. He dips the tips of his index fingers in the waistband, slowly pulling them down.

“Leon… we can't.”

“Hmm? Why is that? It's not like you're actually my sister. And look. She likes it.” He says with that cheeky smile you've grown so accustomed to. You never thought you'd see it in this scenario.

“I'm a virgin.” You say quietly, eyes darting to the side like you're embarrassed to admit it to him.

No, you're not. He thinks to himself, trying his best not to give anything away with his expression. He almost feels bad lying to you like this, but it makes it so much sweeter knowing he's the only one that's touched you like this.

Figured out you were taking the pill when he snooped in your room one day and assumed you must have been sleeping with someone else. He's happy to know he was wrong about that.

“S'okay, sis. I'll take it slow. Won't even put it in, pinky swear.”

You pause, swallowing hard as you look up at him. You had no reason not to trust Leon, right? He'd been nothing but nice to you… it's not like anyone had to find out.

“You promise?”

“Yeah. Promise. I'll make it feel good for both of us.” He replies easily, leaning forward to kiss you again. He could be patient. It would feel so satisfying when you finally let him fuck you willingly. He doesn't mind taking it slow.

He frees his erection from his boxers as he kisses you, adjusting your panties so he can slip in them. He pushes himself between your folds, sliding back and forth. His tip brushes your clit every time he pushes forward, his thumbs holding his dick firmly against you.

You gasp softly at the feeling, hips bucking towards him as your hands grip his shoulders. He moans into your mouth as your nails dig into his muscles through his shirt, rutting against you faster.

Your moans are ever prettier than he imagined. His kisses turn even hungrier, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip before he sucks it into his mouth.

You're even better when you're awake. He can't believe it took him this long to gather the courage to make a move on you. You're so wet, dribbling all over his cock and making the slide even easier.

He's not gonna last long like this, so he focuses on grinding the head of his dick against your clit, trying to get you to cum. Maybe if he makes you feel good enough, you'd let him fuck you before your parents got back.

“Leon… Leon, fuck.” You whimper, breaking this kiss and burying your face in his neck. It doesn't take long for you to be pushed over the edge, coating his cock ever more.

Just hearing you moan his name is enough for him to coat your pussy in cum, making a mess of your cute panties until the fabric is transparent.

He collapses on top of you, pressing his weight against you. He tucks his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent with a sigh. He feels his heart start to race when you try and press closer to him.

He's finally got you where he wants you. He knows you so well, knows he can make it so you'll be ruined for anyone else. He wants you with him forever. He'd kill anyone who tried to come between the two of you, and he's not above using his badge to scare off any men who so much as look in your direction.

As much as it pains him, he knows he's gonna have to wipe the videos he's taken of you off his phone. He can't risk you coming across them one day and ruin what you have going. He'd get some more, convince you to record a proper home video with him.

“Told you I'd always look after you.” He mumbles into your skin, rolling off you only to tuck you into his side, running a hand through your hair.

You smile up at him, your eyes shining with affection that only serves to drive him insane.

Yeah, you'd be his. He'd make sure of it.

Whatever it takes.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy #resident evil smut #tw stepcest #dark content

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byullielle · 1 year

Text

Shy Shy Shy // Bang Chan x AFAB!Reader

"What is it that you really want then babe?" "A lot," you whisper softly, looking away from him, "And quite frankly I'm terrified,"

Tags: Smut, Oral Sex (f receiving), Use of Hitachi Wand, Fluff, Slight Name-Calling (by author and chan lmao im so sorry), Petnames (baby, baby girl, etc.), Praises, Shy!Reader, Beginner!Reader,

Disclaimer: title is from TWICE's Cheer Up but the song is FAR from the story. i will make a part 2, but for now enjoy this one. Minors DNI. NSFW Content.

You and Chan have had sex once. He was your first time, and to say that it was sweet and tender was an understatement—and as much as you were shy to admit it, it got you hooked. However, it has been nearly a month since then and nothing seems to transpire between the both of you which left you slightly restless.

Did he find you inadequate the last time? Do you need to practice more? Did he not like it? And one of the self talk that jarred you so much was Why am I constantly horny? Laughable really, you bought a Hitachi wand just to get off yet it wasn't quite the same. Somehow in some way you turned insatiable, only stopped by your shyness and the want to preserve your dignity in front of Chan despite the raging horniness internally embedded in your system.

And worse part is you chose to shut up about it, letting it be kept in like a dirty little secret.

So whenever you and Chan are cuddling for movie night you have to make a more conscious effort to not touch too much, or grind on his thigh, or prolong the kiss just so that you don't jump him and immediately regret it because you have zero clue on what to do. Like right now;

He has one hand on your back, another on your waist, both of you laid down on the couch while he runs his fingers across your clothed spine gently, not even putting pressure. It was relaxing until it suddenly just wasn't. The touch was extremely light yet somehow exhilarating to you, like the little virgin whore that you are. "Y/N-ah?" his voice snaps you out as you rigidly look up, realizing that his ministrations stopped and his hand is parked up at the couch instead, a small frown forming on your face, "I'm sorry, did you not like that?" he softly asks before you tilt your head in confusion.

"The what Channie?"

"You suddenly tensed up, I thought maybe you didn't like being touched on your back,"

Your cheeks redden up, heat flaring on your face as you shake your head shyly, "Not at all!" you defend, wanting to be swallowed whole by the couch, "I–I don't hate it," you stammer.

"Baby, you can tell me if something makes you uncomfortable," Chan frowns, sitting both you and him up instead of laying down, "And I might've pulled your attention from the movie, I'm sorry,"

"No! I swear I'm not lying," you shake your head vehemently, "I didn't hate it Channie. I just–" and before you start to ramble on you stop, tongue automatically lodged in your mouth you couldn't even make a sound even if you wanted to. Chan furrows his brows a bit, "Just what?"

'I'm just incredibly horny when you do that,' was the sentence in mind but where was your tact. You remained seated there like an idiot, unmoving and absolutely speechless.

"I just hope you aren't forced to go ahead with my own whims, Y/N," and oh no he was pulling out the first names. What happened to baby, babe? "If it isn't what you want I can always compromise and comply,"

"Channie," you frown and take his hand, "Like I said it's not that I don't want it,"

"What is it that you really want then babe?"

"A lot," you whisper softly, looking away from him and simply conceding because that face was enough ti tear your heart into two. 0/10, not recommended. "And quite frankly I'm terrified," you admit before your grip against his hand fall weak.

"Like what? I promise I won't judge. I'll give you the world baby, just say the word," he cajoles, cupping your face tenderly as you peer through your lashes, "Promise?"

"I promise, sweet girl. What is it?"

You bite your lower lip, feeling a new surge and boost of confidence before you cup his face and gently pull him towards you, entrapping him in a kiss. You had no idea how to deepen it, simply pushing your lips against his and tugging on his shirt shyly with two fingers until he gets the request. He licks on your bottom lip as you give him leeway to slip it in, trying to slowly move along his motions while trying not to fuck things up by being greedy.

He slots into you perfectly, guiding your tongue against his as you let out a cute little whimper, eyes tightening shut before you both pull away–you for a reprieve and him to check if you were alright, always the gentleman. "Y/N?"

"I have a confession to make," you keep your two fingers on the hem of his shirt, "I–Ever since last month," you squeak out as nervousness makes its way to his face, "It's... It's like I turned into an entirely new person? Like I'm always..." you struggle to properly pull the words out as he patiently waits, "I always need you, Channie. For gods sake I bought a sex toy because of you," you reveal while burying your face in your hands as your boyfriend's eyes widen.

"Really baby?" he asks, his hands finding your arms while he rubs them comfortingly, "Do you...want to do it again?" he asks as you nod, still buried in your hands. "Look at me baby," he coerces you out of your palms, urging you to look up at him, "Do you?"

"Please Channie," you whine, "Don't make me say it out loud,"

"Then how am I gonna know what my baby wants if I don't?" he chuckles lightly, "What do you want? I can help you play with the toy, show me how you do it. Or you can ride my thigh, pretty little baby rubbing her pussy against my leg. Or I can fuck your pretty little cunt, what do you say?"

"Either and all?" you let out in barely a whisper before he chuckles, eyes glazing over with affection and lust before he pulls you to his lap, effectively straddling him. "All it is then," he smiles at you, "Just tell me what you want. I'm all yours,"

Your heart tightens at that, absolutely in love with this man and somehow your core tightens along making you tentatively grind against his thigh, clothed cunt flush against his shorts. "C–Can you guide me?" you ask. He nods before thumbing the garters of your pyjama shorts, "Let's get this off first pretty girl," he instructs before pulling it off, lifting the hem of his shorts so that his bare thigh is pressed against your clothed pussy.

He grips onto your hips, guiding you along as you grind softly, friction building up as your wet and aching cunt rubs along his skin, a series of sweet and small whimpers getting knocked off you as he simply observes, staring at your face intently while your hands try to scramble for anything. "You can touch yourself baby girl, it'll help,"

And without hesitation this time you start rubbing on your clit, feeling the dampness in your underwear grow before looking down to see a tent in Chan's underwear. "Chris, I wanna grind on your cock please," you request as he lets out a 'Fuck,' before tugging his shorts off, leaving him with only his boxer as you shift your placement and start grinding on his boner, a breathless sigh knocked out of you while you lazily rub your clit. "Mnh, fuck baby, I never knew you were this slutty," he chuckles while watching you, "Pretty little baby has so much to show me. Don't you?"

"Only for you," you moan while grinding, the knot in your stomach tightening as you look down and see the feral glint in his eyes adding up. "Kiss?" you ask before he cups the back of your head and pulls you down while you continue your ministrations against his hard cock, now nestled between the gap formed by your soaking underwear.

The kiss turns more and more obscene, the smacking sounds absolutely fuel to the fire in your core, spit swapping between the two of you. Suddenly your clit gets tugged up against your underwear, a louder much more prominent moan knocked out of you which makes Chan's body tense up, "Fuck baby, I wanna eat you out," he begs, "I wanna hear more of that. Can I please?"

You nod before he grabs you by the back of your thighs, instinctively locking your own legs around his waist while he carries you to your bedroom.

Placing you down, he immediately crawls to your aching heat, wet and warm against the fabric of your panties. He tugs on them wordlessly, nearly ripping them off before he simply stares at it. "Where's the toy you bought my love?"

You crawl over the night stand, opening a drawer before pulling out the Hitachi wand and handing it to him shyly. "I–I love playing with my clit," you explain, "It feels good,"

"Alright, I got you," he nods before grabbing the backs of your knees and placing it on his broad shoulders while your stomach tenses up in anticipation. You still had your shirt and bra on but essentially bottomless already, feeling more of a pervert than if you were completely naked. And without warning, Chan licks up a stripe on your pussy, making you yelp out.

He kisses up on your folds before slotting his tongue through, the vibrations of the Hitachi suddenly come to life as he presses it against your clit while fucking into you with his tongue. A loud, obscene moan escapes you, tugging on his hair and your thighs tightening against his face which makes the vibrations more intense.

"Chan!" you yell out, name slipping from your raw bitten lips line a mantra, "Fuck! Fuck! Channie!" you cry out, slowly getting more and more overwhelmed before he stops the wand and detaches his face, making you whine.

Spit and slick cover his chin and nose as he laughs breathlessly, "Fuck, you're so delicious baby girl,"

"Daddy make me cum," you whimper and beg.

"We have all night baby," he soothingly rubs his hand over your thigh, before ducking back in between your lap, "Feeling alright?"

"The best," you choke out, "It feels so amazing Channie,"

"Good," he simply states before you could feel a finger prod into your hole while his tongue starts laving at your cunt again, slurping heard as it makes you roll your eyes back and arch up in pleasure. A litany of moans and whines escape you uncontrollably, Chan's name and profanities a steady stream.

As you approach your high, you can feel the tension in your stomach tightening, toes curling in pleasure while you fist the sheets. He grabs the wand again and presses it against your bud, tongue still spearing into you as the noises spilling out your throat get louder. You tug on his hair, biting your lip with a long drawn groan mixing with his' before you feel the knot unfurl, sensitivity at its peak while you spill into Chan's mouth, his tongue laving and lapping up at your juices.

Your thighs tremble by the sides of his head, a cry escaping you while he keeps on overstimulating you with the Hitachi, making you tug on his arm, "Good girl, take it for now sweet thing. My shy slut," he grins down at you.

Your legs continue to writhe about because of the spent nerves on your clit before he finally pulls away and you let out a deep breath out of relief, eyes clouded with lust and half lidded. You reach out to cup Chan's face, wiping off the slick on his chin with your thumb before licking it off.

"Thank you Daddy," you whisper before pulling his face closer, "Would you please fuck me now? Pretty please? Put your dick into me?"

#skz #skz bang chan #skz scenarios #bang chan #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #chan smut #skz smut scenarios #skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids bang chan #stray kids bang chan smut

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butchcarmy · 4 months

Text

Blood Orange (Ch 2: The Bathroom)

Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18, MDNI)

Rating: E (5.7k)

links: fic playlist, pinterest board, ao3 link, ch 1

Chapter Summary: No more fucking your boss. That’s what you’ve been telling yourself, but he doesn’t make it easy, even as you find yourself wanting to scream. Somehow it all falls away when you lower yourself to your knees before him. You don’t know if there’s any stopping this anymore.

Content Tags: work sex, blow jobs, mouth fucking, CUM PLAY, dom/bossy carmy, coworkers with benefits, carmy being difficult, mental illness, they/them reader, gender neutral reader, the usual

A/N: WHEW. It’s here! Thanks for waiting y’all. I think I embarrassed myself writing this one (flushed emoji). It’s ramping up. Next chapter is gonna be big one. Let me know what you guys think, and enjoy! <3

Before you go to work the next morning, you make yourself come on your fingers. It would've been twice if you had more time.

You open your eyes waking from a dream with his ghostly blue eyes and low voice, and you already know you're wet before you even touch yourself. The pads of your reaching fingers chase the tender spot Carmy stroked inside of you, but they don't quite make it. Of course they don't.

Fingering yourself eases the ache for a little while. On the early morning transit with headphones over your ears, you still manage to find yourself aching for him. The music doesn't cover up the sound of his voice, and you catch yourself grimacing in the faint reflection of the dirty metro windows.

This is not a good way to start your second day at work.

Since you left the walk-in yesterday, Carmy's been following you around like a mosquito in the summer, whizzing around your head, buzzing in your ears. You can't rid your thoughts of him. When you close your eyes, you're trapped in the fridge with him, again, and his fingers are deep inside you.

Fuck. You're standing in front of the restaurant, willing yourself to go in. Just stop it, you think to yourself.

You really should be more mad at him. He technically never apologized for insulting you, but you suppose you didn't expect him to in the first place. You didn't usually get apologies at places like this, from people like him. You don't want to get in the bad habit of expecting good things from broken people.

No more fucking your boss, you think resolutely to yourself, and that's the thought you meditate on as you open the door.

By this time yesterday, there were already a couple of people floating around the kitchen. Today, you find dim lights and silence. Your footsteps feel too loud on the white linoleum as you walk to the lockers to drop off your stuff. You can’t pretend to understand the schedule yet.

“Carmen?” You pace around again as you secure your apron with a tie. No response. Surely he's here, at least. Someone had to open the place.

You take a couple more steps when you hear his voice.

“No, I'm not—that's not what I was sayin’.” The direction of his voice sounds like it's coming from his office. “Of course I miss him. Sugar—” A pause. “I know. Yeah. It's bullshit.” He laughs then, you think. You can't measure how genuine it is. “You're bullshit. Look, I'll call you back later, okay? And I'll—yeah, I'll look at it. Promise. Yeah. Bye.”

It's quiet after that. You're standing there, not sure what to do with yourself when you hear footsteps. Sure enough, Carmy pops out of the office, and you catch just a glimpse of something haunted in him before surprise takes over.

“Hi,” you say at the same time he says, “Jesus Christ.”

“How long have you been here,” he asks, as you go, “That's an interesting way to pronounce my name.”

“Um,” you start, and he stares at you blankly, unreactive to your joke. Too early, you guess. “I just got here.”

“Okay. Cool. Uh…” Anxiety radiates off of him, making his hands fidget and run through untamed hair. Not that you were looking at his hands at all. “You’ll be doin’ prep again.”

“Alright.” You expected as such. You’ll probably be on prep for the rest of the week, if not the month. That’s how most places go, but this isn’t most places.

“Your station was dirty when you left yesterday.” You walk up to your station, and it’s spotless. “I had to clean it before I left.”

“Ah. I’m sorry about that,” you apologize quickly. I was preoccupied with other things, you think bitterly to yourself, thinking of locked doors and heated kisses. Not that you’ll mention it. “I’ll make sure to clean it this time.”

“Prep’s gonna be a bit different today,” he says, completely ignoring your apology. You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from snapping. “You’re gonna inspect produce, and then you’ll prep the stock again. Correctly this time.”

“It was nearly perfect, I just misplaced it,” you mutter under your breath.

“Yeah, nearly.” Looks like he heard you this time. Asshole. He places a box of onions on your station, rattling the table slightly. “Do I have to tell you how to sort out the bad ones from the good ones?” You’re honestly not sure if he means that as a jab, but the way he says it makes your insides sizzle with irritation.

Don’t take it personally, you remind yourself. Don’t. Take. It. Personally.

“How about you show me just in case? Just so we’re on the same page.” It’s a wonder how calm you keep your voice. To your surprise, Carmy doesn’t roll his eyes, doesn’t sigh, he just nods and proceeds. Every time you think you’ll predict him properly, he does the opposite.

You follow the line of his callused finger pointing to brown splotches on some of the onions. Intently, studiously, you examine the dark spots (indicative of mold), the sprouts (initial stages of deterioration), and the mushy areas (a sign of decreasing freshness). He’s talking about details as he seems to do when it comes to food, even elaborating on the farming process, but you don’t quite pick up that part. You just pay attention to the parameters you need to follow.

No more fucking your boss, you remind yourself again, because you catch yourself aching at the sight of his fingers. Your eyes have a hunger of their own, flickering up and down his muscular arms. God damnit. Maybe there’s another reason you can’t quite pay attention today.

“Are you listening?” Carmy’s pointed question snaps you out of it. Fuck. You hope he didn’t catch you staring at his fingers again.

“If I can save it and just chop off the bad parts, then I should,” you regurgitate on instinct. “Those are the best ones to use for the stock. Otherwise, I should just toss it.”

For a split second, all he does is fix you with his focused stare. You feel the intensity of it in your chest, your beating heart fluttering with its weight. No matter how many times you scold yourself for finding him attractive, your eyes can’t ignore what’s right in front of them. You find yourself counting his moles.

“I caught you staring,” he murmurs, “for real this time.”

“I—uh—” Your eyebrows are so raised you’re sure they’re bound to shoot off your warmed face. He’s smiling like he knows something you don’t. You weren’t going to mention yesterday, and after your first interaction this morning, you were sure he wasn’t going to, either. Guess you were wrong again.

“I’ll be in the back if you need help. The others should be here soon.” He’s moving on without giving you a chance to recover. Your brain can’t process the shock. “Just call if you need anything."

Before you get a chance to scrounge up anything to say, you’re alone in the kitchen again.

This time I'm really gonna do it, you fume internally. Because you have a healthy amount of anger management, you don’t let yourself continue that thought.

Sydney is the third person to show up after you and Carmy. You give her a nod and a thin smile as she walks in, and she waves back. Soon after she arrives, the others trickle in one by one. As you're learning to expect, the quiet never lasts for long.

There are tasks circling you just like yesterday that you don't fully grasp yet. Everyone seems to be instinctively following their own schedule, their circadian rhythm matched to the chaotic ecosystem of the kitchen. It’s just as suffocating as it was yesterday. You remind yourself that as a new hire, you don't need to understand the madness yet. Nonetheless, an invisible pressure presses down on you.

“Hey, d'you mind telling me where this produce goes?” A triple stack of filled containers sits heavy in your arms. With Sydney out of the kitchen, Marcus is your next safest option in terms of coworkers. His head flicks up from where he was focused on kneading dough. A streak of white flour is across his nose.

“Oh, that one's bottom shelf, near the back.” He claps his dusty hands together, flour falling between them like snow. “Here, I'll just show you. You know where the walk-in is?”

With Marcus, it doesn't feel like there are any stupid questions. It's a gift you don't take for granted, especially around here. You let him lead you to the fridge again, even though you remember where it is. It doesn't hurt.

“Thanks. I'm, uh, still having a hard time figuring out where stuff goes,” you say after you put the produce away.

“It’s cool. It's only your second day, right?” You nod. “Just takes time. Don't sweat it. You ever work in a restaurant before?”

“Yeah, a couple of times.”

“Then you know what you're gettin’ into.” That makes you laugh.

“Sorta.” You shrug. “To be honest with you, I just need money, and I like cooking enough, so…now I'm here.” You're not quite as honest with how desperate your situation was on the verge of coming, but it's fine. Not really the time and place for it anyway.

“I gotcha. That's how it was for me too, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Well, that's how I started at McDonald’s. That was a while ago now.”

“I see. It's better here, I hope.”

“Hard to say,” he says, but there's a little smile on his face. “For the most part, Michael was cool, but—”

“Michael!” You blurt out, startling the both of you. “Holy shit, I'm sorry. I've just been trying to remember the name of the previous owner for forever now and—wow, sorry. I didn't mean to shout.”

“It's fine.” Marcus has this amused expression, but it dissolves quickly. “You met him?”

“I did. I came here a couple of years ago when I first moved. Just once, but—anyway, what's his deal?”

“His deal?”

“Yeah, like, why'd he give the restaurant away? Carmy said he didn't want it anymore.”

“Oh.” You can't read the way Marcus’ face shifts. “That's what he said?”

“...Yeah?”

“I see. Okay. Uh…” He pauses, scratching the back of his neck. “Look, I know how this sounds, but just try not to bring Mike up for now. It's still kind of a sore subject.”

“Ah, my bad.” Your brain instantly supplies stories of estranged families, sibling spats, and stolen money. You suppose it's a sour sort of relationship—something you're intimately familiar with. “Can I ask what happened, or…?”

“I'll tell you later,” he replies evasively. “You know what else they got you training on today?”

“No idea,” you answer honestly. The nosy part of you wants to hear more about the Berzatto family, but the responsible part of you reminds you to cool your jets. “Carmy just told me I was on produce. Know where he's at? I peeked into his office, but he wasn't there.”

“Oh, he just left.” Your blank stare makes him elaborate. “He's off doing Carmy things.”

“Doing Carmy things?” Looks like the person in charge has abandoned you yet again.

“Business stuff, probably.” Marcus shrugs. “He does that sometimes. He probably won't be back for a while, so I can help you with training for now if you want.”

“That would be great.” There's a remark on the tip of your tongue about poor management, but you hold it. “Is Carmy a better boss, at least?”

“Compared to Michael?” You recognize sadness in Marcus’ pinched brows, even if it's only momentary. “I dunno. It hasn't been long, but this place has been running more smoothly since he started doing things.” Your shocked expression makes him laugh briefly. “I know, it used to be worse if you can believe it.”

“I'm not sure that I can,” you admit.

. . . . .

The next several days at work continue to test your patience. While Carmy keeps you on prep, keeping your tasks simple, he continues to find ways to keep you on edge. You stiffen up every time he enters the kitchen, waiting for him to point out yet another mistake.

Chef, this cut's too uneven. Chef, you're taking too much time on this. Chef, you should’ve cut this part off. Chef, you’re creating too much waste.

Yes, Chef, you always reply, even as his comments become more and more grating. A childish part of you wants to do a worse job out of spite, but another part of you is hungry for his approval far more than you would ever admit. You wonder if he's this tough on everyone.

The incident in the walk-in does not get mentioned again. A childish voice in you wonders if Carmy has forgotten about it. Of course he hasn’t, but every time he critiques you, you wonder about the Carmy who kissed you. You wonder what that Carmy's thinking, because you have no clue.

Has he been thinking of you, too?

This is how things should be, you remind yourself after you touch yourself for the fourth night in a row to the thought of him. Your fingers are wet, and your wrist is embarrassingly sore. I can't have sex with my boss again. I just can't.

Would it be different if he also touched himself to thoughts of you?

You desperately suck your own cum off your fingers, and you wish it were his fingers instead. It doesn't taste the same.

The bright lights are irritatingly bright when you come in this morning. It looks like you're the first person here again, other than Carmy. You hear his irritated voice as soon as you enter, which is clearly a good sign.

“I appreciate you thinking of me, I do. I do. It's just—” He sighs. Looks like he's having another phone call. “I can't come back. Not right now.” Silence. “No, uh, won't happen for a while, I think. The place's fucked.” A shaky breath. “What? What did you say?

“The head chef asked about me?” Carmy's voice has gone tight. “I see. Of course he said that. No, it's fine.” Pause. “...I know what they've been saying. I figured they'd look down on me.” His laugh is hollow and painful. “Look, I got shit to do. Thanks for asking me, but it's a no. I can't.” Another pause, drawn out and tense. “Sure. Bye.”

After he hangs up, you hear him muttering to himself. You can't pick out any of the words other than the curses, but it sounds bad. As you put your things away, you silently pray to the abstract idea of a god to give you both strength of patience. Seems like you'll need it today.

“Morning,” you tentatively greet him when he sees you. He's not surprised by your presence today, it seems. He nods back.

“Morning.” His eyebags are dark with a lack of sleep. Upon closer inspection, his whole everything screams sleep deprivation, perhaps a bit more so than usual. His messy hair seems particularly unkempt today. “You're doing prep again today.”

“I figured.”

“You need to get better about cleaning your station.” His words are full to the brim with irritation. “I keep having to clean it after you.”

“I thought I was—” You stop. Calm down, you think, but it's getting harder and harder to repeat. “Sorry. I didn't realize.”

“I told you the other day that it was dirty. Were you even paying attention?”

“Of course I was!” Annoyance bubbles over inside of you, potent and unbridled. Carmy barely reacts to your raised voice. Somehow, that pisses you off more. The cap on your contained anger has popped off, and there's no fitting it back on. “Are you always like this towards your employees?”

“Like what?”

“Like an asshole?” You're too irritated to hold yourself back.

“Depends. Are you always like this with your boss?” He retorts immediately.

“I don't usually have sex with my boss, so no, I suppose not,” you respond stupidly, and that makes him go dead silent. He narrows his eyes, fixes you with his gaze. Like you're a new problem that needs solving or something like that.

God damnit, you think to yourself. Why'd you have to say that?

“You've been thinking about it.” The air feels thicker, suddenly.

“I never said that.”

“Then why did you mention it?” Shit. “You said you were going to do better.”

“And I have been. I've been trying to do everything you've been telling me to do.” You don't know why you take a step towards him. “You said you were gonna be nicer.”

“And I have been,” he echoes, and his sincerity makes you roll your eyes.

“Bullshit! You've been nit-picking me all week!”

“We have standards here, and you need to learn how to follow them. That's all.”

“You're right! I'm learning,” you argue, throwing exasperated hands up in the air. “Cut me some fucking slack!”

“Then learn. Improve.” He slams a hand down on the aluminum surface next to you, enclosing you partially in. Being this close to him, you can really see how dark his dark circles are. You could easily move to the side if you wanted to, but something in you stays put. “There's no excuse for a dirty workspace in a kitchen. I thought you would know that already.”

“I'm so fucking sorry, chef,” you spit back with about as much venom as you can muster. Which, right now, is a lot.

That shifts something inside him. You see it flash across his face—surprise, anger, and then…something else.

“Dirty work station and a dirty mouth,” he murmurs. His voice is lower, quieter, and it sounds just like how it did in the walk-in. You hate how that change instantly makes your heart pick up speed. “You think you get a pass to act like this because of what happened in the walk-in?”

“You motherfucker,” you hiss, meeting his glare with your own. “So now you're going to acknowledge it? And for the record, I get to act however the fuck I want. Especially with someone like you.”

“Someone like me.” He doesn't ask you to elaborate. He just laughs, breathy and condescending, and he's so close you can feel his breath fan across your face. “You think you're above all this, don't you?”

“What?” The question takes you so off guard that it almost dissipates the strange mix of anger and arousal simmering in your gut.

“I know it doesn't feel good to have to take orders from someone you hate, but here's the thing. You have to.” He's not smiling, but you swear he's getting some sort of sick satisfaction from all this. Why else would he be saying any of this shit?

“I could leave right now if I wanted to,” you threaten him. “You won't be able to find anyone else that wants to work in this shithole of a place.”

“You're right. You could leave if you really wanted to.” His eyes narrow curiously at you. “Then why haven't you?”

You’re well within your right to leave already—it checks all the boxes. Chaotic work environment. Awful management. General workplace misconduct. Unprofessionalism between coworkers. You suppose you're partially to blame for that last one, but still.

If it's bad, I'll just find another job, you told yourself. You're not sure why you're not listening to your own advice. The simple truth of the matter, though, is that other jobs won't have him. They won't have the man that's been keeping you up at night, the man that you want to simultaneously devour and destroy. They won't have Carmen Berzatto, and for some reason, that's all it's going to take.

You don't understand yourself. It scares you, but not enough. Not enough to leave.

“...I don't know why I haven't left yet,” you say quietly after a while. “I have no clue.”

“I see.” If he's dissatisfied with your answer, he doesn't show it. “Then for the time you're here, let's make one thing clear.”

“What is it now?” You sigh.

“I'm in charge here,” he whispers. His other hand is on the counter now. You're completely blocked in. “I'm the one who runs this place, so you're going to be good and listen to me when I speak.”

“You're not really giving me a lot of incentive, chef.” You lower your gaze to the counters next to you. “Maybe if you gave me something to work with.” You don't mean for it to come out as suggestive as it does, but with him surrounding you like this…

“Incentive?” He brings a hand to your face, tucking his fingers under your chin to pull your gaze back to him. His touch is achingly gentle, but it forces it to look straight into his eyes. Your fidgety gaze catches glances of the dark blue speckles that border his pale iris. “Hey,” he whispers, “look at me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Your heart's pounding like sprinting feet thudding on concrete. You can't place what feelings are excitement or anxiety or both, but maybe no separation exists. Shutting your eyes was a weak attempt to temporarily block him out, but now all you can focus on is the sensation of his rough hand on your hot face.

Hesitantly, you open your eyes to face him. Ice blue and dark circles. His intense stare is difficult to match, but you try.

“What do you want from me?” You ask quietly.

“I want you to clean your station. Think you can do that?”

“Don't patronize me. Of course I can. I just—happened to forget.”

“Hm.” He smiles briefly. It's just a bit mocking. “You don't have a good track record so far, so you'll have to prove it to me.”

“...And how would I do that?”

“Depends,” he replies vaguely. “Depends on what you want.”

“What I want? I thought you were supposed to be in charge.”

“When I touched you, you told me you wanted to touch me.” The realization clicks in your head. “Do you still want that?”

You hesitate. Memories of the walk-in flood in. You remember the silhouette of his tight jeans over his bulge, and you ache. You shouldn't say yes. You really shouldn't. A distant voice says, you don't want to do this. What have you been telling yourself? This is a bad idea.

Unfortunately, it's far past a matter of want anymore. It's a matter of need.

“Yes,” you whisper back. Your fate is sealed. “I do.”

That's how you find yourself in the cramped bathroom with him. It's dark with one of the lightbulbs having gone out, making it feel even smaller. An eerie green cast coats the room.

“You're going to show me that you can listen. That you can clean up after your messes.” He's leaned up against the wall, broad hands unbuttoning his pants. Your eyes shamelessly zero in on the motion. “Think you can do that much?”

“Of course I can,” you reply, but it comes out a lot softer than intended.

“Good.” You force your eyes away from the outline of his bulge in his boxers to look at his face. His darkened eyes are trained on you. “Get on your knees.”

Oh, you think. So this is how it's gonna go.

You wish you could say that you hesitate even a little bit, that there’s even a shred of contemplation left in you. However, there isn't any of that remaining. Obediently, you fall to your knees, resting them against the cold, hard bathroom floor. You're at eye level with his unbuttoned jeans. Slowly, you raise your eyes to look at him.

His downturned face is framed by wild strands of hair. Looking down at you casts darker shadows across his face, but not enough to hide his expression. It's an odd mix of hunger and what you think to be admiration. Surely not, but that's immediately the thought that comes to mind.

“Waiting for directions, chef,” you murmur.

“Mm. Right,” he says, like he was lost in thought. “You look better like this.”

“Watch it,” you warn him. “I could still bite your dick off.” To that, he just briefly smiles, and then it's gone.

He's pulled his black pants down just enough to let his clothed bulge hang over the waistband. The sight of it goes straight to the simmer starting in your gut. You watch his veined hand disappear into his boxers. He's doing this far too slowly for your taste.

Finally, he pulls out his cock, nearly completely stiffened, and you can't deny the way you begin to salivate.

You were right. It's big, though not just in length. His cock is thick. You immediately know you won't be able to take the full length of him into your mouth, but what fits is going to be a stretch. You're already imagining how those bulging veins are going to feel against the flat of your tongue.

“Use your mouth for something other than talking back to me. Make me come,” Carmy orders quietly. “Enough direction for you?”

“Shut the hell up,” you mutter, ignoring the feeling of the growing heat inside you, and you pull the reddened, shiny tip of his cock between your lips.

His pre-come mixes with the saliva on your tongue. You savor the taste of his salty musk, suckling slowly, and you hear him exhale shakily above you. Looks like you've been given something of an opportunity to get him back for the walk-in. Not repayment—payback. The distinction is important.

When you pull back, thin strings of spit connect the pink head to your glistening lips. One of your hands moves to hold the base of his cock as you close the gap again. You drag your tongue down the side of his length, licking the thick vein you were eyeing earlier. You feel him twitch.

“Do that again,” he breathes. Without question, your tongue retraces its path, running back over the line of spit it created. That gets you a quiet, strangled moan, and it's music to your ears.

“Is this part sensitive?” You ask as you stroke the vein with your thumb. You suck your way down the vein again, making small, wet seals of pleasure.

“Somewhat.” He sounds good like this, breathless and flustered. A smile twitches on your lips. You lick across the inside of your hand, wetting it before lazily curling it around his cock. He slides effortlessly in your grasp.

“You gonna come already?” You can't help but tease. He's surprisingly reactive, more so than you would've thought. It's not that you're complaining—it's not that at all. The sound of his low groans is making you drip.

“Hah—no. You'll have to work harder than that.” You feel a hand pushing back your hair, and that makes you raise your head towards him. His touch is surprisingly gentle. You watch the movement of his lips when he speaks. “Open your mouth, and stick out your tongue.”

You can't quite figure out what it is about all of this that makes you submit. Just moments ago, you wanted to wring your hands around his throat. It was far too easy to abandon your anger and kneel in front of him. Maybe it's the incomprehensibly part of you that undeniably needs his validation. Maybe it's the soft, low tone of his voice, gentle yet commanding. Either way, it has you obeying with a thought in your mind.

You do as he says. You part your lips and extend your tongue. As your eyes flutter upwards towards him, you're struck with the impression that you must look obscene.

“Perfect,” he whispers, and just the one word sends something of a euphoric rush through you. “Doin’ so good for me.”

You soak up the praise, basking in the warmth of it. Then, Carmy spits onto your tongue, and his saliva slides towards the back of your mouth.

You can't hide your surprise. Your breath hitches, but you don't say anything. Fuck, that should've made you angry, but it just made your clit throb painfully hard.

He drags his thumb down your tongue, slow and sensual. You have half the mind to suck on it until he glides the head of his cock on your tongue, leading it into the heat of your mouth.

“Ah—” You lose the words you were going to say, along with the empty space in your mouth. The tip of his cock's nearing the back of your throat. You breathe shakily through your nose. You were right again—you can't take him fully in. It's enough of a stretch as it is.

“Fuck, that's it…” Carmy sighs. “Just like that…”

His hand holding your hair turns into a tighter grip as you begin sucking up and down his cock. It's an awful mess, the size of him forcing spit to drip down your chin. It's not just that, though. He's thrusting his cock back into your mouth quicker and quicker. You wish he would slow down so you could lean back and suck on his dribbling tip, but his hand has you anchored.

Time slows as he starts fucking your mouth. Your hands fall to your hands. Your knees are starting to hurt. You care surprisingly little about that fact, instead opting to care about rubbing your clit as quickly as possible. When you get your hands under your underwear, you find your whole pussy already smeared in wetness. You've seeped through the fabric.

When he pulls his cock out of your mouth (or rather, when he tugs you off), you think he's going to give you a new order. Or that he's going to say something. You don't realize what's really happening until it's too late.

You watch him bring a hand to his cock. He strokes it twice, keeping his hand tight in your hair, and with a low groan, he comes.

With his hand on you, you can't move away. Not that you try. When the first glob of cum streaks your cheek, you freeze. All you can do is pause as he comes on your face. Even your hand under your pants has frozen, your palm pressed up tight against your pulsing clit.

With each rope of cum across your face, you feel yourself throb. Carmy is a sight to behold as he comes, long-lashed eyes falling shut with his parted, gasping mouth. He's jaggedly fisting his cock as he just keeps coming. You feel the cum starting to drip down the slopes of your skin, even your lips.

By the time he's come down, he's left your face an absolute mess. Your jaw feels heavy, and his cum is hot against your swollen lips. You've come down as well, and it's left you with the irate realization that he just came all over your face without asking.

“You could've at least told me you were gonna come on my face,” you snap. Your cheeks are burning. Your argument feels weak with how worked up you feel over watching and feeling him come, but the irritation is still very real.

“Clean your station, chef,” he responds, infuriatingly smug even as he catches your breath. “Practice makes perfect.”

“Are you kidding me?” Of course. That's what this all was. A fucked up lesson, a twisted sort of discipline.

“I'm not.” He uncurls his fist from your hair. “Stand up—your knees must hurt.”

You pause for a second before you shakily get back up on your legs. One minute he's messily fucking your mouth, and the other, he's worrying over your sore knees. He continues to become more and more confusing.

“You're gonna make me clean up your mess.” You catch your face in the small, shitty rectangular mirror hanging on the wall. God, are you a filthy sight, cum and spit all over your face.

“I had to clean up yours for the past week, so yeah.” He's zipped himself back up. He's clean, not a drop of anything on him. Unlike the mess parading itself on your face. At least there's not any in your hair.

“This is not the same. This is—” You frustratedly search for the right words. He's remaining as stoic as ever. “You didn't even kiss me,” you blurt out, and as soon as you say it, you regret it.

Carmy stills. You can't tell what he's thinking with his unmoving expression. You're sure he's about to insult you again, but then he’s leaning in and sealing his lips against yours.

You're stunned. A small noise escapes you as he kisses you deeply, thoroughly. His tongue drags up a trail of cum and spit up your chin and back into your mouth. Or back into his. You're unsure, with the way they're all blending together.

“There,” Carmy murmurs against your lips. When he pulls back, you see his tongue running across his lips, collecting the pearlescent sheen that was on them.

“Um—” You start and immediately stop. You’re speechless.

“Now clean up.” You hear the sound of distant company. Your other coworkers must be arriving now. “I expect improvement now, chef. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” you reply bitterly. “I suppose I met your expectations, then?”

“Sure. Closely enough, anyway.” Potent aggravation hits you like a cast iron pan. He drags his thumb in one last infuriating line across your cheek. He sucks it into his mouth and cleans it off. “Don't take too long. I have a lot planned for you today.”

Without waiting for a response, Carmy leaves. He leaves you alone in the shitty bathroom with a now flickering lightbulb, left to clean his cum on your face with water, hand soap, and thin paper towels. You don't know if you've ever been so angry before.

The anger doesn't make the arousal go away. You rub your needy clit to orgasm, your back pressed up against the wall like Carmy's just a moment ago.

As you come with Carmy's cum slowly trailing on your face, you wonder if there is any coming back from this. If there's anything left to be done to stop whatever's happening. You can't come up with any solutions or suggestions. Only one thing is undeniably clear:

You hate Carmen Berzatto, and you're already thinking of ways to get his cock in your mouth again soon.

taglist: @zorrasucia @carmenberzattosgf @thehouseofevangelista @alastorssimp @talas-starlight @jmamas92

#carmy berzatto #the bear #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #jeremy allen white #carmy berzatto x you #carmy berzatto smut #carmen berzatto smut #carmy berzatto imagines #carmen berzatto imagines #my fics #blood orange #ARGHHH ITS HEREEE. i won't lie this chapter was so hard to write #im still having a hard time figuring out what this particular carmy acts like. its difficult. im getting there tho #my smut

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 3 months

Note

Congrats on 1k!!

for the ask game!

J: “dont touch me, get away from me”

in Someone who cares

hurt/comfort

book

and if I can make a special request that Eddie is the hurt party?

Thank you so much! 🥰 Always thrilled to write more about my favorite family.

Some dreams come true

Words: 954

Rated: G

Tags: Modern AU; No UD AU; Established relationship; Married Steddie; Steve is Dustin’s dad; Author Eddie; Hurt/comfort; Fluff

Notes: Set in the same universe as Someone who cares

“Eddie?” Dustin knocks on the door of the study. It’s slow and hesitant, and that alone is enough to tell Steve that the kid was not exaggerating when he called and told him to get home immediately. “It’s me. I’ve brought Dad. Please open the door?”

There’s no answer.

“Damn,” Steve murmurs. “What the hell happened?”

Dustin scowls.

“No idea. He opened that package that arrived for him, and then he went all silent and weird and locked himself in there, like- … oh, do you think it’s a bomb?”

“A what?” Steve squawks. “What the fuck, Dustin? Of course it’s not a- who’d even send us a bomb?”

“Dunno, grandpa?” Dustin is wibbling in his spot, weirdly elated with the notion. “He must still be pretty damn pissed, right? I mean, last time you saw him, Eddie punched him in the-”

Steve groans. “Jesus Christ, Dustin, I promise it's not a bomb. Go do your homework or whatever, I'll handle this.”

Dustin deflates, but sulks off towards his room, grumbling under his breath. Steve sighs and turns back to the door.

“Eds? I'm not leaving, just so you know.”

For a few seconds, everything stays silent. Then, something shuffles and footsteps approach. The lock clicks, but the door doesn't open. When Steve steps into the tiny room, Eddie is already back in his desk chair, elbows bracketed on his knees, head almost level with his hands. He's holding something. A book.

A familiar mix of feelings stirs in Steve's guts. Alarm. Worry. The overwhelming need to find out who hurt his husband and slowly tear them limb from limb.

“Eddie? What's-”

“Don't touch me. Get away from me.”

Eddie doesn't raise his voice. Steve catches himself wishing he had, because the quiet brokenness of the words is somehow infinitely more scary. His feet stop dead in their tracks, halfway between Eddie and the door. From where he's standing, he recognizes the book Eddie has in his hand.

“Author's copies arrived,” Eddie says, almost as if he read his mind. His head jerks weakly at the package sitting by his feet, holding a stack of identical books, all bearing Eddie’s name on the cover.

“But…” Steve mutters while his brain is still parsing through the situation. “But that's amazing, honey. You've been looking forward to this so long, why-”

“I know,” Eddie groans. The book flops to the ground as he brings his hands up to cup his own face. “I was. I am. It's just that …”

He exhales a long, shaky breath.

“It's all real now, Stevie. It's here. And- … and next week, it's gonna be in stores, and everybody will be able to pick one up and what if it sucks? I've been dreaming of this for as long as I can think of, but that's all it was - a dream. But now … I dunno, I'm just … I'm scared.”

“Hey,” Steve whispers, sinking to his knees to bring them face level. “Hey, look at me.”

Eddie does, big brown eyes peering out from between long fingers. Steve chuckles, reaching for those hands to pull them down into Eddie’s lap.

“Do you remember the pizza party?”

Eddie blinks at him. “Huh? What are you-”

“That was the first time I wanted to kiss you. I had only known you for a few weeks, but somehow, I was already falling in love with you.” Steve smiles, running his fingers over the familiar shape of Eddie's hands and arms, tracing the black ink of his tattoos. “I didn't do it then. Do you know why?”

“Because Mike puked on your sofa?”

“Yes,” Steve says automatically. Sputters. “I mean no. I mean- God, you're such an asshole.”

Eddie’s mouth twitches. Steve sighs.

“The reason I didn't do it,” he clarifies, “was because I was scared. Because I thought I'd rather spend a lifetime dreaming of having you than turning it into a reality and somehow messing it up. But you know what?”

“Hm?” Eddie hums, melting into him as Steve leans in to touch their foreheads together. “What's that, love?”

Steve smiles at the pet name, pressing a kiss to the dimple at the corner of Eddie’s mouth.

“I'm so incredibly fucking glad we got our shit together in the end,” he says. “Because the reality of it is so much better than anything I ever could've imagined.”

“So much fucking better,” Eddie whispers against his lips, and then neither of them says anything for a while. When they pull out of the kiss, Steve presses the fallen book into Eddie’s hands.

“This'll be fantastic,” he promises, smoothing over the wrinkle in Eddie’s brow with his lips before he can argue. “You just wait. Now, come down and help me with dinner? Dustin’s convinced you have a bomb in here.”

Eddie snorts a laugh and stands from his chair, carefully putting the book back with the others before slipping his hand into Steve’s. “What, seriously? And here you are, wondering why I’m doubting myself. With the things that kid comes up with, he should be the author in this family, not me. A bomb, fucking hell!”

Steve laughs softly as they make their way down the stairs. “You just wait until that book blows up and it turns out he was right.”

“Yeah, as if,” Eddie says, but there’s no bitterness left in his voice. He smacks a noisy kiss to Steve’s temple, pulling him into the kitchen with a dorky spin and twirl. “Keep dreaming, honey.”

He definitely will, Steve thinks as they get to work between a constant stream of bickering and kisses. His dreams have a habit of becoming true, after all, and he's no longer afraid of that.

More celebration ficlets

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie brainrot #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #someone who cares #hype's 1k follower ficlets

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roosterforme · 2 years

Text

It's the Concussion Talking | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When he wakes up to find the most perfect woman nursing him back to health, Bradley tries his best to put the moves on her.

Warnings: Fluff, mild language

Length: 2500 words

Based on this request! Hope you love it, babe!

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Check out my masterlist! And read Part 2!

Bradley cracked one eye open. Holy shit. The pain in his head was immediate and intense. If it would just ease up a bit, maybe he would be able to see what was going on.

"He's stable." That was the sweetest voice he had ever heard in his life. He wished he could see who was talking.

"Blood pressure is low, but his eyelids are moving."

But now Bradley knew something must be wrong. Were they talking about him?

A soft hand pushed his hair back from his forehead and he groaned, trying to press himself further into the pleasant touch. "Where am I?" he managed to ask, but his voice sounded foreign to him, and his throat hurt.

"Shh, don't overdo it. You're in the infirmary on base, Lieutenant Bradshaw," said that lovely voice. "You were involved in a training accident."

Bradley's memories rushed back to him, and he tried to sit up, but that pleasant hand was immediately on his chest, firmly keeping him in place.

"Is Phoenix okay? And Bob?" he asked frantically, finally getting both eyes to open a little bit.

"Yes, everyone is going to be fine," you promised him, and he let himself sink back against the hospital bed as you caressed his face. And then Bradley finally caught sight of you. You were bathed in the soft afternoon sunlight filtering through the window, and you were gorgeous. Like perhaps the most stunning woman he had ever seen. And you were wearing US Navy nursing scrubs with your name tag clipped to the front.

He cleared his throat and said your name out loud. You smiled down at him. "That's me," you replied, and he smiled back at you. "Since you're awake, I'm going to ask you a few questions, sound good?"

Bradley nodded his head, but then the shooting pain returned, so he immediately stopped. "You can ask me anything," he said, mesmerized by how pretty you were.

Your amused smile grew. "Perfect. Let's start with your date of birth and your blood type."

Bradley rattled off both answers for you, earning him a pleased look.

"Can I ask you some questions?" he mumbled, unable to look away from your face.

You shrugged, but your smile didn't disappear. "Sure."

"Are you married? Do you have a boyfriend? A girlfriend? Are you seeing anyone?" he asked quickly. Good Lord, he had probably just embarrassed himself, but he didn't really care.

You tried to hide your smile. "Definitely still concussed," you muttered and scribbled in his chart. "But no, none of the above. I'm single," you said, and he immediately started to formulate plans for a first date. "Just so you know, we've given you some painkillers, so that's probably why you're acting a little silly. But hopefully after one night here with us, you'll be good as new."

Bradley wasn't being silly. He was just being honest with himself about wanting to ask you out. "I get to spend the night with you?" he asked.

You snorted and covered your mouth with your hand, embarrassed. "Kind of. I'll be here until the morning shift change."

You were fucking adorable. Bradley wanted to pull you down onto the bed next to him. "And you're going to check on me? Make sure I'm doing okay?" he asked with a grin.

"Yep. You'll be so tired of seeing me in here, I'm sure you'll be overjoyed to leave tomorrow."

"I highly doubt that," he replied as you stood to leave with his chart in your hand. "You're so pretty, I can't stop looking at you."

You bit your lip. "Yeah, that'll be the medication talking. It should be out of your system in a few more hours. I'll be back soon." You shook your head and walked away, turning back to smile at him before you left his room.

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

Bradley shifted around in the uncomfortable bed. You said you would be back, but you weren't back soon enough for his liking. He considered pushing the little red button to call you into his room, but he was sure there were others who needed help more than he did.

So he waited. He didn't want to watch TV, and he didn't have his phone, so he planned out every detail of his first date with you. Hibachi restaurant, dessert at the French pastry shop, walk along the bayside pier. Maybe a goodnight kiss if he played his cards right.

And he was going to have to play his cards very well, because he was currently trying to woo you from a hospital bed while wearing bright orange non-skid socks.

By the time his door opened around dinnertime, he was feeling a lot better and his head was throbbing less. So he sat up in bed, excited to see you again, but it was someone else coming in with his dinner tray.

"Thanks," he told them as they turned to leave. He pushed the food around on the tray after eating a few bites. He really was about to push the red button when the door opened again, and there you were. A smile broke out across his face.

"How are you feeling, Lieutenant Bradshaw?" you asked as you came to stand next to his bed. "Your head hurting a little less?"

"I'm fine. Excellent really, now that you're back. I missed you," he promised, if only to see if you'd snort again. You didn't, but your cheeks did turn a rosy color as you looked down to make some notes in his chart.

"Pain medication is still affecting you, I see. Your color looks better now though, and so do your eyes," you said, examining his face closely.

Bradley wasn't sure how he was supposed to put the moves on you when he was in a hospital gown that was too small for him, but he was certainly going to try his best.

"Since we'll be spending the night together, any chance I can take you out to breakfast in the morning?

You were trying so hard not to look amused, Bradley had to commend you for that. "I'm not allowed to date patients, Lieutenant Bradshaw."

"Please, call me Bradley."

"I'm not allowed to use your first name either, Lieutenant Bradshaw."

Bradley sighed and sunk further into the pillow. "If I tell you my forehead hurts, will you touch my face again?"

A slight look of alarm settled on your features as you ran your fingertips and then your palm across his forehead. "Your head is hurting now?"

He let you fuss over him for a few seconds more, loving the way you moved his hair away from his face. "No, not all. I'm just wondering how we'll ever get on a proper date if you're not allowed to call me Bradley, and I'm not allowed to ask you out."

You smirked at him. "I'll be back around midnight to check on you. I really think the medication should be out of your system by them. Do you need anything else while I'm here?"

"Your phone number?" he asked hopefully, but you shook your head in response. "Yeah... didn't think so."

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

Bradley managed to fall asleep for a little while, but he woke up before midnight and went to use his tiny bathroom. He padded along in his orange socks and hospital gown that ended mid thigh and tied in the back. He would give anything to have some of his real clothing right now.

He splashed some water on his face and tried to fix his hair. "This is not good," he muttered to his reflection. Why couldn't he have met you when he was wearing his uniform and didn't have scrapes all over his face?

He was feeling fine now, just a little bit sore. But you were under the impression that he was concussed and medicated beyond reason, and that's why he was asking you out. Couldn't be further from the truth.

He held his gown closed and non-skid walked his way back to bed. Then his door opened and he was immediately disappointed to see a different nurse.

"Hi, Lieutenant Bradshaw! My name is Marcus, and I'm going to check your vitals."

Bradley frowned. "Listen, I'm sure you're a completely competent nurse, but I really need my vitals taken by nurse Y/N."

"She's on her break right now," Marcus informed him with a smile, holding out a blood pressure cuff.

Bradley shook his head like a small child refusing cough syrup. "I'll just wait for her. Really, I don't mind waiting."

"But your vitals need to be recorded right now," Marcus insisted, shaking the cuff.

Just then, you strolled into the room with a smile on your face. "I can do it, Marcus. I'm done with my break," you said, taking over for the other nurse who walked away muttering about how many difficult patients he'd seen today.

Bradley felt warm all over as you slowly shook your head at him and said, "What am I going to do with you?"

"I can think of several things," he told you seriously. "Starting with taking my vitals, because apparently they need to be done now."

Bradley listened to your laugh fill the dimly lit room. "Okay, we'll start with that then," you agreed, getting to work. He almost moaned at the feel of your fingers brushing along his bicep as you adjusted the blood pressure cuff around his arm.

"How many more times are you going to come check on me?" he asked as you brushed his hair away from his forehead again. He couldn't think of any reason you needed to be doing that, but he was happy you were.

"Just once more, in the morning, before you get discharged."

"That's not enough, nurse. I'm severely concussed."

You laughed. "I think you're doing fine now. I'm going to assume by this point that you are always silly and a bit of a shameless flirt, and that it has nothing to do with your accident or the medication."

Bradley pouted. "Well, I wouldn't call it shameless...."

You shook your head. "Just try to go to sleep, okay? You'll feel good as new in the morning if you do." And with that, Bradley watched you walk out of his room again.

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

Bradley was wide awake at 6 o'clock in the morning as usual. Since you wouldn't give him your phone number, he thought about trying to get you to take his. But then he realized you'd probably throw it in the trash; no way you were going to want to go out with a guy wearing orange socks and essentially a mini skirt.

"Shit," he muttered, trying to come up with a solution before you showed up. You were perfect for him. You were in the Navy, plus you were smart, sweet, competent, and beautiful. But he'd probably embarrassed himself too much to stand a chance.

And then there you were, making a fuss over him again, taking his blood pressure and pushing his hair off his forehead. "Everything looks good. You can get changed and go to the desk down the hall to be discharged. I hope you have a great day, Lieutenant Bradshaw."

"That's it?" he asked, and you looked at him with confusion. "I'm not going to see you again?"

You shook your head. "Not unless you're injured or sick," you told him as you frowned a bit and glanced at his lips.

Bradley knew he wouldn't get anything else out of you at the moment. "You said you can't date a patient. But what about after I'm discharged? If I ask you out then, will you give me a real answer?"

You smirked at him. "I'm about to leave for my weekend off. If you really want to seek me out after that, sure, I'll give you a real answer. But I won't be surprised if I don't run into you again, Lieutenant Bradshaw."

"I'll see you in a few days," Bradley promised, and you turned to smile at him before you disappeared through the door into the busy hallway.

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

Three days later, it was Saturday, and Bradley was off. He had been trying to figure out when you would be working again, but every time he called the infirmary about your schedule, he was told he didn't have the clearances needed to collect that information.

Maybe you didn't want to see him again, but if that was the case, he needed to hear you say it. He'd planned out three dates in his mind, and he was dying to take you on them.

So he hoped for the best and showed up at the infirmary in his nicest jeans and a Hawaiian shirt with a bouquet of flowers. He rode the elevator to the floor his room had been on, and went to the nurses' station. You weren't there, but he found a sweet looking older nurse with Charlene on her name tag and asked her if you were working.

"Are you her boyfriend?" Charlene asked him, eyeing the flowers with a smile.

"That's the goal, ma'am." Bradley watched Charlene melt at his words.

"Her shift just ended, sweetie. She worked overnight, and I'm not sure if she's still here or not."

Bradley let his chin sink to his chest and sighed. Just as he was about to beg Charlene for the details of your schedule, he heard your voice.

"Bye, Charlene! Have a fantastic time at the- oh!" You came to a stop about ten feet away from him, and Bradley had been wrong. You were even more stunning than he remembered. "Lieutenant Bradshaw?" you asked cautiously, eyeing him and the flowers with a surprised look.

"Will you please call me Bradley now? I'm not your patient anymore," he pleaded, taking a step toward you.

"Okay. Bradley. I'm a little surprised to see you here," you whispered as he took another step closer.

He shook his head. "I told you I would see you in a few days."

You chewed on your lip. "I thought that was just the concussion talking. Are those for me?"

"Yeah," he said, closing the rest of the distance and handing the flowers to you. "Any chance you've been thinking about me at all?" he asked.

You took the flowers and looked at him over the bouquet. "A little bit," you said with a grin. "You were kind of charming the other day."

Bradley smiled and just went for it. "Well I meant every word I said to you. I can't stop thinking about you. If you're not too tired, I'd love to take you out to breakfast. Or, shit, you just worked all night. So you must be exhausted. Um, we could do dinner one night? Or, anything really-"

He shut up as soon as you reached out and brushed his hair off of his forehead. "Breakfast would be nice."

"Yeah?" Bradley asked, all smiles. "Let's go."

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

Thanks for reading this fluffy Rooster! PART 2

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3K notes · View notes

judesmoonbeauty · 2 months

Text

Ghost House Report: A Requiem For You - Jude Jazza Premium End

Fan translation only. Not 100% accurate. Please expect grammatical errors. Cybird owns everything. Feel free to re-blog, but please do not post my translations elsewhere. If you'd like to be added to my translations tag list, please comment below.Thank you, for you support! ☾.

CW: Corpse, Death.

Anne: I couldn't keep my promise to my papa to be a good girl and wait for him...

Anne looked down at her corpse and muttered to herself.

Jude: Anne, ya turned into a ghost ‘n waited for him…….It was your father that didn’t keep his promise.

Anne: You’re wrong! My papa never breaks his promises!

Anne: I’m not lying to you, Cross my heart and hope to die,

Anne: stick a needle in my eye. ……that’s what he promised!

Anne: Someday, he’ll definitely come to pick me up……!

Kate: Anne……

Anne probably loves her father and wants to tell him that.

However, the mansion's investigation records did not contain any reports of girls going missing in the past.

Objectively speaking, her father did not come to pick her up, nor did he look for Anne, who died here.

Anne: But……I’m tired of waiting.

Kate: What……?

Anne: I’m talking about my papa, but I’m already dead and I can’t leave the mansion……

Anne: ……Since I’m tired, I think I should give up.

Kate: That……

Jude: …………

Anne: Miss Kate and Mister Jude’s coming here may be a good chance.

Anne: Now at the end, thank you for the fun memories……

Smiling sadly, Anne gradually disappears.

(Anne will disappear just like this……?)

(She waited and waited and waited for her father, but he never showed up……)

(….I can't overlook such a sad ending!)

Kate: Wait!

I stretched out my hand towards Anne as she disappeared.

Anne was surprised by my voice that held her back, and her transparent body gradually returned to normal.

Kate: I'll find your father and bring him to you, so please wait until then.

Judging from the condition of her body, Anne must have been dead for decades.

If it was that long ago, we wouldn't know if Anne’s father was still alive.

But, I couldn't leave Anne alone, who had kept waiting for her father.

Kate: Jude, quit being silent and say something!

Jude: …..? What?

Kate: I’ll let you meet your father. Jude, that’s what you promised.

For a while now, Jude hasn’t been acting like Jude.

Even though he usually places so much emphasis on keeping his promises,

When Anne grew tired of waiting and tried to disappear, he didn't try to stop her.

Kate: Are you willing to break your promise? Are you giving up before you take action? That Jude!**

Jude: ……What’s that, ya tryna provoke me by givin’ me a bad name?

Kate: Yes, I’m provoking you!

Kate: Usually, you’ve would’ve dragged the father over here.

(I don't know what killed Jude's spirit.)

(……But in order to find the father, I need Jude’s help.)

I thought I had to do something to get Jude motivated, so I went for it.

Jude: ……Ha. Seems like you’ve started sayin’ some pretty big things.

Kate: Sorry……but, I won’t take it back. Because right now these are the words you need, Jude.

When I finished speaking, Jude finally gave me his usual cruel smile.

Jude: —Anne. As she said, I never break my promises.

Jude: As promised, I’ll letcha meet your father.

Anne: ……Really? I’ll be able to meet my papa?

Anne: Ah! I’m a ghost, but I won't curse you two just because you broke your promise to bring my papa.

Kate: ……That’s not it. We’re not keeping our promise because we’re afraid of you being a ghost, Anne.

I didn't want Anne to cry, I wanted her to have hope, so I promised her that I would let her meet her father.

I simply wanted her to meet her father.

Kate: I’m keep my promise not because I'm afraid of being cursed, but because I want to do something for you.

Anne: …….,Thank you. Miss Kate and Mister Jude.

Jude: Now to set a date for the meet up.

Anne: ……date? .......

Jude: The point of when the promise is fulfilled.

Jude: Anne, remember. When ya make an agreement like this, ya hafta to be very clear ‘bout the terms.

Jude: Didn't ya hafta wait for years?

Anne: ……Yeah.

Anne: Papa said he would come, but it was really hard to wait for a promise that I didn’t know when it would come true.…..

Jude: ……I understand.

(Jude……?)

Jude: If ya can wait that long, be patient a lil longer.

Jude: I’ll definitely return, so be a good kid ‘n wait.

Anne: Yeah……!

Leaving Anne at the mansion, we finished the investigation and returned to Crown Castle.

Kate: Jude, let’s look for Anne’s father right away!

Kate: I'm going to ask Victor now for permission to view past records—

Jude: No, I’ve already found her father.

Kate: Huh…….already?!

Jude: The necklace hangin’ on Anne’s neck.

Kate: Ah, it’s Anne’s mother’s necklace.

Kate: She said she secretly took it from her Father……

Kate: …….Yeah? Come to think of it, you were also looking for a necklace.

Kate: Maybe it's the necklace that Anne was wearing.…..

Jude: T’was the same necklace I was asked to look for.

Jude: The wealthy ol’ man who asked me to find the belongin’s would be Anne's father.

Jude: Gonna leave ‘n see ‘im soon. Get depressed ‘n I’ll leave ya behind.

We traveled by carriage and arrived at the mansion of the wealthy man.

Wealthy Old Man: Don’t you think it’s rude of you to ask for me this late at night?

Jude: I finished looking for the belongings that were part of the conditions set for the land sale. I’d like you to check it out as soon as possible.**

Wealthy Old Man: You’ve found my wife’s belongings?! I guess it can’t be helped……

Jude: Here it is……Take it, and look it over.

Wealthy Old Man: Let’s see.

The old man takes the necklace from Jude, and carefully inspects it.

(This person is Anne’s father. ……He looks to be around 80 years old.)

(……Anne had been waiting for a long time.)

When I think about Anne waiting for her father in that gloomy mansion, my heart breaks.

Wealthy Old man: ……This is my wife’s necklace. You found it for me.

Jude: About that, there’s something I’d like to tell you.

Jude: I'd like to speak to you at the location where the necklace was found... Would you mind coming?

Wealthy Old Man: That haunted house... my wife's precious belongings have finally returned. I don’t mind if it’s just for a little while.

While occasionally lending a shoulder to the crippled old man, we brought him to the hidden room in the haunted mansion.

Wealthy Old Man: We’ve come this far. Can you tell me the story now?

Jude: Yes. By all means……talk to her.

Wealthy Old Man: Her……?

The old man looked up, and there stood Anne.

Anne: Papa……!

Even though he's gotten older and his appearance has changed, Anne seems to still recognize her father.

She happily jumped onto the old man.

Wealthy Old Man: C-could this be……Anne……?!

Anne: Yeah! You finally came to pick me up as promised……!

Wealthy Old Man: Promise……

Anne: I believed you! That you’d come for me, Papa!

The old man who had a look of shock on his face didn't hug Anne back.

Anne: ……Papa, I have to apologize for something.

Anne: The day I said goodbye to you, Papa, I had taken mama’s necklace. Can you forgive me?

Wealthy Old Man: Oh, oh, of course........I also have to apologize to you, Anne.

Anne: About being late to pick me up? That’s okay! After all, you came to pick me up properly!

Anne: Thank you, Papa. I love you very very much……

Anne: And then….Miss Kate, Mister Jude. Thank you for bringing my papa.

Anne smiled happily and disappeared with a light.

Jude: ……So? What on earth were ya doin’ waitin’ until ya were this ol’ to come ‘n get her?

Wealthy Old Man: Well, that's... I was looking for Anne, who disappeared after I sold her to the owner of this mansion.

Jude kicked a chair in the room as if to interrupt the old man's words.

Wealthy Old Man: Eek!

Jude: All ya asked me to do was search for your wife’s belongins’…...

Jude: Ever since ya sold Anne to the owner of this mansion, ya ain’t ever looked for her.

Wealthy Old Man: I-I couldn’t love that child.

Wealthy Old Man: My wife died after she gave birth to that child, and I thought that child had killed my wife. So……

Jude: Then ya sold Anne to the owner of this mansion, ‘n used the money to start a successful business.

Jude: Ya happy thatcha got rich by sacrificin’ your kid?

Wealthy Old Man: I-I let her go because I was thinking of that child’s happiness!

Wealthy Old Man: I didn’t think was good for that child to be raised without love.

Jude: ……So ya tryin’ to say it ain’t your fault.

Jude's earthy voice oozed with unconcealed murderous intent.

Jude: Ain’t no way a child can be happy if someone buys ‘em for a pittance.

Wealthy Old Man: That’s……

Perhaps out of guilt, the old man’s eyes wandered around.

He probably knew what would become of Anne, when he sold her to the owner of the mansion.

Kate: That’s too cruel…….Anne’s been waiting for you for a long time……!

Wealthy Old Man: I feel sorry..…. Let's bury the body next to my wife's grave.

The old man looked at the body resting in the corner of the room and quickly looked away, as if he couldn't bear to look at it.

(There’s no sign of mourning for the departed Anne……)

(……Anne’s been waiting for this type of person?)

I was filled with helpless thoughts, but there was nothing I could do..

The only consolation is that Anne smiled when she disappeared.

Jude: ……That’s ‘nough. My business is finished, I’m goin’ home.

Jude suddenly seems to have lost interest and turns on his heel. I followed after him.

Wealthy Old Man: Well, wait. I have a bad foot. I need you to lend me a hand when I go home.

Jude: It’d be nice is somebody came back to pick ya up.

Wealthy Old Man: …….You over there, lend me a hand.

When Jude refused, the old man tried to rely on me.

But, I didn’t want to help him because of what he did to Anne.

As I was wondering how to refuse, Jude grabbed my arm and forcibly led me out.

On the way back home in the carriage, Jude still had a grim expression on his face.

(There was something I wanted to ask Jude, but it didn't seem like I could ask him.)

Jude: ……What. Got somethin’ to say, then say it.

Kate: S-sorry……Um……

Kate: Jude you weren’t like your usual self, you were being lenient, so I wondered why……

Jude likes to make rich people who sit safely in high places to despair.

He’s said before that he’ll never forgive a contract defaulter.

Anne's father fits those two conditions perfectly.

However, Jude didn't push him into a corner or torture him any more than necessary.

Jude: Personally, I was so angry I wanted to kill ‘im.

Jude: But, Anne doesn’t want that.

Kate: Ah……

(……It’s true that Anne loved her father until the end.)

(No matter how angry we are, Anne doesn't want her father to suffer.)

(Instead of being consumed by anger, Jude was thinking about Anne's feelings……)

When I think about Anne, I’m not in the mood to chat.

A quiet moment passed without either of us saying anything.

I wondered how much time passed. Eventually, Jude began speaking to himself.

Jude: No matter how unreasonable it was, you wouldn’t hate it,

Jude: Waiting as a ghost for the day when the promise would be fulfilled.…..

Jude: ……Love is a curse.

After everything that happened in the haunted house was cleared up, I decided to write a report about it.

However, I quickly got stuck, so I went to the lounge for a change of pace.

Jude: ……Ya look gloomy. Still thinkin’ ‘bout the kid?

Kate: ……Yes.

Anne met her father and ascended to heaven with a happy smile on her face.

(Anne must have been happy with that, but…… I still can't get over the feeling in my chest.)

(“Love is a curse……”)

I recall the words Jude muttered in the carriage on the way home.

No matter how unreasonable and cruel her father was, Anne loved her father and kept waiting.

On the other hand, Anne's father was worried that he would be cursed because of breaking his promise due to having no love for her.

(I think what binds people together more firmly than the fear of punishment surely is...love.)

(Jude isn’t the kind of person who is afraid of punishment.)

(If that's the case, then the promise that Jude is trying to keep was also made out of love……?)

Curious about this I looked at Jude, and our eyes met.

Jude: ……Ain’t it better to just forget?

Kate: What……?

Jude: About Anne. Worryin’ ‘bout it is a waste of time.

Kate: ……No, I won't forget.

I will never forget the smile Anne gave me and the time we spent together.

Kate: I will make sure to record this incident in the report, and then……

Kate: I will do my best as a fairytale writer to ensure that such a tragic event is never recorded again.

Kate: I believe that if we use the Crown to defeat evil, we can nip these tragedies in the bud.

Jude: ……Ha. It’d be easier to forget, but I as I thought, you’re a masochist for choosin’ the thorny path.

Jude said in exasperation and left the common room.

Kate: This is fine……

After struggling for several days.…..I finished writing the report on the haunted mansion.

(When I finish writing the report, I always feel like the incident has come to a close.…..)

(.…..I don't think I'll be able to forget this incident any time soon.)

Her father will soon be tried on charges of human-trafficking for selling Anne to the mansion’s owner.

But he doesn't have long to live. Even if he does atone for his sins, it won't be for very long.

(Anne was made to suffer, so is it cruel to want someone to suffer just as much…..)

(……It’s no use. I can’t sleep while thinking about this.)

It felt like my thoughts were getting darker and more stagnant, perhaps because of the silence of the night.

When I headed to the kitchen to get something to drink to refresh my mood,

Victor was there humming while making sweets.

Victor: Oh, good evening Kate. Are you staying up late tonight?

Kate: Yes. I can’t sleep……

Victor: Jude had the same look on his face as you. It must be because of that haunted house mission you two recently did.

For the past few days, I've been going back and forth between the library and my room to finish writing my report.

I never met Jude, so I didn't know what was going on with him.

(I wonder if Jude feels the same way as me.)

Kate: ……Victor, I'm going to check on Jude.

Sorry for the delay. There were several lines that were quite a challenge to translate. Can't wait to see the EN version to be released and see how off I am. Anyway....

**Jude appears to be using proper English when addressing Anne's sperm donor at the start of their conversation, and then he appears to drop it after she ascends to heaven. ***For this line, 御託はええわ (Gotaku wa ewa), was placed before Jude said he was only told to look for the necklace, but I chose to drop this from the t/l. It seems to indicate pretentious/tedious/saucy speech to name a few. It would appear Jude is calling the donor's response tedious, however, this can potentially be translated another way, and I won't bore you with that. But, if anyone knows how, this is rendered properly, kindly let me know in the comments.

[Master Lists] [Bitter End] [Epilogue] Tag List: @theimaginativelyreticent @sapphire-323 Dividers: @/brokenbard

#jude jazza #ikevil jude #ikevil jude jazza #ikevil translations #cybird translations #ikemen translations #ikevil #jude jazza translations

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the-kr8tor · 6 months

Text

Sink or Swim

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Total Word Count: 16k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), Hobie is mentioned taller than R, CW food mentions, CW suggestive, TW blood, CW injury, CW miscarriage mention, TW violence.

A/N: I've divided this chapter into two because of how long it is and tumblr wouldn't let me draft the post without the app crashing. So sorry for the inconvenience. I'll put the link at the end and on top.

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

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CHAPTER 13 >>> CHAPTER 13 II

Hobie's throat feels like he swallowed glass. Yet, he screams until his lungs give out, until his body gives out. Fist pounding into steel, skin splitting, blood staining the metal, he continues to call for you. His ears could only hear your frantic yells, his name falling out of your lips, vomited out desperately, asking for him, calling for him to get you out.

He kicks and thrashes at the metal bars, his mind imagines the worst— nails ripped from your fingers, bones breaking, skin scraped and slashed. He doesn't need to imagine how it could feel for he had lived through it all, survived through sheer will alone. But he promised, he promised to you and in that hollow grave that it will never be filled with your body; that your own blood wouldn't spill in between his fingers.

Yet, like the knife that he is, like the one who breaks skin and bleeds everything he touches— he hurt you, shot you where you stood, when he should've protected you, shielded you from the bullet. But how could he do it when the bullet is from him? When he used the same weapon that has ended dozens of lives to protect his crew, to harm you; the only person he deems worthy of telling all his secrets, you, who is worth more than every single treasure in the world.

Maybe he should've listened to you and stayed on the island.

Hobie calls for you once again, in hopes that you hear him too, in hopes that his voice is enough to bring you hope. The lighthouse that guides you home. But he knows, he knows all you could hear are muffled sounds and the creaking from the rocking ship.

Your voice wavers, like you've been forcefully silenced. So he does the screaming for you. It's loud, tone furious, ready to scratch at anyone who gets closer.

“Hobie—” Gwen tries to get his attention as the door opens, revealing the two guards staying in the doorway, keeping their distance.

Guns are strapped to them, knives glinting in the lamp light, armed to the teeth. Hobie knows it's all for him.

“Shut the fuck up.” One frustratingly said, teeth clenched, hands kneading at his temples.

“Keep screaming and you won't get supper.” The bigger one utters, the large scar on his cheek tightens as Hobie taunts them with a grim smile. The smile he reserves to strike fear.

They stiffen in the doorway, shoulders straight, hands reaching for their weapons.

“Do it then.” Hobie says, voice guttural, hands gripping the bars. “End the screaming.” His sheer tone alone sends everyone's hair to stand upright.

No one in the crew dares to stop Hobie. He doesn't know if they're afraid just like the men in front of him or if they're biding their time to scratch and bite too.

“Come closer and end it.” He doesn't yell, and that terrifies the men in the doorway. “And you'll find out exactly what I did to Admiral Kinney all those years ago.” He can still taste the admiral's ichor on his tongue.

The hulking men share a look, sweat dripping off their brows. And with that, they shut the door behind them, returning to their post with their tails tucked between their legs.

“Cowards.”

If it wasn't a grim situation, James would've laughed.

Hobie hears Gwen sigh behind him, the liquid in her hand sloshes as she practically shoves it in his face.

“At least drink some water. For your throat.”

“No, ‘m not drinking that slop.”

Gwen has had enough, she takes him by the collar, eyes bravely glaring at her captain. “If you want to leave this ship and save her, then drink the slop, eat the fucking bread and keep your goddamn energy for when we get the window to escape. Screaming won't help, captain. It's not helping anyone.” Her jaw is set, eyebrows knitted together.

The rest of the crew stand on the side, ready to get between them if it gets physical. He'll never hurt Gwen, never even thought of it. But he can't stand the thought of his family standing against him rather than next to him. So he fixes it, you'd like it that way.

Hobie gingerly takes the cup, chugging it down in one gulp.

“Good, now eat some bread and sit down.”

“Y/N—” he starts.

“She'll be alright, she's a fighter ain't she?” He nods, “you know her better than us, so tell us, cap'n, that she will survive this.”

He roams his red eyes at his sparse crew. For a brief second he sees the ones he lost behind them. For the first time, he's glad he doesn't see you with them.

Returning his attention towards Gwen, he utters the words with the confidence of a captain.

“She'll survive this.”

—

Sitting down in the corner, he rests his poor throat, the dry bread didn't help much. It was shitty to say the least, times like this, he misses Finn. He'd beat him if he ever knew that he let the famous bloodsail pirates into the hands of a former admiral and you into the hands of someone you fear the most.

Hobie shuts his eyes for a second, he swears it's only for a second but when he wakes up with a start and the door opening with a creak, the moon is already shining outside the large boat.

When he sees you appear by the doorway, he thinks he's still dreaming.

“Ten,” He hears you say between gritted teeth. All he could focus on is you, checking for signs of an injury, he starts from your head—nothing, arms, also nothing, save for a few scratches. Then he settles on your bandaged leg, and he remembers what he did, what he did to you. Guilt and grief overtakes his body, he tries his best to hide into the background, into the wooden walls, to become part of the ship, to hide his shame. Because he hurt you, and he'll never forgive himself for what he did.

Hobie watches from his corner, defeated when you tell him subtly that you're alright. And when you called for him, called his name softly like summer wind breezing by, warm and reminding him of home— he couldn't help but oblige.

Who is he to deny the sky?

When you held him in your hands, he felt anew. Apologies spill from his mouth, eyes forlorn at the red spot on your bandages.

What is the tides without his moon?

He feels lighter when you forgive him. But his past action still haunts him, he knows it'll join the long line of nightmares that plague him at night.

“That's my girl.” He says truthfully and proudly, he feels your heartbeat hasten through your pulse.

You tell him your choice, your decision to give up your freedom for him and the crew. He feels like he was back on the revenge, facing Mathias, refusing to let you go as you offer yourself for their freedom.

His heart beats harder as you ask him to read your mother's letter. He's unsure why you would let someone like him read something as heavy as the letter. It's reserved for someone whose hands wouldn't stain the paper with crimson.

“Because I trust you.” You say, and everything aligns in his mind. Like Poseidon shaking him inside out, like the tides itself is splitting him open.

Hobie reads it with trembling hands and broken skin. Like he thought, it turns the paper pink like ink blots dirtying the pristine paper.

He dictates it, heart shattering at every tear you let out. Wiping your cheeks dry, he's careful not to let his split skin touch your softer ones.

“It's real, innit?” He asks like the earth isn't eating him whole.

“It's real.” You answer and the world caves in around him.

Hobie teases to feel the resemblance of normalcy, “little tomato?” He asks.

And you answer with a “I don't want them, just you.” Like you didn't just mend his shattering heart with one sentence. And you break it right after with a “We'll meet again, in this life or the next.”

He's terrified once again. He shakes his head as the door creaks open. “No, Y/N—”

As you kiss his wounded knuckles gently, you ask him something he can't possibly do.

“Don't follow me, please.”

Reaching for you, he should've read the last line in the letter to you. ‘Don't trust anyone’ it said, whatever it was, it's not your burden to carry, so he'll do it for you.

Hobie apologizes in his head for keeping it away from you and for what he's about to do.

—

With the dinner bell ringing, and heavy footsteps retreating, the crew takes their chance. The key opens the door smoothly. They sneak around the ship, only leaving shadows and footfalls that's barely audible.

Climbing up the steps towards freedom, Hobie spots a door at the end of a hallway. Like two hearts beating as one, he knows it's you behind it.

Miles takes his arm before he could come to you. “Don't.” He whispers to his captain. “Don't waste her sacrifice.”

“She didn't sacrifice herself.” Hobie shakes his head, scoffing quietly. “I can't leave her behind, Miles. I can't.”

“I know,” he pulls him away from the hallway. “she asked you to not follow, so don't follow.”

“If this was Gwen—”

“If this was Gwen we'd be doing the exact same thing. She wouldn't ask us to follow and we'll leave because she asked us to.” Miles spares a heavy glance towards your locked door. “I know it hurts, but we'd be in the gallows by morning if we don't leave now. We'll have another chance at saving her.”

“You don't know that.”

“I don't, but it's better to not know instead of being dead. At least we'd have a chance.” Miles tugs him further away. “Do you think it's better for her to think that she caused our deaths just because you took the chance?” His voice is determined.

“Don't hurt her like that, Hobie. It'll ruin her.”

With one last look towards your door, Hobie nods, following the others to the deck then to safety. As the dinghy drops down into the sea, and into the dark night, he hears Miguel curse his name.

He asks for your forgiveness silently.

—

Hobie and the crew finally make it to the docks without being seen by anyone. It was pure luck that no one saw or even heard them, he thanked the early morning and the still dark sky for lending them a hand.

“We need to wait for her.” He says, stretching his stiff hands from rowing the boat.

The sparse pirate crew hides in the shadows, hidden behind the dark alleyway. They lean on the grimy walls, hands cradling their fatigued heads, huffing and groaning at the aches and pains they had from their daring escape. They can still hear Miguel cursing Hobie's name, his voice ringing in their ears.

“Hobie,” Gwen calls for him. “Leave her be.”

“What the fuck?” Hobie turns sharply. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means we leave her alone.” Pavitr says forlornly, eyes downcast at the dirty pavement.

“We promised her—”

“That was when we didn't know it was her actual family. Back when we all thought Miguel was a threat to her.” Yuri pipes up, hands braced on her knees. Fatigued and clearly needing rest. “I love her, Hobie, I really do. We all love her, but she's with family now. Let her be.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Miles scoffs, “We're talking about the same person right?” He stands next to Hobie, arms crossed on his chest.

“C’mon, Miles,” Gwen says tiredly. “We all heard their conversation, it's real, she's noble—”

“And what of it?” Hobie snaps back. “You were too.”

“I was.” She scowls. “But she has a home to go to, a family that's waiting for her. We need to let her be until for whatever reason she decides to stay or leave with us.” Inhaling sharply, she rubs harshly at her eyes. “Let's make a compromise then. We're all clearly feeling conflicted. I don't want to fully let her go, we all agree right?”

Everyone nods, tension running high, glares thrown about the small group. Gwen continues, “Then we stay close to her, we watch her like when we used to observe potential crew members. But this time we make sure she is actually safe and not thrown to the wolves.” Her idea reminds Hobie why he chose her as his first mate.

“I'll keep first watch,” Hobie quickly says, "we switch after I say so.”

“And when will that be, Hobie?” Yuri clasps her hand on Hobie's shoulder, comforting the man. “You haven't slept a wink, add the fact that you were stranded on a bloody island for a month, you're not in the right state for this.”

“I'll be once I see that she's safe.” His voice cracks, “I didn't keep an eye on MJ and look what happened. I-I don't want that to happen again. Please let me do it. You can follow me all you want just let me keep watch—”

“It's Y/N,” James whisper yells, he peeks around the alley, watching you slowly walk down the ship.

They all clammer to see you ignore Miguel's helping hand. Pride swells in their chest, they remember now why they can't exactly leave you behind— you're family.

As if fate is pulling the strings, you crane your neck to look in their direction. The crew ducks away, but Hobie stays, staring at you, waiting for your signal, anything to indicate that you want to run away with them.

He sees your subtle shake of your head, and with that, he hides with his crew.

“Did she say something?” Pav asks, concerned for you.

“No, nothin’” He holds his heart in his hand. “She said nothin'”

—

Hobie follows you quietly throughout the day. Hiding from Miguel's watchful eyes and your sad eyes. The crew left to rest in an inn, Miles offered to come with him, Hobie's glad he did for he found an unhitched horse in a street corner. But it could only seat one so Miles, the angel that he is, let Hobie go on without him.

“I'll take care of them.” He promises before he lets his captain go.

They all know your house, they've raided their ships before. Crates upon crates full of luxury, with the same design on your necklace stamped on the wooden sides. Hobie knows them quite well, the favourite of the king, always giving them special treatment. Yet the queen holds them at an arm's length away, but she never left her eyes away from their business. He guessed sacking random ships has its perks, gossip is one of them.

Hobie silently trots his horse, eyes never leaving the carriage you just left. The cemetery sends his nerves alight, with the crows cawing in the background, he strains his ear to listen in. He's hiding behind the chapel, the irony doesn't escape him.

The truth is revealed to you, and unbeknownst to you, he has learned about it too. His head is in his hands as he listens to how broken your voice is, tone splitting at the seams. Then his heart stops when you tell your mother that you want to stay, that you want to find the person responsible for their deaths, that the same flames burning inside him now have spread to you.

Hobie doesn't want you to go down the same path he walked on, to let the embers singe your skin, to let the fire burn you from the inside out like it had with him. You helped him through his, helped him control it. Now it's his turn to do so for you.

He cares for you, loves you for all your soft touches and gentle tone. But he's prepared to love you through your jagged edges, through all the anger that's inside you. He'd love both sides of you, because it's you, and no one else.

His foot accidentally steps on a twig as he sees you leave. Hobie almost ran towards you when you looked at the source of the sound. This time he ducks away, knowing that there's eyes on you, eyes that are prepared to take you away the moment they see him. So he waits, until there's no more eyes on you.

The next time he saw you again was when you stepped out of the carriage and into the golden doors of the palace. He's terrified for what's to come, whether or not Miguel has brought you on a silver platter for the wolves to devour.

With his guns accompanying him, he readies outside the walls of the palace until you leave, until he sees you again climbing inside the carriage.

He can finally breathe again, he doesn't have to kill this time. Not yet anyway.

Hobie tries his best to stay hidden, he bribes and lies to get inside Hazelside. Then he waits, and bides his time just to talk to you.

—

“Hazelside estate,” Miguel says when the large manor looms over the horizon. “Your family has owned it for two hundred years. Passed down to every first born child of the family.”

Acres and acres of land stretch across the vast space. Primed apple trees and oaks line the road, men and women in work clothes walk near the carriage, not even craning their necks to take a peek inside. It seems this was a daily occurrence for them.

“Two hundred years.” You repeat, contemplating how many generations owned it. “So it's mine once the papers are signed? Where would my…uncle and aunt go then?” Your mind goes through a hundred scenarios where you stay and where you decide to leave it all again.

“They have their own house. Granted it's not as big as Hazelside but it's enough for them. Knowing his majesty, he'd take his sweet time from releasing the papers.”

“How well do you know the king and queen?” You ask, eyes scanning your family's land.

Stone houses are standing miles away from the main estate, employees of the house you think. Chimneys billow out smoke whilst the sun is just about to rise. You imagine them having breakfast with their families, sleep still clinging in their lashes, hot tea wrapped in their cool hands. Opening the window, the smell of fresh apples wafts over you. Home, you think. It smells like home. Or it just reminds you of the apple tarts Jessica made for you when you were younger.

“You alright?” Miguel asks, watching you frown.

“I'm fine, just tired.” You lied, in truth, you miss them all.

“You had a hectic day, I don't blame you. You'll get to rest soon, I promise.”

How could you even think of sleeping alone? After being near him? After saying goodbye?

“You didn't answer my question.” You shift your attention from the trees to the man before you. “How well do you know them?”

“I barely know the queen, but the king? Yes, short answer? He's a moron, a buffoon wearing a crown.”

Lyla snickers next to you, head plopped on the carriage wall, seemingly asleep.

You smile, “You have a monkey for a king.”

“Once you're the Hazelside duchess, he'll be your king too.”

“Christ.” You chuckle nervously.

“Don't worry, I'll help you get accustomed to polite society.” Miguel reassures you and you still have no idea if you'll stay long enough to bear the title.

“Polite society.” You say with a scoff, “What I just saw wasn't very polite.”

“Just remember, everything here is political. Everyone here is climbing the ladder, kissing the royal asses. Some are doing it for their families, some are doing it for their personal gain.”

“Which one do you think I am?”

“Neither.” The carriage stops, horses neighing, hooves stomping on the gravel. “You're not like them, Y/N, that's why you'll end up walking all over them.”

The footman opens the door, Miguel gives you a look before coming down the small steps. He reaches towards you, helping you down. You hesitate. You still don't take his hand even with your bad leg.

The wind blows cold, goosebumps appearing on your skin, face worried at the sheer size of the manor. The glinting silvered birds catch the early morning's sun's rays. Beady eyes seemingly blinking when a cloud passes by.

Vines cling to the ancient walls, small purple flowers run along the plant and along the large windows. Strong columns line the façade, laurels carved on the marble, oak doors displaying the house sigil— your necklace bearing a similarity to it. Flower beds cradling violets lay by the foot of the building, blooming and fragrant. The smell hiding your trepidation from the dozen or so people watching you with unreadable eyes.

The staff greets you with a stiff nod, they stand on the stairs leading towards the manor. Their uniforms are perfect, perfectly ironed and clean; perfect white gloves on their hands.

A couple of them help your drunk uncle off their own carriage. He groans, head swirling, eyes rolling to the back of his head. Fancy clothes sweaty and moist, neckerchief lopsided and dirtied by ale. In contrast to his wife, who looks tired with the heavy eye bags under her eyes, she still looks like a proper noble compared to Frederick.

“Freddy—” She groans, kicking her husband's leg, “get up!”

“Darling…” he slurs, “there's two of you—oh wait…now there's three!” His guffaw fills the quiet morning.

Victoria gives up, leaving the man to the care of her staff. She walks off, huffing and puffing. She gives you a glance, “what are you waiting for? Get inside.”

Her eyes flick to Miguel who stands behind you, she immediately clamps down her bitterness. “Welcome to Hazelside, niece.” With a stomp of her heeled foot, she heads inside, no doubt seething.

“Catty.” Lyla says next to you, elbowing your side. “C’mon, your grace, before the sun gets in their eyes and sends them into a murderous frenzy.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. Something flickers in your peripheral vision, when you move your head to look, whatever it was, it's already gone behind the thick bushes.

“Y/N?” Miguel beckons you over. “It's cold out, come inside before you get sick.”

“Coming,” you call back, eyes darting around the thicket.

—

Miguel shows you around to your room in the west wing. Various historical paintings decorate the walls, wooden simple frames around them, showing the true beauty of the art without all the extravagant gold laurels around it.

Sculpted busts of your ancestors wait at every corner, marble eyes staring blankly at what's in front of them. Large windows line the walls, just outside the glass lies an expansive field of apple trees, bulbs of reds and greens adorning the branches of the mighty orchard. You stand in awe at the sight, workers start flocking the trees, picking and plucking at the ripest of fruits. The sun shines directly at the field, apples aglow with its light like red and green stars.

You lag behind Miguel as you gawp at the scenery, hand tucked inside the pocket of your gown, mindlessly rolling the pearl. Wishing the crew could see it too, wishing that he could see it and harvest the fruits with you.

Miguel calls for you, hand reaching but he retracts it back to his side. “Apples are new around here.” You genuinely smile at him, so he continues. “It used to just be hazelnuts, which still grow plenty in the estate.”

“Why the change then?”

“They didn't change, your family merely adapted. Your grandmother was the one who started planting the apple trees. Whenever she had a—” Miguel falters, you can practically see his brain turning.

“Had a what? I'm a big girl, Miguel, I can handle whatever it is.” You encourage him with a nod.

“A miscarriage,” he says lowly, “At the end of her life she planted seven trees. There was only one seed she didn't plant and that was when your mother was born.”

Your heart aches at the story even though the people in it are practically strangers to you. “Apple of her eye.” You murmur.

Miguel chuckles, turning to watch the vast orchard that spans acres upon acres of land. “It’s an understatement. She was spoiled, your mother. But she had a heart, most of her gifts almost always ‘gets lost’ somewhere.” He smiles fondly. “Strangely enough, it always ends up with someone who would benefit from it more.”

“Which one ended up getting lost in your backyard?” You smile at his rare grin.

“A lot, pocket watches, jeweled eggs, there was a kitten once. Only because her mother didn't like it.” He sighs, hazel eyes shining under the sunlight.

“You loved her.”

“I did,” he stares at you with kinder eyes. “She was my best friend, and so was your father. They both were.”

“What did you mean back at the carriage when you told me that they did the same to you?”

He swallows thickly, staring back at the outside of the opulent manor. “My daughter, Gabriella.” he says after a moment, “She was only a few years older than you. Your parents were her godparents, this was before they eloped and had you.” You can feel the strain in his voice. “She got sick…they poured everything into giving her the best doctors the country has to offer. They were at her side while I was drowning my sorrows in the navy. When they weren't by her side, they were with me. But in the end everything was all in vain.”

“I'm sorry,” you say genuinely, “I'm sorry, Miguel.”

He gives you a tight smile and a pat on your shoulder. “Even after all that they were still by my side, even when I pushed them away.” Sniffing, he subtly wipes his eye. “I didn't cross the sea and traveled thousands of miles to find you because I want us to be even. Or to pay the debt, I just wanted to find the last thing they left in hopes that I also find them in you.” His chest heaves. “I couldn't even say goodbye to them.”

There's tears in your eyes as he chokes on his own words. “I lost my friends but you lost your family before you could even meet them. And for that, I'm sorry, Y/N.” His hand shakes. “They didn't deserve what happened to them.”

“Tell me what happened to them.” You stand toe to toe with him, determined to get answers.

“Pirates, I told you they were pirates.”

You shake your head. “Do you really believe that, O’Hara? Or are you still trying to convince yourself otherwise?”

His jaw clenches, “It was pirates, Y/N.”

“Tell that to the former navy medic I call mother.”

He whispers, “the last time I looked further into their deaths I lost my Job, stripped of all my titles. I almost lost my house because of it.”

“Then tell me what you found.” You challenge him back. “Tell me who ordered it so I can live in this house in peace.”

“I don't have definitive proof—”

“Who?”

“Edward.” He says through gritted teeth. “He wanted to marry your mother, even going as far to ask for her hand. But when she refused him for your father—” he heaves. “I think he has probable cause to order the attack.”

“You were answering the man who might've killed my parents and wanted me dead?”

“How do you think that makes me feel, hm? I had my full trust in the navy, trusting the report they gave, trusted them with my whole life, even dedicating my life to them. And the moment I get a whiff of a planned murder on the only family I've ever had they bar me from the only life I've ever known. How do you think that made me feel?”

“I'm sorry you went through that but you could've done something.”

“He is king!” Miguel's voice booms around the hallway. He shifts his voice, pinching his knitted brows. “His word is law, I couldn't have done anything, even if I had proof.”

“You should've started with that instead of telling me lies, then I would've come to you without a fight.”

“There would've still been a fight.” He states matter of factly. “Hobie was ready to fight the moment I stepped below deck.”

“Could you blame him though? We both know not every single pirate crew is as nice as them, he didn't attack because you claimed it was pirates. Or that he was offended, he knows that he has done unsavoury things too. So what did you say that made him lunge at you?”

Miguel shakes his head, refusing to say anything. “It's best that you don't remember it.”

“Fine, be like that, just know that there will always be a wall between us.” Your heels clack loudly against the oak floors as you leave him behind.

—

The room they gave you was surprisingly comfortable, unlike the apartments in the palace that you explored. It's ten times bigger than the inn you were in, complete with your own bathroom and sitting room. It's all wooden walls covered in beautiful tapestries of various scenes from history— the thick cloth helps keep the heat inside. All the windows are wide open to let the cool air in and the moonlight. So you could hear the rustling of the trees outside, so you could smell the crisp apples. It helps, you think as you sit in front of the large stone fireplace with birds engraved in every corner of the stone.

You're already sick of the bloody birds.

You wrap the fur blanket closer to your body, still in your gown, refusing to wear anything else they've provided for you. You've heard of poisoned dresses before, it's far-fetched but you can't risk it now that you're in a more unfamiliar territory where your own family holds a grudge against you just for existing.

Especially now that you're alone in a large room filled with strange things. And with only his dagger to keep you safe.

Anyone would kill to be in your shoes right now, to be pampered and placed in a household that can provide for all your needs. If it weren't for the hunger in you, you would've left all of the gold in this house just to get back to them. Instead, the fire has you in its hold too.

Miguel's information only fueled the glowing embers in you, you're determined to find who killed them. But you're still restrained in this large manor, and until you can get your answers, you say their names to satiate the hunger.

“Edward and Mathias.” You say through shuddered breath, feeling if you could just say it louder, the sky would strike them down where they stood.

The pearl in your hands is warm, the shiny surface reflecting your scowl.

The flames mesmerize you as it dances in the kindling. Orange and reds illuminate your face, it's the only light in the whole room. You exhale and a puff of clouds escape your cool lips.

It's getting colder, and you're missing him.

Just when you're about to stand up to close the windows, a pebble lands near you. It thuds on the wooden floors, the sound gets your attention.

“What the hell?” You say confused. Standing back up, another flies through the open windows and into your room. “Who the fuck?” Speed walking towards the window, you almost get hit by a pebble if you didn't dodge it in time. “Hey!”

Fifteen feet below your window, you see two people dressed in their night clothes, bundled up in fur coats. They look up at you with wide eyes, like they got caught with their hands inside the cookie jar.

“Cousin!” One exclaims, a wide apologetic smile on his lips, showing you his perfect teeth. “Sorry about that! Can you come down?”

“Who in the world are you?” You ask, confused, you lean down to take a better look, hands gripping the sill for support.

“We're your cousins! I guess?” The girl next to him says, eyes shining in the moonlight, hand holding another pebble. “We waited to see you during supper and around the house but you were apparently hiding!”

“Alright, why do I need to come down then?”

“Because we want to properly introduce ourselves! Without screaming at you from below that is.” The girl shrugs, smiling prettily at you. “Please, cousin?”

“...fine.” you grumble, the dagger is still hidden underneath your skirt in case they're planning something nefarious.

They beam up at you, the girl daintily claps her hands. “Brilliant! We'll be waiting at the entrance.”

As you trudge down the unfamiliar sprawling halls, trying your hardest to not get lost in the maze-like structure. You accidentally encounter another painting of your mother.

Her name is etched on a golden plaque just below the portrait. This one was different from the one in the palace, she was stiff there, lips tightly closed into a line, eyes cold and empty. The one in front of you is warm, a soft smile on her lips, eyes shining and alive. Her dress is in lilac, golden stars adorning the bodice. She still wore the same necklace you're currently wearing, it rests perfectly on her neck. In her hand is a closed locket, you wonder whose portrait lies inside.

“Hi, mum.” You whisper into the cold hallway. “Where's dad's portrait?” You ask like she would open her mouth and answer back. With a sigh, you head downstairs.

Walking the ancient floors, the moon shines down at you, the light peeking in from the gaps of the heavy curtains. Silently, you meet with your cousins in the foyer. Carefully coming down the curved staircase, hand gripping the bannister, the boy who is about the same age as Miles meets you halfway. He reaches towards you, giving you a hand.

“I heard about your leg, I thought you'd appreciate some help.”

“You're Frederick's children?” You say, questioning whether or not you should take his hand.

“We are,” he says with a sigh. “Come on, cousin, or you might miss it.”

“Miss what?”

“The birds.” The girl waiting in the foyer excitedly says. “They're migrating.”

“Oh, I don't see why that would be so interesting.” You say as the boy flexes his fingers, beckoning you down.

“You’ll see why. Take my hand please, you look like our grandmother going down the steps.”

“Fine,” with an exhale, you take his hand. You hold his hand, a feather light touch that he barely feels, giving yourself enough time to react if he decides to do something.

“I'm Jonathan, or just John.” He says as he gently leads you down the steps. His stride is slow, waiting for your own feet to keep up. “And this is my sister—”

“Collette!” She suddenly clasps your hands when you reach the last step. “Sorry–” her tone is sweet and genuine, quickly removing her hands from yours. “I got too excited! I'm Collette, my brother and I are twins.”

“Unfortunately…” John says under his breath.

Collette jabs her elbow by his side, earning a groan from him. You see the similarities on their faces now that you're closer to them. From the slope of their noses to the curls of their hair, they look very much alike. Except for their eyes, Collette has emerald eyes that shimmer from the oil lamp she carries. While her brother has brilliant blue eyes that remind you of the sea when the sun shines above it.

You get reminded of him again.

“Who's older?” You ask teasingly, pushing the previous thought away.

“I am!” They both speak at the same time. John looks at her sister with disappointment, while Collette scrunches her nose.

“I'm five minutes older than you, Jojo.” She says with a tone you could only describe as annoyed.

“Father told me I'm the one who's five minutes older. Not you!”

“Sure,” she nods sarcastically, the lamp in her hand sways. “Because father was in the room when we were born.” Her head swivels to look at you, and you almost jump at how fast she moved. “He wasn't in the room.”

“Ah, I think I got it—”

“Like you could bloody remember.” John says with a scoff.

Before the argument could go on, you stop them with your hands on each of their shoulders.

“I need to sleep, so whatever you want to show me, just fucking show me.”

Collette stares at you with a gasp, eyes wide like you just said the darndest thing. Meanwhile, John has the biggest grin you've ever seen.

“Wow, cousin.” He says, amused. “I heard you used to run with pirates but I didn't know you got their vocabulary too. Hazelside would be more interesting now that you're here.”

“Gosh,” Collette exhales, clutching her pearls (literally) “I didn't know that word could be uttered by a woman.”

“You should try it sometimes. It's very freeing.” You chuckle at their reaction whilst you make your way outside. “Before we freeze to death, cousins?”

“The oldest should lead the way.” John takes the opportunity to rag on his still bewildered sister.

She groans audibly. “You're not the one with the lamp.”

You smile, there's a warm familiar feeling in your chest.

—

Leaves crunch under your bare foot, you've got blisters from the uncomfortable heels Miguel gave you. You'd take walking on bare feet rather than wear that torture device ever again. The only plus side of the fancy shoe is that it makes you feel powerful with every click of the heels. Walking along a path, tall apple trees carve a way for you and the twins.

“I like your dress.” Collette says right next to you, you sense her wariness by how she keeps her distance. “The color is beautiful, it's our house color.”

“Thank you, but I've been told that red suits me better.”

“Oh, I think they're right actually.” She smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Yeah, I'm slowly getting used to this one though.” You lift up your skirt a bit for emphasis.

“Is it true that you were shot?” John asks in front of you, looking over his shoulder. “We heard from the footmen that you were shot by a pirate when O’Hara rescued you.”

“I was, but that's not the whole story. Miguel didn't rescue me.”

“Really?” Collette's brows are raised in question and surprise. You nod at her question. “Huh, I told you we shouldn't listen to gossip.” She slaps her brother on his bicep, he winces, glaring at her. “It's bad to begin with.”

“That's the thing about gossip, Co, it's not always the truth.” He spits out.

“I knew that, pssh.” She crosses her arms on her chest, annoyed and embarrassed.

“Why are we out here again? If you're planning to ambush me—” Colette gasps loudly, like you've shot her.

“Ambush you? Do we look like we know how to fight?” She stops you from going further down the path just as you see a dark river at the end of it.

John knits his brows with a pout. “We're here to give you a warm welcome, cousin. We heard mother and father didn't even give you a tour, so I guess it falls on us to show you around.”

“At night though?” You gesture around the silence of the grounds, save for a few crickets chirping and the flowing of the lake, you're practically alone in the dark.

“Guess we're just living to our house motto, ‘carpe noctem—’”

“‘Seize the night’” Collette finishes her brother's sentence. “The ancestor who established our house was a gambler.” She shrugs.

“That's our house motto?”

“Nope!” Collette answers you. “It was our house motto.” She gestures to herself and her brother. “Before the crown granted us Hazelside, after—” John elbows her. “I'm sorry.”

“It's alright, what's the actual motto?”

“‘alis volat propriis—’”

“‘She flies with her own wings.’” You translate, the siblings look at you with awe. “There's latin in medicine.”

“You know medicine?!” Collette shrieks, the sound echoing through the dark.

“Brilliant.” John murmurs.

“Oh you must tell us more!” Collette loops her arm around yours, walking side by side. “How and where did you learn it?”

“I—”

“Don't pester her, Co.” John clicks his tongue, “have you cut anyone's arm off?”

“How grim!” She exclaims.

As they lead you towards the sparkling lake, you three chat through the night by the banks of the hazelside lake. They ask about the world outside the capital, they ask about the sea and the pirates you were with. You don't tell them about all the blood and violence, deciding that you shouldn't mar their innocent hearts with stories of death. It's not yours to tell, and you don't want to traumatize the only people who don't look at you with contempt.

“So you're not mad at me or even at least a bit annoyed for showing up and taking the estate from your parents?” You ask whilst the sun slowly rises, bathing the lake in bright blue. The hazelnuts in your mouth is a welcome one since you haven't eaten a single bite since you got to the capital.

“Not really.” John munches on his own pile of hazelnuts. He lounges near the water, hand cradling his head, chewing quietly. “We were surprised at first because there have been a handful of girls who claimed to be you. Who were obviously not you.” You raise an eyebrow at his statement. “But when they told us it was Miguel who found you, we were sure it was really you.”

“Wait— there were people who claimed to be me?”

“Mm-hmm.” Collette hums, sitting close to you, hanging on to every word you utter. “They weren't very convincing.”

“The story of Miguel trying to find you was pretty famous around here. I mean, the guy abandoned his post to find a missing duchess who may or may not be alive. That was a big story back then, so a lot of women threw their daughters and young relatives at the manor's gates to get a chance.” John informs you.

“We were quite young back then, but the fakes dwindled away through the years.” Collette finishes his statement.

“‘Quite young’ she says,” he scoffs, “we were barely out of the womb, Collette.” His sister sticks out her tongue at John.

“Huh, that's probably why I haven't heard of it either, I was still young.” You wonder.

“The sun's almost out!” Collette points at the clear sky. “Get ready, cousin, because you're about to see the most gorgeous thing.”

“The birds here migrate at this time of year,” John helps you both up to your feet. You surprisingly take his hand. “like clockwork. Collette and I used to watch it with our parents before they got all…well, too much. Now it's some sort of tradition for us.”

“Look look! The trees are rustling!” She points, jumping up and down.

“Any minute now.” John smiles at his sister as she half hugs him.

The three of you wait for a sign of the birds, a minute passes, then two, then five. Yet, not even a feather flies overhead. The early morning sun shines brighter with every minute that passes. And with every minute, the twins grew agitated.

“Why aren't they coming out?” Collette asks sadly.

“I'm sure they're just getting ready for the journey.” John reassures his sister with a pat on her shoulder. “My calculations are correct, why aren't they here yet?” He questions no one.

Their slumped shoulders and frowns get to you. An idea pops in your head, and you think it's all Hobie's fault.

“Maybe they're still sleeping.” They look at you simultaneously, “I mean it's really cold out, they probably wanted to stay in bed— or nest to sleep more. I know I would want to.”

“Oh,” Collette gives you a small smile at your attempt to make them feel better. “That's probably it. Thank you, cousin.”

You grin mischievously at them, “what if we wake them all up?”

John makes a face. “How?”

You inhale, putting your hands around your mouth, you scream, “wake the fuck up!” The sound echoed throughout the field and across the lake.

Your cousins let out a loud guffaw, you giggle at their reaction. John joins in, copying your actions.

“Wake up you wankers!” He yells, exhilaration filling his chest. “I've always wanted to say that.” Chuckling, he laughs louder at the face his sister is making.

“Johnathan!” His sister gasps next to him.

“What? Try it out! Come on then! No one's out here to tell us off.” John shakes her shoulder, giving you a wide grin.

“Join us in the dark side, Collette.” You sing song, “the birds need a wake up call.”

“You won't tell mother and father?” She asks the both of you. Wiggling, she’s excited.

Crossing your heart, you promise. “I won't, I'm not a tattletale.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die, Co.”

“Alright.” She exhales deeply before letting loud the loudest scream you've ever heard. “Wake up, cocksuckers!” It's so loud that you swear your eardrums are blown out. Smiling, she turns towards your surprised forms.

Now it's you and John's turn to gasp.

“Cocksucker?!” You exclaim, bewildered.

“Where'd you learn that, Co?!” John pokes his sister.

“I heard it when Mrs. Williams stubbed her toe during lessons.” She said shyly.

“Good on you, sis.” He pats her back. “Good on you.”

Collette looks at you expectantly. “Good show, Co.” You wink at her and she giggles happily.

Facing towards the thick trees across the lake, the birds still don't fly overhead. There's nothing but the wind rustling the branches.

“They didn't wake up though.” She says forlornly.

“What if we do it at the same time?” Your words have them smiling again.

“Yes!” They say simultaneously.

“Ready?” They both nod, taking in air before screaming their hearts out.

“Cocksuckers!” The three of you let out simultaneously. The canopy rustles and out comes a hundred or so birds from the thicket.

You all jump up and down, arms up in greeting the birds. Their feathers shine in the sun, light filtering through their wings. Iridescent blues and whites glowing, reflecting in your eyes. Wings flapping loudly, beaks held up high as they greet the sky with open wings.

Amidst the beauty of it all, you wish that he was there to witness it.

A tear slides down your cheek. You wipe it quickly before the twins notice. Head staring up at the sky, amidst all the beauty and light, there's a darkness swirling inside you. Amidst all the life around you, you feel the opposite. And you miss him. The worst part is, you see this place becoming your home.

>>> CHAPTER 13 II

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junkissed · 3 months

Note

soooo I can't stop thinking about ocean's view 😭 like I loved it sm 🥹 can you spare some thoughts.. about what happened after 👁️ I hope they didn't live very far away from each other 😭 also wtf jun is so romantic for saying he imagined himself with you at the altar like wtf boy do you want me on the floor for you and your cuteness 😭

yes ofc!! so it's implied that they're from the same city because they're at the same wedding so it would make sense that they both live close to the bride & groom, and therefore close to each other. probably nearby but not too close, and because reader doesn't go to many parties it would make sense they haven't seen each other before even though they share mutual friends. i imagined it as opposite sides of the same town so they're probably like 15 to 30 minutes apart at most :) so still pretty close and they will definitely get together officially once they get back home! i had a couple extra scenes planned at the end (that i didn't end up writing because i didn't have the energy and i just really wanted to get the fic done lol) so i'll put it in bullet points under the cut :)

member — junhui x reader word count — 0.9k warnings — fluff, bullet points, slightly suggestive but no details read the original fic: "ocean view" here! this is a continuation of the story so it won't make sense if you haven't read the fic so go do that first lol

jun sits at your table for the whole reception and you have really great conversations getting to know each other

at some point joshua comes around asking if anyone has seen where he's supposed to sit because he can't find his name tag. jun points him towards his old seat and slips joshua's name card into his pocket when he's not looking, so they did successfully switch and no one found out lol

there's eating, dancing, more secret kissing in the corner once it gets dark and no one can see them

but it gets late, so you and jun decide it's time to part ways. and obviously this time you make sure to exchange phone numbers and info before you leave because there's no way you're throwing away this opportunity twice in a row

you tell jun you'd love to spend the night with him again, but that you have to leave for your flight tonight. jun laughs and says it wouldn't have worked anyway; his flight is also tonight, and he suggests that you carpool. you still don't know that you're from the same city, so you assume he's just joking and you give him another kiss (a very passionate one that almost makes you rethink turning down the carpool offer) but then you both go back to your hotels to pack.

you get to the airport that night and you've just gotten through security and you're walking around looking for your gate and guess who you bump into? and he not only happens to be headed to the same city as you, but he's also on the same airline, the exact same flight at the exact same time!

you sit in the waiting area together and laugh about fate and coincidences, and you're starting to believe what the tarot lady said because the circumstances are too perfect and everything is working out a little too perfectly

you keep chatting until the plane starts boarding, and you get called up to board first so you assume this is (finally) where you say goodbye. you wave and give him a hug and promise to meet up again once the plane lands

you're settled in your seat, pulling out your phone to text him and see where he's sitting, when you hear a voice beside you and you look up and there he is again

he makes a joke about how you just can't seem to get rid of him, and you tell him that you wouldn't want to get rid of him even if you tried, because you already did try and you're glad that the universe had other plans

turns out you're not just on the same flight but your seats are also right next to each other, so there's no need to bribe anyone to switch this time hehe

it's a long flight but it passes by quickly because you have such good company :) lots more talking and getting to know each other

maybe towards the end of the flight he starts to get a little handsy, because he's wanted you so bad ever since he saw you again at the wedding but he was trying to be polite and all that tense sexual energy is finally getting to him

but you manage to hold off until you make it off the plane, and since your house isn't too far out of his way anyway you do decide to actually carpool home

now it's your turn for payback and you're teasing him the whole time he's driving

then you finally arrive at your house and you can't keep your hands off of each other any longer so he decides to spend the night... and you can imagine the rest

you ignore a whole bunch of texts from jeonghan who is demanding to know all the details because he saw you leaving the wedding with jun and you had the biggest smile on your face and he needs to know whether you reconnected with your mystery man or not

another fun detail that i wanted to add but didn't end up writing: for the bachelorette party the night before the wedding, they hired a stripper named hoshi and he was wearing a tiger print thong giving everyone lap dances

i won't be writing a sequel to this fic since this is basically all that i had planned and i've already put it into bullet points, but i hope you liked this little extra snippet!! i always love sharing stuff that didn't make it into the final fic so always feel free to send asks like this <3

no taglist since this isn't really a fic, but you can always join my permanent taglist here!

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holdmytesseract · 1 year

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hey my love ❤️ can I resquest u something?

daryl is expecting a child with the reader where he is super excited but he also spends his time outside, looking for things for his baby.. but he receives a call from rick saying that his girlfriend is in the infirmary and when he arrives he finds out that the reader lost the pregnancy and he takes care of her and pampers her a lot those days after they both take great care of each other, because he will also be super sad😭

Sorry for my bad english 🤦

Into Shards

Daryl Dixon x pregnant!Reader

Summary: When Daryl is outside the walls, looking for stuff for yours and his baby, he gets called back by Rick - only to come home to devastating news...

Warnings: Major trigger warning here! Miscarriage! pregnancy things, walkers, fluff, bit blood

Set in the beginning of season 9!

Word Count: 2,2k

a/n: Hi nonny! Thank you for the request! ☺️💚 I am honest... I don't know if I should love this one, or not. I tried to write a bit action as well, but it probably isn't the best... Hope you like it nevertheless! 🙈

Tagging: @km-ffluv @loz-3 @stitchintimefan @peaches1958 @fictive-sl0th @lou12346789 @in-this-minute @hotgirlsshareaccounts @sweetpeapod @fuseburner @azanoni @bookofsecretjourneys

Masterlist

"'M goin' back out today. That okay for ya?" Daryl asked, while buttoning up the last few buttons of his black shirt and rolling up the sleeves. You smiled at him, stretched and stood up; leaving the cosy bedsheets behind. "Of course." You said, stepping closer and watching him slip in his angel-winged vest. Both your hands found their way on his chest, softly tugging on the cold, smooth fabric of the famous leather vest. "As long as you're coming back to us..." You whispered with a smile; your eyes never leaving his beautiful blue-greyish ones.

Us... The word hit Daryl like a ton of bricks - in the best way possible, though. It caused the ends of his nerves to sizzle. An overwhelming feeling of warmth and love flooding his veins. Us... He couldn't stop himself from smiling that signature sweet, small, boyish smile. "Ain't gonna ever leave ya two alone," he stated, shaking his head. One hand settled on your left hip, while the other found your yet non-existent baby bump. Although Daryl always stated, that he was already able to feel the tiny, innocent life. Despite the fact that you were barely eight to ten weeks along - according to Siddiq. Whenever he said that, you'd just giggle and shake your head.

"'M always goin' to come back for ya. 'Specially now." Your smile even widened; one hand reaching up to brush a chestnut brown curl out of his handsome face. "I know." You stood on your tippy-toes to brush your lips against his; eyelids fluttering shut.

"I can't convince you to let me join you, can I?" Daryl scoffed playfully, shaking his head. "Absolutely not. Ain't lettin' you walk around out there." You sighed, but giggled. "Thought so... Take care out there, yes? Be safe." Your boyfriend nodded. "'Course. Promised." "Good." You kissed him again. "I'll be back 'fore the sun's goin' down."

Daryl grabbed his crossbow then, his knives and took one of the pick-up's. His bike would've been a bit too small for his task ahead. With a last look at you and a soft smile, he left Alexandria; off to find and scavenge stuff for the baby.

Around midday, Daryl was already several miles away from home, searching every square inch of a few smaller cities around D.C. Daryl knew that it probably wasn't the best idea to be close to such a big city, but that didn't scare him.

Now he was sneaking down the streets of a rather very small city he didn't know the name of. Not much houses, only a few shops. His eyes landed on an old building. Not big and plain. Unimportant, unnecessary. He was about to walk past it, when he recognised the small sign over the old, rusty door... 'Smith's Baby Store'. Wasn't that exactly what he was looking for? "Finally," he muttered to himself under his breath, drawing his knives. With his foot, he kicked against the unstable door, listening for any signs of walkers. Nothing.

Carefully, he opened the door. It didn't budge at first, but with a little more strength, it finally gave in - as if someone was inside it before him. Looking around to check the street for any stray walkers - which wasn't the case, he stepped inside the small house. Daryl noticed immediately, that this house was constructed very... strange. The door didn't lead straight into the shop. It led into a long, dark hallway - with only three other doors. One on the left, one on the right and one at the end of the hallway. Daryl sneaked on quiet feet down the squeaking hallway; the old wood creaking underneath his weight. He checked the two rooms on the sides first, but found nothing. One room was already scavenged. Not much things were left. Most of the items useless and broken. The other room was nothing more than a broom closet with dusty cleaning supplies.

Daryl let out a slightly annoyed groan, before he made his way to the last room. The sparse wooden door wasn't locked. It was slightly ajar, making it easy for the archer to open it. The door led into a big room, full of shelves and cupboards, in which several baby things were. A smile twitched at the corners of Daryl's lips. Jackpot. But just a moment later, his expression shifted into a frown. The building had been clearly scavenged already, so... Why leave this room out? Why not take these things as well?

The answer got the archer only seconds after the thought had crossed his mind. He took a few steps inside the room - and immediately felt the floor giving softly in underneath him; bending under his weight. The wood was rotten, dilapidated and more than unstable. Daryl walked backwards again, biting his lip and weighing his options. Should he risk it? Should he not? He didn't know what was beneath the floor. Perhaps the basement? He could've sworn he had seen a small stair in the other room, leading down to a door. The basement couldn't be that bad, could it? And perhaps the floor held him, so... Daryl had been way too long on his way today and the past days - weeks. He didn't want to go home once again empty handed.

So, he took the risk - and paid for it almost immediately. The old wood held his weight the first time and also the second time - but not the third. It gave in underneath him, creaking and aching, causing the archer to fall - like he had predicted into the basement. With a thud, he landed on his back, groaning. "Shit." Only a tiny window let the sunlight in and illuminated the dark, dusty and... smelly room. His ears were ringing from the fall, his senses blinded for a moment, causing him to not realise instantly, what he got himself into.

Only when the sounds of low snarls and snapping teeth urged slowly but surely to his ears, he realised. Daryl's eyes widened in shock and surprise, before he scrambled to get up from the cold ground. The window didn't let much light in... But enough to show that said basement was filled with more than just two walkers... Way more than two. Daryl grimaced - in pain and frustration. "Damn it!" The walkers noticed him, of course, immediately and went straight at him. Daryl reached for his knife to get rid of the first undead, attacking him; all the while scanning the room for the door. He had to get out of this.

Unfortunately - just in that moment, while he was fighting the undead, started his walkie talkie to give forth some static hissing, before Rick's voice echoed across the basement. "Daryl?!" The archer got rid of another walker, plunging his knife into its rotten skull, before retrieving the weapon again, and reached for the walkie talkie attached to his belt. He thought it had been the last one, but just as he was about to answer his brother, another walker lunged at Daryl from behind, with such an impact that the little, black device slipped from Daryl's hand, along with his knife. A grunt left his lips as he tried to get the undead man away from him. He turned and stumbled to the ground with the walker landing on top of him. Its foul breath hitting Daryl's face; rotten teeth snapping at him, mere inches from his neck. "Daryl?! Do you copy?!" Rick's voice called out for him again. Daryl gritted his teeth and used all his force to shove the undead away from him. Quickly he reached for his knife and killed the walker. Panting, he fell back on his back, catching his breath. "Come on, Daryl! It's urgent!" Rick sounded almost desperate by now. Daryl took a deep breath and stood up to get the walkie talkie. "Rick? Rick! I'm here." He panted, wiping some blood from his face. "Sorry, man. Had to get rid of a few walkers."

Rick answered instantly. "Thank god. Daryl, you gotta get back here! Quick!" The man frowned, making his way to the small door of the basement. "Why?" "Y/N's in the infirmary! She-" Rick's voice broke and Daryl's heart dropped. You were in the infirmary? Fear and panic immediately started to rise within the archer. "Rick?!" He literally screamed into the walkie talkie, "Rick!" but all he got in return was static hissing. "Fuck's sake!" The archer cursed and slammed the device on the ground, before he literally run up the stairs and out of the house. Something was wrong, if you were in the infirmary - and whatever it was, he had to get back to Alexandria as fast as possible.

The gates got opened immediately, as soon as Daryl approached Alexandria. The archer didn't even bother to park the pic-up on its rightful place. He jumped out of the vehicle and slammed the door shut; seeing Rick already running his way. "Daryl!" The archer met his friend midway. "Wha' happened?! What's wrong with 'er?!" "You better see for yourself...," was all Rick said - a sorrowful look on his face. Daryl didn't let himself tell that twice, of course. As fast his legs could carry him, he sprinted to the infirmary. Without even knocking he ripped the door open and stormed in - attracting Siddiq's attention. "Daryl." "Where is she?!" The archer walked up and down the room like a wounded tiger; tried to push past the doctor - but Siddiq stood firmly in his way and tried to calm him down. "Daryl, calm down. Y/N's in the last room down the hall. Let me explain first, okay?" The black-haired man lifted his hands as if in surrender. Another try to calm the worked up man across him down. Daryl's chest heaved, as he grunted and gave the doctor a short nod - which Siddiq returned. "You... You might want to sit down for this." "Nah, 'm good. Tell me wha' happened." The doctor took a deep breath. "Alright, I... Y/N came to me a few hours ago; said she had cramps. Usually nothing to be worried about, but I checked on her nevertheless." Siddiq swallowed hard, lowering his head. "When I went to check, I... I saw that... There was blood, Daryl."

The archer's eyes widened and he felt his heart drop for the second time that day. Deep down, he already knew what it meant, of course, but he didn't want to believe it. Not until Siddiq spoke the dreadful words out loud. "Y/N, she... I'm afraid she had a miscarriage. I'm sorry." Daryl just stared at his friend blankly. The news - the shock was just too overwhelming. Without saying a single word, the archer walked past the doctor and straight down the hall, towards your room.

Gently opening the door, he found you laying on a bed, curled up into a ball. Your back towards him. He could hear the soft cries and sobs, which left your lips - breaking his heart. Daryl whispered your name, trying to hold back his own tears. You stirred immediately; hearing his voice. Shifting to face him, he saw your tear-stained cheeks and red, puffy eyes. "D-Daryl..." You sobbed, causing more tears to fall. He was immediately at your side, pulling you against his body. "'M here, love, 'm here. 'S alright, 'm here..." Of course, he knew that nothing was alright, but what was he supposed to say?

Daryl felt your body shaking against his. He wanted to scream; he wanted to cry - but he couldn't allow himself that. He needed to be strong for you. For the both of you. But the harsh reality hit him nevertheless. A few hours back, everything was alright. His little world was perfect. And now? Now it all came crashing down. The happiness ripped out of both your hands - within the blink of an eye. "I-I am s-so s-sorry, I-I-I..." You stammered, hands clasping on his vest; holding onto him for dear life. Daryl immediately shook his head. "Stop that, please... You have nothin' to be sorry for. This ain't your fault, sunshine." "It h-has to b-be! I-I must've done s-something wrong, I…" "Nah, you didn't. These things just happen sometimes." You looked up at him with hooded Y/E/C eyes. "B-But why to u-us? W-We were so happy about it... Looked forward to meet this baby and now... Now they are gone..." The words caused fresh tears to run down your cheeks. "I don't know, sunshine... I don't know..."

The most important thing was, that you had each other. It was going to be a tough time, but you knew that with Daryl by your side, you would overcome the grief. Scars were going to heal with time and sooner or later, you would welcome a new life in this world, where happiness was most precious and family was the most precious gift. Yes, it wasn't going to be easy, but you knew from all the things you've been through that everything works out in the end. After all, light couldn't exist without darkness, could it?

The next days Daryl spent the whole time at home with you. He didn't leave your side. Not even for a minute. The both of you spent most of the time in your house; secluded. Everybody understood that, of course and gave you all the time you needed to process the loss. Losing a child was never easy. No matter if born or unborn.

#daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x pregnant!reader #daryl dixon #twd #the walking dead daryl #the walking dead

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heart4reigns · 1 year

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i wanted to know if i could ask for a Roman Reigns x fem reader imagine. Like based off that one tiktok sound, ‘are you in the mafia? Am i in the what?’ although he’s most definitely in the mafia lol

UNDERGROUND PROBLEMS, roman reigns.

warnings: cigarettes, alcohol, guns, violence, curse words, blood, slight age gap, pet names, creepy dude trying to flirt with you

tags: owww mafia roman in action.. i need him

summary: maybe it's okay to be suspicious of your rich boyfriend

THE sun was literally on top of your head. it was a great thing that you decided to buy an extra pair of sunscreen because the sun was going to be the death of you. the wind tingled your skin as you breathed out the fresh air. "hey, do not provoke me, i'll beat your asses in volley if i can!" you heard your boyfriend yelling at his cousins. "they're still going?" you asked. "looks like they're not stopping anytime soon." he chuckled. "a private beach, jimmy, jey, and solo. doesn't sound like a good combination to me."

yes. a private fucking beach. you told him you wanted to go to the pier for a date, but again, he just had to do something out of your reach–your boyfriend, roman, had a private beach near his house. you knew dating him was an extraordinary experience, he was very extra. at certain times you wondered about his life and why he didn't like going out to public places. "i hate crowded places." was always his answer.

you started dating him 6 months ago. the two of you met in a bar, for your best friend's brother farewell party. it was a stretch but hey, you could never decline free drinks. the two of you hit it off right away, finding similarities that you thought was kind of weird at that time. you were the polar opposite of him when you first met. he was intimidating, of course, he had the figure of a man you wouldn't mess with. but when the two of you started talking, he was a totally different person.

ever since your first meeting, your days were never filled with mundane things. sure, he was rich, but the way he treated you, it was like something that came out of the movies. he gave you the full princess treatment, even if you didn't ask for it. roman showered you with love, gifts, affection, and everything you could ask for. you were very lucky to have him in your life and he was very lucky to have you too.

"how are you enjoying this, baby?" he asked, tying his hair. "i love it, thank you, love." you looked at him with a smile. "although, you went very extra with it, i should know by now." you chuckled. roman held your head and kissed your forehead. "you deserve good things in life, baby." the warmth of his love gave you nothing but happiness. he was genuine and it showed. you couldn't help but to wonder about his daily life with you knowing only a little about his life.

you felt the sun disappear for a second. someone was standing in front of you. it was his personal assistant, paul. "sorry to bother you, but you have a call, chief." roman looked confused for a second. "i told you i'm not accepting any calls if i am with (y/n)." "it's from hunter, chief." he immediately let go of his embrace. "babygirl, how about you play with them? i have a very important call." you pouted. "okay."

"(Y/N)! FINALLY! SOLO SUCKS ASS, WE NEED ANOTHER PLAYER."

weekdays came and you were back in you class. not to study, but to teach. you were a college lecturer, teaching criminology. you loved your job and you loved your students. "good morning, as i promised after your finals, we're going to watch a movie." your class was filled with excitement. "jason suggested we watch joker, but no one voted for that movie. sorry jason." you let out a laugh. "asuka suggested the shining, with the highest votes, we are going to watch that today."

"these kids will be the death of me." the lecturer lounge was empty, leaving only your best friend and old college buddy, seth. he was practically your wingman in every scenario. he taught english literature, which was the class next to you. "looking rough, buddy." you chuckled at his distressed hair. "they beat my ass in word games. i'm devastated." he groaned, taking a seat in front of you. "where you going after this?" "home, i have to check their finals." he nodded. "well, stay safe. i think i might be sleeping here."

you checked the time, it was 11 pm. to your luck, roman was going to pick you up in 15 minutes. you pulled out a cigarette and lit it up. it was a bad habit, you knew–but a single cigarette after every lesson was something to look forward to. as you were walking outside the campus ground, you heard footsteps behind you. you felt goosebumps as you looked behind and didn't see anyone.

once again, to your luck, it was very dark. you were practically power-walking. your other hand was inside your bag, trying to look for a pepper spray–incase things went downhill. "hey, you alone?" an unfamiliar voice rang in your ears. "no, i'm waiting for my someone." your voice was laced with venom. "i don't see that someone here, how about you leave with me?" you shook your head. "sorry, he'll be here anytime soon."

"code 03." roman read the text solo sent to him. "fuck." anger boiled inside him. "paul take care of this deal, i got a code 03 from solo." paul nodded and took the paperwork inside his bag. "i don't want the fucking guns from damian, they're a rip-off. if they want to score a deal with us, tell them they shouldn't bring counterfeits in front of my fucking eyes." paul nodded.

code 03 meant that someone in the business was bothering you and he wasn't there to intervene. solo could've step up if things went to an extreme extend, but that would leave you more confused on how he got there in an instance. "dude, please leave me alone!" you yelled at him, looking for someone to help you. "i'm just being nice sweetheart, i can treat you nicely." he kept pestering you. seeing you like this broke solo's heart, he wanted to lunge on the guy but he had to wait for roman's command. the guy had a familiar tattoo on his neck, solo noticed that. the guy reached out for your arm. "come on!"

"she said no." you were relieved to see your boyfriend in front of you. "i don't give a shit about what she said." the guy said, still holding your arm. "get the fuck out of my face and let her go." your heart skipped a beat. you've never seen him like this. he was always a sweetheart to you, even with his cold facade. "just trying to give her a good time." the guy continued. "oh, you're going to have a very good time if you don't let her go now." the sentence was dripped with sarcasm. "let's go." roman slightly yanked your arm, pulling you away from the guy.

roman had to make sure that the guy wasn't following the two of you or he just might whip something out that you weren't supposed to see. he knew that guy, he was familiar with his face. "baby, are you okay?" as soon as you entered the car, he let his guard down. "i'm okay, love." you assured him that you were fine. "i'm sorry i wasn't there... baby, i'm sorry it happened." you shook your head. "love, i'm okay. now let's go back, i have to grade some papers." you gave him a reassuring smile. "let's get you ice cream first."

you passed the street that you were on earlier and the guy was nowhere to be seen. you could've sworn that you saw someone dragging the guy away, but it was probably your mind playing tricks as you were very tired.

after grading your papers and eating ice cream (which you insisted getting a cone but roman just had to buy the entire tub for you), you felt sleepy. "i'm going to bed." you announced, seeing your boyfriend slump on your couch watching football. "go to sleep baby, i'm still watching the game." you nodded and went over to give him a kiss. "i love you." "and i love you too, baby."

you were fast asleep and roman silently went outside your apartment, already thirsty for blood. you were his and no one should lay a finger on you. the drive to his warehouse went quick as he was already boiling with anger. the guy earlier was tied up to a chair, shaken up by the act. "well look who is here." his voice was deep, greeting the guy. "r- roman, i'm sorry." he stuttered. "sorry for what you did or sorry because your sorry-ass messed with the wrong person?"

jey, jimmy, and solo stood by waiting for his command. "i don't usually deal with situations like this. but you touched my girl and you're going to pay for it." roman barked, intimidating the guy. roman was in love, his cousins thought. he could't careless about other people except for his bloodline before he met you. his family business was his top priority, but now, you were always on his mind.

the first punch roman threw sent the guy on his back. all those private trainings pulled off. "who sent you?" he didn't answer. roman picked him up with force. "i said," he paused a second to throw another punch. "who sent you?" the guy cracked. "t- the judgement day! they didn't like how you insulted their shippings! they told me to get your girl to intimidate you." the fucking judgement day. roman clenched his fist, preparing for another punch.

blood splattered across the room. his fist was busted as well. "if you and your little emo band cross our path again, i'll fucking kill you. if i ever see you again, i'll fucking kill you." the guy was beaten up to an extent where he was already begging for roman to stop. "throw him somewhere in the east coast, give the judgement day some warning." jey nodded.

roman was powerful in many ways. he was feared by everyone, no one crossed his path and they knew not to mess with him. as one of the top dog for the mob business, everyone respected him. it was hard hiding things from you. he didn't want you to see him in a different light. so he told you that he was the one in charge of his family's company. there were almost slip ups along the way, but being the man he was, his secret was still safe–not for long.

his cousins; jey, jimmy, and solo all worked for him. they owe him their lives and they were ready to take a bullet for you and him any day. you were special for them, like a shining with light glimmered with hope, you were a breath of fresh air.

you woke up to the sound of his snoring. "love, get up. seth is picking me up today." he groaned in despair. "you know i can drive you or have the twins drive you there right?" you shook your head. "seth and i are going to our weekly lunch, it's a tradition since high school. you've met him countless times, i'm safe with him." roman was still on top of you, unbothered. "i'm going to kick your ass if you don't move in 5 seconds." "i'd like to see you try, babygirl."

lunch with seth was always fun. it was in his nature to make people laugh their asses off. "becky made me workout last sunday, my arms are sore." he complained. "because you never workout and your wife has her own gym." you stated the obvious. "well, you're a criminology lecturer and your boyfriend is a ceo, that doesn't add up too!" he defended himself with a chuckle following his sentence. "that's because i don't pry." you replied.

"i don't know, (y/n). it's kinda fishy." seth shrugged his shoulders. "what's kinda fishy?" you raised an eyebrow. "you've never been to his workplace, you don't know his work life. he doesn't like open places, always takes you on a private date. hell, the dude doesn't even have instagram. what if he's like a mafia or something?" his question made you laugh.

"seth, just because he's jacked doesn't mean he beats up people for a living. he's afraid of cockroaches, for fuck's sake!" you furrowed your brows. "well, i don't know. even my brother doesn't know what he's up to. but as long as you're happy, (y/n)." seth gave you a thumbs up while fixing his sunglasses. "you're thinking about it now!" he pointed his fork at you. "i am not! there's no way my boyfriend is in the mafia, he's just your regular joe!" "i've known you since we were babies, i know when you are thinking about something."

it did get to your head though. but you brushed it off, there's no way your oat milk-loving boyfriend was in the mafia. roman picked you up, exchanging goodbyes with seth. "you owe me a lighter!" seth yelled, waving at the two of you. "i don't owe you shit, rollins!" you laughed. "how was lunch?" roman asked, driving away from the cafe. "it was fun, we gossiped about you." his right arm was on the steering wheel, weirdly enough–covered by bandages, the other was holding yours. "gossiped about me? what'd you say?"

"oh we thought you were in the mafia, so like are you in the mafia?" you joked. for a second you saw him clenching his jaw and the grip on your arms tightened. "am i in the what?" he furrowed his brows. "i don't know, it all adds up." you continued your joke. "you have paul as your personal assistant, i've never been to your work and you rarely talk about it, you have random bruises on your back from 'working out'." yet again, the grip tightened.

he pulled over some random street. "baby, you know i am not in the mafia. that's just insane." roman chuckled. "right? seth is out of his mind, you know how he is!" roman had to be careful, as your best friend was picking up some clues. but he knew he couldn't hurt seth. you'd burn the entire world just to find out who laid a finger on your best friend. "paul has been working for my family since god knows when, you've never been to my work because there's nothing going on, it's just boring board meetings. i rarely talk about my work because i want to be a hearer not a talker, baby. i get bruises because i work out." he explained.

"baby, you don't really think i'm in the mafia right?" "no, that would be very stupid of me, love."

he was relieved. "okay baby, do you want to go somewhere tonight?" roman asked, starting the car again. "let's go watch a movie." he nodded. "right, i'll rent a place." "NOOOO, I DON'T WANT A PRIVATE NIGHT. LET'S JUST GO TO THE MALL NEXT TO MY PLACE." he was sure that you were going to be the death of him. "okay baby, whatever you say." roman would risk his life for yours. but little did you know, the mall was filled with his men. it was never a normal day with the mafia boss of the reigns clan.

"you do realize this is the first time we ever went to a public date?" you teased him. "yes." he was oddly wary of your presence. "are you okay? you look distracted." you furrowed your eyebrows. "baby, i'm okay." he made eye-contact, giving you a warm smile. "i just don't like going out in public places." he confessed. "i'm sorry, love. do you want to go home instead?" roman nodded, feeling very tense at the thought of being out. "okay, love. let's go home now."

the walk back to the parking lot was filled with conversations about the movie that you watched. "thank you for watching barbie with me." you chuckled as he rolled his eyes. "anything for my baby." he stole a kiss from you. "i knew you would like it." the black-haired male actually loved the movie. despite his strong persona, he was a softie. especially to you. "it was a fun date-" before you could finish your sentence, you heard screams coming from... solo? when did he get here? you thought.

there was a sudden bang outside. "GET DOWN!" solo yelled. roman immediately pushed you inside the car. "JEY, DRIVE!" roman yelled, taking off his sweater, revealing a gun strapped to his side. "WHAT THE FUCK!" you yelled in a state of panic. "I TOLD THOSE FUCKING EMO CLUB NOT TO MESS WITH ME, NOW I'M FUCKING PISSED." you've never seen roman like this. "PAUL, CLOSE THE DEAL WITH THEM. THEY FUCKING PISS ME OFF! THEY MESSED UP MY DATE NIGHT." roman yelled at the phone. the two of you almost got shot and you were only the one panicking.

"SO YOU ARE ACTUALLY IN THE MAFIA?" "YES BABY, I AM ACTUALLY IN THE MAFIA, NOW GET DOWN!"

a/n: THANKKK YOU FOR THE FIRST REQUEST <3333 i hope you enjoyed it!!! requests are always open!!

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notiddygxthgf · 1 month

Text

1. Arrival in Tokyo

★ pairings: aki hayakawa x fem reader

★ ❝ Captain? Should I be calling you sir? ❞ ❝ Only if you want to. ❞

★ c.w.: aki being sexy a f (more content warnings and tags)

★ a/n: CHAPTER ONE IS UP AND RUNNINGGGGGG!! im so excited bc ive been sitting on this fanfic all fking summer like when i tell u i havent been able to focus on anything else. i have not known peace. ANYWAY im trying smth new w this story bc it was supposed to be a oneshot but uh... now its at 150 pages on google docs so erm... anyway! updates should flow quixker now that i have 90% of it written!! comment and let me know all of ur thoughts everywhere omg i love reading ur remarks bc u guys r so funny on my other ffs. ENJOY POOKIES! i love yall!!

★ w.c.; 4.3k

shameless ; chapter index

"SO YOU'RE LEAVING ME because the Tokyo division needs backup?"

"I'm not leaving you," You sighed, though a playful lilt and a smirk followed your sarcastic remark. You and your husband were discussing work-related matters over a sushi dinner – your favorite. Perks of being married to your work partner. "I'm being summoned. I won't be long. Promise."

Your husband frowned, brows knitting together. His brown hair was tied back into a bun, baby hairs licking at his forehead, his cheeks. Tanimoto Yoshiro was a man of many virtues, but patience was not one of them. With a sigh, he began to toy with his salmon roll, prodding it with the end of his wooden chopsticks. "One whole week without that sexy ass of yours... What will I do?"

Your left eye twitched – slightly, hardly noticeable by the naked eye. You, for one, wouldn't miss the sex. It was, for lack of a better word... unfulfilling. It would get better over the years, you were sure of it. The two of you had only had the last few years to practice, after all. You wanted to wait until marriage (With him. You were no virgin by any stretch of the word.).

It was unfair of you to take your sexual frustrations out on him. It had been a tiring week for the both of you, is all. You barely had time for sit down meals like this anymore – whatever hanky-panky the two of you ever did indulge in these days was rushed, messy, and often... short lived.

Anyway, needless to say... You would be fine. It was you and your rabbit toy against the world, anyway.

"You'll be fine," You smiled. You loved him. He loved you. He was a great husband, and he took care of you. You had no reason to complain. "I'll be back before you know it." .

The Japanese countryside was a blur, rushing past the window of your train like pictures, like a movie. You hadn't noticed the train slow to a stop, in fact, until you heard the doors open. Popping your head up over the seat, you observed the train station. Which stop is this? People began filtering in from both sides, eager to find a seat before the train took off.

A shrill cry of your name roused you from your thoughts.

You whipped your head around. A familiar-looking woman with black hair and an eyepatch was waving you down across the aisle. She was wearing a Public Safety suit and slacks. Himeno.

A smile crawled over your lips before you knew it. "Himeno?" You asked, a teasing lilt in your tone. "Is that you?"

Without asking if anyone else was sitting there, she took a seat in the one across from you. She leaned forward, perching her chin up on her hand. "Never thought I'd see you again. How the hell are 'ya?"

You and Himeno went way back. She had been in the same division as you back when the two of you were teens. She was the first person in Public Safety who had ever actually welcomed you to the division and the last person to say goodbye to you. You parted ways before ever being able to exchange information but, for what it was worth, she had made those gruesome, tedious missions more bearable.

"I've been good!" You grinned. "I've been in the Kyoto sector with my partner. I truly did plan on coming back, but one thing led to another, and now..." You trailed off, waving your hands around like you were trying to find the right words. "Well, I'm married to him."

The train creaked and groaned before it began to move again.

"So I've heard," Himeno licked her lips. She sat back in her chair, producing a carton of cigarettes – the kind she always used to smoke when the two of you were on missions together. "You mind if I smoke?"

No, but the conductor might. "Of course not," You answered. "How about you? How have you been?"

She sighed. "Been better, honestly. Devil activity's been crazy recently," Fishing a lighter out of her suit pocket, she sparked up. The end of her cigarette sizzled and smoked between her slim fingers. Holding it up to her lips, she muttered, "Just doing what I can to stay alive. What brings you back to the city?"

"My presence has been requested by the higher-ups," You shrugged. The scent of nicotine and smoke filled the cabin. It was gross but, frankly, familiar. "My husband wasn't too happy that he didn't get invited, so this better be worth it."

"I see," Himeno hummed, breathing out a puff of smoke to the side. She kept on looking out of the window after that, at the train station that was now far behind the train. "You're leaving your partner and I'm returning to mine."

"You're married?" You asked.

"God, no," She chuckled softly, pulling another hit from her cancer stick. "Wouldn't mind being with my assigned partner, though. He's a fine piece of ass."

It seemed like you couldn't help the way you burst into laughter at her crude remark. She hasn't changed one bit. "Is he cute?"

"Cute?" She repeated the word like it was a foreign object in her mouth. Her voice was muffled by the cloud of smoke that flowed out from between her lips. "He's drop-dead gorgeous," She took another slow, calculated hit. "Enough about me, though, how's the married life going for you?"

Could be better. You feigned a warm smile at the mention of your husband. "Good. Yeah, it's good."

Good was a bit of an overstatement. .

You and Himeno spent the rest of the train ride catching up. There was talk about marriage, sex, old coworkers, and new ones. It felt kind of good to be back – to be able to talk to someone who shared the same history as you. You would almost say that you missed it.

By the time the announced its next stop at the Tokyo station, you hadn't even realized how quickly the trip had gone by. You could thank your talkative companion for that. As the train finally eased to a stop, you turned to Himeno with a smile.

"I need to grab my bags," you said, rising from your seat and straightening your clothes.

Himeno nodded, her smile warm but tinged with a hint of sadness. "Okay. Take care of yourself!"

Navigating the narrow aisle, you headed toward the luggage compartment. As you reached up to grab your suitcase, you collided with someone. Startled, you looked up to find yourself face-to-face with a man who immediately captured your attention. He was tall, easily over six feet, with broad shoulders and a powerful build that spoke of both strength and discipline. His dark hair was tied back in a neat topknot, accentuating his sharp, angular features. But it was his eyes that held you—their piercing blue depths seemed to look straight through you, filled with a seriousness that made you catch your breath.

"Sorry—" he began, his voice a deep, resonant baritone that vibrated through the narrow space.

For a moment, the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you. The closeness of his body, the scent of his cologne—clean and subtly spiced, lingering just faintly on the collar of his suit jacket—the intense focus of his gaze; all of it created a bubble of tension that neither of you could ignore. You could see the flicker of surprise in his eyes, a momentary lapse in his serious demeanor, as if he too had been caught off guard.

Both of you paused. His gaze flickered down to your uniform for just a heartbeat before he quickly looked away, regaining his composure. Without another word, you continued in opposite directions, the silent exchange leaving you... well, a little breathless to say the least.

Stop it. You're a married woman. Surely, you would know how to control your impulses after being away from your husband for only a day.

Reaching up, you pulled your suitcase from the overhead compartment, the weight of it a familiar comfort. Setting it down on the ground with a soft thud, you turned back to your seat, only to find the handsome man still standing there, now engaged in conversation with Himeno. He was so tall that he had to actually lean over a little bit to fit into the cabin.

Fuck me. You thought. Wait, no, don't fuck me.

"Is this your partner, Himeno?" you asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

"Yes, I found him!" Himeno responded with a wide grin. "Captain Hayakawa, this is an old friend of mine," she said, going on to introduce you by name.

"Hello," he greeted, extending his hand. The deep, velvety timbre of his voice sent a shiver down your spine.

"Captain? Should I be calling you 'sir'?" you teased lightly, shaking his hand – and his grip was firm and warm.

"Only if you want to," he replied, "Hayakawa is fine."

Only if you want to.

Get your fucking head out of the gutter.

Your heart skipped a beat as you found yourself momentarily lost in his gaze. His eyes were a captivating shade of blue, intense and unwavering. The handshake lingered a moment too long. You could feel the strength and warmth of his hand – it was far larger than yours, and had calluses at the tip of the palm.

Despite his serious demeanor, there was a flicker of something in his eyes, a hint of interest that he seemed determined to keep under control. Reluctantly, you pulled your hand away, feeling the lingering warmth of his touch.

His gaze remained locked on yours for a moment longer, a silent acknowledgment of whatever the fuck had just happened.

Himeno cleared her throat, breaking the spell. "Well, let me give you a big hug, dearest."

You embraced her fondly, the familiarity of her touch grounding you.

"Here, give me your number," Himeno said as she pulled back. She flipped her phone open. "Let's keep in touch."

With a smile, you told her your phone number.

She snapped her phone shut after she had finished typing it in. "Okay! Hopefully, I'll get to see you around."

"Yes, of course! We'll be in touch," You agreed. You bowed your head to her, then to her partner. "Hayakawa."

He nodded back. You dismissed yourself after that, turning on your heel and practically scrambling to get out of that tiny train cabin. Still, you couldn't help but glance back at Captain Hayakawa. His eyes met yours again for a brief, fleeting moment before you turned away, heart racing with something you hadn't felt in a long time.

You didn't want to stick around and find out what it was. The weight of your wedding ring around your finger was a reminder of that much. .

You hadn't been in Public Safety's Tokyo headquarters in years. It was bigger than you remembered it being. The worst part? All the halls looked the exact same. It took you about thirty minutes to find the office in which you were currently standing.

A woman who you'd been dreading seeing the whole way over there was perched on a leather seat in front of you, arms folded over the desk, pink hair braided the same way it always had been, feline eyes flitting over your body. It made you feel small – like prey trapped in a predator's den.

"How was your trip over here?" Makima asked. Her voice was smooth, uniform – calculated, just like everything else she did.

"It was pleasant," You answered. "I came as soon as I could."

"We appreciate that," Makima said, a hint of something sinister in her smile.

She stepped out from behind her desk, pacing slowly around the room. "I called you here because we've recently suffered a great deal of casualties," she explained, her tone measured and controlled. "I'm worried we won't have the manpower to deal with all the sudden appearances of gun-devil pieces."

"I understand. Am I being formally stationed?" you replied, trying to maintain your composure.

"Not that I know of, no," she responded, her eyes narrowing slightly. "For now, we need backup on a particular mission involving a school in the area. There have been reports of peculiar activity there, and I want to send one of my teams to investigate. I haven't decided whether you'll be in the field or here tying up some loose ends—we recently lost one of our best workers, and we're very far behind as a result. I'll have a certain answer for you within the next few days."

"A few... days?"

"Yes, is that a problem?"

"No, not at all, no. I just—" you sighed, feeling the weight of uncertainty. "Yeah, okay, that sounds good."

"You've also been booked a hotel suite nearby. Your stay will be provided at no cost to you," she continued, her tone unwavering. "I'll reach out to you as soon as I have more details. Hang tight until then."

With a tight-lipped smile, you nodded. "Thank you, Miss Makima. Am I dismissed?"

"Yes, I'll have one of our drivers take you to your room so you can drop off your luggage," she said, her smile not reaching her eyes. "Where did you leave it?"

"I left it in the break room," you said.

"Very well. I'll have someone collect it," she replied, her eyes closing briefly as she smiled. "Get home safely."

With that, you turned and left the office, the tension of the encounter still lingering in the back of your mind. There was just something about that damn lady that never failed to send a shiver up your spine. You sighed, glancing down at the old floorboards, at your shoes.

The reality of the situation began to sink in.

You had traveled all this way, navigating the maze of identical halls and sterile rooms, only to be told you had to wait. The thought gnawed at you— That sounds about right from her, you mused. It was typical of Makima, always keeping you in the dark, always one step ahead, holding the reins tightly.

The cool, clinical atmosphere of the headquarters only heightened your sense of displacement. The fluorescent lights overhead cast a harsh, unforgiving glow, making everything look stark and unwelcoming.

Lost in your thoughts, you heard a series of footsteps echoing down the hall, followed by hushed voices. The sound grew closer, and you recognized the voice immediately—it was the young lieutenant captain again, the man you had bumped into earlier.

You glanced up, and there he was, standing just a few feet away. He was a striking figure, his presence suffocating – commanding and enigmatic. He had a sharp jaw, chiseled and defined, the kind that could cut paper. His eyes, a moody blue, held a penetrating gaze, one that seemed to see right through you, making you feel as though you were laid completely bare before him.

His brow was knit slightly in deep thought. There was a slight furrow at the bridge of his nose. The tufts of inky black hair that framed his features only added to the boyish charm of his face.

As he spoke to the other Public Safety worker beside him, his hands moved with purposeful grace.

Your eyes were drawn to him despite yourself, unable to escape the force of his presence.

His gaze caught yours briefly, and in that fleeting moment, you felt an almost tangible tension in the air. It was as if time had stopped for a heartbeat, the corridor seeming to stretch and contract around the two of you.

The connection between your eyes was like a magnet, pulling you in despite your efforts to look away. The faintest flutter in your chest was enough to have you gripping the collar of your shirt.

He blinked first, his eyes breaking away from yours as he turned back to his companion. The conversation resumed, but the air seemed thicker now, charged with the residual energy of your brief encounter.

"We need to re-evaluate our strategies for dealing with the increased devil activity," he said, his words carefully chosen. "The losses have been significant, and our resources are stretched thin."

You turned and walked in the opposite direction, the soft hum of the fluorescent lights overhead seeming to amplify the distance you were putting between yourself and him.

As you moved down the corridor, you couldn't shake the feeling that his eyes were still on you, as if the weight of his gaze lingered even after you had turned away. .

You had just stepped out of the shower, the steam still clinging to the room and curling around the bathroom mirror in hazy swirls. The cool, clean air of the hotel suite met you as you emerged, a refreshing contrast to the stifling atmosphere of the Public Safety headquarters.

You took a moment to let the chill of the air sink into your skin, feeling the pleasant coolness against your damp hair and freshly washed face. You dried yourself off, the soft towel enveloping you in its warmth, and slipped into a comfortable set of loungewear—simple, dark gray sweatpants and a loose-fitting, white t-shirt.

You walked over to the full-sized bed, the crisp white sheets and plush pillows arranged neatly. You flopped down onto it, letting out a relieved sigh as you sank into the softness of the mattress.

Reaching for your phone from the nightstand, you dialed your husband's number. As the call connected, you propped yourself up on one elbow and stared at the ceiling, trying to shake off the exhaustion of the day.

When he answered, his voice was calmingly familiar, cutting through the distance between you with a comforting ease. "Hey. How's everything going?"

"It's been a day," you said with a soft chuckle. "I finally got here, but of course, they've got me waiting for more details. Typical."

"Sounds about right," he said, his voice tinged with a longing that you could almost touch through the phone, "I miss you."

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to push away the brief flash of memories that drifted through your mind—blue eyes and raven hair, a fleeting image that made your heart skip a beat. An image of soft lips wrapped around the syllables, 'Only if you want to.'

You shook your head gently, trying to dispel the image from your thoughts. "I miss you too," you said, trying to keep your tone light and steady.

You heard the faint sound of his smile through the phone, a soft, reassuring sound. You had never been so happy to hear his voice. "How's the hotel?"

"It's nice," you said, shifting your position on the bed to get more comfortable. "Pretty standard, but it's got a good view of the city."

"I can think of one view I'd really like to see right now," he teased gently.

Just as you were about to reply, your phone started ringing again. You glanced at the screen and saw the name of your old coworker.

"Hold on, I'm getting a call," you said, your fingers hovering over the screen.

"Ugh, okay," he said. "Bye."

"Bye," you replied, a smile tugging at your lips as you ended the call.

You took a deep breath before picking up. "Hello?"

"Heya, Hot stuff. What you up to?" Himeno drawled into the receiver.

"Just got out the shower," You answered. "Why? Is something up?"

"Nah. Well, yeah," She giggled. "Miss Makima's taking us out for drinks to celebrate the success of our last mission tomorrow. She rented out this whole space for us. You coming?"

You chuckled quietly, carding a hand through your damp hair. "I always feel dull at parties."

"You? Dull?" Came Himeno's retort. "This really the same person who used to take body shots off complete strangers back in the day?"

The mere mention of your past self had you laughing all over again. "Times change."

"Married life made you soft?"

You winced. Sure, perhaps a somewhat-boring life in the countryside with your husband had made you a little soft. But there was something in the way she said it – something that made you tick. You were happy being a married woman. You had been happy since the two of you had eloped at 21.

You were happy, dammit. You just wished it was a little easier to convince yourself of that.

"I don't know..." You trailed off. "I won't be any fun."

"Noooooo... You have to come!" Himeno groaned. You could hear her pacing around in the background. "DENJI!" She called to god knows who. "Back me up here!"

The phone was handed over to someone else – a young-sounding boy. "I'm not gonna force someone to go to a stupid party."

"Tell her to come!" Could be heard very faintly in the background.

"Wait. She's a 'she'?"

"Not just any 'she', thats–"

"You should definitely come tonight," The boy decided. "Name's Denji, by the way."

"Hi, Denji," You sighed. "Could you hand the phone back to Himeno for just a moment?"

"Sure," He answered. "Bye, gorgeous. See you there."

Gorgeous. He hasn't even seen me and he's calling me gorgeous. You had to have been in the twilight zone.

"So, you're coming, right?" Himeno's voice chirped over the line.

"I don't know," You answered (again). "Who's going?"

"Aki's coming. Remember him? Partner? Total hottie?" She replied.

Total hottie was an understatement. Again, the image of his pretty face flashed through your mind. You squashed the mere thought of it – like an incessant bug. "Yes, we met."

"I'm gonna get a smooch out of him by the end of the night," She giggled. "You can bet on that."

People came and went. Seasons changed. Himeno, however, did not. She was just as crude as you had always remembered her being.

"Just a kiss?" You teased.

"Maybe. Maybe more," She teased right back. "Can you believe he doesn't have a girlfriend? He's 20! That's gotta mean something."

He's five years younger than me... You picked mindlessly at your nails. "Something like...?"

"Dunno. Am I wrong for thinking he's holding out for me?"

"Oh, to be young and naive again," You sighed. "I was engaged at his age," You trailed off, words hanging in the air for a moment after they had slipped past your lips.

Awkward. Did that slip out?

You leaned back against the headboard, feeling the cool pillows against your back while your mind drifted to the past. You had been so young when you'd gotten married, looking back. You loved him, you truly did. Sure, you had your issues, but didn't every married couple?

The two of you were happy. Still, a pang of jealousy surfaced when you heard Himeno speak so freely about her independence, her sexual prowess. In a way, you felt as though you had been deprived of that freedom far too early.

Your fingers traced the edge of your phone, your gaze drifting as memories flooded your mind. Himeno's laughter on the other end of the line seemed distant, a reminder of a simpler time, unburdened by the weight of responsibilities and commitments.

You were happy... weren't you?

"Hey, you still there?" Himeno's voice pulled you back to the present, her tone tinged with concern.

"Yeah, sorry," you replied, shaking off the melancholy that had crept into your thoughts. "Just got lost in my head for a moment."

"Don't we all," she sighed, her voice softening. "Look, just come down tomorrow. It'll be fun. We can catch up, have a few drinks, and maybe you can even be my wingman for the night."

You chuckled, the sound more genuine this time. "Alright, fine. I'll come. But no promises about playing matchmaker."

"Yay! It's at five," Himeno's excitement was palpable, and it was contagious. "I'll see you then. Hopefully, you can loosen up a little bit. Relive the good days."

"Yeah, maybe," you said, a small, half-assed smile playing on your lips. "See you then."

You ended the call and set your phone to the side.

Loosen up a little, You thought. Yeah, you could definitely stand to do that.

a/n: shortie but a goodie! i already have most of the story written (so this one doesnt wind up like my 25,000 other unfinished projects), and this was the only way i could think to cut this chapter off hehe. ANYWAYYYY i hope yall enjoyed and are prepared for the TENSION AND SPICEEEE. omg its so tasty i cant wait. stay tuned! its gonna be so amazing. please comment and whatever to let me know your thoughts, wants and desires for this story! or just smth fun. i love reading yalls comments hehe comments + reblogs are greatly appreciated!!

credits: UNKOWN ATM. I found it on pinterest unfortch. If you know the artist, please let me know, so I can credit them properly for their work!!! This is NOT MY BEAUTIFUL DRAWINGGG. I obviously do not own csm or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

also: come find me on my wattpad if u wanna interact more!

taglist: @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505 , @acethebrave , @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505

wanna join the taglist? | shameless ; chapter index

#notiddygxthgf ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚#shameless!#aki hayakawa #hayakawa aki #aki hayakawa x reader #hayakawa aki x reader #aki x reader #csm x reader #chainsaw man x reader #denji x reader #eventual smut #ugh the tension is killing me #i love it

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chronicbeans · 7 months

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Let's Make a Deal! (Yandere Queerplatonic Alastor x Fallen Angel Reader)

Part 3: Deal, dear?

Part 1, Part 2

Tag List: @repostingmyfavs

TW: Invasions of Personal Space, Shady Deals

As much as you hoped having that conversation would stop Alastor from staring at you, it only seemed to make things worse. Now that he knows you are open to talking to him, he's gotten into the habit of walking over to you, asking you invasive questions, then walking away. Usually something along the lines of "Do you miss your family? Did you have any family in Heaven? Have you had a relationship before? If not, why not?" Then, he'd end the conversation with something more lightheaded, such as "What's your favorite color? Do you prefer coffee, or tea?". After that, he'd just leave. You feel way too unnerved and uncomfortable to say no to answering, most of the time...

A lot of his questioning seems to revolve around family, for some reason. You've also noticed Alastor becoming much more touchy with you. Not necessarily in an inappropriate manner, though. More like a sudden arm around your shoulder that lasts much longer than before, a hug, or him suddenly holding your hand. You don't really mind. It's definitely a lot better than you expected from somebody in Hell, but it's still noticable.

Today is one of those days, as you're sitting on the couch in the main lobby, watching some television, when you suddenly feel Alastor sling an arm around your shoulder. "Dear, what are you doing, looking at that picture box? I'm sure that there couldn't possibly be anything of interest on it."

You look up to him, raising an eyebrow. "Well, there's a nice show on. So I want to watch it-" You're cut off by him shutting off the television. "Well, I must speak with you about something. I want to make a deal with you, dear. Deals are much more important than a dumb little picture box." He then stands up, pointing to you. "You fell out of Heaven due to someone convincing them that you deserved such damnation, correct?"

You stare up at him, surprised by how forward he is being. You raise an eyebrow at him, crossing your arms. "Yes... but what-" "I want you to convince them to drop someone else from Heaven's grace, down here, into Hell." "What?!"

You then stand up, confused and dismayed. "You must be joking, Alastor- this joke isn't funny! Why would you possibly believe I'd be willing to do such a thing? Nobody deserves to be cast out due to an over exaggeration or lie!" You glare up at him, only to be surprised once you notice his ever present grin looking extremely strained.

His voice fills with static as he points to you, his eyes seeming to glow with either irritation, or desperation. "Dear, you're my friend. I promise you, whatever you want in return for this favor, I'll give it to you." You instantly lean away, continuing to glare. "I never agreed to be your friend." "That doesn't matter. You're my friend whether you like it or not. Please. At least consider it. Consider all of the things you could get out of this deal!"

You think, genuinely... At first, you are going to say no, but... what if he can get you to Heaven? Or, at least, find a way to increase your chances of getting to Heaven? "... Fine, but you have to try to find a way to get me into Heaven... Not just so I can get whoever you want to damn down here, but also so that I can return there. For good." Alastor pauses, before nodding, though you can tell he is upset. "Fine, dear. I suppose that is fair."

He then walks over to him, smiling. "The person I want you to get damned, is... actually, come over here. I don't want anyone else to hear." You nod, walking over to him. He quietly whispers a name into your ear, alongside a few of their negative traits, before pulling away. "I'm sure Lucifer may be able to help you set up an appointment with Heaven... it might just take some convincing on my end to get him to agree..."

"Well, why do you want this person damned, Alastor...?" You stare up at him, flinching as his smile turns cold, for a brief moment. He then looks away from you, before his eyes snap back towards you.

"You'll understand once they get here, my dearest friend. Now, shake my hand, and the deal is sealed. I'll get this person into Hell, and you'll get your precious home in Heaven back."

Without hesitation, you grab his hand and shake on it. Alastor's grin widens as you do so, but you barely even notice it. Your thoughts are trained on getting the poor sap he mentioned into Hell, even if you'll feel guilty in the end... you don't know how much longer you can stand being in Hell with him constantly looking over you.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin #alastor the radio demon #alastor #hazbin hotel yandere #alastor x reader #queerplatonic #yandere alastor

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butchcarmy · 5 months

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ALEXITHYMIA CH 5: detergent, thrifting, and cake

Roommate AU: Carmy Berzatto x Reader

Chapter Rating: T (11k)

ao3 link, ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4

Chapter Summary: It’s his roommate’s birthday this week, and Carmy doesn’t find out until it’s a couple days away. Once he finds they’re unluckily spending their birthday alone, he makes it his mission to make their lonely day better. It’s the least he can do. Little does he know how much more he has to discover about them and about himself.

Tags: reader having trauma, carmy having trauma, toxic families, domesticity

A/N: It’s time… it’s time. I said last chapter was the longest…just kidding. THIS ONE is the longest, and it was hardest to write so far. The duo gets to have a lot of fun this chapter, though! arguably the most so far! A lot of domestic goodness and good food and shopping! Until… :)

also HUGE shoutout to @justaconsequence on tumblr for being my beta reader for this chapter! she was so kind and so helpful. this behemoth of a fic is too much for me to proofread on my own. anyway, thanks for reading and enjoy! can't wait to hear what y'all think!

Typically, by this time on Monday morning, Carmy's usually three cigarettes deep into paperwork, urgently (and poorly) calculating the sales the restaurant needs to make this week to stay afloat. Because even though it's a Sunday closing activity, he never seems to find the occasion to get around to it, and by 10 pm, he doesn't have the capacity to be crunching numbers.

Not that 8 am is much better. At least he's not dissecting the debt this morning—he's studying detergent prices.

“Why is this one, like, almost 20 dollars?” Carmy stops reading the price tags and glances over at his roommate, who's squinting at products on upper shelves. The lights are always too bright in this place. “And for such a small bottle…”

“Pre-mixed organic sulfate-free 100% vegan bleach,” Carmy reads dully.

“So stupid.” They shake their head. “Does grocery shopping ever depress you?”

“Usually,” he replies dryly. “Inflation is pretty depressing.”

“Don’t even get me started. Capitalism in general depresses me.”

“Hm, yeah. That too.” He sighs through his nose and tries to refocus. He's having a hard time processing all the numbers and letters today. “You see any unscented detergent? Somethin’ mild?”

“Um…” They crane their neck up and down, and then they crouch on the ground. They pick up a white bottle. “How's this? It's like, 8 dollars. It's not name-brand, but…”

“You know I don't care.” He kneels with them, huddling in close. They smell faintly of a sweet, yet musky perfume. He reminds himself to focus on the detergent, not the way they smell (even if it's far more interesting). “Yeah, this looks good. Thank you.”

“For your vintage denim, right?” They stand up to put the detergent in their shopping cart, which is barely separated with his stuff vs. theirs. He doesn't understand why his face grows warm at their comment, but it does.

“Uh, yeah. It is.” If the blush shows on his face, they graciously don't comment. “Although I'll admit I don't get around to washing them as much as I should.”

“You're not supposed to wash jeans that often anyway, right?” They lean their elbows onto the rickety cart as they push it, and he ambles along next to them, matching the slow, relaxed pace of their walk.

“Yeah, but I really…” The implications are clear. They fail in suppressing a laugh, and it makes him smile. “And I’m supposed to hand wash them, so.”

“Oh, so what you're saying is that you never wash them,” they tease.

“That is not at all what I'm saying.” They make an unimpressed face. “I do laundry, it's just…”

“Not often,” they supply helpfully. He tries to come up with something, but he's got nothing. “It's okay, I understand.”

“I promise I wash my clothes,” he mumbles, wilting.

“I know.” There's that new smile he's grown to recognize more clearly. It's this mischievous one they get when they’re teasing him, and it's so cute he doesn't have any room in him to get even a little irritable. “I've seen you do laundry maybe once or twice.”

“Hey,” he says, warning, and they laugh and run ahead of him, the squeaky wheels of the cart giggling alongside them.

After the night he almost burned down their apartment, he had felt different. It was like a switch being flipped, light abruptly filling up a dark room, and he's been squinting, struggling to adjust. But as he walks with them today, grocery shopping lit by blinding white fluorescents, he finds that he can see them rather clearly.

The connection between the two of them is tangible, palpable. It's workable pasta dough that's been kneaded to uniformity. The dough is malleable, clean, and when he touches it, sticky, glutenous residue doesn't cover his palms. When he catches at them peeking over their shoulder to make sure he's still following them, he chases away the urge to pull them into his arms. He throws the desire into boiling water in hopes that enough pressure will change those feelings into something more palatable. He's not sure if it's working.

Something happened when he hugged them that Saturday night. He doesn't dare name what that “something” is, but it's rising from where it's sitting at the bottom of the pot, just about to hit the surface—

“Hey, I gotta get some stuff in this aisle.” Carmy snaps out of it and follows them as they veer the cart to the left. He raises his eyes to read the categories on the sign.

“You bakin’ somethin’?” They both move out of the way for an oncoming cart.

“Yeah, was thinking about it.” They halt to a stop in front of the boxed cake mix and step back to fully peruse the shelves. He stands next to them, and they glance at him out of the corner of their eye. “You’re not judging me for getting box mix, are you?”

“Not at all,” he answers honestly. “Food is always better when made from scratch, but box mix has its uses. Besides, I’m not a baker.”

“That’s true, but I’m sure you still make an insane cake.” Carmy’s aware he can’t make them unsee his flash of a smile, but he still shrugs. “Sure, stay humble.”

��I try. What’s the occasion?”

“Ah, nothing much. It’s just my birthday.”

“Oh, okay.”

…And he's about to move on, just as casually as it came, but then the processing finishes.

“Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?” They ask confusedly.

“Is it your birthday today?”

“No, um, it’s this Thursday.” He exhales in palpable relief.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He hates at how worked up he sounds.

“Um…” Their face is twinged with guilt. “...There was never a good time to bring it up?”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be getting upset.” He sighs, shakes his head. “I just feel like I should’ve known, I guess.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s not your fault. I never brought it up. Um…” Their hands are fiddling with the edges of their sleeves. “I just have complicated feelings about my birthday.”

“Ah, I see. I get that.” That, he can understand. “Is it all the gifts and stuff?”

“Kinda. It’s a part of it.” They lean down to grab a box of devil’s food cake, and that makes him remember that they’re in a grocery store. Not quite the best place for a personal conversation like this. They’re being vague, but he won’t press. Not right now.

“You shouldn’t be baking for yourself on your birthday,” Carmy mutters. They smile at that, but it’s different. It’s heavy with melancholy.

“It’s alright. I’m gonna be celebrating with my friends this weekend, just not on my actual birthday.” His conflicted expression persists. “It’s okay, really. It’s just a day. It’ll be enough of a present to not have to go into work.”

“Put that back,” he blurts out. “I’ll make you a cake.”

“Don’t you work?” Their eyebrows are arched in surprise. “You really don’t—”

“I know I don’t. But I want to. I do work, yeah, but I’ll, I’ll get someone to cover me.” He’s never said those words before in his life, and now that they’re out, he can’t take them back. As a matter of fact, he doesn’t want to take them back. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Of course,” they reply quickly.

“Then let me do this. Please.” He has no idea where this courage is coming from. “I want to. I know I'm always working, but I really…” Their eyes are wide with wonder, yet watchful. It shouldn't make him falter, but it does. His heart stutters and whatever bravado briefly gripped him fades away. “I’m…probably being too pushy right now. Tell me to fuck off?”

“I’m not gonna tell you to fuck off for wanting to bake me a cake,” they laugh, easing his worries like they always do. “C’mon, Carm.”

“So, uh, is that a yes, or…?”

“Just so we’re clear, I’m not trying to ask you to take off of work for my birthday,” they start carefully, “but I wouldn’t object to it. So, yeah. It’s a yes.”

“Okay.” He can’t help his giddy smile. There's someone saying you look stupid like this, but he’s with them, and it makes everything else silent. “Okay, good.”

“You’re…being super sweet about all this.” He doesn’t understand why—maybe it’s the way they say it—but hearing that makes his neck go hot.

“I mean…friends do stuff like this, don’t they?”

“Only the good ones.” They beam beautifully at him. He hasn’t done anything to warrant their affection, he thinks, but the feeling of their smile is so warm. He can’t resist soaking in it.

He's glad that lady luck blessed him just enough to stop their birthday from passing him by. He's been itching for an opportunity to repay them for all the bullshit they've had to take from him as of recent (although he knows if he brought it up, they would say it wasn't anything worth repaying). They deserve something good from him for once, not panic attacks and nightmares.

He just wishes he could figure out why they were going to spend their birthday alone. He knows them a lot better now, but there's still so much left shrouded. He wants to know them inside and out—he wants to learn what makes them tick, what keeps them up at night, what makes them happy. He wants to know all of it in its entirety, to fill in the gaps in the puzzle he doesn't have the pieces for.

He has some of the pieces. He understands that their relationship with their family to his—distant, strained, and difficult. Unfortunately, that’s about it. He doesn’t know any of the specifics. It’s not like he’s talked to them about his family outside of the off-handed bitter remarks, just as they have, but he finds that this fact leaves him dissatisfied.

He just hopes that they'll let him in. He's not sure if they will, but…he's gonna try. He has to. He's sick of not trying.

. . . . .

“You want to take off?” Richie’s staring at Carmy like he’s grown a second head. They're taking a smoke break in the back. “I don’t know what sort of doppelganger bullshit this is, but if you’re trying to pretend to be Carmen, you’re doing a shit job.”

“Very funny, jackass,” Carmy mutters. “I’m being serious. This Thursday.”

“All day?” Carmy grimaces, but he nods. Richie shakes his head. “You’re being weird. Really fuckin’ weird.”

“I know I shouldn’t. It’s a bad idea, but—”

“Cousin, no, that’s not at all what’s goin’ on here,” Richie interrupts, and Carmy’s at a loss for words. “This is the best idea you’ve ever had.”

“What?” Carmy squints at him. “Are you being serious?”

“‘Course I’m serious. I’m always serious.” Carmy decides not to comment on that. “Do you know how many times I’ve tried to get you off this ship for just one fucking second?”

“As the owner of this place, you’ve tried way too many times,” he replies dryly.

“Uh, as the original co-owner of this place, you don’t listen to me enough.” Again, Carmy decides not to elaborate on that one. It’s not worth it. “Take the day off. I was running it fine before, and I’ll keep running it.”

“No, no, we’re not saying that, it was not fine,” Carmy starts, but Richie’s already flipping him off.

“Whatever, I already know, new fucking system and all that. Don’t get anxiety or whatever over it, that’s why you got Syd hustling shit your way, right?”

“Uh.” Carmy didn’t realize that Richie had even been paying attention to the new hierarchy in the restaurant, let alone respecting it in any capacity. “Yeah, she is.”

“Then it’s fine.” Richie blows smoke in his face, and Carmy swats it away with a glare. “It was fine when you came in an hour late today, wasn’t it?”

“You guys knew I wasn’t gonna come in until later,” Carmy argues, defensive (although he’s not sure if there’s actually anything to argue about).

“Exactly.” Richie sighs all of a sudden, a long one that sounds like it’s bone deep. “Carm. Let me be straight with you. You need to do this. Okay? No backing out of this one.”

“Why’re you sayin’ this? What are you sayin’?”

“It’s ‘cause of your roommate, right? This Thursday?”

“...Yeah.” Carmy pales. “How did you—?”

“Fuckin’ knew it,” Richie says, grinning. “It was obvious.”

“No way. I didn’t say shit.”

“You didn’t need to.” Richie flicks the ash off his cigarette. “They’re changin’ you, man. We can all see it.”

“...” Carmy can’t deny that. He doesn't have time to ponder on that right now. “Is it really okay?”

“Yeah, you could stand to have an attitude adjustment.”

“I wasn’t talking about that, asshole. I was talking about Thursday.”

“Yes, for fuck’s sake, it’s completely fine.” Richie claps a hand on his shoulder, solid in its grip. It makes Carmy’s eyes snap to him, mostly in confusion. “So what’s the occasion? Must be important.”

“It’s their birthday. I mean, I could just go home early that day, but—”

“Yo, if you’re gonna take off, don’t halfass it—”

“That’s not what I was gonna say. When I’m here, I can’t seem to find my way out. This place…it just has a way of trapping you in.” He doesn’t expect Richie to nod, but he does. “I know if I don’t take the whole day off, I’ll never get out of here in time. Not until it’s too late.”

For some reason, that makes Richie laugh.

“Yeah. That's it.” Richie shakes his head as smoke trails out of his mouth. “That’s just it, man. You have to make time for the things that’re important. Even the recitals where you have to listen to five year olds play twinkle twinkle little star 20 times. You can’t miss shit like this. Because once you miss it, it’s gone.”

“Rich.” Carmy wants to say something to make that haunted expression leave Richie's face, but he doesn't come up with anything in time.

“Don’t give me that look.” Richie’s hand falls from his shoulder. “I’m just tryin’ to stop you from fucking shit up. They actually seem like a good person.”

“Y’think so?”

“I do. You?”

“Yeah.” Carmy doesn’t bother hiding his smile, even though he can already sense Richie’s teasing coming from a mile away. “They’re a really good friend.”

“Friend. Sure.” Richie snorts.

“Don’t push it,” and for some reason he adds, “they were gonna spend it alone.”

“Huh. Sociable guy like them spending it alone?”

“I know. I didn't ask. Maybe I should've.”

“Maybe. I dunno, cousin. Everyone's got their secrets. Especially the ones that try to act like they don't have any.”

“You're strangely full of wisdom today.”

“Fuck right off,” Richie responds in regular Richie fashion.

“I think they're like me. Like us.” Carmy's not sure why he's saying this on a Monday afternoon at work out of all times, but the truth bursts out of him beyond his will. Richie's expression shifts into something more solemn, something recognizable. “Y'know what I mean.”

“...Yeah.” Richie claps his hand on Carmy's back again. “Shitty parents club.”

As Carmy stands there in the back, feet sore and tobacco in the air, he sees his childhood in flashes. He's five years old again and is following Mike around with scuffed sneakers and untamed hair, although he supposes that unruliness never truly changed with time. There's warm sunlight filtering through green summer leaves. He hears his mother behind him, somewhere, but maybe he doesn't.

He thinks of home, of his bedroom, and it is cold. He has homework he’s failed to complete again. It's sitting on his desk, on top of all of the other shit he can't finish. There's screaming, and he's not listening.

He blinks. He’s 30, and he hasn’t talked to his mom since Michael died.

“Shitty parents club,” Carmy repeats hollowly.

. . . . .

When Thursday morning arrives, Carmy ends up greeting his roommate with flour in his hair and eggs sizzling on the pan.

“Um,” they say, just as Carmy goes “G'morning.” They both freeze, brief awkwardness circling between them before it dissipates with their breathless laugh.

“Good morning. I didn't think you'd actually take off,” they admit.

“I said I would,” he replies quietly, but it's not accusatory. How many times had he said he'd be home for dinner just for him to arrive when they're already asleep? He tries not to make empty promises anymore. Nonetheless, he understands their surprise. “Um, I'm almost done with breakfast. I didn't get to the coffee yet.”

“Am I supposed to be offended?” They laugh. “That's the least I can do, with you doing all of this.” They sluggishly shuffle behind him to reach down into some kitchen cabinets. “It's a special day, so I'll even make us pour overs.”

“That's true. It is special.” He peeks over his shoulder, pausing from basting the eggs in brown butter to see them setting up on the kitchen island. They gently place the hourglass-shaped glass onto the counter with a light clink. He silently switches the button on for the electric gooseneck kettle to his right. “Am I allowed to wish you a happy birthday, or should I not?”

“Hm, I don't mind. Just don't overdo it, which I doubt you will.” They pull out a bag of coarse ground coffee and a filter. As soon as they open the bag, he can smell the sweet scent of the light roast floating towards him.

“Okay. Then, happy birthday,” he says as casually as he can.

“Thanks, Carmy.” He studies their expression, searching for annoyance in their content expression, but he doesn't find any. “That's not even really what I meant by today being special, though.”

“How else did you mean it?” The eggs are done. He reaches over the hot pan to cut the heat.

“Well, y'know. I dunno if we’ve ever had a full day off together.” They're carefully scooping grounds into the filter fitted on top of the glass, creating a small hill. “I think I managed to catch you coming home early on my off days sometimes, but never a full day.”

“Huh.” Carmy has to take a minute to think about that one. “Yeah, I don't know either. I think you're right.”

“Then, like I said. It's special.” They seal up the bag of coffee grounds, and then they frown. “Shit. I forgot to turn on the kettle. Can you—”

“Already did it,” he reports, pleased, and his sense of accomplishment only doubles at their sigh of relief.

“Thank god.” There's the familiar clicking sound of the kettle reaching the perfect temperature. “Just in time, too. Can you hand it to me?”

“Yes, chef,” he says, because it always makes them laugh. Today is no exception. He slides the metallic kettle over to them.

“So what delights did you whip up over there?” They ask. They begin pouring the almost boiling water over their coffee grounds in a slow circle, gradually inching towards the middle. “It smells amazing. I want the full break-down.”

“The full break-down, got it.” On two circular plates, he's carefully placing a fried egg, thick cut bacon, and a slice of toast with jam and butter. “Uh…it's nothin’ special, just stuff we had in the fridge. We've got a, uh, brown-butter fried egg with a little paprika, sage, pepper, salt…”

“Oh, just an egg made with liquid gold, no big deal,” they imitate.

“Cut it out,” he snips back, but he's smiling and they know it. “There's honestly not much to it. This thick-cut bacon was in the back, so I cooked the rest of it. And the toast is just brioche with salted honey butter and blueberry jam.”

“Carmy. C'mon. That's nothing special to you?”

“I mean.” It's not quite nothing, he thinks. “I can make nicer breakfasts, is all.”

“That's what you said when you made me garlic bread, and that fucking blew my mind.” They set the kettle down with a thunk. The glass is full of dark coffee. Prepped next to them is their favorite glass mug alongside Carmy's. He's not sure how they knew that it was his favorite, but he doesn't question it.

“I'm just letting you know that you should wait to be really impressed.”

“Too fucking late, man.” He's turned around and placed the two breakfast platters on the kitchen island, and they gawk openly at it. “Holy fuck.”

“It's ready,” he says, surprisingly meek. He can't comprehend why anxiety's hitting him now of all times. He's served acclaimed food critics, top-security government officials, and celebrities more times than he can count. Before that audience, he never faltered, but in front of his roommate in their crumpled pajamas, his heart stutters.

“Oh, wow…” They regard the food with undeserved softness. Like a punctured balloon, his anxiety immediately begins deflating. They're staring at the food like it's a painting in a museum. “You seriously didn't have to do all of this.”

“I know. I just wanted to.” He feels heat on the back of his neck. “Is…is that okay?”

“It's more than okay.” Suddenly, he notices their eyes are puffy, like they were crying. “Goddamnit, get over here.”

He only registers what's about to happen for one second before they're hugging him. Their palms are on his back, and the top of their head tucks under his chin perfectly. He makes a small, surprised noise.

“I, I'm glad you like it.” He links his arms around them, allows himself to rest his chin on their head. With their face turned to the side, their ear's pressed up against his chest, and he's instantly struck with the paranoia that they're gonna hear his rapid heartbeat.

“I haven't even taken a bite yet, and I love it.” They lean back then, arms still wrapped around him and head craned upwards to look at him. It's far too intimate for what they are, and Carmy hates how his heart beats even harder. “Thank you for doing all this. Seriously. I…”

“The breakfast's just a side thing, I'm, um, still baking you a cake.”

“What? You're doing this and a cake?”

“Um,” Carmy repeats intelligently.

“Carmy. Carmy, Carmy, Carmy.” Their words ooze affection, but surely he's just imagining it. Their hands are crawling up his back. “God, I could just ki—”

“There's the timer,” Carmy blurts out, because his phone's ringing and so are his ears. At the sound, they let him go, and he grabs two towels to retrieve the two circular cake pans from the oven. A toothpick poked through the middle comes out clean, so he sets them on a wire rack to cool.

He needs to focus on the cakes. That's the most important thing.

“Oh my god.” They lean in close to the cake and take a deep breath. “Is this—”

“Devil's food cake, yeah.” The heat searing his face is surely from opening the oven.

“You—how did you—” Their smile is luminous with joy. “You really pay attention to every little thing, don't you?”

“Sometimes. When it counts.” He fidgets awkwardly, nails picking at the sides of his fingers. “Wanna eat by the window, or…?”

“Fuck yeah I do. Can you bring the plates over? I'll have the coffee over in just a second.”

Carmy sets up at their little table first, placing the plates just right across from one another. The morning sun casts a cozy glow through their speckled window, streaking planes of light across the floor. He patiently waits and watches them pace from the fridge to the counter, splashing cream into their mugs. Through the transparent glass, he watches the white fizzle into the dark coffee, blending into a warm brown.

“Just a tiny spoon of sugar for you, right?” They peek over their shoulder, catching his stare, and he nods. He's also not quite sure how they know that, either. They've had coffee in the morning maybe a handful of times before.

He supposes they also pay attention sometimes, when it counts.

“Alright, here we go.” They bring a mug in each hand and set them delicately down on the table. He notes that his coffee is the perfect color. “Oh, thanks for waiting. You didn't have to.”

“I, I guess so, yeah. It's just, uh, you always wait for me, so…”

“That's—that's true.” An odd tension sets in their face, but they laugh it off, and it disappears. “I guess I’m not used to it anymore.”

A part of him wants to ask further by what they meant by that, but they're already taking pictures of his food so dutifully. He doesn't want to ruin it, so he eats.

It's nice to have a solid breakfast for once. He had taken their advice from the other night and had been drinking milk with protein powder. It was nice not to feel like he was teetering the edge by lunch time, but truthfully, it was a bit unsavory. This breakfast platter is much more palatable. It also helps that his stomach pains aren't active today.

Time rolls by slowly this quiet morning, and Carmy recognizes the oddity of it immediately. It's clear to see when by this time, he's usually already done at least ten laps through the restaurant. An irritating signal in his brain is telling him that he needs to get up and do something, not sit around and eat, but for once, he doesn't want to listen.

A memory from roughly two weeks ago (or was it one week?) unearths all of sudden. He was up early, drinking shitty coffee and sinking into dissociation. Mornings were lonely, as he was usually the only one up, but not that day. His roommate came stumbling into the kitchen, awake from a restless night. They chatted before he had to head out, and he remembers wishing he had more time in the morning to spend with them.

He imagined a morning just like this one, with pajamas, food, and messy hair. He daydreamed about having all the time in the world, and he thought about getting to spend it all with them. Now he’s sitting in that moment he imagined, except that it’s real. They're across from him in their wrinkled pajamas and bedhead, contentedly mowing through their food. There's a smear of jam on the corner of their mouth. He takes a sip of his coffee, and it's perfect, just as they made it for him.

This amount of good should scare him, needs to scare him, but he just can't bring himself to care anymore. He wants more than nightmares, cigarettes, and floating just above the budget. He wants this.

He tastes his coffee and reminds himself that he’s still here. The moment hasn’t passed him by.

“Is it good?” He asks quietly. It’s a rhetorical question, it always is, but he can’t help himself. He wants to hear it from them.

“So. Fucking. Good.” They have to finish chewing before they answer. “You always knock it out of the park. If this is the prelude, I don’t know if I can handle what’s next,” they say, gesturing towards the cooling cake.

“It won’t be ready for a while yet. You have time to prepare yourself.” That makes them smile. All according to plan. “Got anything in mind for today?”

“Nothing glamorous. I was just gonna go out for a little. Go thrifting, maybe watch a movie later. Smoke a joint.” They shrug. “Just my usual sort of thing.”

“Mm.” He dusts off crumbs from the toast off his fingers on his pants. “Sounds like a good time. You still wanna go?”

“I do, yeah.” They stare at him for a moment, as if processing his words. Or just him. “Do you…wanna tag along, or…?”

Whenever they ask him if he wants to spend time together (whether it’s grocery shopping, smoking, or watching a show), they usually offer it with an air of nonchalance. Carmy’s assumed it’s been out of politeness, restraining their expression as to not put any pressure onto him. That’s the person he’s used to, not this uneasy anxiety, someone afraid to ask him to spend time with them.

It reminds him of himself in every way.

“I’d love to tag along,” he answers easily, just as they’ve always done for him. “I’ve got the whole day off, after all.”

“Right. ‘Course.” He watches their little smile double in size. “I promise to not make you watch me try on clothes for too long.”

“I wouldn’t mind. I like thrifting, y’know.” And you, he thinks to himself.

“You do? Oh, of course—” They make a contemplative noise to themself. “Vintage denim. I always wondered how you managed to have so many pairs.”

“Once you know where to look, they’re pretty easy to find. I can help you find some, if you want.”

“I’d love that. I realized the other day that I don’t have any dark wash jeans, so—actually, the truth is that I do have a pair, but they’re so fucked up and old that I never wear them anymore. Anyway, I need new jeans. Think you could find some dark wash blue jeans for me?”

“If you’re willing to hit up more than one store, then definitely,” he replies, just a smidge cocky.

“I’m willing to hit up even two more stores.” He pretends to gasp, to which they nod confidently. “Yeah. That’s right. Maybe even three.”

“We won’t need three,” Carmy promises. “I’m better than that. Probably won’t even need two, but…” He shrugs. “We’ll see what they’ve got.”

“Okay, Mr. Confident over here,” they tease. “Let’s see what you’ve got!”

They head out after they both clean the kitchen and freshen up. Carmy gets the flour out of his hair and rewets his hair to revive some of his curls. He silently thanks his past self for showering the night before. With the passage of the morning cold and the rising sun, the afternoon weather’s become brisk and pleasant. However, the weather’s barely a factor in how he’s dressing.

Is this too much? Is this not enough? He’s switching shirts and pants in the mirror like he’s about to go on a date. He knows he’s not, swears to himself that he’s not, but he’s put product in his hair and cologne on his wrists and temples. It’s not a date, but he can’t fucking decide what to wear.

He sucks it up and settles on a gray sweater, light wash blue jeans, and white sneakers. From under his collar and at the bottom of his sweater peeks out a brown button up. It’s probably too much, but this is his sixth outfit change. He’s fed up with it and himself.

After adjusting the gold chain that got hidden under his collar, he steps out.

He finds them already waiting by the door in this thick knit cardigan and fitted plaid pants that makes his heart stutter. When they hear him approaching, their head snaps up from their phone, and their skin sparkles with touches of makeup.

“You look really nice.” He has no idea how he let that slip, but he’s more shocked that he didn’t stutter once.

“Ah, th—thank you,” they stammer, fingers fidgeting with the edge of their sleeve. He’s not sure if it's their makeup or their skin that’s doing the blushing. It’s nice to see them being the one tripping over their words for once. “You look pretty handsome yourself.”

“Oh. Um.” Handsome? It echoes in his head. He instantly feels self conscious. So much for being the more suave one for once. “Thanks, uh…I just didn’t wanna wear my work clothes,” he lies in an attempt to ease his embarrassment.

“I gotcha.” He’s glad they don’t challenge him on it. “Shall we head out?”

“Yeah. Where we headed first?”

They take the metro to their personal favorite shop a little up north. The metro’s surprisingly busy for a Thursday afternoon, but the crowd forces the two of them to be huddled next to each other. They’re both standing close to a pole by the window, each with one hand wrapped around the metal.

As passengers come and go, they step closer to him to move out of the way. Eventually it just gets to a point where they’re standing nearly pressed up against his chest. He tries not to dwell on how that makes him feel, but he can smell the fragrance they put on, and it’s very distracting.

Luckily, the ride is short. Any longer on the train, he might’ve put an arm around their shoulder, god forbid.

“If we can’t find what I’m looking for here, maybe you can show me one of your favorite spots to go thrifting,” they say as they enter the thrift store. The interior is decorated, clean, and lovely, and unlike the metro, it’s not packed to the brim with people. It smells faintly of incense, and there’s local art framed all over the walls for sale. It oozes warmth and excitement, much like them.

“There’s a ton of shit here, so maybe we won’t need to after all.” He finds himself intaking everything at once, eyes flickering from sign to sign. “I’ve never been here before. This is really cool.”

“It’s my favorite place to find new clothes.” They trail down the racks, finger flitting between clothes. “I hope you can find something you like here, too.”

“I’m sure I will.” He’s already walking to their denim section and immediately spots some contenders. “I think I already have.”

He’s not sure if they mean to spend hours in there, but he certainly does. There’s more than just clothes to look at, although that’s what takes up most of his time. There’s dishes, furniture, cds, vinyls, books, even electronics. He goes back and forth with them, clothing articles piling up in his arms as they sit on battered couches together and peruse scratched cds. Everywhere he looks, there’s just more, more, and more.

“Okay, I’ve gotta cut myself off,” they say as they leave the furniture section. They’ve sat on nearly every chair in that place. “I already have so many clothes to try on, and that’s not even including the jeans you’ve picked out for me.”

“If it helps, some of these are mine.” Carmy flips through the layers of hanging jeans that have built up on his forearm. “If you can believe it, I even found some stuff that isn’t denim.”

“I’m not sure if I can, but seeing is believing.” They thumb through some long-sleeves he’s carrying that are seeping out from under the jeans. “I’m just glad you were able to find some stuff for yourself, too. Not that I was that worried.”

He hands them the jeans he’s found for them, all dark wash and in their size. To his surprise, they also hand him an article of clothing for him to try on.

“I thought you’d look good in this. You’ll have to show me when you try it on,” they say, and it’s innocent, completely meaningless, but as soon as Carmy agrees and rushes to hide in the changing room, he views in the mirror and sees his flushed face.

Doesn’t mean anything, he repeats to himself, over and over and over. Stop getting in over your head.

He tries on his items of choice first. The first is a dark green henley that looked better on the rack than it did him, so he puts it in the reject pile. The second is a dark blue long sleeve that fits just right. It’s cheap, too, so it’s an automatic purchase. He presumes the way to word it is that it hugs him in all the right places, but he’s not sure. The rest are jeans, of which only one he decides to buy. A bit pricey, but for the brand and year, it’s worth it (although he basically always uses this reasoning with himself).

Now, for the piece of clothing they picked out for him. It’s a dark brown t-shirt that seems like it’s just the right length. It’s a muted, yet warm brown, a bit rosey in hue. He doesn’t realize it’s a v-neck until he gets it over his head and down his shoulders.

“I’ve never worn a v-neck before,” he calls out to the room next to him.

“Oh, are you trying it on? Do you like it?” Their slightly muffled voice calls back to him.

“Um…I’m not sure,” he admits with a shaky laugh. The collar is lower than he’s used to. It dips below his collarbones, and between them dangles his chain. “Should I show you?”

“Yes! Hold on, lemme get some pants on. …Okay, I’m stepping out!”

He hears their door open alongside his. When they see him, their expression snaps into what he believes is surprise and delight. He’s sure he looks somewhat the same.

They’re wearing one of the vintage jeans he picked out for them—dark blue Levi’s. Although they’re rolled up a couple times at the bottom, it seems to fit them just right. As he stares, he’s reminded of his many pairs of Levi’s, and it’s more or less like seeing them in his clothes, which is. Which is. Uh. Yeah.

“I knew that would suit you,” they say with a grin, to which he realizes he can’t hide his blush.

“It’s not weird?”

“Not at all. It looks good.” They tilt their head to the side as they openly look him over, hip cocked. Something in their gaze is making him hot. “No pressure to buy it, of course.”

“It’s different from what I’m used to, but…” He looks down, smooths the fabric with his palm. “It’s kinda nice, something like this. Um, and what do you think about the jeans?” He needs to direct the attention off him quickly.

“Oh, I love them. The others ended up fitting not quite right on me, but that’s how it goes.” They move from side to side, almost twirling. It’s cute. “I love these, though. Just a little long, but I’m used to it.”

“That’s how it always is. I can hem them for you, if you want. I usually hem mine.”

“And he sews,” they say, seemingly to themself, but they’re looking right at him. Embarrassing. “If you don’t mind, that’d be amazing. Either way, I’m probably getting them.”

“Good. You should. They fit well.”

“Yeah?” They glance back into their fitting room, likely examining themself in the mirror, and then back at him. “Okay, then. Definitely getting them.” With that and a cheeky grin, they go back into their dressing room to try on the rest of their clothes. Carmy follows suit, grateful to hide his embarrassed face.

Carmy heads to check out with the dark blue long sleeve, a pair of jeans, and the brown v-neck. They’ve decided on the pair of jeans they showed him earlier and a little purple tank-top he wishes he got to see on them.

“Will that be all for you today?” The cashier asks him as he checks out first. Even the cashiers here are pretty nice, he finds.

“Oh, their stuff, too.” He nods to them, who’s standing right next to him.

“Carmy.” They glare at him.

“What?” He feels himself smiling.

“You can’t do this to me.”

“C’mon.” He nudges them gently with his elbow. “It’s my present to you.”

“Oh, so the present wasn’t the breakfast? Or the cake? Or helping me pick these out?”

“Why can’t it be all of them?” He decides to stop this in its tracks and takes the clothes out of their hands, sliding it onto the counter. “Just these two, and that’ll be it.”

“Just you wait until your birthday hits,” they mutter darkly, shaking their head. “Just you wait.”

“I haven’t told you my birthday.” He pauses. “Right?”

“I’ll ask Richie.”

“No, you won’t.”

“You’re giving me no choice.”

“You could also just, I don't know, not ask—”

“I wouldn't have to if you didn't force my hand—”

“You guys are cute together,” the cashier comments with a smile, surely a harmless, meaningless thing, but it shuts the both of them up. Carmy can already feel the impact of it on his psyche, and he decides to tuck away the surging emotions to unpack later. At least, he'll try.

“You really didn't have to get those for me,” they tell him when they're exiting the store. “But I guess I should just be saying thank you. So…thank you.”

“Sure. I mean, it would've been better if it was wrapped and stuff, but…” He shrugs. “Had to get you a real present, not just food.”

“Not just food, my ass.” That makes him laugh. “It'll be nice to have something to remind me of this day, though. That's one of the nice parts of getting gifts. Everytime I wear these clothes, I'll think of you.”

“Good. Yeah, that's…good,” he finishes lamely. He nods like their words haven't flustered him, but he's sure they can tell. They laugh, and he can tell it's because of his reaction.

“I'm sorry that the cashier said that,” they say out of nowhere.

“Why're you apologizing? It's not your fault.” Any embarrassment he was feeling before is immediately replaced with a new, more potent sort of embarrassment. He was hoping they wouldn't mention it.

“I guess that's true. I don't know, I just…” They trail off. “Just hope it didn't upset you.”

“Not at all,” he lies, and he prays they believe it.

. . . . .

The metro is less crowded on the way home. They sit comfortably next to each other and watch the city pass them by. A part of Carmy mourns the closeness they had on the way there, but the other part tells him to get it together and keep his distance.

“I'mma take a nap,” they say with a yawn. Their cardigan and bag have been tossed onto the couch. The new clothes have been thrown into the laundry machine, and there's the muffled sound of running water. “Maybe we could smoke and watch a movie later, though.”

“Yeah, that sounds nice.” He peers into the fridge to check on the cake rounds. Just as he left them. “Have a good nap.”

“Thanks, Carm,” they reply sleepily. “Wouldn't be a good day if I didn't get to have a nice nap, after all.” With that, they shuffle into their room and shut the door behind them.

Carmy spends the next two hours flying around the apartment, baking, cooking, cleaning. The sun slowly sets as he goes. He keeps his body and hands moving in hopes that his head doesn't have a chance to catch up, but it manages to keep the pace. It always does.

The crumb coat's fucked up on the left, his first train of thought says. He inspects the surface, eyes following the circumference of the cake. There's a little loose crumb. With the edge of his spatula, he tucks the crumb away.

The faint smell of chocolate wafts up from the cold cake rounds. He's hunched over the kitchen island, hands reaching between dark chocolate frosting and cake. The afternoon sun casts harsh lights onto the cake, and it glistens. He genuinely can't remember the last time he's made a layered cake. He's never been much of a baker, anyhow.

You're going to disappoint them, his second train of thought interrupts, running parallel to the other one at full speed. Who do you think you are? You don't make cakes.

He leans back, inspects his work. The crumb coats are perfect.

Fuck off, he thinks back, triumphant. Look at that shit. He runs his finger along the spatula, picking up congealed crumbs and frosting. He licks it off, and it's delicious. And it tastes good, asshole. So shut the fuck up.

You're being a nuisance, the thoughts continue. Carmy's pops the crumb coats in the freezer for a quick set. They don't actually like any of this. They're just being nice to make you feel better.

They seemed happy to me, he thinks, but he's faltering. He's washing the dishes, and the sensation of the warm water feels distant. They loved the food I made.

Couldn't you tell they were lying? He doesn't understand why these thoughts are rampaging through his head now of all times. It's not unfamiliar, but it's inconvenient. Keep this up, and you'll actually be surprised when they drop you.

Without warning, a memory hits him . As his hands drip with soap, he's reminded of playing with Michael and Sugar in the summer when he was five. Or six, or seven, he's never quite sure. They were outdoors at a local park, and the heat made the metal of the playground searing hot to the touch.

He was blowing bubbles, and the sticky mixture from the bottle was getting all over his hands. In his memory, Carmy watches the way the iridescent bubbles floated away and left little circles on the surface of the plastic slide. He can't remember why he wasn't playing with the others. He can remember the sound of their laughing voices in the distance, gleeful and delighted without him. He thinks he tried to join in, but it didn't work. It often just didn't work, and it was all his fault.

The memory ends, and Carmy's finished washing the dishes.

This is working, he thinks to himself. His hands are dried out from the hot water and soap. I swear to you, it's working. So just stop. Okay?

There's no response. Good enough.

He hears the door opening as soon as he's putting the finishing touches on the cake. With a damp paper towel, he carefully swipes away stray drops of frosting that fell onto the cake stand. He thinks it's best described as if a tiramisu was turned into a devil's food cake. It's not the best cake he's ever made, but it's definitely up there in terms of looks. All the components of the cake tasted good separately, so he hopes it makes sense in his mouth as much as it did in his head.

“Have a nice nap?” He asks before he turns his head. They're standing in the hallway, bed hair hastily tied back.

“Sorta. It was okay.” Their eyes are glued onto the cake as they walk up to the island. “Is this…?”

“This is for you, yeah,” he finishes for them. They take a seat on one of the chairs at the island. “It's a, uh, devil's food cake with vanilla mascarpone cream on the inside. The outside's this coffee buttercream…” He trails off, not knowing what else to say. He could mention the dutch processed cocoa powder, the expensive vanilla bean pods, or the endless sifting, but it feels too gratuitous.

“Wow…” They're still staring, as if it's not quite real to them. “I can't believe this is for me. It almost looks too pretty to eat, but you know I can't wait to tear into this.”

“We could, uh, have it now, if you, if you want,” he says hesitantly.

“I don't know if I could wait.” Their smile grows wider. “You even put candles on it?”

“We don't have to light them or anything if you don't want to,” he adds quickly.

“The candles are the fun part. I don't mind that. The song is…okay I guess, but…” They give him an expectant, excited look. “Were you gonna sing for me?”

“...Only if you wanted to,” he mumbles, suddenly stricken with embarrassment.

“Would that be okay? If I wanted that?”

“I wouldn't mind.” Not if it's you.

“Okay. Then, yeah.” They pull out a lighter from their pocket. “I’d really like that.”

Carmy cuts the overhead lights before taking out his own lighter to help them light the rest of the candles. One by one, the dark room gradually illuminates until it's filled with a warm, orange glow. The flickering flames cast shifting shadows onto their smiling face and reflect into their glossy eyes.

“Ready?” He asks quietly.

“I'm ready,” they whisper.

Carmy doesn't really need to clear his throat, but he does so anyway. He can't recall the last time he sang happy birthday to anyone, let alone by himself. This is the first time he's ever sung in front of an audience, too.

I can do this, he thinks to himself. I can do this.

His voice is awkward and scratchy. He never uses it like this, has never sang for anyone in his life. His ears burn, and he hates the sound of his voice, but he reminds himself to focus on their delighted little smile and warm gaze. The room is far too quiet for his voice, making the words painfully clear.

“Happy birthday to you,” he finishes singing, voice trailing off awkwardly. He's more than ready to finish singing now. “Uh, make a wish…?”

“Right.” The two of them sit in the flickering candle light for a moment longer, the silence thick. Carmy watches their face, their eyes boring into the candles with an expression he can only describe as longing. Then, they blow out the candles with a decisive blow, and the room goes dark.

He moves to switch on the lights. When he turns back to look at them, tears are streaming down their face.

“Hey,” he says softly. He props his elbows on the counter, standing across from them and tilting his head to the side. They're not meeting his gaze, glazed eyes boring into the dripping candles. “What's wrong?”

“I'm sorry,” they whisper with a sniffle, and it sounds like a reflex. Something about them suddenly seems so much smaller. “I shouldn't be crying.”

“It's okay. I don't mind.” That makes them smile, even if it's shaky. “Was the singing too much?”

“No, it wasn't your singing,” they say with a laugh. “Your singing was lovely. It's just—I'm so happy. You made today so special.”

“Yeah?” He fights the urge to reach over and wipe their tears. “I'm glad. I wanted to make it good. I…” He hesitates. “...I didn't like the idea of you spending it alone.”

“I didn't either. And I thought I was going to have to be alone…but then you—then you took off work, and you made me breakfast, you went shopping with me—even got me clothes—and now this—” Another rush of tears gushes from their eyes, and they hastily wipe at it with their shirt.

“You've done way more for me. This is the least I could do.” Before he can stop himself, his hand is brushing hair out of their eyes. They freeze for a split second, eyes finally flickering up towards him. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

“It's okay,” they whisper back. “Um…” They let out a shaky sigh, the sort of trembling sound that happens after crying too much. “I feel like I should explain.”

“You don't have to if you don't want to,” he assures them quickly, “but I…I'd like to know. If that's okay.”

“I want you to know. I, I do.” They open their mouth to keep talking, but shaky breaths continue to stifle them. It's hard to watch.

“Breathe,” he reminds them, quietly. He visibly takes in a deep breath, silently encouraging them to breathe with him. They follow suit, closing their eyes and taking a slow breath. Tears slip silently from their eyes. Gradually, their breathing becomes less of a staccato, evening out into something much more manageable.

“Thank you,” they murmur. He nods. They already sound a lot calmer. “I'm not sure where to start. I…I suppose I'll start with today.” Another deep breath. “I didn’t get a call from my parents today.”

“Ah…” The first missing piece.

“I knew they weren’t going to. But a part of me still hoped…” They stop and shake their head. “It's the first year that it's been like this.”

“What happened?”

“Uh…I went no contact with my family about a year ago.” Another pained, hollow laugh. The second piece. “I didn't even really want to—it was a complicated, shitty situation. My parents were being their usual shitty selves, and I just wanted them to apologize. It was over such a small thing, and, and I just…I don't know. I thought maybe I could fix things.” He's never seen them with such a heavy expression, etched with such weariness. “I just wanted them to apologize to me, Carm. That's all I wanted. And then they cut me off cold.”

Their voice is trembling again, and the tears are falling faster. The collar of their shirt is dark with moisture. Carmy hates that he doesn't know what to say. He hates just staring at them, silent as he tries to find the words.

Suddenly, he thinks of Michael.

“Michael never let me work in the restaurant,” he tells them. “That's why I went to culinary school. A big part of it, anyway. He just cut me off, didn't let me in no matter what I did, and it was…” He makes a vague hand gesture. “I felt insane. I was so fucking angry. I couldn't understand him. And I'm not saying that's anything like what you've been through, but…” He looks into their watchful eyes. “I'm sorry. I think I'm trying to say that I, that I understand. A little.”

“I…I appreciate that.” They give him a small, wobbly smile. He adores their smile, but seeing it through their tears twists something painfully in his chest. “He would've been lucky to have you. You're an excellent chef.”

“I am now, anyway.” He sighs. “Your family's missing out on you, too. You're…” Say it. Just say it. “You're a really wonderful person. I can't imagine…”

I can't imagine anyone looking at you and not loving what they see, he thinks suddenly, and he instantly realizes he can't say it. He can barely even comprehend that he just thought it.

He can't process this right now. This isn't the time.

“I keep trying to wrap my head around it all, wondering what I did wrong, what I could've done better… Sometimes, the conclusion I arrive at is that I must have done something to deserve this. That I just, I don't know, that maybe I'm just this permanent fuck-up, and…” They run a tired hand over their wet face, through their hair. “My parents fucked me up real good, man.”

There's something familiar about their words, and Carmy realizes it's because it sounds like him. He would've never guessed that under their easy-going smiles was a reflection of himself. He recognizes himself in their self-deprecation, the bone-deep pain. There was always a sense of sympathetic connection between the two of them, but he had no idea. He had no idea how far deep the mutual experiences went.

A part of him still can't believe that this is the truth, that this is what lies at their core, but then he remembers. He thinks about the night they were throwing up into the toilet. They were sobbing, crying into his shoulder about how much they hate themself.

“You know you didn't deserve it. Right?” Carmy's not sure when they started leaning in so close to each other. He's looking at their wet eyelashes with startling clarity. “You did all you could.”

“You don't know that.” Their words are so soft-spoken, but it still catches him off guard. “You don't know what happened.”

“You—” Irritation prickles inside him, his instincts itching to snap back, but he doesn't. He sees himself in them, and he holds back. “You're right. I don't know what happened. But I know you.” The shock is on their face as clear as day. “At least, I think I do.”

“I want to think you do, too,” they whisper. “But this—this messy bullshit is also me. I wish it wasn't. I wish you didn't have to see all this. I…don't want you to…think any less of me.”

“I don't think there's anything you could do to make me think less of you.” He doesn't resist dragging his thumb across a stray tear on their cheek. To his surprise, they lean into his touch. “Y'know when I almost burned down the apartment?”

“Oh my god.” They smile, and he feels their grinning cheek against his palm. “Yeah. Is it crazy to say I remember it fondly?”

“A little bit.” They laugh. It's quiet, but it's real. “Remember that talk we had after?”

“I do. Why?”

“You're allowed to mess up on onions,” he says softly. “It won't push me away.”

They stare at him for what feels like a long time. Their eyes refill with tears, but they don't spill. With a clammy hand, they shakily place their hand on top of his hand that's still cradling their wet cheek.

“Fucking onions,” they say finally with a wet laugh. Fresh tears drip onto his thumb, and he wipes them away again. As many times as it takes. “God damnit, Carmy.”

“No one deserves to have shitty parents, let alone ones that walk out on them.” He thumbs away more tears. “You being an imperfect person like everyone else doesn't justify that.”

“There must be something more I could've done,” they whisper. “Something I did wrong.”

“Maybe. But they're your parents, not the other way around. It's not your fault.”

“I know. I know that. I do. There just has to be a reason, because—fuck—the truth would just be too fucked up.”

“...And that is?”

It takes a long, still minute before they can get their words out.

“...It’s—it's that—” Their cries are verging on sobs, increasingly more staggered and uncontrollable. “It's that s-some kids—are just—some kids have parents that will never—never love—”

They can't finish. Their sobs have overtaken their whole body. Their body's hunched over the counter, curled into themself. Carmy can't think of a time where he's ever seen them crying so hard.

Without another word, Carmy pulls them into a hug.

They cry for a long time. Through it all, fleeting condolences pass Carmy by in his head, but they all feel too cheap, too meaningless. So all he does is hold them tight, letting them grab onto his shirt and soak the fabric on his shoulder. It's all he feels he can really do.

After a while, the tide subsides. He feels them wilting in his arms, exhausted from sobbing so violently. He doesn't actually want to let them go, but their sniffling nose sounds like it's completely stopped up.

“I'm gonna get you some tissues, ok?” He says quietly. They make a quiet noise of acknowledgement, and they pull back. He snatches up a box of tissues from the coffee table. He places it in front of them before grabbing them a glass of water.

“Thank you,” they mumble, voice scratchy. Carmy stands and watches as they blow through several tissues. The water gets downed instantaneously.

“Better?”

“Yeah. A lot better.”

“Good.”

“...I think, deep down, I know I didn't deserve what happened. Or just having shitty parents in general.” They sigh. “It's just easier to think that I do. That I deserve it.”

“...Yeah.” That resonates with a part of him he's not quite ready to acknowledge. “You're one of the kindest people I've ever met,” he admits quietly. “If someone like you deserves a shitty hand in life, I'm fucked.”

“Carmy…” Their smile is small, but genuine. “Thank you. I want to be able to genuinely believe that, one day. I'm going to try.”

“I know. I get it.”

“I know you do.”

That makes both of them smile, even if it's bitter.

“Thanks for telling me. About everything.”

“No, thank you for listening. For just being there for me.” They prop their chin in their hands, their elbows resting on the counter. “Y'know, this past year, I've been trying to find a sense of joy in all this mess. Sometimes it just feels so far away, like…like any happiness is just impossible. But I think I've found it. Rather, I've already found it.”

“Yeah?” Carmy looks at them expectantly, but he never expected this—

“I found you,” they tell him.

“...” He immediately fixes his shocked expression. He's at a loss for words.

Me?

“I never found a chance to mention it, but…my parents are the reason I decided to live with you. That's why I wanted to be your roommate, even though we were strangers.” They shrug shyly. “My lease was up on my last place. I was gonna go home, but then all that stuff happened at the last minute, and…yeah. I needed to find a place to live.”

“Seriously?” They just nod. “Damn. Uh…Yeah, that's fucking crazy. I had no idea.”

“At the time, I was miserable. I kept thinking to myself, ‘I can't believe how shitty this situation is!’ Don't get me wrong, it was fucking awful, but…it led me to you, so…it wasn't really all that bad, in the end. I got lucky.”

Fucking hell, he thinks to himself. Fuck.

“If you hadn't roomed with me, I wouldn't have been able to come back home for my brother's restaurant,” he says, mostly because he's so embarrassed that he swears his whole body's red at this point. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. “I think I'm the lucky one.”

“Can't we both be lucky?”

“I guess we can. Just doesn't seem very realistic.”

“Little too late to say that. It's already real.”

“...There's no other shoe?”

“Not that I know of. I think the other shoe's already dropped for us a while ago. Surely there's no other shoes left?”

“I hope not. I don't know if I could take another one.”

“Me neither.”

“...”

“Do you…want to eat your cake now?”

“Fuck, oh my god—I completely forgot! Yes!”

Just as Carmy planned, the flavors go perfectly together. Even though he knew it was going to be delicious, when he takes the first bite of the cake, relief washes over him. They seem to be overjoyed, inhaling the cake at dangerous speeds.

“You're gonna hurt yourself if you eat that fast,” he observes, both amused and concerned.

“Can't talk. Need to eat this.” That makes him laugh so abruptly he nearly gets cake up his nose. “This is the best birthday cake I've ever had, both visually and taste-wise.”

“I'm glad. Like I said, I'm not really a baker, but…I make an alright cake.”

“You make a fantastic cake.” They’ve got a bit of frosting on the corner of their mouth. “It doesn't get much better than this—eating a cake made by you.”

“Because I'm a chef, you mean?”

“No, not that. Not just that, anyway,” they amend with a cheeky grin. “Because you're my best friend.”

You're my best friend.

…

I'm their best friend, he repeats to himself. I'm their best friend.

He thinks about crying. He won't cry, but he thinks about it.

“Oh,” he replies intelligently. “...Really?”

“Y-Yeah. Unless, uh, you don't—”

“You're my best friend too,” he blurts out, and the anxiety on their face fades away into a relieved, beautiful smile.

“Thank god. That would've been pretty awkward if you didn't…” They shake their head.

“I've never been anyone's best friend before,” he confesses.

“Seriously?” They recover from the shock quickly. “Lucky me, then.”

“I thought you established we were both the lucky ones.”

“Oh, right.” They chuckle. “Lucky both of us, then.”

Carmy thought that life would always be the same. He thought that he was fated to a routine of nausea and nightmares, never quite close enough to reach a rest point. He thought that he was okay with it being his fate, because he never knew anything else.

He thought that loneliness, cigarettes, and memories would be enough, because it always stays the same. Nothing ever changes.

Until them.

He thought he had outgrown happiness, that his body had grown accustomed to living without it. That there was no longer space in his heart to withstand the weight of joy. But as he sits here with his roommate, chatting and laughing over a cake he made for them, he finds that's not true.

His capacity for happiness had never left. It had been there all along.

And with that, something in him lets go.

Carmy sees it all at once. It starts from the beginning—he sees the first day he met them, an initially hesitant meeting gone surprisingly well. He sees the first time the two of them smoked together, deliriously laughing through shared smoke. He sees them in the mornings, messy hair and wrinkled t-shirts. He sees them in nothing but an apron. He sees them in tight black clothes that leave little to the imagination. He sees them laughing at a joke that he didn’t think was all that funny.

He sees them in his dreams, red tomato puree bleeding from their gums. He sees them holding his trembling hands in theirs, soothing him back down from the storm in his hand. He sees them comforting him through his tears. He sees them sobbing, hot tears on their cheek and his hand. He sees them heaving into the toilet, whispering that they want to know him. He sees himself, embracing them tightly in his arms.

He sees it all. He knows that he can't avoid it anymore.

Carmy is completely, undeniably in love with them, and there is absolutely nothing that he can do to make that realization disappear.

…Some things, he understands, refuse to stay the same.

@zorrasucia @carmenberzattosgf @carmenbrzatto @thehouseofevangelista

#carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear #jeremy allen white #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x you #the bear fanfiction #carmy berzatto imagines #carmy the bear #the bear fx #my fics #alexithymia fic #GOD. IT'S FINALLY HERE. THIS ONE'S A BEAST.#ch 6 is gonna be the climax..... it's gonna happen yall. it's finally here. hahahaha #anyway this one took so long to write because it was so revealing for me... as i'm sure yall have guessed. sigh.

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