#and again i KNOW she owes no one anything and she also isn’t one to speak out

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

.

[yanderenightmare]

part one

TW: nsfw, dubcon, blackmail

fem reader

As promised, you receive the pictures in the mail while the payment is forwarded almost emmidiatly. You don’t know which makes you gawk more, the photos of you or the numbers.

You also get an email—an invitation. The photographer is asking you to dinner. Or, asking is putting it nicely—which he most certainly didn’t. It’s phrased like a notice from your boss—matter-of-factly, he’s picking you up at eight, wear something nice.

You think about declining, but then you think about your friend again and how you don’t want to cause her any trouble. A free dinner isn’t really all that bad, is it?

It’s worse, actually.

“You should have told me you didn’t have anything to wear. I would have lent you something,” is the first thing he says when you get in his car. He hadn’t opened the door for you or anything, just sat in the driver’s seat waiting.

And though your cheeks burn with embarrassment, you think you’re foolish for it. You hadn't really dressed to impress him, after all—something you might as well tell him, “Maybe I just didn’t feel like dressing up. You didn’t exactly leave a good impression last time we met, so I don’t believe I owe you anything.”

He scoffs with a grin—face turned towards the road as he starts driving. “You have a lot more bite without your friend.”

“She has too much respect for you.” You cross your arms and look out the window. 

“That’s for sure.” You hear him chuckle, but he doesn’t offer any more of a response. You’re glad to spend the rest of the drive in silence.

You feel underdressed at the restaurant. You hadn’t thought he’d take you somewhere so nice. Most of the other couples there are dressed as if for a gala, while you’re dressed as if you’re going to an office party.

He hasn’t tried too hard himself. But still, he fits in—fat watch on his wrist, kempt hair, neat shoes, dress trousers, and a silk shirt with one too many buttons undone—a nauseating skinny chain beneath the collar as well as the hint of a chest tattoo. You bet it’s one of those dumb tribal inks, probably with some mundane Japanese characters he doesn’t know the meaning of.

“Is this where you undermine all the models desperate for your recognition?” you sigh as you sit down.

“We haven't even gotten our menus, and you’re already causing a scene?” 

He’s the one who was rude the moment you got in the car. In fact, he was rude the minute you met him. “Might as well speed this along.”

He chuckles—his smile genuinely amused instead of angered the way you’d imagined—the way you’d remembered from last time when he sent girls crying. “You know, for a face like that, you have one hell of a tongue.”

He orders wine by the name with ease and swiftness before returning to what he was saying.

“I like that. Most models are dull, but not you.”

“I don’t agree. And I’m a model,” you snip, showing no interest in his flirting.

 “No? Didn’t you see the pictures?” Your attitude doesn’t seem to deter him—rather, it only seems to egg him further on. “I have them all mounted on my walls at home—you should come see.”

This makes you falter. Looking at him from across the table with rounded eyes. “On your walls?”

“Framed.” He smiles, finally having broken through—he only intends to take it further. Not that what he was saying wasn’t true. “I just couldn’t help myself. I consider it my best work.” 

The look on your face is something between disgusted and uncertain—speechless in a sense.

It makes him laugh again. “Does anything flatter you?”

The wine comes. He’s poured a glass for testing.

“Not when spoken by men like you.”

His grin grows as he swirls the liquid around, smelling it like a phony.

“That’s a shame,” he says before taking a sip. He nods to the waiter, and you’re poured a similar glass. Meanwhile, he looks at you. “I’d like to flatter you—I’d like to spoil you even. You seem like you deserve it.”

You sip your glass. “No need.”

“I’m not so sure about that. You currently work at a diner, right?”

You gaze at him from atop your glass, brows furrowing. “How do you—”

“I didn’t.” It’s a lie, of course, he’d searched you up and gone over every little detail he could find. “It’s clear from the looks of you—”

“Fuck you,” you snap, putting your glass down a bit too harshly, enough to make a little wine slip and spill.

He doesn’t mind it. “Oh, I want you to,” he says instead. “After I pay for dinner and drive you back. We can fuck right under my favorite portrait of you.”

You’re stunted by his crude words, but only for a second. “How about we skip dinner, and you go fuck yourself.” 

His smile doesn’t drop, even as you get up to leave. “Settle down, sweetheart.”

“Make me, jackass.” 

You’re on your way to go, but his next words have you halting. 

“Either you humor me, or I make sure your friend never models in the country again.”

You turn around to look at him. You don’t really know why you’re so surprised. The card he just pulled is the very reason you agreed to the dinner in the first place. But an incentive is very different from outright blackmail, and suppose you just hadn’t really believed he’d take it that far.

“It’s my impression you don’t want that,” he continues.

You sit back down. He tops your glass off.

“I could make her big, you know?” he offers while pouring for himself as well. “Really speed her career along—set her up for life. I’ll do the same for you, too, of course.” 

He swirls his wine, lifting it as if to make a toast.

“And all you gotta do is come back home with me.”

You don’t have the words.

“You won’t be disappointed,” he promises. “I’m good at it.” As if that’s your concern. “You’ll never want to fuck anyone else again.”

You hate how right he is. 

You’ve never cum sooner or harder before in your life, not with anyone else or on your own. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced—so good, you’re screaming—moaning out in echoes throughout his giant penthouse, bouncing off the marble floors into all unlocked rooms, creating a cacophony of your undeniable pleasure.

He’s on his knees beneath you as you lean with your back against the window overlooking the city, barely able to stand as he buries his face between your soft thighs, canting his chin up while lapping hard at your slit and clit. His hard stare set on your face and the way you throw your head back while cumming in his mouth—your hand tussled in his hair, yanking on it hard enough to make him growl.

Your legs and feet give you little support. It's his hands that keep you up as you slide further and further down the floor-to-ceiling window until you’re almost about ready to drop your weight completely.

But he’s made you come undone three times by then, and just can’t wait any longer. 

He’s spun you around before you know it, making you face the pretty lights of the city skyline—his mouth hot on the shell of your ear, “I told you so, didn’t I?”

Your breath fogs the glass with your panting—knees wobbly, only standing thanks to the thick arms he’s got supporting you, each with a tit in their hand, giving them rough squeezes as he starts pounding away at your womb—hard enough to make the city lights blend in with the stars. 

“You won’t wanna fuck anyone else again.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shigaraki, Dabi, Aizawa, Shinso, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Naoya, Toji ♡ HQ – Tsukishima, Kageyama, Iwaizumi, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin ♡ AOT – Levi ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[jyoongim]

Heyyy, it’s me again, the singer anon. Can I request an Alastor x Reader where she is sent by as a spy by Vox after our fav slithery boy failed? She’s really bubbly and friendly, but she eventually grows to care for everyone in the hotel but Vox owns her soul. She torn in between getting herself killed by him and not betraying anyone anymore, or continuing the job. She goes and confesses to Alastor, breaking down and thinking he’ll kill her, which she thinks would be best so she doesn’t have to betray anyone anymore. Just breaking down in tears telling him she doesn’t want to hurt anyone but Vox has her under a contract, begging him to kill her so she doesn’t have to. Just for Alastor to call her a good girl and ughhhh some possessive smut if you don’t mind? Sorry brain rots in my head and I’m in love with him, lol. Thank you! <3 also the three requests story set off the trigger in my head, loved it! Thanks again! <3!

This been in my inbox for weeks and i finally got a plot for it!

⚠️warning: 18+! Smut smut smut! Plot if you look hard enough!

—————————————————————————————

No one suspected a thing.

You were sent to the Hazbin Hotel after Sir Pentious miserable attempt.

Your orders were simple: ”Keep an eye out on that old fossil. I want to know why that fucker is sucking up the Lucifer’s daughter”

And you did just that…you were executing your mission flawlessly.

Until you began to care about those who stayed at the hotel.

Until you began to grow closer to the Radio Demon.

————————————————————————————

You had been staying at the hotel for a few months now and its been great!

Charlie was always finding new ways to help the residents build bonds and encouraging everyone to do their best.

At first, you were arrogant, playing along until you actually saw the the demons there were actually changing even if they didn’t admit it

But now, you thought of the princess as a friend, along with everyone else.

Especially Alastor.

Now that you’ve been around him, you’re not sure why Vox hate the demon so much.

Alastor was funny, kind (in his own twisted way), and truly looked after the hotel.

A soft smile curled on your lips as you thought about the demon, but the ringing of your phone interrupted such thoughts.

Vox.

You took a deep breath and answered “H-Hello?”

”Tonight’s your chance to take out that prick and after that come home” he demanded.

You blinked “what? B-but Vox…” you bit your lips “But it’s actually nice here. The hotel isn’t a scam…a-and everyone is a lot nicer than we thought ” Vox laughed “Oh baby please! Nice? You actually believe in that redemption crap? You think that they’ll let you stay if they knew why you truly were there? Hahaha! Oh my dumb little girl, how naive you are. ” 

You pouted, a frown on your face “I want to stay”

Vox growled through the phone “ah ah baby you don’t make demands remember?” 

Electrical shocks ran through your body from the collar you wore.

You gasped in pain “I OWN you. Did you forget that? You do whatever I say when I say it. Now I expect you home before morning or I will kill you.”

The phone call ended and you were in tears.

You didn’t want to go back. 

You liked being at the hotel and able to be yourself. 

You liked the friends you had made here.

You would do anything for them, even if you had to die to make your wrongs right.

————————————————————————

“Come in” the voice answered after you knocked on the door. You were sweating as you stood outside of Alastor’s door.

You had decided that if you were going to tell anyone why you were at the hotel, it would be Alastor.

You opened the door and walked into his radio studio.

”Hey Al” you said weakly as the demon spun around and smiled at you “Hello darlin! What do I owe the pleasure?”

You fiddled with your hands.

”I want to tell you why I came to the hotel”

Alastor quirked a eyebrow, smile widening as he gestured for you to take a seat on the couch.

”Do entertain me of your tale my dear”

You were in tears by the time you finished telling Alastor everything.

Of Vox and his plan.

The deal between you and Vox.

The reason you came to the hotel.

Everything.

”I-I’m sorry! So so sorry! I-I just didn’t know what to do!

Kill me! I deserve it! J-Just let me say my goodbyes first. I would rather you kill me than Vox! Please!” You cried, hands covering your face as you sobbed.

Alastor had been quiet for the entirety of your confession. He had half a mind to kill you when you told him of your deal with Vox.

The pesky television didn’t know when to mind his business.

His eyes focused on the collar around your neck.

 You were Vox’s and by contract, he wasn’t allowed to kill you.

And he wasn’t. No he had grown accustom to the pretty demon who seemed to light the hotel’s halls.

However…he could override Vox’s ownership of your soul.

You flinched when you felt a large hand pat the top of your head. You looked up through teary eyes ay Alastor, who just sported a soft smile.

”Now now my dear don’t you worry. I appreciate that you came to and confided in me. What a good girl you are.” His smile stretched as you sniffled, looking at him with glossy eyes.

”Y-Youre not g-gonna k-kill me?” You asked looking down.

He chuckled as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, claws finding their way under your chin to make you look at him

He rolled his eyes ”Oooh my dear of course not…” His fingers trailed down your neck, toying with your collar. “But I am in a bit of predicament”

You wiped at your eyes “how so?”

“Under normal circumstances, I would rip you to shreds and broadcast your screams for all of Hell to hear” his pupils turned to dials and his smiled turned wicked. You felt your heart stop a little.

He calmed down slightly “however I have another idea to break your deal with Vox” 

He smiled at you as you tilted your head in confusion.

”I know just the thing hehehe”

————————————————————————————

You whimpered as you tried to hold yourself up against the force of Alastor’s thrusts. “A-Al!” You whined as the demon tugged your hair to pull your body into his. A deep growl vibrated through you as Alastor sunk into your weeping heat, his cock hitting that soft spot inside you.

“Fuuuucckk!” You hissed, eyes rolling into your skull as your body buzzed with pleasure.

Alastor pulled your body til your back was flushed against his chest, his sharp teeth nipped at your skin before latching on and marking you. You winced as his tongue lapped at the blood, he purred as trailed his tongue up your neck.

”To think Vox had such a sweet cunt all to himself. Ooh darlin you’re wasted on him. But you’ll be a good girl for me wont you? You seem to love having a real cock fucking you” he chortled, giving you a harsh thrust. His hips grinded up into your ass, coaxing your cunt to take every inch over and over.

Your gummy walls tightened around him as you whined at his words. You could barely focus on what he was saying, not giving two shits either as he bullied your insides.

”I-I can be a good girl please please oh fuck! Aah! Aah!” You whined. Alastor’s large hands trailed up your body; kneading, pawing, and squeezing at your supple flesh. Pausing at your bouncing tits to tweak your hardened nipples, sending currents to your abandoned clit.

“I know you will baby” 

He nudges his head into yours, to gain your attention and capture your lips with his, swallowing your moans as one of his hands moves down to toy with your puffy clit.

Your body jerked as he rubbed tight circles on the bud; your cunt fluttering as slick dripped down your thighs.

”Ill make a deal with you darlin” he whispered against your lips, lidded eyes staring into yours, as you mewled, wanting his tongue back down your throat. 

“I keep this little mishap under wraps and in return you belong to me. Youre free to do whatever your heart but im no pushover m,a cherie.”

His thrusts sped up as he pinched your clit.

You keened, pushing your hips back into his, trying to follow the motion of his fingers, seeking to reach your orgasm.

”Do we have a deal?” He purred never breaking his pace.

Your collar let out blue sparks, Vox’s way of ‘reinforcing’ his control over you. You whimpered as the shocks edged you, but Alastor let out a deep growl as he wrapped his claws around the collar.

”Do we have a deal?” A snap of his hips pulled a moan from your throat.

”oh! Yes! Yes! F-fuuuc-cckk”

Static ran through your body causing you to jerk as your orgasm washed over you, your collar fizzled out as Alastor’s cock pounded your cunt, riding your orgasm out.

The wet SQUELCH! Of your cunt echoed as high pitched whines left your throat. 

“That’s a good girl. Cummin all over my cock. Feels better than that robot huh? Yeeesss fuck! Take my cum darlin take it”

Your eyes crossed as your mouth opened in a scream. Alastor crashed his lips on yours, tongue pushing through your lips and pulling you into a heated kiss as he pumped you full of his cum.

Alastor let out a sigh as he slipped out of you, cock coated in creamy essence and smiling as he watched your cunt clench around nothing and dripping cum.

In your dazed state, you faintly heard a snap and a cool sensation coated your neck.

Instead of the sapphire jeweled collar, a gold chained ruby hung from your neck.

Alastor hummed as he rubbed your tired body, smiling wickedly as he slotted back into your soppy heat. You moaned softly as he rolled his hips against you.

”now lets send that mediocre podcast a proper video”

[frostbitebakery]

for @ferretrade

.Hashmarks

“I’ve seen a few troopers commemorating their kills with those,” Aayla comments, pointing her stylus at his collarbone where his shirt has slipped down.

It’s absolutely sweltering on this planet whose name Bly is saving in his long term memory just to avoid it in the future. Breathing feels like swallowing water, sitting still has him sweating more profusely than the 16-hour battle sims they endured during training. So of course his temp-regulating undersuit is shot to hell and their quartermaster is a mean bastard trying to teach him a lesson in taking better care of his stuff.

Bly had wanted to cry and beg for mercy.

Instead he had narrowed his eyes, nodded once in menacing silence, and turned back to his duties, hoping to instill at least some fear and regret in Q.

Aayla, his cruel savior, had crinkled her nose at him and offered a very large, very billowy shirt when he had sweat-squelched his way to their command tent. “It’s Quinlan’s, originally,” she had explained at his curious look. “He didn’t want it anymore.”

“Too many sleeves?” Bly had guessed hazardously.

So now he’s sitting in shorts and a billowy shirt at their shared desk, the collar constantly slipping off his shoulder because Vos is huge, and it’s an all-around aggravating situation. Except Aayla who’s lovely and can do no wrong, obviously. But who’s also taking an interest in his tattoos which Bly is not prepared for since his brain is actively melting.

“They’re for my batch mates,” he thus replies to her inquiry.

While the frown is settling into her features, her eyes flick down to count the marks.

Bly kind of wants to cringe. Oops.

“I thought batches were… decanted,” bless her for stumbling over that word, “in fives?”

He leans back, shrugs deliberately which has the added bonus of the shirt hiding the hashmarks again. “Now, yeah.”

“Cody, Wolffe, Fox,” she counts, her eyes boring into him. She’s like a massif with a bone, and there are moments Bly wants to be a chew toy. Sadly, this isn’t one of them. “I’m sorry about Ponds,” she says, means it with all her heart. “And you. I thought that was your batch?”

“Now. Yeah,” he repeats, half-smile lifting one side of his mouth. Does his best to not let the relief be palpable for her senses.

.Lightning

“Does it really have to mean anything when it looks this cool?” He almost cracks his neck trying to look at his back in the mirror. Lightning bolts strike out from his spine, wrapping around his upper arms like electric wings.

So cool.

“Your body, your choice,” Aayla says diplomatically.

Never mind the nay-sayers.

.Tic Tac Toe

“Ow,” Bly groans.

“Fucking tubie,” Squid hisses at him, bloody hands doing stuff way too fast for him to follow, “stop crying, it’s just a flesh wound.”

Holy hell, but the spots in front of his eyes do seem to grow larger. “You’re holding my innards,” he points out just as Squid throws away something bloody. “Don’t I still need that?”

“That was a wound pad, stupid.”

Wow, the black spots are in color now. “Mind the regs, soldier,” he slurs out.

Squid pulls a bandage - when did he do that? He’s incredible. He makes tattoos and medic stuff! - way too tight. “Commander Stupid,” he relents with another harsh pull. Bly pouts at him. “Congrats, you won the game.”

Bly weakly fist bumps the air. “Yay.”

.327

“Well,” he huffs out with a chuckle, leans back against the hull, “they’re my everything. Body, heart, soul. I’m ready to die for them.”

“They’re ready to die for you, too,” Aayla says quietly.

“Yeah.” He watches her roll the mug a trooper, long gone, made for her between her hands. “Wish they’d stop that.”

.Splinters

Squid wipes away the excess ink with ease and practice. “Well, it looks as stupid as you wanted it to. My work here is done.”

“Are you sure you can’t see the tattoo underneath?”

“Of course.” Squid pulls off the stained gloves, throwing him a judging side-eye. “No one will know what exactly you “hearted”, Commander.”

.Text

“Out of my way,” Aayla reads off his hand while he is unfairly under the influence of way too many drugs, “Rippin off my flesh, so you can’t recognize me, anymore.”

“I was an angsty youth,” he explains, maybe still sore about Wash forgetting the g in ripping.

She nods sagely. “That explains your taste in music.”

“I love polka.”

“No, the other one—“ She pats his hand which she’s still holding. His hand is so lucky. “Never mind. When you get out of here I’m introducing you to grunge and taking you flannel-shopping.”

His head is already nodding. His body is awesome at responding. “You’re like my sugar daddy,” he compliments her. Her and her twin. No, that can’t be right. He blinks and there’s only one Aayla again.

She snorts at him. “Showing you the holonet has been a mistake and keeps me up at night.”

.Flowers

“I wanna be a hi—,” Bly hiccups, fumbles with his drink before it goes all over Cody. “Hibi—“

“Hibiscus,” Fox suggests more drily than his drink.

“That one! I wanna be a hibiscus in my next life.” Just chilling in the sun all day, getting watered.

“I wanna be a spexcel sheet,” Cody says to the soaked through napkin which is stuck to his face but also to the table.

“We know,” the rest of them say in unison.

Man, being a hibiscus would be amazing. He will not remember this by morning.

Bly sits up in alarm at that revelation, spills his drink over Cody anyway. “I will not remember wanting to be a hibiscus,” he says, keeps his voice from wobbling by the skin of his teeth.

“You could write it on Cody the spexcel sheet to remember,” Wolffe suggests, pats Cody’s head when vague grunts of agreement sound from the napkin.

“Or,” Fox drawls out with a slow grin.

.

Bly very carefully tugs on the bandage with squinting eyes. The foil and adhesive separating from his skin is loud as fuck but needs must when it comes to facing the fallout of a drunken night. The bandage slowly reveals tender but well-healing skin, gold and a dark brown accentuating his skin.

He stares.

“This is not a hibiscus.”

[carmenized-onions]

Do the Thing! | Toilet Repair

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

series history; Previous Chapter

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

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

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

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

“I think my name is just Tony now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good things?”

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

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

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

“The connection?”

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

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

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

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

“Ah. N’ then…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Off to fix an exploded toilet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not a Chef!”

“Term of Respect, Chef!”

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

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

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

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

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

Tina hums with understanding. “Feels gutted?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did they?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really gonna practice your set on me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m doing okay, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck?”

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

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

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

“In The Beef!”

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

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

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

“Well?” You start.

“Well?” He astutely adds.

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

“The thing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Should get Fak on that, then.”

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

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

“If you’ll take it.”

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

“How’s that going?”

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

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

“How’s the second day open going?”

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

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

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

“You don’t seem happy about that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well?”

“Do the thing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He squints. “…How’re you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Heard.”

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

He grimaces. “That sounds worse.”

“It is.”

“Oh.”

“But in a way you can fix.”

“How?”

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

“You can’t take yourself?”

“Bitch?”

“Kidding. Heard. What else?”

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

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

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

“The chaos menu? She said—”

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

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

“You’re reactive.”

“No shit.”

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

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

“It had been 23 minutes.”

“Oh.”

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

“…No.”

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

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

“You’re doing a good job, Carmy.”

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

“I will not.”

“You just said I was a catastrophe.”

“Fully not what I said.”

“I read between the lines.”

“Carmen.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“First restaurant too?”

He nods again.

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

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

“It’s not that I didn’t do perfect—”

“You’ll do better next time.”

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

“You’re gonna be fine, Carm.”

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

“At what? Self-help?”

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

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

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

…

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

“Fucking Mikey!”

“What’d he do this time?”

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

“Oh, ah… Am I so obvious—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Didn’t see you at the funeral.”

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

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

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

“Does it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But?”

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

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

“It’s done. I’ll be there.”

“Lifesaver. I'll give you the code.”

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

Next Part

[gangplanksorenji]

Kinknuary Day 7: Titfucking

Pairing: Kep1er Chaehyun x Male Reader

Word Count: 3,506

[Kinknuary Masterlist]

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“Why would you take me here?”

“Because I want to say something to you, Chaehyun.”

Chaehyun dismisses the fact that you’re even thoughtful about her, since you subtly cared about her since the start you’ve known her. You weren’t exactly that “kind” of guy she fantasized you about but she’s taking this as a token of gratitude because of what she's done to you earlier.

“You really don’t need to say something or—e-even do this, honestly—”

“No, Chaehyun—” You disregard her current dismissal of your attempts, trying to let her know how much it means to you. “—I owe you a lot, that’s why I appreciate you everytime.”

Chaehyun, who’s stern and stone-faced earlier was now brushed with a flustered look, feeling the utmost sincerity on your words as she never felt such butterflies ever before.

“You r-really meant this?”

“I do—I always do, Chaehyun.”

She knows your games and tactics just to lure her into fulfilling your game but honestly, she felt the sincerity in your voice as it is true, you’re just genuinely thankful.

“I really won’t pass the interview without your help, so I really thank you for that, Chaehyun—this means a lot to me.”

And you have a fair point. There are no current events where each party will take advantage of something—no, there isn’t any but Chaehyun is still confused and curious on why would you even take her in your own apartment, let alone putting such a dramatic show on the balcony.

“There’s one thing I want to do too, Chaehyun, like for a long time now.”

“What is that?”

You let out a deep sigh, making Chaehyun furrowed her eyebrows in concern as immediately, you capture her cherry lips, initiating for a torrid kiss as it catches her off-guard but didn’t retaliate or anything—she immediately reciprocated on the kiss as the only thing could be heard are the sounds of both your lips clashing and fighting for dominance, as well as the moans that voices each other’s feeling of delight. Your hands find its way onto the back of her waist, caressing it as you deepen the kiss and permeating the utmost affection up in the air. No one’s stopping you to half such a fervor act, let alone Chaehyun herself as the both of you give in on feeling each other’s possibly the emotion of love. It didn’t really take that long before you pulled out of her luscious lips as you wanted more but oxygen is to blame here.

“You’re really that oblivious, Chaehyun?”

“Maybe—we should’ve done this sooner, I’ve got more ways to make you crazy, too.”

“Like what?”

“I’ll show you…”

Chaehyun lets her jacket gracefully fall down onto her shoulders and to the floor, deeming it a useless piece of clothing. Now, with her shoulders exposed, you can’t help but be in awe of how majestically beautiful she looks, almost flawless in your words. The way that Chaehyun stripped the clothing marks that she knows what she’s trying to do to you—seducing you.

“The feelings are mutual between us, and I can’t believe how stupid I am for not knowing it sooner…”

“It’s never too late, Chaehyunnie~” You inch closer towards her and kiss her lips again, capturing the sweet taste of the flesh that makes her insatiable and wanting more. Now, with all things being spice-up, she now leads the dominance as her tongue dances around with you, fighting towards a victorious attempt of dominating you as she expresses her love for you in such an enamored way. Constant battling ensued for the past minute and a half and not so long after, she pulled out of your lips’ warm embrace as another set of exchanged breaths became evident between the both of you because of the lack of air.

“You’re really a good kisser, Chaehyun.”

“Not gonna lie, you too.” Chaehyun smiles after your compliment as she playfully hits you because of the little embarrassment she’s feeling. She also felt proud for you, even though it’s not evident through her tone nor her emotions but deep inside, you can feel it, maybe her sincerity is enough as a conclusion. Now, taking a look at her flawless, impeccable features, you take time to realize the angelic beauty Chaehyun has bestowed on you as your pupils dilate in awe and mesmerization with her outfit serving as the cherry on top.

“I’ve never mentioned this before but—god, you look spectacular in this outfit, Chaehyun.”

Indeed a showstopper, a model in its own classy league—she’s the woman everyone’s probably wanting to be with but luckily, your hers for now and she’s yours and no one’s stealing her away from you, maybe, for now.

“This is just a small thing but thanks, anyways—you look great too and—shit, I can’t contain it anymore.” Your face feigns concern, curious on what could be bothering Chaehyun and is it bad or the opposite—hope it’s just something not too serious because you know how Chaehyun can be frivolous sometimes.  

“Tell me what’s up, Chaehyun.”

Chaehyun’s demeanor switched like the speed of light—the earlier stern and confident Chaehyun was now emanated full of being uneasy and hesitant, feeling scared of what she’s about to propose to you.

“You remember the time when I opened up with you about my—hah… sexual desires?”

Ah, you do, as a matter of fact, she even became more open to you, brave to let her true emotions shine as you did the same, ending up on a steamy session that you wouldn’t dare to forget—it became a remarkable experience that tattooed your mind. So, with no less thing to say, you’re ready to discern her possible needs as you fix your posture and avert your attention towards her.

“Yeah, why? Do you want to try something new?”

Another deep sigh escapes her lips, feeling a little uneasy with what she's about to say to you but you reassure her with your fingers caressing her cheek and her smile after it makes everything even better.

“I really wanted to try something new or like—unorthodox or not really new in our eyes, maybe—”

You deeply think of something upon the list of kinks you wanted to try with her as you gave her barrages of supposedly-intellectual guesses. 

“Maybe want to try some anal? I mean, I have a lube down my drawer—some thighfucking? Or maybe some toys?”

“God, you’re so dirty—no!”

“Says the one who initiated the sexual talk—you’re cute, Chaehyun.”

Chaehyun playfully glared at you then hit you with her hand, feeling a little embarrassed as she feels guilty that she indeed started it all out, not to mention her recurring lip bites whenever she talks about those things—and god, it’s such a hot sight. 

“No, I wanted to try some… like, you, fucking my tits or something—ahh!”

Chaehyun looks away from you, feeling a weird predicament from her earlier remarks yet you grab her wrists and make her face towards you and reassured her with your sweet words: “Don’t be shy, Chae, it’s totally normal and also, I love that idea—thank god we’ll use your big mounds on something else than just fondling.”

“Shut up, you pervert, hmp!”

Chaehyun knows it’s just a friendly banter—the same with her, that’s you didn’t take anything really seriously—yet the annoyance is inevitable, her hands throwing a playful slap onto your shoulders as with your green light, she didn’t hesitate to start the anticipated showstopper—her stripping off the clothing that made her stand out among the rest is now being deemed useless. With her black top off to expose more of her porcelain skin, your eyes lit up in awe as she’s looking hotter than expected, her shoulder, collarbone and of course, her black bra probably clinging onto dear life because of how much they’re containing her huge, soft mounds. She’s the epitome of perfection, for you but honestly, she’s close to that and the fact that she’s stripping and putting on a show in front of you is more than arousing, the growing tent between your legs inevitable as she notices it immediately thanks to the white pants you’re wearing.

“Already getting hard for me, hm?”

“Yeah, you can’t blame me—you’re so fucking hot, Chaehyun.”

Wanting to feel her affection once again, you grabbed her wrists and inched herself towards you as you initiated another kiss, capturing the taste of lips one more time and surprisingly, she stopped stripping herself and further diverts her attention towards sharing another intimate kiss but this time, you pepper her neck and collarbones with the most affectionate, lust-filled kisses as every peck earns an angelic moan escaping Chaehyun’s heavenly mouth. Not really wanting the adrenaline to die quickly, Chaehyun resumed stripping her clothing as when she’s about to undress her bottom-half, you stop her and not surprisingly, it earns a confused face from Chaehyun.

“Don’t, you look way too good to undress that—to be honest, I'd rather like your clothes to stay on because you really look good with that outfit and I’ll do what you want on your upper-half so why bother…”

“I mean, doesn’t this make you more aroused, no?”

You gave her pleading look, persuading her onto your wants as you wanted her clothes to stay on because, not going to lie, it’s more arousing with that leather-like pants as it captures the perfection of her curves well that by just looking at it, it’s already a hot scenery, what more with her full mounds escaped from their clothed prison with her pink, taut buds all for only you to see. Not really minding what could be the concluded act, you continue peppering her neck with kisses as well as the admiration of her body.

“So, would you just stare at these tits or will you do something with them?”

No one can blame you, maybe even her—her mounds are perfectly sculpted as it’s just the right bust for you to feast on and most of all, it sends its victims into a hypnotic trance that only eyes can achieve their desired grand prize: her. Snapping yourself back into reality, you answer back as your hands averted towards those pillowy mounds that earn another saccharine moan from her.

“You can’t blame me, Chae, because these tits—god, I could literally drool on them for hours and maybe even feast on them.”

“T-then suck on them and make me feel good, they’re happy to see you.”

“About time.”

Every second is worth treasuring, so with that conclusion, you didn’t waste any time pinning her against the wall and latching your lips onto the stiff bud that has been welcoming you since she stripped her bra out. You took some time to really appreciate the beauty of every feature she has as she sensed it, making her blush from the psychological praise that your eyes are feasting upon. Every swirl of your tongue, every caress you do onto her mounds—everything just feels overwhelming and stimulating on her end that her moans are just constantly all over your hearing radar and you love it. Who wouldn’t want to hear such dulcet-filled moans? Probably, no one will turn down on that as it’s as angelic as her voice whenever she serenades you and that’s why you’ll always adore the little sounds she makes.

“Fuck, b-baby—that feels so good, please don’t stop!”

You’re too busy suckling onto her mounds and nipples that you didn’t bother to respond but you know and she also knows how much you love them that you won’t stop because of her insatiability. With the continuous stimulating actions you’re doing to her, her moans become louder and more erotic, wanting and luring you into a different path yet you'd rather stay in this one, not until you’re satisfied. Offer a squeeze on her pillowy mounds makes her yelp with pleasure, the sensitivity also making everything in the pain of delight.

“So, you wanted this all along, Chaehyun?”

Chaehyun, still voicing out her satisfaction with ragged breaths, responds to you, “Y-yes, who wouldn’t w-want this, though? I often think about t-this and thank god it’s happening already because fuck—this feel so good!”

She’s not even trying to hide anything but lets the orchestra of lustful profanities soar up in the air, blessing your ears truly within the utmost quality. Knowing how things will work at the end, you then lather her cleavage with your saliva, lubricating the pillowy valley full of it as you’re getting ready on what’s about to be a stupendous work of lust. With the early preparation and your other hand undressing your bottom-half, Chaehyun took this as an initiative of the near climax as curiosity won over her.

“Going to fuck my tits now, hm?”

“What else could we do? Of course, I’ll savor this moment, Chaehyun.”

Now, hurriedly undressing yourself just to start off the climactic event, you set your foot off the tiger’s neck, in the point of no-return—Chaehyun’s visible enlightenment of her eyes shows how much she waited for this moment. Now hopping onto the bed for better leverage, Chaehyun laid herself as her back relaxed on the mattress, aiding for you to have a better view and position onto such sexual paramount. As her big mounds jiggled whenever she hurriedly thudded herself onto the bed, it’s so hypnotic and arousing that your cock inevitably twitched and that puts a smile on Chaehyun’s face, considering how much her tits turn you on. Now prancing on her like riding a horse, you sit (not really resting on her as you down want her toned stomach to take all of your weight, because that would kill the essence of pleasure and she’ll not be comfortable, which is the last thing you would want to see) on her stomach as your naked bottom-half is now within her sight, about to take such profanity that will outstand the rest of what you’ve experimented with her. With your raging length just subtly between her mounds, you started to tease her with such a stagnant pace, earning needy moans from Chaehyun.

“You—ahh, your cock, it looks really good teasing between my tits…”

You scoff hubristically, which earns another cry of annoyance from Chaehyun as she playfully slapped your butt and in a playful response, you voice out a sarcastic pain from her not-so-aggressive remarks.

“Ow, but don’t tell me you disagree with me, Chaehyun.”

“I didn’t say I did—I love it between my tits—you love it, don’t you?”

“Of course, you don’t need to ask.”

She can’t help but moan with your sluggish treatment between her pillowy mounds as you maintain that pace in a while, wanting to savor every second that she’s blessing you with. It’s such an incredible experience and you never thought this will feel great, way better than what you expected on the start but nonetheless, you know it’ll feel euphoric, you just underestimate what you and Chaehyun can do—of course, her tits mostly being the icing of the top of the cake here.

Upping up the ante of your thrusts, she inadvertently (not really) sticks her tongue out whenever your swollen cockhead emerges from the restraint of her mounds and god, it’s sending jolts of electricity throughout your body and as the cherry on top, the peak quality of pleasure can be felt coursing down your veins. You almost ejected yourself out of her pillowy restraints once you’ve felt that wet flesh in contact with your tip and she can’t blame you, her tongue does wonders in you with even her blowjobs, you’ll get on your knees, weak as it’s too euphoric to be true.

But honestly, the best part of this, is the face she makes every time you thrust in and out of her. Her seductive, ahegao face that further lures you over your limits which always ends up in such a messy, erotic conclusive act and you’re not complaining—both parties being sullied is the best way to end such a hot, steamy session. Even though her valley isn’t as tight as her hugging pussy, even with her hands squeezing the life out of her mounds, it is still a pleasurable experience as you didn’t disparage her efforts, further oscillating your hips to maximize such power on each thrust. Each time she captures your head, she instantly swirls onto your slit, collecting your leaking precum that’s soon helping you a little in terms of lubrication and her tongue work never ceases to amaze you. At random intervals, she often spits on your raging length and to her cleavage, providing some lubricant to aid your comfort as you don’t really want your cock burning even though her porcelain skin alone is smoother than butter, it is better to be safer than sorry.

“God, ahh—baby, your cock—feels good! Glad we tried this n-now ‘cause fuck—we might try this again!”

Grabbing the bed sheets and her shoulders to exert better force, your hips now ensue with harsher thrusts as her moans become more frequent, providing better stimulus in order for you to be fueled onto such reckless exertion. It will be soon inevitable, you’ll gradually increase the pace but it’s better treating yourself sooner before it’s too late. Now, with Chaehyun’s arms hugging her mounds tightly with her arms, she gives you better leverage onto fucking her tits, allowing your hands to freely gave her those large busts with the harshest slaps possible, which, earn the most angelic moans and whines coming out of her mouth as well as pinching and stimulating her taut buds, furthee putting gasoline onto the flames of Chaehyun’s stimulation. 

Taking a look of the mess you’ve made between the grand canyon of her stupendous mounds, you’re cock inevitably twitched because of such a sullied sight—both of your salivas all over her cleavage and her neck, and the sweat forming on her porcelain skin signals the exhilarating act of lust you’ve been into. With repeated groans of pleasure and Chaehyun’s cries of sensitivity, it will all soon come to an awaited end, reaching the paramount delight that has been chasing you right from the start.

You wouldn’t expect such events to happen oh-so-quickly but you’re not complaining, because everything should be treasured and cherished as long gone the days of purity—the long-lost purity is now petrified with lust,, and you succumbed onto that as there’s no point of return, further diving onto that sinful abyss.

With how everything has been unfolded, the inevitable will soon come, and you will soon spray her skin with a lagoon full of your cum and god, you’ve been dying to paint her tits since you’ve never done it with her and only imagined it and soon, it won’t be long to break that cage of just pure imagination.

“Fuck—Chaehyun, I wouldn’t last t-that long—shit!” 

“It’s alright, baby—blow it all on my tits because I know you wanted this for so long, so I won’t stop from t-that—come on, baby, cum for me!”

For one, final time, you let your hips manifest such a ruthless pace that her tits inevitably jiggle around your shaft. You didn’t hold back anything and you wouldn’t bother to, not when Chaehyun pleads you to paint her chest white fill of your semen and the intense libido you’re experiencing, urging you to release everything to settle yourself into euphoria. If you count to ten, you might not even meet halfway on the countdown as immediately, you let out a delighted moan as thick spurts of hot semen erupts from your slit, like a dormant volcano that has been sleeping for millions of years. You made her neck and her chest a canvas with your sinful art, painting every inch of her as she moans in satisfaction, the wrath of every shot meeting her porcelain skin, some reaching on her cheeks and her nose. Now submitting onto an enervated trance, you rest yourself, falling limp onto the bed in order to recover from your intense euphoria as all you can see is the sullied beauty of Chaehyun’s chest full of your seed, splattered and being tasted by her.

“Never fails to make me amazed with the taste of you cum, baby—fuck, you came so so much! We s-should do this again…” Chaehyun gleefully said, with her fingers finding its way to trace samples of your load and then tasting it, humming right after as she voices her satisfaction in such a wonderful way—enough to maybe stroke your ego too.

“Yeah, depriving me of not fucking you for month says a lot—by the way, we’re not done yet, Chaehyun.”

“Neither am I, maybe I’m gonna go home soon, hm?”

You laughed from the words she muttered, knowing that in this ridiculous drive of lust, it’s impossible to separate ways without ending on a paramountly great note.

“But we gotta experiment more things, though—I don’t wanna leave you hanging here with your needs unattended.”

Chaehyun smirks, then laughs mischievously, knowing that the both of you are just getting started, “Deal, now try it up my ass, daddy.”

[maybeiwasjustjade]

The amount of morons I’ve seen on twitter that insist ‘a son for a son’ is still owed because Jaehaerys wasn’t Alicent’s son, so Rhaenyra somehow has rights to Aegon’s head is baffling.

Actually, scratch that. It’s not baffling at all, because this isn’t the first time I’ve seen such braindead takes from that side of the fandom.

Last I checked, Aemond killed Luke. Not Aegon. Alicent served up Aegon’s head on a platter, without even once considering that should Aemond live then Rhaenyra will come for his head too. And not only did she betray Aegon, Alicent’s actions may very well lead to both Gwayne and Criston’s deaths. And Daeron, who has done nothing but be born to her.

As for the stupidity of the insistence on ‘a son for a son’, maybe Condal and Hess should remember that the last time Rhaenyra sought revenge for Luke, a toddler was beheaded in his bed because of her husband!!! And if that son wasn’t enough—the poor, innocent baby son of Helaena—and a debt still needs to be repaid, does that mean Aegon now has rights to kill one of Daemon’s children then?

Same logic right? Rhaenyra didn’t get Alicent’s son’s head for Luke, but Aegon lost a son. So if Rhaenyra has rights to Aegon’s head, then Aegon has the exact same right to murder one of her remaining children yes? Baela maybe, when Aegon claims Dragonstone. Or Joffrey even, should he survive till the end. Maybe Rhaenyra can even choose and then watch, like Daemon made Helaena.

But that’s not right is it. Aegon would be a monster if he did that. No sane person would do that. No good person should want that kind of revenge.

But when it comes to Rhaenyra, TB will justify anything right? She indirectly yet directly causes the deaths of nearly 100 dragonseeds—oh that’s fine, they consented to being in the pit knowing they could die! She’s not responsible at all! It’s not as if she ensured they couldn’t escape right? The death of a toddler wasn’t enough because it wasn’t the right son, so of course she gets to ask for another too.

As if Jaehaerys wasn’t worth a life at all. Then again, what can be expected when even after his death, in a fight about his murder, she only ever refers to him as ‘boy’, ‘child’, and my favorite: ‘it’.

Rhaenyra was always going to have to kill Aegon for the throne. And that was at minimum, unless she went for Aemond too. Daeron I could see being spared by being given to the Faith or the Maesters. It was very, very, very obvious to anyone with even a shred of media comprehension (which seems to be very little given the amount of stupid comments I’ve seen). The issue is that she had to go on and make it very clear that Aegon will die, not for taking her throne or whatnot, but as penance for Luke dying. That is where she crosses the line. She can’t and won’t spare Aegon, but the least she could do was not be a lying liar about it.

Also: I never subscribed to the theory that Alicent will be the one to poison Aegon in the end, because I never considered that a mother would be so cruel to do so. She ruined his life; placed him on this goddawful path to war that he never wanted. The least she could do was not betray her own son that way. But after today? Not a chance in hell she won’t be the one to kill him for her precious Rhaenyra. I hope when all is said and done, and she’s locked in a tower for the rest of her life, she knows that it was all her fault.

Because F&B made it clear that Aegon had a legitimate claim. Is it a usurpation if by all laws and tradition he’s the rightful heir? The show decided to go the idiotic route of making it an outright usurpation. The Dance was inevitable in F&B. Here, it seems to have been caused purposely, with one of its leading causes becoming a major turncloak. And it’s sad really, because the Dance has barely even started. HOTD could’ve waited to make Alicent a traitor. Wait until the Gullet and Jace and Rhaenyra’s inevitable fall to madness, to make Alicent’s plea more realistic because it happens when the Greens look like they are losing. Instead, they did this. Unbelievable.

[atlabeth]

can i request a bridgerton au fic with nikolai? (i was reading not so simple earlier and was thinking about nikolai and now i can’t get the idea out of my head lol) maybe the reader isn’t the diamond of the season, so she has no idea why nikolai (A PRINCE!!) wants to court her

sweet relief

pairing: nikolai lantsov x fem!reader (bridgerton au!!!)

summary: you meet a striking stranger at your first ball, only to discover he is not a stranger at all.

a/n: thank you so much for requesting this man it was so much fun to write i got carried away!!! i hate nikolai and his charming self so much

wc: 3k

warning(s): none that i can think of ??

Nikolai is bored. 

In truth, he does not fully know why he is here. Vasily has already been declared as the catch of the season, and the heir to the throne is much more valuable than the second son. But he is back in London after years spent traveling—not in search of a wife, he might add, to the chagrin of his mother—and he supposes that is cause for some interest. 

In the most basic sense of the word, Nikolai is also a prince, though he hardly has claim to the title. Not with the rumors of his true parentage floating about. 

If he was lucky, he figured he’d find some fun around Mayfair. If he was unlucky, he will be forced to deal with swarms of eager debutantes and even more eager mamas. 

And at this ball, Nikolai has realized that he is unlucky. 

He’s already had to fight off a horde of eligible ladies and their mothers, and explain ten times over that he is not here to participate in the season, he is just here to visit family. He doesn’t think they’ve heard a single word he’s said. They only see the lack of a ring on his finger. 

It is why he has found himself in some corner of the ball, a glass of champagne—that he wished was brandy—held loosely in his hand as he tuned out the idle musings of the men he’d somehow ended up around. His eyes dart around the ballroom, looking for anything even remotely interesting to get him through this night. 

He catches a glimpse of a pair walking through the doors, a mother and a daughter that he recognizes as a debutante from earlier in the day, but before he is granted the chance for further inquisition, his thoughts are interrupted. 

“Your Highness,” someone says, and his attention is drawn from his glass to not just one, but three pairs of mothers and mares, surely trying to vye for his hand. “It is an honor to meet you.” 

“I was unaware of my popularity,” Nikolai says wryly, looking at each of the women in turn. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“The pleasure is all ours,” another mother says brightly, and he sees her nudge her daughter. “If I may introduce my daughter, Miss Eleanor Woodbridge?” 

Nikolai bows his head in greeting, and she curtsies. When Miss Woodbridge speaks, her head is still bowed. “It is an honor to meet you, Your Highness.” 

“So I’ve already heard,” he remarks.

Her cheeks flush bright red as she stands back up, and the next mother begins to introduce her daughter, and then the next—a Miss Evelyn Frances and a Miss Anna Huntsbury. 

Nikolai ends up in a dance with Miss Huntsbury at the nudging of her mother, and though it is perfectly pleasant, he can’t fully enjoy it with all of the eyes on him.

It is not as if he doesn’t enjoy attention. He is perfectly fine with being the center of attention, with being adored by women, with dancing and balls and all sorts of revelry. 

But this— especially after his travels to other countries, away from good society and the expectations of nobles— is so unbelievably predictable. All of these mothers attempting to find their daughter a husband, only interested in Nikolai because of a title he likely won’t earn. He doubts a single one cares of the man behind the Lantsov brand. 

But a second prince is better than no prince at all, and thus the moment he is off the dance floor, he is once again swarmed by women. 

He allows an inward sigh as he plasters on a smile. 

It is going to be a very long night. 

-

You are inexplicably nervous. 

You’ve just debuted and you are already in attendance of a ball. God, why must they hold the season’s first ball the night of all the debuts? You haven’t even had the afternoon to soak everything in—to truly absorb the fact that you must search for a husband—as your mother and lady’s maid spent every moment ensuring you were the image of perfection for tonight. 

In your mother’s opinion, they succeeded. But you already feel as if you are suffocating in your gown.

You are not the diamond, but in truth, you are thankful for it. There is already a huge weight on your shoulders to make a match—you could not imagine having the queen’s eye on you the entire time. You wished luck to Miss Jasmine, both that she could avoid horrendous suitors and the queen’s ire. 

Your mother says your name softly as you cross the threshold into the ballroom, immediately overtaken by the dancing and the musicians and glittering jewels. “Are you alright?” 

You shake your head rapidly. “No, Mother, I do not think I am alright. I am at my first ball of the season and I believe I may pass out.” 

She breathes a loose laugh as she shakes her head as well. “You’ve nothing to be nervous about. You will shine just as you always have, my love. I’ve no doubt that a suitor will see that.”

“That is what I am afraid of,” you huff. “I’ve equal fear both of finding a husband and not finding one. How is one meant to dread both of their options?” 

“You’ve nothing to be nervous about, and nothing to be afraid of,” she repeats, “and certainly nothing to dread. I’m sure by the end of the night, you will have suitors lining up for a chance at your affections.” 

You truly doubt that, but you do not voice anymore of your concerns. Your mother has already done you a favor working through so many of them with you—the least you can do is smile prettily and dance a time or two. 

And you do. More than you imagined—your mother sends you away to fetch glasses of lemonade after a few minutes of idle chatter, and after you’ve poured the first glass you are approached by your first suitor. 

Lord Kenneth Barham, son of the Earl Pritchard. You’ve no idea what a man of title is doing around you, but he is agreeable and kind throughout your first dance. Had you the ability, you would have stayed by his side for the rest of the night only so you could avoid the rest of your expected debutante duties. 

But you do not, and so after a respectful if not slightly boring conversation between the two of you and your mother, he parts ways with the promise to call on you. You are not granted reprieve, to your mother’s delight, and it is not until a near full hour of dancing that you are able to get away. 

You slip away while your mother is busy discussing things with the Baron Ashford and his son, and you have never been so thankful for the outdoors when the cool air hits your skin. 

You let out a long, deep breath as you attempt to calm yourself. Things are going well, much better than you expected—you are already expecting five gentlemen to call on you by the morrow, three of which are titled. 

But you are not even halfway through the ball, and you are already exhausted. Your feet ache and you’ve grown weary of the weight of jewelry on your head and wrists and neck. You’ve truly no idea how you are meant to make it through the entirety of the season, if it is like this. 

“I apologize, my lady. I was unaware there was another out here.” 

You turn around and hold back a sigh. Even in your attempts to be alone, men still find you. 

“I do not have a claim to these gardens,” you say wryly. “You are free to roam.” 

He chuckles as he nods, and he takes another few steps towards you. “I wish not to roam—just to take after you and wrestle out a moment for myself in this schedule.” 

“Then you have picked a wonderful spot,” you say with a nod. “I will give you time to enjoy it on your own.” 

You start on your way, but he steps in your way. “There is no need, my lady. I already rather enjoy your company.” 

You raise your eyebrows. “You have been in it for but a moment.” 

“And what a lovely moment it has been,” he says. 

Normally, irritation would have won over by now. You should not be out here with a man unchaperoned, and you truly just want to be alone for a moment—you’ve a myriad of reasons to stick to your bearings and leave. 

But you have to admit, he is agreeable. His blonde hair is artfully styled, he’s dressed rather finely, and his hazel eyes seem to twinkle as he looks at you with a smile.

“...Alright,” you say, and you decide to stay in place for now. “Have you a name, good sir?”

“You can call me Lord Sturmhond,” he says. 

You raise an eyebrow. “I apologize, my lord. I’ve not yet heard of you.” 

“That just means I am all the more able to make a good impression,” he says, his smile only growing. “Which is rather imperative with a lady such as yourself.” 

You feel your cheeks grow warm, and you bite back a smile of your own. “You are quite the charmer. It could be quite scandalous for us to be found alone.” 

“You needn’t worry,” Lord Sturmhond says. “I doubt anyone will leave the ballroom. They are all too focused on the visiting princes.” 

Your eyes widen. “There are princes here?” 

“The Lantsovs,” he nods, and this time his eyebrows rise. “Had you not heard?” 

“...My mother may have told me, but it would not come as a shock if I neglected to listen,” you say sheepishly. You let out a deep sigh as you wring your gloved hands together. “I should be all the more thankful to be out here with you, then. The only thing to come of my meeting a prince would be disaster.” 

“Oh, I surely doubt it,” Lord Sturmhond says. “I enjoy your presence, and I enjoy your conversation. I believe the princes would feel the same.” 

“You flatter me, my lord, but I am in doubt.” Your gaze drifts off to the sky as you take a moment to appreciate the stars. “Truthfully, I am out here because I am overwhelmed. I’ve spent the hour dancing and in conversation with various men, and already I have had to venture out here for reprieve.” 

“All of this takes practice,” he says. “It is an unreasonable expectation for debutantes to be thrust into the season and perform perfectly. None of this is a light matter, and yet it is treated as one.” 

You sigh. “I just cannot imagine doing this for so many more months. It is going to be a very long season.” 

Lord Sturmhond chuckles. “I have thought the exact same thing tonight, my lady.” 

You find yourself smiling, freer and more genuine than anything you’d mustered earlier in the night. The other men you’d met were fortunately kind, but you just felt… different out here, with him. 

There were no eyes on you, meaning you did not need to act the pinnacle of propriety. That must have been the difference—not the man himself. 

In the distance, you can hear the changing melody of the strings, signaling the start of a new dance. Your eyes fall to your dance card, and as you read the last few names, you remember you still owe three more dances. You bite back a very unladylike curse. 

“I apologize, my lord,” you say, hurrying through a curtsy as you begin to back your way towards the ball. “I really must be going. My mother will have my head should I stay out here any longer.” 

“I understand.” Lord Sturmhond catches up to you in a few quick strides and he takes your hand, stopping you in your tracks. Your breath catches as he presses a kiss to the back of your hand, and your heart hammers in your chest even with the barrier of your glove. 

“It was a pleasure to meet you, my lady.” His hazel eyes are nothing less than enchanting as they focus entirely on you, and had you any less sense, you could easily find yourself talking away the hours of the night with him. “Have confidence. I am sure this night will go your way should you wish it.” 

“It was a pleasure to meet you as well, my lord,” you say. “I hope it is not too forward of me to wish on our meeting again.” 

“Do not worry,” he says. “We will.” 

You open your mouth to ask him how he can be so sure, but the strings grow louder and you huff a sigh. In lieu of another goodbye, you nod and grin at the lord before you rush back indoors. 

Your mother doesn’t berate you when you appear by her side again, so you were not gone for too long. You get through your next three dances, and your last suitor is just leaving when your mother jabs you in the side. 

“Darling, the queen is coming our way,” she whispers. “And she has the Lantsov princes with her.” 

You nearly collapse just at that combination of words, but you hold fast—quite literally, as your hold tightens on your mother’s arm. You are thankful to the Lord Sturmhond for alerting you to the presence of princes tonight, for your shock would be exponential without it. 

“Why are they coming our way?” you ask. 

“They have been making the rounds together,” she says. “Straighten your back.” 

You do, and then you nearly collapse yet again when your eyes meet those of one prince. 

Those gorgeous hazel eyes stare back at yours—you know yours are as wide as dinner plates, despite your attempts to hold back—and he gives you that same damned smile, bowing his head ever so slightly as if to acknowledge your meeting. 

You met the prince. 

You told the prince of all your worries. 

You were kissed on the hand by the prince. 

You only hear your mother saying your name when she nudges your shoulder, snapping you out of your reverie. You blink and look at her, then to the queen.

“Your Majesty,” you rush out, ducking into your best bow, “Your Highnesses. It is an honor to make your acquaintance.”  

The queen greets you and your mother with your surname, and though all your attention is on her, you can still feel the prince looking at you. 

“Have you met my sons, Vasily and Nikolai?” she asks. 

Vasily bows politely, respectful but reserved. “A pleasure, my lady.” 

You curtsy in return, and your Lord Sturmhond steps forward. You are thankful, at least, to put a name to the lying face. 

“It is a pleasure to meet such a beauty,” Nikolai says. He takes your hand and bows down to press a kiss to it, and your skin burns from his touch just as it did out in the gardens. He does not let go when he straightens, instead looking to your mother. “I do not wish to end our meeting prematurely, but I would love to have this dance.” 

“Of course!” your mother exclaims. “It would be her honor, Your Highness.” 

Nikolai nods and smiles, looking back to you for your permission. You nod as well through your haze, and he leads you out to the dance floor. It takes a moment for you to fully come back into yourself, and it only occurs once he has laid his hands in the correct position. His feather light touch is like lightning. 

“I did tell you we would meet again,” Prince Nikolai says, that sure smile on his lips yet again. Had it not been for your years of dance lessons, your weakened knees would not be enough to carry you through this waltz. “Did I not?” 

“...You did,” you say. “But you did not tell me you were a prince.” 

“I find it invites unnecessary pressure,” he says. “Did you not enjoy our time together?” 

“...I did,” you say again, unsure of your words. 

“And I am proven right in your manner,” the prince says. “You spoke so easily in the gardens, and now you seem to be putting thought into each syllable.” 

“You— you are a prince,” you repeat, your still-lingering shock making you speak plainer than you intend. “Of course I am putting thought into my words.” 

“You needn’t worry around me,” Nikolai says. “I am just another man in London.” 

“You are a prince.” 

“As we have established,” he nods, and when you let out a light huff he grins. “You have a lovely smile.” 

“As do you,” you say, and you shake your head. “I cannot believe you allowed me to make a fool of myself out there.” 

Nikolai frowns. “However did you make yourself a fool?” 

“You allowed me to ramble!” you exclaim. “I told you of my worries, of being overwhelmed, of all my thoughts—” 

“And what is the problem with that?” he asks. 

“It is unseemly to complain to a prince,” you insist. 

“We see our meeting quite differently, then,” he says. “For I left it with a most favorable image of you, and a wish to see you again.” He cocks his head. “Did you not leave with the same?” 

“...I did,” you say after a moment. 

Your conversation stalls for a moment as you part from each other, following the steps of the dance, before joining back again. His hand is sure in yours, startling but welcome warmth. 

“Then I do not see the issue,” the prince says. 

“You have made this night all the longer,” you intone. “Your attention makes me something of a target among the ladies of the ton.” 

“Do not worry,” he says, that irritatingly pretty smile aimed at you yet again. “I believe we can get through it together.” 

“Together?” you ask. 

“You wished to meet again,” Nikolai says. “I plan to grant that wish several times over.” 

“...I would like that,” you admit, feeling your cheeks heat under his gaze.

“And just to think,” he says, amused, “you said your meeting with a prince would be a disaster.” 

[xprakzif]

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝 • 𝐦.𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐨

chapter 3 to tell him

chapter two here

parings: matt x fem!reader

warnings: this series contains: smut, cheating(don’t condone), suggestive content, cursing, angst, fluff, mixed emotions

summary: after matt confessed his love for her in front of her boyfriend, she found out the ugly truth. but they both realize they’re in denial..

“what’s going on..?” kian spoke.

“kian, i- i can explain this, just-“

“nah..i came to tell you i didn’t think this was gonna work out, but i think he did it for me.” kian pushed past her and matt, exiting the apartment.

she didn’t go after him.

“i was gonna tell him..” her voice cracking a bit.

“y/n, i’m sorry-“

“please, matt, just go..” she whispered, tears of something that wasn’t sadness rolled down her face.

“no- i need to talk to you-“

“GO!” she shouted, and with that, he hesitantly left her apartment.

the apology

it was her fault. she knew it was, it was all wrong. she didn’t want kian finding out this way. she wanted to explain, she wanted to break up with him. but he did it for her.

he didn’t answer her 27 calls or 11 long text messages in the span of 8 days.

i mean who would? she lied to him, backstabbed him.

she’s been avoiding the boys again. only going to work, caring for shadow, and sleeping the rest of the days away.

back at the triplets house, emotions were mixed.

matt blew up her phone, hundreds of calls, messages begging her to talk to him and apologizing for barging in. nick was oblivious to everything. but nick wasn’t stupid.

he knew his brothers knew something he didn’t.

“you two wouldn’t happen to know why y/n hasn’t been texting me back? ‘cause if you do, you better start talking. this isn’t okay,” nick stomped down the stairs to the kitchen where matt and chris were eating.

they both knew there was tension and both knew what was going on.

“hello?! am i talking to the fucking wall? clearly you know something i don’t,”

matt felt a lump creep up his throat, his eyes burning with tears threatening to fall. his lip quivered as he held back his urge to cry.

“i don’t know..” chris almost whispered, looking away. they both had lost their appetite at nick’s interrogation.

he wasn’t having any of it. “so.. we’re okay with our best friend being m.i.a? none of you care to go check on her-“

“it’s- it’s me! she’s mad at me- i didn’t mean to do this- any of this!” matt blurted out with his fist slamming against the table. the tears finally escaped as he put his face in his palms.

chris looked to him, not shocked, just surprised at the outburst.

“what..” nick approached the two and took a seat next to matt. “tell me what happened, matt. i’m not-“ he glanced at chris, “we’re not mad at you, okay?”

he lifted his head and nodded with red cheeks and puffy eyes, “well..”

she was curled up on her couch watching a movie trying anything to distract herself from the truth she had to face eventually.

her phone began to vibrate on the end table next to her. it was finally off dnd. it was upside down, no idea who was calling. her heart throbbed as she took a deep breath, reaching to grab the device.

it was nick calling.

a little disappointed that it wasn’t kian, but also relived it wasn’t kian, she answered.

“..hello” her voice soft and almost hoarse.

“y/n! i’m so glad you answered. how you feeling?” she couldn’t tell if he was happy or.. mad?

“i’m alright..” she lied.

“interesting, well where have you been?”

“home.. listen, i’m really sorry i hav-“

“no- y/n, i know everything. and i’m a little mad at you, for one you didn’t tell me this. i could’ve helped you! you didn’t have to shut me out, and two, you really hurt my brother..”

she weeped on the line, she knew. that was the reason she’d been ignoring him, all of them.

“y/n.. i think it’s best if you come talk to me in person. i think you owe someone an apology, and it’s not me..”

“i know, nick.. i know”

later on in the night, she was asleep in her bedroom. well she was trying to atleast.

her phone lit up the room indicating another phone call. this time, it was kian.

“..he-“

“kian! i’ve been cal-“

“no, i was only with her to get to her friends! she had hella famous friends,”

“wha..” she whispered. he was talking, but not to her?

“don’t worry babe, she’s gone now.” kian spoke. is she having a nightmare?

another voice was heard after his, “great, now i finally get all your time..” it was a girl.

“WHAT!?” she yelled causing shadow to leap off the bed and scurry away. she was loud enough for kian to hear her through the accidental call.

“oh shit- hello? y/n? what the h-“

“oh don’t worry kian, i heard it all.” she hung up the phone and threw it on the bed.

she was furious. she was being used all this time. at the same time, she realized she cheated on kian, but she wasn’t using him.

grabbing her phone once again, she blocked kian and deleted his entire contact as well as any photos she had with him.

on instinct, her finger tapped nicks contact and typed a message.

i think i’m ready and i have something to tell you

“chris clean this up!”

matt was trying to eat until he spotted chris’s mess of cereal was all over the counter.

“that’s what you’re here for,”

“i’m not touching that.”

“you’re closer, just do it!” their argument was shortly interrupted by the sound of their doorbell.

“who the hell is that?” the two stared at each other in fear and confusion.

“can you guys shut up? and clean up that mess, god!” nick came down the stairs passing his brothers. they watched him go to check the door.

“we’re we expecting someone today?” matt whispered wondering if he forgot.

nicks voice could be barley heard as he opened the door, “come in, i’m really glad you came!” the sound of his feet along with another pair made their way up the stairs.

“um, let’s just go to my room to talk for a second,” he appeared behind the wall that lead up to the kitchen. behind him was y/n.

both matt and chris had similar expressions. matt felt his heart throb at the sight of her. his eyes went wide and he stopped in his tracks.

“hi..” she softly greeted with a wave. shame and embarrassment was visible, she didn’t expect them to be awake so early.

“..hi?” the boys said in unison.

“didn’t i tell you to clean that up? whatever, come on, y/n” nick pulled her up to his room, avoiding the awkward encounter.

matt and chris couldn’t even speak, just spared a glance and continued with their breakfast.

nick and y/n sat on his bed. she explained what happened the night before with her now ex kian. nick comforted her and said to forget him.

he then told her matt told them everything.

“oh..”

“we aren’t mad at you, y/n. well i’m a bit disappointed, but that’s besides the point. you should talk it out with him.”

she looked away shamefully, “i know, i’m sorry i’ve been ignoring you guys. it was just a lot to take in,”

“it’s all good, we still love you!” the two giggled and playfully smacked eachother. it felt so good to have her bestfriend back.

but one thing that hadn’t settled yet was matt. after talking to nick, he assured her it was fine if she went down to talk to him alone.

this is how she found herself standing in front of his bedroom door, taking a giant deep breath. all the boys were settled into their own bedrooms, so it was easy for them to be alone.

she gained the courage to knock softly on the door, the same door she stood in front of that night, to the same room she’d been in causing all this chaos.

there was a moment of stillness. maybe he didn’t want to be bothered. maybe he didn’t want to hear from her after all.

ready to turn on her heels, the click of the knob sounded and matt was in the door frame. the pink shirt he wore brought out his worrisome, blue eyes. he still had a bit of shock on his face, although he knew it was her, his brothers never knock.

“can we talk?”

“yea.. come in,” he whispered. she stepped into the room with a white glow from the open curtains. he shut the door behind her as she hesitated to sit on the bed. his room was always nicely kept, that’s something she liked about him.

he sat beside her waiting for her to initiate the conversation. she gulped the nerves in her throat,

“matt,” her eyes were glossy, “i- i’m really sorry, for everything.. i never wanted to hurt you, i-i was just dumb! i wasn’t aware of my own feelings, so i messed with yours, and i’m so sorry. i really don’t wanna ruin what we all have- i’m a terrible person!”

she sobbed out her speech, holding back the tears that prickled at the corner of her eyes, clumping up her mascara.

he watched her the entire time. a frown formed on his lips. “y/n.. you’re not a terrible person. what you did was wrong, but we all make mistakes okay?”

he scooted closer for comfort, “i’m sorry too. for bursting in like that, on you and..” he hated that name. he wouldn’t say it.

“we broke up. he was using me, not that it mattered anyway..”

matt felt some sense of relief, then guilt. he wish he would’ve stepped in sooner. kian would’ve never been in the picture.

“can we all just be friends again? i miss being with you..” she pleaded.

they looked into eachothers eyes. he knew there was no way he could bare being “just friends” with her. but whatever made her happy.

he faked a smile, “of course, i’d never wanna lose you.” she suddenly embraced him by the waist, his arms wrapping around the back of her neck and shoulders, pulling her in as tight as possible.

this is gonna be painful.

the awkwardness

matt caught himself staring again.

she invited them to her apartment to film a video of them reacting to tiktok edits, for a change of scenery. she was feeding shadow, bent over to pour food in his bowl.

his eyes lingered for a bit too long, leaving him flustered with the view.

“hello? are you watching, matt?” nick snapped pushing the phone into his face.

“yes..”

although things were back to normal with chris and nick, her and matt still shared some tension.

everytime she came around it wasn’t like before. the conversations were shorter, the jokes weren’t vulgar, it’s like they were scared of eachother.

after the video, they sat around her bedroom. the room was filled with laughter and random noises mostly coming from chris.

her and nick were laying on the bed, matt sitting at the foot and chris laying on the carpeted floor. the bedside lamp illuminated their faces.

chris got up from the floor with a groan, “you have snacks? i’m so hungry,”

“chris, you ate 20 minutes ago..” nick mentioned the food they ordered not too long ago. he just shrugged and rolled his eyes.

“there’s stuff in the pantry, go ahead.” he wasted no time after she gave him an answer, heading out the room.

“i have to pee, brb.” nick followed chris out almost instantly, leaving her and matt alone.

there was awkward silence at first. her cat suddenly hopped on the bed and began meowing at matt, causing them to giggle.

“do you not want me on the bed, shadow?” he spoke toward the cat. “you give them a home and they end up hating you,”

all she could do was smile. the way he sat there and swatted playfully at shadow made her stomach flutter. getting lost in his blue eyes even though he wasn’t looking at her, had her in a trance.

until nick and chris barged in with the entire pantry.

“we should watch a movie!”

the accident

driving in the pouring rain, she was on her way back from work. the traffic wasn’t helping the fact that her stress levels were skyrocketing, the road rage was just a plus.

sitting in the traffic for so long, the night grew later and later. it was now 11, she got out at 9:30.

she decided to turn into a street she’d never been down before to beat the line of cars, and it worked except she didn’t know where she was.

the road was flooded, but the rain on her windshield made her blind.

there was so much going on and the car felt like it stopped moving. that’s because it did stop moving.

her car completely shut down after she drove through the pool of water, messing up her engine.

she tried pushing the gas, nothing. starting the car again, nothing.

“what?” pure panic rushed through her veins. she didn’t know what to do, she didn’t know anything about cars, besides how to drive one and she was barley good at that.

she clicked on her hazards to look around, not single sign of life in sight.

she grabbed her phone to see if she could call someone, scrolling through her contacts. most of which either couldn’t drive, or were out of state.

“you’ve got to be kidding me..”

the only one left was matt.

there was the choice of calling him for help and sitting through an awkward ride with him, or being stranded waiting for a tow truck.

clicking on his contact, hesitation flooded her nerves, she pressed call. a bold choice.

a few rings went by, her heart beat being louder than the phone itself.

“y/n?” he finally spoke.

“hey- sorry to call so suddenly-“

“no, no- you’re fine. is everything alright?!” he sounded genuinely concerned.

“yes.. well no, im kinda stuck. i’m not sure where i’m at but my car won’t start-“

“wait, huh? send me your location, i’ll be on my way,” eagerly moving on the other line, he grabbed his keys, not caring that it was storming outside in just a hoodie and sweats.

“..thanks matt,”

it was a long 20 minutes. she called her insurance company which sent her a tow truck that was taking forever.

a familiar car pulled up next to hers, she knew who it was from all the beeping they did.

grabbing her valuables, she switched cars getting soaked in the process.

“jesus, y/n-“

“i know, just- don’t.” she was already annoyed from everything going wrong. he stood silent for a bit.

there came the tow truck. she signed off the car to get repaired and brought back to her apartment.

“stay at mines, it’s closer anyway.. how’d you even end up over here? it’s nowhere near your place..” matt gripped the wheel trying to navigate through the floods.

“i was just trying to beat the traffic- no, i can’t stay. shadows at home.” she reminded herself and him of the soul purpose she was rushing home. “i swear it’s like having an actual child. i love him so much though.”

till that day matt was still happy he gifted her a kitten. he loved seeing the joy that came from her talking about it. “let’s go get him- it really would be better for you to stay with me- i mean us, since you won’t have your car..”

she thought about it for a minute. knowing all the outcomes and none of them were relatively good.

“alright, i just have to grab a few things then,”

pulling into the parking spot, the rain began dying down. it was still splashing down, just not as severe. she got out, matt followed her in.

at first she was confused, thinking he would just wait in the car. but that wasn’t matt. he wouldn’t let her do anything by herself as long as he was with her.

“shadow! did you miss me baby?” they dryed their shoes on her indoor mat after she unlocked the door.

matt awkwardly stood in the living room, unsure what to do. “you can sit, you know.. i won’t be long,”

he nodded and took a seat on the couch. shadow came and sat right on his lap waiting for pets. she went to her bedroom and grabbed a tote bag to put some clothes in. it shouldn’t have been long, maybe a couple days until her car was ready.

coming back to where matt was, she stopped by the kitchen to get shadows food and bowl, adding it to the bag.

“okay, we can go- are you sure you wanna carry him? i don’t want him to run.,” pointing to matt holding shadow like a newborn baby. “wait, let me get his kennel.”

they finally got back on the road. it was now 1:23 in the morning. the rain silenced and the streets were calm. they both hummed to the songs that played from matt’s playlist. she wouldn’t know that it was inspired by her though. she just thought it was a coincidence that all her favorite songs were on there.

“chris and nick might be asleep..” matt mentioned, opening the front door quietly. the house was dark, the only light coming from the kitchen hood.

she could tell what he was indicating. ‘nick was asleep and they shouldn’t bother him’ but what he really meant was ‘i just want you to sleep in my room.’

“that’s fine..” she replied. they made it to his bedroom, closing the door so shadow wouldn’t roam the house and bother the others.

“can i.. change real quick?” she was still in her uncomfortable work attire.

he wanted to do the same, his clothes still damp from the storm. “oh- yeah, i’ll just um- turn around..”

he wasn’t expecting her to just started stripping her clothes in front of him, but he couldn’t look away. his face displaying surprise.

she noticed after taking off her top layer, being left in a bra and panties, “what..? did i do something wrong? i mean- it’s not like you haven’t seen it before,”

“no- no! you’re right, i’m- sorry, just wasn’t expecting it..” he finally turned away to change himself.

once they were both ready, they found each other in his bed. again.

an awkward distance between the two.

“goodnight..” she spoke in the dark.

“..goodnight”

the acceptance

“oh- this looks familiar, hey y/n!” chris woke the two up, once again. “i was just coming to tell matt that we ordered food- shadow!”

this time they weren’t caught.. you know.

“alright, man- i’ll be there in a second!” matt groaned, rubbing his eyes to adjust to the sunlight.

chris let shadow out the room to let nick know his bestfriend was there. this was just a great look for her.

“y/n?! what’re you doing here? not that i’m complaining!” nick shouted too loud for the early morning.

“my car broke down in the rain last night,” she scoffed, “matt came to my rescue..”

“wow, if it was one of us, he would’ve left us stranded.” nick was joking but matt felt the tension.

“yea..”

“well, me and madi are gonna go get sushi in a few, you wanna come, y/n?” nick asked.

“i hate sushi,” she replied. “it’s okay, enjoy you’re date.”

“you suck!” nick laughed and went to his room to finish getting dressed.

the remaining three ate the breakfast that was ordered and got ready for the day. there wasn’t anything particular planned since the weather wasn’t looking too good.

they decided on staying in and hanging around the house. they played a few games since nick had left, and she used his computer. the rain outside grew heavier. the sound of thunder making her jump, along with chris barging into nicks room.

“i got bored of fortnite,” laying on nicks bed. “nick said he’s stuck at madi’s ‘cause of the storm.”

“chris! since you love shadow so much, can you go feed him?” she asked from the chair. matt came in the room confused to why they weren’t playing anymore.

“what hap-“

“we got bored,” chris got up to leave the room. “cmon kitty.”

“hey,” matt started.

“hey..”

he sucked in air between his gritted teeth. the tension was stronger than ever when they were alone. he needed to break it somehow.

“god, y/n! i can’t keep doing this- what’s up between us?!” he couldn’t hold back anymore. it was so sudden. but he felt like he had to.

she turned fully in the chair, shocked at the sudden outburst. “matt-“

“no-no, you think i’m cool with just dropping everything that happened? i mean you barley talked to me about it- all you did was ‘apologize’,” his fingers making air quotes.

“are you kidding me? matt, i did apologize, i told you what happened, and YOU,” she pointed at him, now getting up from the chair, “said everything was cool! you’re the one who agreed to being friends again-“

“shit- do you really think i meant that? how could i be friends with someone like you?” he raised his voice.

both of the bodies in the room became steaming with anger, regretful words spilling out like water. thunder clapped with each sentence that came out. they were competing with the storm at this rate.

“you know what- then don’t! we don’t have to be friends! why do you think i was avoiding you?!” the yelling they were doing hadn’t caught chris’s attention, not that either of them were worried about him. they were too focused on trying to hurt each other verbally.

“good for you! i wish you never came back!”

that was her last straw, she tried to form a sentence, but her temper got the best of her. she pushed past him and slammed open the room door.

running down the stairs, not caring about any of her things. she just wanted to be away from him.

matt instantly regretted his words seeing her storm out. he waited a second, then followed behind her. they were unintentionally stomping down the stairs, causing chris to look up from pouring cat food into a small silver bowl. he was as lost as the next guy.

she opened the front door and attempted to slam it behind her, matt holding it open for himself being hit in the process.

“y/n- where are you going?!” clutching the arm that was hit.

“why do you give a fuck? you wished i never came back remember?! so let me leave!” she was being a bit dramatic, the rain soaking her clothes and hair. it was such a beautiful yet chaotic scene. the gloomy sky being brightened with the occurring lighting.

and her in front of it all, being attacked by droplets, hurt matt more.

“can’t you see? i wouldn’t be doing all of this if i didn’t-“

“didn’t what, matt? care? love me? do you even mean it?” she started to sob, the tears mixing in with the rain. “what were you even saying that night? when i was trying to break up with kian?! like are you just trying to fuck with me, matt?”

he came from under the door, entering the storm and the battle. he was face to face with her. “no! i’m not trying anything- y/n- i fucking love you! i’ve been in love with you since i met you- i just couldn’t admit it and i’ve been hating myself ever since-“

her hands grabbed his face, pulling his lips onto hers. his arms wrapped around her waist pulling her in so their bodies were touching. the kiss wasn’t like any they shared before. the feelings were mutual this time, loving and warm despite the cold rain.

in the upstairs window, chris’s jaw was to the floor. “they were just fighting..” he spoke to shadow as if he would respond. poor shadow never got his food.

the two outside were too lovestruck in the rain to notice a car pull up, dropping nick off.

“what.. the actual fuck..”

fuck it guess we both ain’t shit🤷‍♀️

yes there will be a part four (potentially the last part!!) also thanks for all the love on the previous parts mwah 😽

tag list!! @sturnobsessedwh0re @ilovechrissturniolosposts @sturnsxbitvh @sturnsxplr-25 @sturniluvr @asimp4chris @mattspearlz @annsx03 @sarosfilms @sucretwin @little-bisexual-intern @idontknowwhyimhere33

[thornbutch]

One Night Only (Pt. 2) (18+)

check out my masterlist! ♡ | pics r not mine.

Part One | Part Two

Pairings: Jordan Li x Fem!Reader, (brief) Andre Anderson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Past experiences have wrecked Jordan’s perception of their true feelings. The pretty girl from a week ago isn’t making their situation any better. Cue angst and car sex.

Tags: Jordan Li x fem!reader, Gen V, Jordan Li is a toxic, jealous, sexy piece of shit, cursing, angst, sensitive reader, sapphic make out sesh, Corruption kink, smut, mature content, Jordan might be a little OOC? Sorry. I wrote this in two hours.

Word Count: 2.7k

Jordan Li was probably the most confusing human being she had ever encountered. Ever since that night, he had been ignoring her. She’d see him in the courtyard at lunch, wave, and be disappointed when he didn’t wave back. She knew he saw her. What was his problem?

A week went by since the night she entangled with Jordan. She had finally come to terms with the fact that Jordan didn’t see her as anything but a one-night stand. She couldn’t explain why she felt so hurt by this. Maybe Jordan regretted what happened. Or maybe she was some kind of revenge hook-up? She had dealt with that before; her body being used to make someone else jealous. But that didn’t seem like a thing Jordan would do. On the other hand, she didn’t know Jordan much. She knew he was number five on the list. She knew that he had been Dr. Brink’s TA, but other that, his story was a mystery to her.

The next time she saw him, she was determined to get his attention. She didn’t care if she embarrassed him. How dare he treat her like trash? He owed her an explanation. If she had did something wrong, she’d like to know. If he wished he could forget that night, she had a right to know. She doesn’t know why it bothered her so much, but it did. He didn’t have to fuck her again, but he could’ve at least waved or said hello when he saw her in public.

She had gotten information from Maverick, the dorm’s resident assistant. She demanded to know where Jordan’s room was in the sweetest way. She fluttered her eyelashes and put her hands together in a praying form, begging him over and over to tell her until he finally did.

“God, you freshman are so fucking annoying! Can’t a guy jerk off in peace?” She didn’t have time to wonder if he was jerking off in that moment, due to his invisibility. She’d question him again later on that, because ew.

She made her way to Jordan’s room, knocking on the door once, twice, three times.

“Coming!” She heard a feminine voice shout from behind the door.

Had she arrived at the wrong room? No, Mark was adamant on the floor level and room number.

Plus, she recognized that smell of hefty cologne from the night Jordan fucked her senseless.

So who was-

Oh. She had approximately five seconds to walk, no sprint, away from this situation. She could’ve made it behind a wall or scurried off into a communal bathroom. She had time.

But she stood there, dumbfounded and hurt.

The girl from the other side opened the door, “Can I-“

She stood there.

Her doe eyes brimmed with tears. What the fuck? What the actual fuck? She didn’t own Jordan. She wasn’t his girlfriend. He made it very clear that he didn’t want to be with her.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, “Wrong door.”

Before the girl had anything to say, she was running down the hallway and exiting the building.

. . .

That was all it took for her to move on. Now, she was back to her normal self. Fuck Jordan Li, and fuck whoever that girl was at the door.

She was undoubtedly pretty, but also handsome at the same time. She kind-of looked like Jordan a bit, but she highly doubted it was a relative. Some guys were into shit like that, fucking the “girl” versions of themselves.

Ick.

She was tired of parties. They were fun, sure. It was nice to get out and get drunk and fuck here and there, but she needed an escape from that environment. She opted to go to a bar instead, one of the local ones near campus that served as a hot spot for the students.

She put on a black, tubed dress that stopped at her mid-thigh. She chose one of her favorite leather jackets to match with it and similar-looking black leather boots that came up just below her knee. It was different than what she’d normally wear. The white dresses, jean skirts, and pink accents made her look cute, but it seemed like people took advantage of that. They thought she was naïve and not aware of their schemes.

She was smart, that much was evident. As pretty as she was, she was also sexy, and she’d be damned if she didn’t own that shit.

The bar was far quieter than the frat parties, but still loud nonetheless. Supes and normals mingled here. One thing they both had in common was their love for alcohol. It seemed to bring them together and offer peace against outside situations.

The moment came when she was asked if someone could buy her a drink. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place her finger on it. He had curly, dark brown hair and deep black eyes. He was good-looking, she couldn’t deny that.

“I’m a freshman,” she stated. The man laughed.

“You say that like I’m old,” he said as he bought himself a drink, “I’m only a junior.”

She smiled, knowing that he was in her age range and a fellow student calmed her. “I’m (Y/n).”

He took a sip from his glass, “Andre,” he replied, “You have a coin on you?”

She nodded, reaching into her black velvet purse to retrieve a quarter. She handed it to him, and he examined it thoroughly.

“Look,” he held the quarter between his forefinger and thumb, “If I could make this-“ she watched as the quarter transformed before her eyes, the metal twisting and bending to create the shape of a bird, “into her drink-“ he looked over at a woman sitting down, holding a champagne glass in her hand, “then you have to come home with me.”

“Oh, I have to?” She smirked.

“I don’t make the rules,” he shrugged and grinned back, “Just enforce them.”

Before she could reply, she felt a familiar presence loom over her. She turned around, met with a firm chest and a heavy scent.

Jordan.

“She’s not into your lame ass party tricks, Andre,” Jordan said.

Andre scoffed, blistering a false offended look on his face, “Lame? C’mon, Jordan, don’t be like that.”

Jordan rolled his eyes, “She’s not interested, got it?”

Andre rolled his eyes as well, his fists bawled up and the once floating medal bird turned into a dense ball, “It’s 2023. Women can speak for themselves.”

“Right,” Jordan looked down at you, finally including you in on the conversation that he interrupted, “Are you interested?”

She was taken aback by the question. She sputtered a little, swapping glances between Andre and Jordan. Whatever this was, she did not want to be apart of it. Fuck Jordan for ruining this.

“No.” She said. Andre held his hands up in defeat, grabbed his drink, and walked away from the bar and into the crowd. She turned back to Jordan then and stood up. “Fuck you.”

“You already did,” he said.

She pushed him then. “No, fuck you. Fuck you for being an asshole to me all this week and then popping up to ruin-“

“Ruin what, exactly? Where you going to go home with him, huh? Fuck him, too? Let him see you the way I saw you?”

“Excuse me?” She raised her hand to slap him, but he caught it. His grip was tight and bruising. A few bystanders gathered around them.

“Let’s go to my car.” Jordan tugged her towards the exit. She barely had time to register what was going on before she felt the cold breeze of the night air swift through her nostrils and blow on her exposed skin.

He opened the passenger door for her. A gentleman. What kind of gentleman would dare to ask to her that way? Just who did he think he was? Her fucking boyfriend?

She got in, and he slammed the door closed. She stared out the window as he felt the car dip a little with the weight of Jordan getting in on the driver’s side.

The car was silent.

“Are we playing the quiet game or something?” .

She nodded.

He sighed, “Look, you have every right to hate me-“

“I do.”

“-but I need to explain something to you.”

She could feel her anger bubbling up. Her knees bounced against the car floor. She continued to stare out the window. “Explain.”

“The girl you saw, she was-“

Oh, not this lousy and overused excused. He really thought she was dumb. It wasn’t just something she had made up in her mind. This was evidence.

She turned, tears just about to spill past her eyelids, “Your sister? Your cousin? Your best friend?” She scoffed, “You think I’m stupid. You ignore me for a week, a week, Jordan. Then you decide you can whisk me away like you’re some kind of Prince Charming?”

“That’s not-“

“You embarrass me in front a cute guy because what? You’re jealous? You don’t like to see your one-night stand hooking up with other people but don’t mind not bothering to wave back when she waves at you?”

“(Y/n)-“

“But maybe I am stupid. You asked if I was interested, and I said no. You opened the door for me, and I got in. You folded my panties and tucked me in and left and treated me like I didn’t exist.”

Jordan watched intently as she spewed all the horrible shit they had done to her. They didn’t think it would affect her so much. They’d hate to be ignored, too, but they’d get over it. They could tell she convinced herself she was over them, over the entire situation. If she was moved on, she wouldn’t have turned down Andre’s offer, and she wouldn’t have entered their vehicle.

“-and now you’re not fucking listening, great.” She folded her arms and dramatically laid back against the seat. Tears streamed down her cheeks and her makeup was ruined. Black streaks of mascara coated the skin.

“I’m sorry,” they said. “You’re right. Not about the stupid thing, the fucked up thing. It was wrong of me to ignore you, I just…” Jordan breathed in shakily. This was so out of character for them. “I didn’t think you liked me.”

She turned towards the window again, staring at her own reflection.

“And… the girl you saw wasn’t my sister, cousin, or best friend,” They could feel their chest tightening, “She was me.”

She watched in the reflection as Jordan morphed into the girl she had seen earlier. She turned back sharply, completely in shock at what she just witnessed.

“You-“

“Yeah. I’m bigender, or whatever the fuck,” Jordan sighed. They felt vulnerable in this form. They tucked a strand of their longer black hair behind their ear and looked beyond the front windshield, “I didn’t want you thinking that I-“

“That you’re into women who look like you?” She responded.

“Yes,” Jordan snorted, “But I was going to say that I wasn’t using you. Or- I didn’t use you. That wasn’t my intention.”

“Do you normally fuck girls and abandon them?”

“I normally don’t get jealous when I see someone else flirting with them,” they looked at her then, “I didn’t like what I saw. When he flirted with you using his medal-bending ability. It was corny.”

She let out a small laugh, wiping away her tears, “It was kind of corny.”

Jordan nodded, “I was… afraid. I’m not used to feeling like this, but I am used to it at the same time. Girls, they fuck me in my masculine form and want nothing to do with me in my feminine form. Guys are vice versa.”

She listened to every word coming from their mouth.

“I guess I’ve grown accustomed to blocking people out without asking if they’d accept both versions of me.”

The car was quiet once more.

“Accustomed,” she whispered, “that’s a big word.”

Jordan rolled their eyes.

“I don’t mind,” she was no longer looking at them, instead focusing on her hands that she held in her lap, “I wouldn’t have judged you. I’m not judging you.”

“You’re not?”

“I think you’re the most handsomest and prettiest person I’ve ever seen,” she said.

They could feel their ears tint with red.

“I understand why you were nervous, but I wish you would’ve talked to me before doing all of this,”

“I’m sorry,”

“I know,” she faced them, bringing her hands to cup their soft jawline, “I forgive you.”

Their lips met with hers, but not like how they did at the frat party. This time was more passionate, sweeter, and less rough. She broke the kiss to climb over the armrest and straddle them. Jordan leaned the chair back as far as it would go to give her enough room to sit on their lap. She took off her leather jacket. Their hands held onto her waist, keeping her in place. She liked being on top and knowing that she had no control. They liked being underneath her and knowing that they were still the dominant one.

They began to kiss each other harder. More hunger. They craved her. She must’ve worn this black outfit in retaliation. She looked pretty in white. She looked pretty in black. She looked pretty naked. She was the most beautiful girl they had ever seen, and now they had her right where they wanted her.

She had been hogging their memory ever since that night. They’d slip their hands into their pants during late hours of the night, fondling their clit and breathing her name in heavy gasps as they imagined her touching them. They pinched their nipples, imagining her biting them. They wanted to see her between their thighs, eating them out with her back arched and her eyes closed because she was so into it.

“Am I doing good?” They imagined she would say.

They’d tell her she was doing amazing as they fucked their pussy onto her face.

They’d have to take a late-night shower, having soaked their boxers in their secretion. Their shirt would stick to their back from how hot they were and how much they were sweating during a simple masturbation session.

They wondered if she touched herself. Maybe she was so pent up with frustration that she couldn’t help but fuck it out of herself. She’d use two fingers right off the bat. Her legs would be spread open, and her clothes discarded into a heap at the edge of her bed.

“Jordan,” she’d moan.

“Jordan,” she moaned.

They were brought back to the present, pulling away from her lips. Both of their chests rise and fell with great intensity. They bought their hand up to her face, placing their thumb on her lip and parting them. She opened willingly, allowing their thumb to enter her wet cavern.

She sucked feverishly, all while maintaining eye contact.

“Fuck,” Jordan cursed. They could feel how wet they were in their stiff jeans.

She pulled their thumb out of her mouth with a barely audible pop!

“I want to touch you,” she said.

Yes, yes, please, yes.

She pulled up their shirt, revealing a flat stomach that had the shadows of their abs present. They didn’t wear a bra. She was very understanding of that, too. It’d be extremely uncomfortable for them to shift and feel the hard clasps of the bra digging into their back.

She cupped their breast tenderly, swiping her thumb over the nipple. Jordan couldn’t tell if she’d been with women before. Was she an expert? Or was she just doing what she did when she touched herself?

She pinched and they shifted unexpectedly. She leaned back, her ass hitting the steering wheel and blaring the horn.

It was quiet for the third time.

They apologized for startling her. She told them it was okay.

Then, she busted out laughing, falling onto them. They laughed, too.

“I guess that’s a sign,” she said.

“A sign for what?”

“To take me back to your place.”

She didn’t have to say anything else.

[insecure-snek]

I feel like this is probably an unpopular opinion (that’s why I’m posting here and not on twitter) but I just wanna know if anyone else feels this way.

Obviously, I think Wilbur is the one Shelby is talking about, and as someone who was also abused, I feel stronger hearing her story. I hope she’s able to find peace soon.

Maybe I’m just an overly optimistic person, but I think Wilbur needs help. A lot of it. And I think, probably not a popular idea, that even though he’s a piece of shit in this situation, that he deserves it.

I’m an overly trusting person by nature. Obviously I wasn’t there when any of this happened. I am just a stranger on the internet. I don’t know what went on, I didn’t see anything happen. However, I think I want Wilbur to get better and I think he can.

He needs to be deplatformed. At least until he has PUBLICLY apologized to Shelby, and is showing to his friends (not us, the audience, not only Shelby, EVERYONE HE KNOWS PERSONALLY) that he is making an effort to never treat another person like that again. But I think, and please don’t come with your pitchforks for me, the person Wilbur abuses the most is himself.

He clearly has other problems that are not making him a good person. Mental health is not a excuse for poor behavior. However, it is an explanation. Your mental health issues and trauma are not your fault, however, managing both those things are unfortunately YOUR responsibility. They are HIS Responsibility to fix and manage, not Shelby’s, not Phil’s, not James, NO ONE BUT HIM.

Call me stupid, or crazy, or whatever, but I firmly believe in the idea of (almost) every human being capable of change. I have siblings who used to treat me terribly, who are much older than me, and I was hurt by them. But as I grew, I saw them realize just how terrible they treated me. They changed their behavior, and apologized to me many many times. They showed me people can wake up and change their lives around. And, whether or not Wilbur comes back to content creation, I hope he gets the help he so clearly needs.

Shelby owes him nothing. His fan base owes him nothing. His friends owe him nothing. Wilbur owes them everything. Shelby deserves to hold back her forgiveness when it so clearly isn’t deserved. She should never forgive him if she doesn’t want to. That’s her right.

Maybe I believe in people too much. But I truly hope he changes. Not only for his friends, family, and loved ones, but for his own sake. He’s going to end up dead if he continues this way, and I believe no one deserves to die. (I’m not even for the death penalty. Let them sit and suffer forever).

Anyway, get some rest all, drink some water, and remember that the world becoming a better place starts with you. Treat people the way you wanna be treated. 💕

Update: Wilbur’s response was absolutely awful, no surprise there. As someone else who responded said, abusers often don’t think of themselves as such. I still hope he gets help. Props to ranboo and all the others standing up to him. I hope this wakes him the fuck up. Until further notice, please stop supporting him. Unfollow him, un add his music, whatever you can to get him to deeply regret this shit he’s done. Those were his actions. These are the consequences.

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

I’m gonna write this down now so I can look like an absolute genius later (or look like a clown, but at least I said it with my full chest!)

❌ Spoilers for the FNAF Movie below! ❌

Ok, I might be huffing hopium here, but in my heart of hearts I STILL think Mike Schmidt is Mike Afton. If (or when) they make a sequel, there’s a way they can reveal this

So the most obvious thing from this movie is when Mike is in “Steve’s” office, and when “Steve” is reading Mike’s name out loud from his résumé, he stops mid-sentence. He looks at Mike for a weird amount of time, almost studying him, before completely changing the subject. There’s no way in hell “Steve” recognizes Mike from when he saw him as a kid when he kidnapped his brother Garrett 10+ ago, no chance. Also why would he go to Nebraska (unclear where the movie takes place, but let’s assume Utah because of the books) to kidnap a random kid and just drive off? Here’s what I think is going on…(also I’m gonna call him William from now on cuz we all know lol)

William fingered out that Mike is his son during that interview. My theory is that at some point, William was married and him and his wife have a son named Mike. And for one reason or another, they got divorced. This is when Mike was too young to really remember which is why he doesn’t recognize William during their meeting. Mike’s mom gains custody of Mike and remarries, she marries Mr. Schmidt. They have a child together, Garrett. Sometime after the divorce, William adopts a child, trying to cope after losing his only son. He adopts Vanessa.

William finds out about his ex-wife having another kid. He wants to cause her pain and suffering for leaving him. He follows the Schmidt’s and takes Garrett during the camping trip. Unable to handle the pain, Mike’s mom takes her own life, leaving Mike and his stepdad. Mr. Schmidt marries a little later to another woman, and she has a daughter named Abby. Sometime after this, both Mr. Schmidt and his new wife die, leaving Mike to care for Abby.

Vanessa owed William so much, he had adopted her while she had suffered in an orphanage for years. She would do anything he told her, even if it meant covering up his crimes. Years later, realizing what she was doing was wrong, she left her father and became a police officer, hoping to stop people like her father as she had failed to stop him.

Here’s another thing. Scott Cawthon knows that the fans are obsessed with the lore of FNAF. I think he knew he could make more movies, this isn’t going to be a one and done deal. Plus, he had his hand on this project every step of the way, he wouldn’t agree to anything that he didn’t want to happen in the story. Mike being William’s some is CRUCIAL to the story of FNAF (at least in the games). I think he’s trying to fake us out, you know how he loves to troll the fans!

Again, this is just a theory (A GAME THEORY lol), but I don’t think the idea of Mike being an Afton is dead just yet. Hoping and praying so I can look incredibly smart if or when the sequel drops 🙏🏻

[fizzyorange-v2]

just talking to my friend in dms about how at first when q!charlie started calming down from his rampage i was kinda upset cause i WANTED a full villain arc i wanted blood and rage and a massacre but then I kept watching and realised how much of a fucking idiot I was to underestimate charlie slimecicle’s rp skills like that. because charlie isn’t just playing a character hell bent on righteous revenge for his daughter, he’s playing a character actually grieving that daughter.

it’s obvious now that i think about it that the initial revenge plot to kill all the eggs and his repeated self affirmations that juanaflippa isn’t gone and that it can all just be reset are clearly just him entering the denial and anger stages. and that later scenes after the rest of the server finally backed him into a corner and calmed him down and he had that heart wrenching scene looking at juanaflippa’s photo, asking for a literal trial for her life and soul back and then that whooooole bar scene, that he has then entered the bargaining and depression stages.

Because the truth is, q!charlie doesn’t actually want to kill anyone (except Mariana lolll), he especially doesn’t want to kill any of the eggs! All he wanted was to be a good dad. And I think that that’s part of the reason he as a character failed so hard to actually tangibly hurt anyone during this stream. He was a mess, crying screaming yelling clawing trying to do something, anything to save his daughter. Anything to fix it all. That scene of him failing to break into Phil’s house haunts me.

But I think there’s something especially tragic that before Juanaflippa, q!charlie probably was the kind of character to hurt others without caring, he seemed to have no idea about empathy or healthy relationships before her thats for sure. He’s literally already killed TWO eggs before this, so causally and with such ease. But his love for his daughter improved him, and it changed him, and it made him just enough of a better person that when that daughter was taken from him, suddenly even to save her he can’t fucking do it anymore.

I also really appreciate how everyone else on the server reacted to him too. They didn’t at all treat him like some big bad scary villain like I originally would I’ve expected. Sure they were understandably wary and protective, but every single one of them weren’t so much angry at him as… WORRIED for him. And it really helped put it in perspective that this isn’t some guy going on a hashtag villain arc, but immersed me in oh fuck. This is a guy that just lost his daughter. And all his friends and fellow parents know. And they aren’t scared of him, they’re concerned for him. They aren’t full of fear… but pity. Because they know. They know what he’s just lost. And they understand. And they’re trying to be there for him.

And Charlie despite all the grand speeches and diabolical plots and not so carefully placed land mines… doesn’t really care how he gets Juanaflippa back, as long as she’s with him again.

Just man,,,, the way Charlie performed this character’s grief is so fucking stellar and SO fucking excruciating. The part that genuinely broke me was in that photo scene when he said: “i'm sorry flippa... i thought i could change something- i thought i could undo it, thought i could make it right... now i see that there's no way this can be made right...” which already fucking ow ow OW and clearly him finally exiting denial/anger straight into depression but then he whispers THIS FUCKING BIT: “it wasnt even on purpose… i know that... it doesnt make it better… what do i do juanaflippa?” LIKE FUCK!!!! FUCK!!!! OKAY!!!!!

Anyway massive props to everyone for the rp today but ESPECIALLY charlie for this agonisingly accurate and visceral depiction of grief that I somehow was NOT expecting. I thought we were going to get villain arc egg massacre angst and instead we got father mourning his daughter trying futilely to do anything to bring her back angst. I’m never fucking recovering from this one.

[lackadaisicallizard]

Nicknames

“Can you pass me that book?” Regulus points to the text sitting next to James. 

“Are we going to do anything more interesting today?” James’ voice is bordering on whiney as he passes it across the table. 

“I told you I was studying. You were the one that decided to grace me with your ever annoying presence.” He opens the book and starts flipping through the pages. 

“You know you love it,” James’ teasing tone isn’t at all subtle. 

They’ve been playing this game for months now. The game where James flirts overtly and Regulus pretends that he doesn’t flirt back. Where they find excuses to spend time together. Where Regulus lets James interrupt his study session when it’s very clear he has no intention of letting him actually study. 

“Come on!” There’s no reply from the younger boy who would look entirely indifferent if it wasn’t for the small crease between his brows that indicates that he’s not doing a very good job at blocking James out. “Reggie.” 

He looks up then, eyebrows now knitted into a thick line. “No.” 

A smirk. “What?” 

“You are not calling me Reggie.” 

“Why? Sirius does.” 

“Sirius is my brother and incredibly annoying.” 

James’ smirk turns into a grin. “Oh so you don’t find me annoying then?” 

“I told you I did less than thirty seconds ago.” 

“You’re such a bad liar.” 

Regulus rolls his eyes in the way that makes James’ stomach do a little flip and goes back to ‘ignoring’ him. 

James is silent for approximately five seconds. “You can give me a nickname if you’d like.” 

“I’m good, thanks.” 

“Seriously, you can call me whatever you want.” 

“Noted.” 

“You can even call me tonight if you like.” 

That stops him. It also makes him look up and meet James’ eyes. “Really, Potter?” 

James raises his eyebrows, smiling again. “Didn’t like that one?” 

“You’re a walking, cliche.” 

James laughs. “So is that a no to the nickname then?”

A pause. “I’ll think about it.” 

— 

A week later and James walks into the Slytherin common room. 

“Potter, to what do we owe this honour?” Barty asks, not even bothering to get up from where’s he’s laying across Evan’s lap on one of the sofas, spinning his wand between his fingers. 

Pandora is reading cross legged in an armchair and looks up with a warm smile that contrasts her brother’s suspicious one. 

“Hi guys. Have you seen Regulus?” 

“Let him out of your sight for once, huh?” Evan asks with raised eyebrows. 

“Yes. Well, no- I mean. He’s not always-“ 

“Eloquent as ever, I see,” Barty laughs and Pandora shushes him. 

“Oh stop it you two,” she looks at James, “he’s upstairs. Sometimes he needs to escape from these idiots.” 

She shushes them again as they start to argue and they settle back down with a grumble. 

James nods. “Right, well do you think he’d mind if I drop something to him? I accidentally took his quill from the library the other day and I’m not sure I want to find out what happens if he thinks I stole it.” 

Evan shrugs. “He’s your boyfriend, Potter. Do what you want.” 

Everything stops. 

James can hear his heart beating in his ears. 

Pandora’s smile has dropped. “Are you okay James?” 

James takes a deep breath and nods his head, blinking so the room starts moving again. “Yep, all good. I’ll go deliver this quill to my… boyfriend.” 

The word comes out slowly as James gauges their reactions, waiting for one of them to laugh at him, to laugh at their joke. 

Instead they stare at him. “Okay…” Evan says eventually. 

James doesn’t remember walking through the common room or up the stairs. He doesn’t remember knocking on Regulus’ door or opening it to find him sitting cross legged on his bed, book opened in his lap and beautiful eyes wide in surprise at the sudden intrusion. He doesn’t remember anything before the words that fall out of his mouth. 

“Why did Evan just call me your boyfriend?” 

Recognition appears in his eyes, then and his mouth curls up into a knowing smile. “You told me I could call you anything.” 

“I was talking about a nickname, Regulus.” 

“And?” 

James has to stop himself from looking at the camera that’s surely filming him right now. This can’t be an actual conversation he’s having, surely? 

“Boyfriend is not a nickname. It’s a thing.”  He moves closer to Regulus’ bed as he talks, his words faster than usual. “It’s something a person is, it’s… romantic.”

Regulus blinks before putting down his book and getting up off his bed so they’re standing across from each other. “Thank you for defining the word boyfriend, Potter. And for the clarification.” His tone is definitely sarcastic but James has no idea how to respond.

“You’re welcome,” is what comes out. James kicks himself for it. 

“So are you saying you don't want me to call you that any more?” Regulus’ facial expression seems neutral but there’s a hint of something else there. 

“No,” the word escapes before he even realises he’s said it. “I mean yes. I mean-“ he stops and takes a breath before meeting Regulus’ eyes. They’re softer than usual. “Are you sure?” 

Regulus hums before he smiles and takes a step forward, reaching out to place his hand on James’ cheek and momentarily causing him to stop breathing. “It suits you, you know? Your new nickname, I mean.” 

James lets out a noise that sounds startlingly close to impatience before he finds himself leaning in, and then Regulus’ lips are on his and his hands are in his hair and he forgets any name he’s ever had for a second, a minute, an hour, an indeterminate amount of time before they pull apart again. 

He’s smiling now as his heart beats quickly in his chest, and as the younger boy smiles right back James only has one question:

“So can I call you Reggie now?” 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Oh,” James pouts and Regulus rolls his eyes before reaching down to take his hand, lacing their fingers together. 

“I guess you’ll just have to settle for boyfriend.” 

James’ eyes move from their hands to Regulus’ face. “Oh.” His voice is softer now, light. “I think I can make that work.” 

[eclecticwordblender]

i know this aunty who happens to be a homemaker and perhaps she is the only woman in my parents' social circle who is not financially independent. apparently she has never been very good academically and "chose" to be a homemaker. but her street smarts are absolutely off the roof. she has the highest emotional intelligence that i have ever encountered. she has a great sense of aesthetics. she has amazing people skills. her home is always impeccable. she’s a brilliant cook. her husband also has absolutely no idea about the functioning of the household because she has handled it so well. might i add she is also naturally very conventionally attractive. even at the age of around 50 she looks like she’s in her early 30s at best. this woman is the ideal tradwife by any standards.

her husband is also quite nice to her. always acknowledges her role in taking care of his household and his children. he’s generally one of the nicest and kindest men i’ve ever come across tbh. but despite all his niceness and kindness there is the occasional wife joke. and after all the emotional and unpaid labour she has put into their lives, it is his house after all. there is an obvious power dynamic where she constantly acknowledges her husband as someone she depends on, which is obviously true because she has no monetary independence. also, despite how smartly she manages the household, there are always jokes about how dumb she is in every social gathering and it is extremely humiliating to say the least.

this couple has a daughter who is in her late 20s now. she refuses to get married. now this aunty's in-laws refuse to get off her back because apparently she has failed as a mother because her daughter refuses to get married. aunty is often insulted about this in gatherings. her father in law once reprimanded her saying that she had one job staying at home and she couldn’t even do it properly. obviously, she was pissed off and answered back saying her husband was an absent father altogether. surprise surprise the husband started yelling at her in front of everyone saying that he had to break his back working for his wife was too stupid to get a job.

i’m sure these fights have escalated in private because recently aunty had a talk with me saying that i must earn my own living no matter what. this is the first time ever. we’re pretty close and she never said anything of this kind. she has also stopped pestering her daughter to get married and recently admitted that she is right about not wanting to get married altogether. i have also witnessed a recent drastic change in her personality lately. she isn’t as chirpy as she had always been.

now i do not know what is going on with her behind closed doors. but what i do know is that she has nowhere to escape because she has no monetary support.

if you think being a tradwife is a great choice, THINK AGAIN. perhaps your husband treats you right, but remember your life is at the mercy of how he treats you.

in an ideal world, money does not have the kind of power it does in our world. but unfortunately, we do not live in such a world. we as women, must, first and foremost secure financial independence for ourselves. money buys everything, even emotional and care labour. as educated and employable women, we also have a moral obligation to women who do not have the same privileges as us. we have a moral obligation to do whatever we can to offer them avenues to access whatever freedom we can bring their way. we owe it to the women who came before us, to the women who live with us, and to the women who will come after us.

YOU ARE A WOMAN BEFORE ANYTHING ELSE. ALWAYS REMEMBER THAT.

YOU OWE IT TO YOUR SEX CLASS BEFORE ANYONE ELSE. ALWAYS REMEMBER THAT.

[senseandaccountability]

“Is this truly our prodigal son?” - meta ramblings about Astarion and Cazador and breaking vicious cycles

“I didn’t have a choice… but it seems now I do.” Astarion is indeed the prodigal son in the sense that he has to return to his home in order to find himself and his purpose. 

For at least half the game, he is - at least outwardly - what he has been made to be. A pretty facade to be consumed. In the mirror he doesn’t see himself, he remembers nothing of his past, he can’t even read the words etched into his own back - he is, in all aspects, unwritten, unmade until he starts walking back into his own life. Reclaiming it. Or rather - remaking it. Because there is nothing sustainable there to reclaim, his heritage from Cazador contains nothing but death and violence. And power built on those two ingredients. Even when he claims that’s what he wants - power, walking in the sun, to never be afraid of anyone again, you can hear how hollow the desire is. Isn’t this what you want for me? he asks Tav, equal parts manipulation and the fact that he probably has no idea whatsoever how to figure out if he wants something like that for himself. He’s never had the luxury of choice. Shouldn’t I want this? When Tav later says that considering slaughter of seven thousand spawns isn’t who Astarion truly is he doesn’t even say she’s wrong, he replies: IT SHOULD BE.

“If I can’t have my freedom, then neither can they.”

Astarion is also, to use the same religious myth, the son who remained behind and keeps count. He counts the injustices done to him, he compares, he gathers bitterness and lust for revenge over two hundred years. Nobody ever did anything to help him. Nobody came to his rescue - he even says so himself early in the game that no hero saved him, it was the mindflayers who did. He admits to Gale that he’s prayed to all deities - but no one answered. When Tav prods about the countless of spawn he’ll sacrifice for his own ritual he brings up the same argument - what about what he’s owed? Everything was taken from him, too!

“You’d almost feel sorry for the poor, deluded souls. But they’re idiots who brought this on themselves, so… don’t.” 

Astarion doesn’t want to identify with the victims because then he has to identify as a victim. (Or even worse, someone who willingly accepted the offer of a vampire, aka idiot who brought this on himself.) And no matter how much he talks about what Cazador put him through, he’s not ready to do that, not fully. Instead he pushes them further away from himself, especially as his guilt and pain and self-loathing gets poured into preparing for the Ascension. That one thing that will finally separate him from everyone else, make him safe and untouchable. The others, the victims, they’re weak, pathetic, nothing like him at all, they’re too far gone, they’re different, they couldn’t survive out there so it’s better he kills them so they serve a purpose. It’s not exactly subtext, either, Tav can outright ask him if he really intends to kill them just because they remind him of himself and his voice breaks when he answers that. “They do not. That weakness inside me is dead. It’s dead. I have a higher purpose.” He comes a little bit closer to breaking out of his cycle with the Gur children, they happened not that long ago, he’s visibly moved by the fact that he had forgotten them and felt nothing when he delivered them and when Tav asks about his feelings on the subject, he admits: “I just… I never want to see these little scraps of misery again. The world doesn’t need to know my shame.”

But it takes the encounter with Cazador to truly break out of the pattern.

“Did I not make you who you are?” “Do not slouch before me, boy! Have you no respect for yourself?” he snaps at Astarion when you first enter his ritual. And when the camera pans to Astarion, so full of rage and fully intent on killing Cazador with his bare hands if he has to, we see that he actually does slouch. He’s that boy again.

He’s returned, the boy who caused so much trouble, who screamed the sweetest when he was tortured, who was thrown into a tomb for a year for refusing his order and who eventually stopped fighting back. Godey says: “You always were sharp, little one. Sharp enough to cut yourself.” The boy who Cazador tried to make something of, but to no avail. He was incorrigible. “I fondly remember your empty boasting, your tired jokes, your endless prattle…” All abuse aside, Cazador hurts Astarion in that precise way only a parental figure can hurt a child - through constant disappointment, the cruelty of not caring. The parent that only punishes, that sees nothing but faults. He even tells Astarion that he ought to be begging their forgiveness for coming crawling back after abandoning them. “Forgiveness? You’ve never forgiven anything.” / “No! No, fuck you and fuck everything you’ve ever done to me.”

“I’m so much more than what you made me,” Astarion tells Cazador when he finally has him on his knees, one last attack away from getting the revenge he’s dreamed of for two hundred years. When he asks Tav for help he - again - brings up the “isn’t this what you want?” Because even if he knows he’s more than what Cazador created him to be, he doesn’t know what that “much more” consists of yet. If you detect his thoughts at that moment you learn that he’s afraid, hungry, intoxicated. That all he can see is the power of the ritual and the freedom to do anything - to be anything.

“I want you to live a life you’re proud of,” Tav pleads. “You can’t be proud of this.” Tav who sees someone else in him, a way forward that isn't steeped in Cazador's tyranny. Tav, who treats him like a person, with autonomy.

“I know you think this will set you free, but it won’t. The power will trap you, just like it trapped Cazador.” And it was this Astarion required to truly remake his life. Returning as the prodigal son to the place that was his home, where he was taught he amounted to nothing, that he was a means to an end, that the only way to ever feel safe in life is to hold power over someone else. 

That’s why I found his “No! No, fuck you and fuck everything you’ve done to me” so powerful, because it’s it’s much more than an insult or a protest. It’s an acknowledgement that you were hurt and that you didn’t deserve it. 

And by extension here - that you’ve hurt others in turn and they didn’t deserve it, either. That perhaps you are just the same as the weak, pathetic spawn in the dungeons. That perhaps we all are. That perhaps the true power lies in daring to hope. For forgiveness, for understanding, for more people out there to have a heart like Tav’s. That you, if you’re given a chance to make choices for yourself, can make a life you can feel proud of. Even if it means you have to let others see your shame. To care again is to live again, like Tav says while they're exploring casa Cazador. And Astarion wants to feel alive.

When you can make Astarion realise he can be better than Cazador, he immediately shows  protectiveness towards the spawn, telling his siblings to lead them to the Underdark and then telling the truth to the Gur but making sure to point out that if they come hunting - they’re hunting their own children. Cazador’s been dead for a couple of minutes and Astarion is already doing a better job as some sort of wretched father figure for these poor souls. Because he's given them freedom to make their own choices, treated them as equals. Shown them the care nobody ever showed him before. That's how you break cycles and pack one hell of an emotional punch. Fuck you and fuck everything you’ve done to me, indeed.