#I swear it’s so fuckin vague
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I’d like using the term fertility gods if people would actually make up their minds on what that means
my mom still thinks Demeter primarily is a sex goddess and I have to constantly correct her (for the sake of my little sister who is unintentionally named after her)
#Ramblings#mythology#greek mythology#demeter#I swear it’s so fuckin vague#i was just trying to look up cypriot art and the met starts referring to ashtart that way and it makes her sound really different#I love the met don’t get me wrong but some of their wording for piece info is… odd#i was there for my 17th and they called a perfume vessel “head of a black” on its info#which sucks cause it had amazing info on Ethiopians in the Greek world and the hero Memnon#It’s just such weird wording why not aethiopian or African???#Those would’ve been less jarring#Oh damn went on a rant there#This was just about my mild distaste for the term fertility god and my mom#Anyways#And my my mom I mean her perception of this#She’s literally perfect most of the time
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sometimes i cant help but think about the enemy pokemon u find in mystery dungeons and the in-universe reasons for why theyre Like That. like. i know we have a bunch of examples in each game for pokemon that attack u for various reasons (misunderstandings, guarding something, gone berserk from outside influence, just an asshole, etc) but whats going on with the hundreds of mons that spawn INSIDE the mystery dungeons. like those things are already weird even though theyre well known by most residents and they appear pretty much anywhere but theres tons of pokemon that straight up live in those places. and while some have good reason to wander and attack intruders there, some are just. why. why are there Enemy Pokemon in a Mystery Dungeon next to a School. who are you people.
#and like . ok pmd1 mons are influenced by the natural disasters pmd2 are influenced by time pmd3 by despair and pmd4 by. despair again ?#but theyre still like. sentient. right.#also the fact that there are canonically criminals in the pmd world but wheres the line between that and residents of a mystery dungeon#closest thing i can think of that vaguely answers any of this is the spiritomb from the dark future but even thats an extreme AND rare case#it feels like a weird cross between animals just being animals in nature and then. society and everything that comes w that#why are there even cops in pmd anyway..#more importantly why is there a mystery dungeon next to the school. was it already there when they built the school#or did they somehow generate one???????? theres no way right#why did they think that was a good idea. mystery dungeons are famously dangerous and these mons are like yknow whatd be great#what if we took a bunch of 10 year olds (maximum.) and let them explore one of the most dangerous things known to monkind#yeah thatll be a nice fun learning experience .#< psmd is so goddamn weird (i love it tho i swear)#i would love to know what mystery dungeons would be like without all the game mechanics.....#some of them wouldnt have floors necessarily like the forests n stuff but some would.. the ever-changing layout still applies tho..#would traps be a thing. or random items just laying around#would kecleon shops even exist inside dungeons realistically. i feel like thatd be awful for business#no no going back to the fuckin school thing. theres literal groups OFFICIAL groups of pokemon made specifically to traverse the dungeons#like most pokemon dont casually wander around those things unless they live there. so why on earth is there one for the SCHOOL#pmd
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sometimes i wonder if my neighbours can hear me ranting about whatever coworker I'm mad at this day (....hour). i think it'd be real funny if I walked outside one day and the guy down the hall said "so have you killed John yet?"
#no but it's getting close#this guy i swear...#half the problem is that hes kind of a dick and talks down to people/is always ranting about how our system and products are shit#so all the people who actually build said products have a chip on their shoulder#and then if you try to call him out on it hes like 'oh well i didn't mean YOU were shitty our websites are all just GARBAGE....'#and then he sends vague notes like 'make this look better' and we get in a 20 min fight mediated by the HR guy#because wtf does 'make this look better' mean#and we SHOULD be charging the client for this time spent making it 'look better' so don't JUST TELL CLIENTS WE'LL DO STUFF FOR FREE#anyway. fuckin guy.
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clari do u have touya-nii crumbs to spare pls 🥹🥹
what flavour of crumbs would u like anon bb??? <3
#U GUYS KNOOOOW i am always ready to talk about our collective beloved big brother touya <333#but this is so broad n vague i'm like !?!?!?#like technically i have a piece i could give u a snippet of HAHA#but if u have any ideas or questions or even just a general concept then!!!!!! i can give u something!!!#hope ur having a fab weekend anon!#i've been like#teetering on the edge of getting sick for a fuckin week i swear to god#inky.bb#clari gets mail
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could the vincenzo translators be so kind as to translate the fucking italian i dont speak that either
#jordan talks#he just said che cazzo a bunch and they didnt subtitle it#i had to fuckin google que cazzo because i only know spanish and vaguely how italian words are spelled#hes just saying what the fuck but you really could have. given me a hint. a crumb.#i want to know wtf hes swearing about in italian idk man.#one time i had to switch to a spanish sub for a second because they dont subtitle english but this girl was very not good at it#and i wanted to know what she said. but it was u intelligible in english. so i had to use the spanish translation#anyways they should just have subs for every language like whatever language its the sub for. translate it for them#or at LEAST transcribe it for them. even if its their language sometimes ppl have heavy accents#do i have to get my fucking grandpa to translate it for me ………
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Five minutes. Just five. Minutes not even hours or days. Five fuck minutes. Where things are not happening. 2024 has been like ten years so far and we're barely into April.
A dont look at me
#winter speaks#swear to fucking god im finding and getting peach beer saturday and watching cartoons while trying to get drunk#tw alcohol#tumblr app fuckin deleted discord joined tgerapisy reschedule things absolutely destroyed any of the small#so small teeny tiny trying so hard support system i was starting to build just fuckin kivked over.#justblike- id like a fay yo just catch my breath andpick shig up without waking up and finding mofe thibhs#can i just stop having fires to put out. for five fucking minutes. or just like- i put one out and not have#ten more behind me that i didnt know about until i poke a singular layer jfc#just ranting ignore me this is what tumblrs for allllll the mental health vague posging shamd goes here#andy dont look
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This is... love? (Simon Riley x Reader)
- SMUT SMUT SMUT - MDNI MDNI MDNI -
First time writing smut in a loooong time, so bare with me. Had an idea and ran with it. I hope you like it tho!
Simon Riley can fuck. But what about the first time you make love?
Word Count: 2.8K
Pairing: Simon Riley x Reader/You
Warnings: crying during sex (not the bad kind tho, promise), explicit sex, p in v, praise (heavy heavy like on god), gentle love making <3 bc our boy can fuck, but what about other stuff too?!
Of course, you’ve fucked. Simon has been your boyfriend for 3 years now, you’re definitely comfortable to explore that part of your relationship now.
Simon has had you bent over every piece of furniture in your flat, has had you in every bed in your house, in the shower, on the floor, a couple of times on the balcony even. He’s had you pinned to walls in sketchy bar bathrooms, he’s had you in the back of his nice looking truck, the bed of that same truck- fuckin’ everywhere.
That’s all it’s been, it’s been fucking. Rough, fast- always fucking godly, of course, but it’s primal. Animalistic, and you love it- you truly do love it.
But this time you want to do things different. You want to slow it down, you want to fucking relish in the man you’re lucky to call your own. You don’t want to fuck, you want to make love to him.
Simon has always been… not exactly averse to your softer affections, as he’s always a very willing participant, but you sometimes notice he seems… overwhelmed. Like he can’t quite handle the raw, genuine emotion behind a soft, tender, lingering touch. His cheeks heat up, he gets this certain look in his eyes, and while he’s never been mean about it- he backs away from it. He shies away from it.
You’ve tried talking to him about it- you’ve tried many, many times to bring it up to him. And yet the bastard always has a way to switch up the conversation, to change things around, to slip past the topic so easily- he can spin straw into gold with that mouth of his.
So, you’ve decided to take matters into your own hands.
You’re laying in bed, cuddled right up to him, your leg thrown over his hips and an arm thrown over his chest while you lay on your side, your head nestled perfectly in the crook of his arm. Simon’s hand idly plays with the ends of your hair, his arm wrapped around you, simply holding you to him as if to make sure you don’t slip away.
Simon is seemingly lost in thought, eyes closed and body more or less relaxed- as relaxed as Simon can be when the man is always seemingly on alert to every little sound.
“Hey, Si,” You murmur out, your fingers idly tracing random shapes against the fabric of his shirt.
He hums to let you know he’s heard you, but otherwise doesn’t really react.
Fuck, you love this man. You love every inch of him, everything about him. You even love that he always leaves the toilet seat up (you swear he does it out of spite) because you know you’d miss it if he wasn’t around to keep doing it.
“Can I try something?” You ask, tone soft and relaxed, casual. Not at all portraying the thoughts in your head, your secret little ‘mastermind’ plan.
“Tha’s quite vague, ain’t it, love?” Simon grumbles out, voice low as if to match the atmosphere of simple peace and quiet.
“Hmm…” You trail off, a playful smile growing on your face- not that he’s looking to see it, “I think it’s pretty simple. Either yes or no.” You quip with a nod, moving to lean up, resting your weight on your elbows so you can look down at him with a soft, gentle smile.
And of course at feeling you move, his arm moves from around your shoulders to around your waist- always touching you, never wanting you far when he’s finally home. (You don’t realize home is you- but of course he’s never quite told you that).
Simon’s eyes open at your movement, too. Pretty brown eyes, half lidded in his more-or-less relaxed state as he looks up to meet your gaze, his gaze soft in the way it only ever is for you- his mask resting along the nightstand by the bed.
There if he needs it- but it’s rarely needed with you around. A warm light, easily able to lighten up even the darkest depths of his mind to keep his demons at bay.
“....yes?” Simon offers after a few moments of contemplation, a curious look in his own eyes as they scan over your face- looking for a hint of what possible fuckery you could be up to at this point.
Your soft smile stretches out into a soft grin as you lean down, pressing your lips to Simon's and letting your eyes flutter shut. One of your hands come up, tracing softly up his chest, up his throat, along his jaw before settling to cup his cheek.
You can feel his breath hitch the slightest bit at the soft touch, the lingering touch. This is the kind of kiss that usually overwhelms him, but maybe he’s in a good mood tonight. Your thumb softly caresses his cheek while your tongues intertwine, and you can feel the moment Simon tries to speed it up.
You pull away, eyes still closed, your lips brushing against his as you speak, “No, no,”
And you promptly place your lips back against his own, not giving him time to start spitting his bullshit about how he’s going to make you see stars if you don’t stop teasing him- because that’s not the goal here.
You shift your body, moving to straddle Simon's hips (a feat in its own right), keeping one hand cupping his cheek while the other moves to the hem of his shirt, slowly running over the skin above the waistband of his pajama pants, before delving under the fabric and feeling the softness of his tummy, touch so soft and gentle, so loving against his body.
Simon doesn’t know what to think, his own hands seeming to hesitate before they come to rest along your thighs, squeezing the fat there a bit roughly- but that’s okay, you can teach him.
“Love your hands, Si,” You murmur as you finally pull away from the kiss, only to trail kisses down his jawline, slow and soft, occasionally nipping at the skin.
Simon let's out a grunt, his fingers digging into the meat of your thighs before moving to cup your ass, pushing your body to force your clothed cunt to grind against his already hard cock, and a breathy moan leaves your lips from the stimulation- but damn it, you’re doing this your way this time.
“I’ll stop,” You warn, voice still soft, but there's… an edge to it for once, one stating that you really will.
A soft groan leaves Simon's lips, along with a scoff at the absolute audacity of you, “Love,” Simon says, in warning more than anything.
“I don’t wanna hear it,” You’re quick to say, before leaning back to meet his pretty, brown-eyed gaze, your hands moving to lift his shirt which he eagerly enough helps with, throwing the fabric away and down to the floor like it was the very thing that killed his family.
…a bit much, but you can understand his eagerness.
“You’re so beautiful, Simon,” You murmur out, eyes filled with nothing but adoration as you trail your hands across the familiar expanse of his chest, fingers running through his chest hair, thumbs brushing over his nipples before trailing down his sides. Your palms run over the subtle softness of his belly, where you know there is muscle hidden underneath.
A hiss leaves Simon's lips, and you can feel his cock twitch from where you’re perched in his lap. “Bloody ‘ell, love, the fuck ya doin?” Simon mutters, hands moving to grab your hips.
“Jus’ be good for me, yeah?” You murmur out, a soft, adoring smile on your face as you finally look up to meet his gaze.
The sight alone is enough to make you pause slightly. He’s not like this when you’re fucking- and you don’t even have his dick in you yet! His cheeks are flushed, not from exertion, he’s just flustered, his bottom lip between his teeth, brows pinched together with pretty glossy eyes.
Almost like he could cry- but not quite.
“You’re always so good for me, Si,” You murmur, grinding your hips against his own and letting out another breathy moan at the feeling, his hands tightening their grip of your hips in response. Just one look and you can tell he’s overwhelmed already- or at the very least getting there. But he hasn’t once told you to stop- he’s simply tried speeding you up, which you have no interest in. Not this time.
You grab his hands, kissing each of his knuckles before slowly dragging them underneath your own shirt, placing his palms against your breasts, his thumbs already swiping at your nipples, at the already peaked buds there.
“Always takin’ such good care of me, my love,” You praise, and you reward him with another slow grind, beginning to set such a slow, but lovely pace, just enough friction to make you want more- but that’s the goal. A slow build, no rush, no desperation, just… slow. Loving. Gentle. Tender.
Simon visibly gulps, his hands squeezing the flesh of your tits with a groan before he’s tugging your shirt off and adding it to the growing pile on the floor. He tries to buck his hips, tries to get your movements to speed up- but you simply lift up, ending the contact altogether, and send him a pointed look.
“Do ya not want me to fuck ya, love? What’s all this then?” Simon says with a huff, eyes narrowing slightly as they meet your own.
Anyone else would say he’s frustrated- and yeah, partly he is. But you know your Simon, you can see that glossiness to his eyes, can see the slightest twitch of his brow- he’s overwhelmed- he’s not sure how to handle this, the softness, the gentleness.
Simon likes to say he can’t be soft, can’t be gentle, can’t be loving. But it’s been 3 years with this man- you know he can. He just needs to be taught- it’s simply something he’s never had before, it’s not like he was born with the knowledge.
“No,” You answer with a pleased, breathy sigh, resting your hips back against his own and beginning that slow grind once more, feeling his cock twitch at the action. “Don’t wanna fuck, Si. Jus’ be good for me, baby. Jus’ sit here, look pretty for me. Always so good for me. Jus’ let me love you, sweet boy,” You murmur out, eyes meeting his own and holding their gaze.
You trail your hands down his arms along his shoulders and collar bones, quite literally loving every inch of his skin.
Simon’s cheeks get hotter, the look he gives you is entirely overwhelmed, spooked even. Like the thought of being loved is absolutely horrifying alone.
“Be good? Kinda kinky, innit?” Simon mumbles out in response, looking at you with a quirked brow.
But you don’t stop. And he doesn’t stop you.
Clothes continue to fly off, positions change, but somehow you manage to remain in full control for once. And he lets you. Sure, you have to correct him at times, have to remind him to slow down, all with soft smiles and gentle praise- and he eats it up like a starving hound.
Even now, as moans and breathy praise leaves your lips, Simon being vocal, a rarity on it’s own, at least to this extent.
“Feel s’ good around me, love, fuck, so good,” He fucking babbles, his cock dragging along the walls of your drooling cunt at a slow, but steady pace. You’re underneath him now- stereotypical missionary- but it’s divine.
You pull Simon’s head down, pressing his forehead against your own, your legs wrapped loosely around his hips as his cock drags deliciously over all those sweet spots inside, the soft mound above his cock pressing against your clit with every. Single. Thrust.
It’s a slow build up, so slow, and while he focuses on clenching his fists into the sheets above your head, resting on his elbows on either side of it, you focus on touching him, praising him.
“Always so good to me, baby,” You practically purr the words.
“I love you so much, Si, so much,” You say, breathless as your back arches, forehead pressed to his and eyes closed in bliss of the slow building pleasure.
“Like you were made jus’ for me, sweet boy,” Your hands move to wrap around his shoulders, one of them tangling in his hair.
“Love how you make me feel, Simon,” You moan out, legs tightening their grip around his hips.
If your eyes weren’t closed, you’d see how Simon is looking at you right now.
Simon is looking at you like you’re a fucking goddess… but the vision is blurry, from the pure overwhelming, unshed tears in his eyes. God, he’s pathetic, isn’t he? Crying? During sex? But he can’t even entertain the thought- thoughtful praise continuing to spill from your lips as he continues his slow, languid, deep thrusts.
He focuses on the feeling, on the way your words are soothing parts of him he didn’t care to recognize were broken, he focuses on the way your hands trail across his skin so fucking lovingly- as if he’s actually worth something. As if he’s someone and not a monster. As if he doesn’t have hundreds of lives taken by the very hands you praise for touching you.
No- no, none of that matters right now, as for the first time in his fucking life Simon Riley doesn’t fuck- he makes love.
“God- g-gonna make me cum, Simon- fuck- love the way you make me cum-” You whimper out, back arching into him and fuck, Simon can’t take it anymore.
Simon doesn’t know what to think. Sure, the pleasure is mind-numbing, your pussy always feels so fucking good when it’s wrapped around his cock like this, but it’s damn near tripled by the pure feelings you’re forcing him to feel. The way his chest burns, but it’s so good- he can fucking feel the love you have for him, the way you hold him in your heart, the way you think of him as though he put the very stars in the sky for you and you alone. And he would- fuck he absolutely would. He’d give you the world should you ask for it- fuck he loves you, he loves you, he loves you, he loves you.
He doesn’t speed up- he wants the slower build up, too, doesn’t want to rush it, but he’s going to shatter if more praise leaves your lips so he presses down, slotting his mouth against your own, a minor distraction really.
You can feel the wetness to his cheeks.
You know it’s not sweat.
Your hands move to cup his cheeks so softly, so lovingly, so gently. You moan into his mouth as the pleasure builds until that band finally fucking snaps, and you’re on cloud nine.
Simon buries his head in the crook of your neck, his hot, thick cum shooting ropes into you as your cunt squeezes his cock like a vice, truly milking him for all he’s worth.
You’re both panting, but Simon's head stays hidden- you know why, you can feel the tears against your neck, but you don’t say anything.
You wrap your arms around him, holding him close as you come down from your high, nuzzling your cheek against the top of his head.
“Love you so much,” You whisper out, running a hand through his hair, still slightly breathless.
You can feel Simon place the softest kiss to your neck, arms squeezing you almost too tightly, but you don’t say anything.
You know your Simon. He’s not a monster. He’s not a killing machine. He’s a man- your man. Simon’s not unlovable, he’s not broken. He’s not stupid for simply not knowing. He’s not stupid for simply needing to be taught.
And you love him. Gods, do you love him. You’ll teach him. You’ll teach him it’s okay, he’s safe here, in your arms. He’s safe to love, to cry, to breakdown, he’s safe to get the very things he’s never had- and you’ll give them willingly.
You don’t know how long you stay like that. His now soft cock still buried in your cunt, his tears have subsided awhile ago, but he’s still unwilling to move from his spot- not that you’re complaining.
It’s so quiet you barely even hear it, but fuck, you’re so glad you did.
“Love ya,” Simon mumbles against your skin, his voice so quiet, hoarse and rough. But so very soft, so very gentle.
Yeah. Simon Riley can fuck like a god. But Simon Riley is learning how to love you fully, how to make love to you fully- and he wouldn’t change a thing. Neither would you.
#simon riley x you#cod x reader#ghost x reader#ghost x you#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#141 x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#smut#tw crying#ghost x reader smut#simon riley smut
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i did not just dream up an analog horror plot TWICE and just forget about the big details a few hours after waking up
#IDK IF THIS ANALOG HORROR EXISTS I'M TRYING TO SEARCH IT UP#AND I KNOW I'VE DREAMT ABOUT THIS LIKE A YEAR AGO. I REMEMBER THE VAGUE DETAILS THEY'RE FAMILIAR TO ME#GOING INSANE GOING FERAL WHAT DO I DO#they have the same ending too with the three main characters flying and shit lmfaoo what is going onnn#OKAY so it's like. a game. a group of friends stopped by on different locations cuz it's kinda an adventure game??#but one prominent loc is a hotel!! they stay there and the room numbers keep changing and weird shit starts to happen#i just KNOW this but i 👏 can't 👏 remember 👏#there are shapeshifters involved sjdhdjd but fuckin. i cannot remember i just remember the feeling of being terrified#THIS IS JUST SOO FAMILIAR i swear this is like an existing analog horror oh my GODD
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drunk - Chris Sturniolo
summary: you show up to you, and your boyfriend chris's home drunk after a girls night out. chris has to take care of you in your interesting... state.
contains: fluff, mentions of alcohol, vague mentions of throwing up, crying, swearing.
a/n: i wanted to do a little mature chris fic because i dont see enough of that, i hope you guys like this!!
--------------└─── °∘❉∘° ───┘---------------
tonight started as just me and 6 other friends at a club, before i left the house chris made it very clear i need to be home before midnight.
right now its 1:30 of the next morning, my friend grace is glued to my side as i cackle, watching her twerk on the dancefloor. i drag her to the bar, throwing back several more shots.
i'm not sure what time it is, or where the other 4 of my friends are but all i know is i should probably be getting home..
"graceee" i laugh, pulling out my phone and attempting to call an uber, all the text is jumbled. a girl walks by me, i grab her arm lightly and hand her my phone, "call me an uber please babe" i say to the girl, she smiles before handing my phone back shortly after,
"its coming in 10 minutes!!" she calls out over her shoulder as she walks away.
i drag grace out of the club as we laugh about nothing, the uber pulls up and we pile inside.
-
i stumble up the front porch of chris and i's house, swinging open the front door as it hits the wall with a bang, i let out a small laugh as my heels click against the wooden planks.
"chrissy!!" i yell out a stupid nickname, chris walks out from the bathroom, hes shirtless only wearing sweatpants, which sit dangerously low.
"where the fuck have you been!" chris says, his voice serious as he grips my wrist firmly.
"uh.. club? obviously," i say with an attitude.
"drop your tone, come with me." he says, pulling me down the corridor into his room.
"sit" chris says, dragging me over to the bed and gently placing me down on the end of his bed. he gets down on his knees and starts to undo the straps of my heels, pulling them off my feet. "ow christopher!! 'fuckin hurts." i whine, folding my arms
"do you know what time it is?" chris asks, "like 10pm? can you read a clock?" i reply with an eye roll, my tone slurred.
he stands up off his knees as he looks down at me on the bed, i look to the side, chris grabs my chin,
"look at me." he says, making me look up at him with the hand on my chin. he stares into my eyes,
i erupt into tears, "your mad at me and im really really sorry but i-.. i" i say as mascara starts to flow down my flushed cheeks.
chris shakes his head, closing his eyes "i'm not mad at you sweetheart." he says, picking me up off the bed and placing me on my feet,
"you wanna know what i think?" chris asks softly, i nod my head.
"i think you've had a bit too much to drink tonight, you think so too?" he says, putting my arms in the air and lifting my mini-dress up over my head,
he walks me over to his closet, pulling out a pair of my small pyjama shorts and one of his shirts, which pulls onto me.
"you look pale baby, do you feel sick?" chris says, speed-walking me into his bathroom to get off his carpet.
"yeah." i sniffle, he sits down next to the toilet on the cold marble tiles, he pulls me onto his lap where i stay on my knees.
all of the achohol i've had tonight exits my mouth into the toilet bowl, "there we are." chris says, stroking my hair as he holds it behind my head.
"good girl, your okay." he sighs, "at least all the shots are out now" he says, standing up and walking me over to the sink, leaning me over the sink and filling up his hands with water as a cup.
he pours it into my mouth with a small laugh, i swish it around before spitting it back into the sink.
"feeling a little better?" he asks, picking me up by my ass and taking me towards his bed.
"im sorry." i say, letting my head fall forward into his bare shoulder, "don't apologise, you throwing up all the drinks you've had is much better than keeping it in okay?"
i nod, he lays me down in bed before pulling the covers up over me. leaning over me as my eyelids grow heavy.
"chris.." i say quietly, my speech still slightly slurred, "yeah?" he replies "i'm sorry for being mean" i say, chris laughs,
"dont worry about it precious." he smiles, leaning down and pressing a kiss to my lips,
"chris!!! i've just been sick!" i say, pulling away.
#sturniolo#matt sturniolo#chris sturniolo#nick sturniolo#sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo x reader#sturniolo smut#sturniolo triplets#matt sturniolo x reader#sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo imagine#christopher sturniolo#chris sturniolo x you
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cw: somno, brief/vague mention of prior consent, but tagged as dub con just in case. i wrote this half asleep and high sorry if there’s typos
cowboy!nanami wakes up with a problem one morning. specifically, he’s so, painfully hard, his dick pressing against your ass. your back is pressed against his chest, your slow, steady breathing soft as you sleep peacefully.
fuck, he’s so hard and the pressure of your body against his is doing things to his head—distracting him, serving only to turn him on more. his arms are wrapped around you, his hands resting under your shirt. he thinks it would be so easy to just move his hands up to grope your tits. god, if he could just pinch your nipple…
his desires are cut off by you, shifting in his arms. his eyes roll back in his head when your ass presses harder against his erection. a groan slips from his lips that he can only try to quiet.
he doesn’t want to wake you up just to take care of his problem, but he just can’t bring himself to let go of you.
but fuck, he needs to cum. he needs you.
cowboy!nanami has always prided himself on being a gentleman. someone people could trust, rely on, love. and he’s always been that to you.
but right now, he thinks of every time you’ve ever looked up at him through your lashes, telling him he could do whatever he wanted to you… it was too much.
he reached his hand up to palm one of your tits, rolling the fat in his hand greedily. he can’t help his hips as they shallowly rut against you.
you let out a soft sigh, but continue dreaming as kento lets himself get a little more carried away.
his other hand sneaks down the front of your body, to the waistband of your panties. of course you hadn’t worn anything but a t-shirt and panties to bed—it was like you were asking him to fuck you.
his finger finds your clit and he gives it a soft pinch, just enough for your body to squirm against him. fuck, he thinks, he just needs to fuck you right now.
he shuffles out of his boxers, his cock aching and flushed from how desperate you made him.
he pulls your panties to the side and rubs his cock against your folds, moaning at how wet you were. he just lazily thrusts against you like that for a while, his hand gripping your waist and keeping you still, occasionally reaching over to rub your clit.
“mm,” you moan out softy, eyes barely fluttering open. “ken, wha-“
“shh, baby, shh, just let me use you. please, need you so bad, darlin’, you have no idea,” he groans, his voice coming from a well of desperation within him.
you smile and shuffle back against him, grinding yourself against his cock.
“fuck, princess, just go back to sleep, let me use you for a bit. such a perfect fuckin’ pussy.”
“put it in, ken,” you whisper, and he’s sure his heart is exploding with love for you.
“whatever my baby wants,” he replies, his tip catching against your entrance.
slow, deep thrusts have kento groaning deep in your ear as you teeter on consciousness. he swears your pussy it’s just sucking him in, making it nearly impossible to leave your snug walls.
“‘m so close, darlin’, so close. gonna cum right in your pussy, keep you stuffed nice and full so we can go back to sleep. ya want that, baby?”
only a small whimper comes from you in response, and kento takes it as his permission to wreck your cunt.
his thrusts become a little faster, a little sloppier as he approaches his orgasm. his mind is clouded with thoughts of you, you, you.
he feels the coil in his tummy wind tighter and tighter, becoming so taught that it has no choice but to snap. kento cums with a loud groan of your name as he fucks himself through it, pushing his thick load into your pussy.
his hips slow down as his cock softens, a warm blanket of contentment resting over both of you.
kento kisses the back of your neck reverently, a silent thank you for trusting him enough to let him use your body like that.
like he promised, he keeps his dick in you, keeping you stuffed full of him.
his lips press against the shell of your ear, “i’ll return the favor when we wake up, darlin’. let you feel good, like you deserve.”
the aching need and desire he’d felt gone, and replaced with something much more gentle and tender. he presses a few more kisses along your neck before drifting off to sleep with you.
cowboy!kento masterlist
sfw cowboy!kento masterlist
#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk smut#jjk x reader#nanami kento#nanami kento x reader#nanami kento smut#nanami x reader#jjk nanami#jjk nanami x reader#cowboy!kento🤍#cw dubcon#cw somnophilia
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if katsuki has told you once, he’s told you a thousand times—don’t wait up for me.
you never did understand what all the fuss was about. sure, the fatigue would catch up to you after a few consecutive days of doing so—but it was never anything a little more sleep in the morning couldn’t solve.
still, after seeing how adamant he was about the whole thing, you dropped the habit altogether—or at least, he thought you did.
it’s almost midnight when katsuki arrives home, easing the front door shut with the utmost care. he doesn’t bat an eye upon noticing the dull amber glow emanating from the kitchen—you always leave the little light above the stove on for him. he does however, feel his heart skip a beat when he rounds the corner and sees a figure clad in black sitting at his kitchen island.
he easily recognizes the figure as you—seemingly lost in your own little world as you rest your chin in your palm and stare down at your phone. you click on a news article that catches your eye—one from just two hours ago. dynamight’s big rescue! on the evening of tuesday september 6th, three villains entered a bank around ni—
“the hell are you doin’?” his voice lingers from the doorway, much softer than usual—because he knows you’re unaware of his presence.
it startles you nonetheless, but it could have been much worse—he probably just saved you from a major heart attack. a true hero, even off duty.
“just some light reading,” you turn your head and give him a sheepish smile, simultaneously giving him a once over for any injuries. fortunately, you find none—not that you can see at least.
“meant what’re you doin’ up,” he replies, crossing his strong arms over his chest as he takes a few steps further into the kitchen.
“waiting for you,” you hum, hopping out of your chair and padding over to him. he watches, from the moment those words leave your mouth to the moment you wrap your arms around his neck—and then he turns his head. “kats, i missed you.”
he knew it was coming, but that didn’t mean it was any easier to hear. lately, with this increase in crime, you’ve been seeing him less and less. he hates it, but he knows you—and how quick you’d drop everything for a little more time together. he’s witnessed it, all those late nights and early mornings, they took a toll on you—and you don’t deserve that. so, he put an end to it, made sure you knew how important your health was, and had you sleeping like a baby by ten o’clock most nights. but, here you are.
“go,” he nods towards the stairs and rests a hand on your lower back, ushering you ever so gently. “‘ll be there in fifteen.”
he’ll inhale his dinner, wash up at the speed of light, and slide into bed next to you—just like the old days, right?
“i haven’t eaten yet,” you mumble.
you feel his hand stiffen up, and he’s no longer steering you towards your bedroom. he peers down, scarlet eyes boring into you from right beneath his furrowed brow—because he knows that you know, he’d never let you go to bed on an empty stomach. touché.
“pain in my ass,” he mutters, dropping his hand and letting you shuffle towards the fridge where you’re harbouring two plates of leftovers. he trails his gaze down to your feet, and you swear you hear a little snort slip out of him.
as if drowning yourself in his hoodie and sweats wasn’t enough, you have his slippers on—and they’re a size, or seven too big for your feet. you don’t have enough fingers to count all the times he’s called you ronald, or said that he didn’t know the fuckin’ circus was back in town. he can make all the clown jokes he wants, you’ll never give up that warmth and comfort—him getting a kick out of the whole thing is a side effect you can handle.
“how was patrol?” you ask, sliding one of the plates into the microwave. you more or less know how it went, but you’ll keep that to yourself.
he mumbles a same old shit before giving you a vague rundown of the bank robbery—well, the attempted bank robbery. he’s cut off by the loud beeps that echo throughout the room. you reach for the button that opens the little door, but he beats you to it, nudging you away with his hip. he removes the plate—and it’s blatantly obvious that it’s his—the portion size being a dead giveaway. still, he holds it out for you to take. “eat.”
the look on your face must’ve said it all, because he’s quick to follow up. “‘ll finish what you don’t, baby. sit, eat.”
his gaze lingers on you for just a tad longer than usual before he turns around and heads for the second plate. there’s probably half the amount of food on this one, but he doesn’t seem to mind. so you sit, and eat. he’s not far behind, plopping down next to you just a couple minutes later.
“katsuki?” you side eye him, thinking about how cute he looks with his cheeks all full. it’s been a little while since you’ve sat down and had a meal with him—this is perfect, just what you wanted. still, you can’t help but look ahead as you yearn for a little more. “will you wake me up before you leave tomorrow morning?”
“mmm,” he holds his hand in front of his mouth, rapidly chewing the remainder of his bite so he can answer you. “whatever, but if you swing at me once ‘m leavin’ you there.”
as much as katsuki would love to have a testy six am encounter with the little overtired monster that is you—he won’t, because he’s going to let you sleep until your sweet heart’s content.
you won’t be happy, he knows that—hell, maybe you’ll even swing at him tomorrow evening while fully awake. nah, who’s he kidding? you’d never consciously do that. he almost smiles at the thought though, biting the inside of his cheek to prevent it.
right, you won’t be happy, but you’ll get over it. it’s his job to get up early, come home late, and deal with all the bullshit in between.
because, in all aspects of life—from sleep, right down to the level of warmth and comfort you feel on your feet—katsuki believes you deserve just a little more than him.
#izurou#bakugo x reader#bakugou x reader#bakugou x you#mha x reader#bakugo x you#bnha x reader#bakugou fluff#bakugo fluff#bakugou katsuki x reader#bnha fluff#bakugou hcs#bakugo hcs#bakugo headcanons#bnha hcs#tw food
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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
#carmen berzatto imagine#carmy berzatto#carmy x reader#carmen x reader#carmen berzatto x reader#carmen berzatto x you#carmen berzatto#the bear fx#carmy the bear#the bear x you#the bear#the bear x reader#the bear fanfiction
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SAFETY (Roommate!Gaz x GN!Reader)
gaz photo is by the wonderful @yumethefrostypanda
summary; you went out by yourself whilst gaz is home, and you aren’t answering your phone.
roommate!gaz masterlist
[WARNINGS; slight angst, vague description of deaths, paranoid militaristic thinking, anxiety, gaz is just anxious </3]
KYLE COULD not get himself to calm down. He swears in the back of his mind that his feet are burning holes into the wooden floor of your shared apartment as he paces back and forth in the living room, even circling around the couch a couple of times. There’s horrible worry eating away at his gut, tearing through his stomach like a lawn mower cuts through grass. Kyle isn’t.. used to being anxious like this. He’s used to being on edge, alert; ready for the next attack or target to appear. Kyle’s used to waiting around, but not like this at all. Kyle’s used to be waiting in thick bushes, laying down in his ghillie suit with his Captain by his side, waiting for a convoy to ride down a road he’s looking at through his sniper’s scope. He isn’t used to waiting at home with zero contact with you, waiting for you to get home.
He felt unbelievably useless because he’s texted you multiple times, called you—neither of them went through, meaning something is wrong with your phone. Are you okay? Are you hurt? You insisted on taking a walk which he didn’t want to go on, so did you get hit by a car? Did you get kidnapped? Kyle groans and he rubs his face, lightly slapping his cheeks in an attempt to get his bearings. “They’re fine, you git.” He whispers to himself, even though he doesn’t believe what he’s trying to tell himself. There’s so many damn possibilities that could be wrong that Kyle can’t help but torture himself with. Kyle sits down on the couch for a moment, his fingers resting on his thighs and taps against them, muttering that you’re fine a couple of times.
Kyle grabs the TV remote from the table in front of the couch and he tries to lean back to relax. He doesn’t stop his leg from bouncing as he switches the TV on, and he knows he shouldn’t watch the news, it’ll make it worse; but he can’t help it. Kyle goes to switch to the news but he pauses—what if there was a terrorist attack and you’re there? What if there was a bomb, and you’re trapped under rubble, just like what happened in—
The front door opens and Kyle whips his head around to look, holding his breath. He lets out a shaky breath as he watches you shuffle inside, grumbling as you’re holding a closed, but wet red umbrella. “Bloody hell.” Kyle curses as he gets up from the couch, and he begins to approach you. “The fuckin’ rain is terrible,” You begin to ramble, unzipping your rain coat that Kyle bought for you last year. You’re looking down at your soaked pants and shoes, and luckily you’re standing on top of a mat you had half a mind to buy before the rainy season began. “My goddamn pho—”
Kyle wraps his arms around you, ignoring the way the water on your coat soaks into the gray long sleeved shirt he’s wearing. “You’re a fuckin’ arse.” Kyle grumbles loudly, the anxiety finally settling in his gut, his mind no longer shouting at him the warning signs. You huff, your hands trying to pry Kyle’s from your body. “I—Huh? I didn’t do anything, Kyle, you’re getting wet—“ You insist, but Kyle’s grip doesn’t budge. “I don’t give a fuck,” He says, tightening his arms. You sigh, your eyebrows furrowing in worry. “What’s happened?”
Kyle doesn’t respond for a moment; he knows it’s illogical. He knows it’s because he only came home from deployment about two days ago—where the mission was grueling mentally and physically. Kyle knows it’s because he watched a building collapse with the knowledge people were inside, civilians. You’re a civilian, and he’s terrified something will happen to you. He knows his fears are just agitated because he hasn’t calmed down from everything that had happened; so he doesn’t want to share—
You managed to squirm your arms from under his and your hands grab his head, forcing it back and then forward to make him look at you, causing him to blink rapidly. “Hey,” You utter. “What’s wrong?”
Kyle presses his lips together as he reluctantly lets go of you, but he doesn’t ignore the way your hands stay on him, drifting from his head to his shoulder; likely to keep him grounded. “You didn’t answer your phone.” Kyle breathes out, his eyes scanning yours. You blink and his stomach twists a bit at the way you laugh. “Oh, sorry, Kyle. It was raining, and some fucking asshole splashed me.” You respond, fishing your damp phone out of your pocket. “Phone’s dead forever.” His eyes flicker to your phone and he feels so unbelievably stupid. How the fuck did he think of you dying from a bomb before some other mishap with your phone?
Kyle groans and rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands as he curses under his breath, embarrassment flowing through his veins. At least you’re alright, that’s what matters.
#call of duty#call of duty mwii#cod mw2#cod#mw2022#mw2 2022#modern warfare ii#roommate!gaz#kyle gaz garrick x reader#gaz call of duty#gaz mw2#gaz modern warfare#gaz cod#kyle gaz garrick#gaz x reader#kyle garrick x reader#gaz x gn!reader#kyle garrick x gn!reader#kyle gaz garrick x gn!reader#i love gaz#gaz#kyle gaz garrick x you#gaz x you#kyle garrick x you
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hit me, part 2
wc: 2.5k, largely unedited warnings: swearing/language, talk of homophobia, physical injury a/n: omg hey. this part takes place directly after part 1. things are starting to happen...!also idk shit about shit so don't come at me for the medical stuff if its wrong :) tags: @elliewilliamsmunch@intrnetdoll@me-and-your-husbandur-husband@3zae-zae3@milahnoz@elliescumm@dragonasflowercrown
part 1
part 1.5
"So...where are we going?"
"It's a clearing. In the woods." Ellie's hands lazily slide around the steering wheel as she speaks. You could daydream while staring at Ellie for hours. It's relaxing to watch her drive.
"Hm. Are you gonna...kill me there? Or something?" You joke.
"Still deciding."
"Oh my—are you seriously still mad?"
She says nothing, pretending to be engaged with driving.
You let out an irked breath.
"Okay—Ellie, I'm sorry. I was wasted out of my mind. And you look really different. Like, not just in your face. Everywhere is different." You confess, fiddling with the stickers peeling off of her dashboard.
"So do you. I still managed to fuckin' figure it out."
"I—I think I almost did? I remember looking at you and feeling really—confused, mostly. I didn't understand why I liked this stranger so much." You say, vaguely remembering how clingy and overt you acted last night.
"You were confused? I was fucking confused," her head swivels to yours. "a lesbian? That's what you are now?"
"Don't—don't say it like that. I came out like everyone else. You just weren't there to hear it."
Ellie lets out a choked laugh.
"Oh, Bullshit."
"Excuse me?"
"I wrote you and called you for fucking months. Nothing. A letter a fucking day. Are you listening? Do you know how many letters that is?"
You stay silent. Your hands ball up where they rest on your lap.
"Fuckin' say something! I even asked Dina for your number but you cut her off too! Is there a reason you basically fucking died?"
"I wasn't home, Ellie."
She stills, her shoulders relaxing a touch. She adjusts back towards the road before clearing her throat.
"At...at sixteen? What happened?"
You recall you, sixteen, sobbing and frantic. Tearing apart the letter Ellie wrote to tell you that she left. Wondering why it felt more like a breakup then your actual one did. Cursing yourself over and over and over again for only being sixteen. Your parents cursing Ellie for corrupting you.
"I feel like you can connect the dots." Your voice is just barely loud enough to hear over the droning tone of the car. The only focus you had at this point was trying not to cry in front of Ellie.
"Oh, fuck, y/n. I'm—I'm sorry. Did those fuckers kick you out?"
"No," you sigh. "I just knew I had leave. They're...crazy. I don't know. I'm fine now."
Her knuckles flex and tense over the steering wheel. Her teeth start to bite at her lips. There's a couple more seconds of quiet before she speaks up.
"I wish I would've been there."
You pause, not totally expecting what she said.
"Yeah," you breathe, gazing at the side of her head. "I wished that too."
And that wasn't a lie. Your family instilled a lot on you, mostly turning you away from religion. But then? You were desperate. Painfully, achingly desperate. And completely alone. After you left home, you prayed every single night. A genuine prayer, on your knees and everything. You even bought a $1.50 pocket bible from goodwill. All to aide in your bedtime routine of begging God to make Ellie come back.
She never did. You've been an atheist ever since. You weren't sure if her being here now changed anything.
The silence marinates for a short while longer until you feel the rocky texture of a gravel road beneath the car.
"We're here," Ellie states, throwing the gear in park. She takes a glance at your feet. "and you should've worn better shoes. We have walking to do."
You both hop out of the car.
"Like you couldn't have told me before we left?" You scoff.
"It's more fun to fuck with you later. C'mon," she grabs your hand, tightly clutching it in hers. "there's coyotes and shit around here. Don't be fuckin' stupid and stay close."
You try to will the warmth away from your cheeks. You've never held Ellie's hand before. Even if this doesn't really count as holding.
"Yeah, got it." You force out.
She leads you into the trees, hand warmly on yours, briskly following a mental path she's clearly walked many times.
"I almost got arrested over here," She sighs, far too casually.
"What?!"
"Damn—I said almost, chill." She assures, laughing at your shock.
You lightly slap her shoulder.
"I don't care! Almost getting arrested is still crazy!" You chide, eyes wide and judgmental.
Ellie's always been pretty...rebellious, but a part of you always thought that she'd be smart enough to avoid anything truly consequential. I guess she still is, you think.
"Lemme explain, ok. I was high as fuck, minding my business, when I saw some kids shootin'—a wolf, I think? Maybe a coyote—I saw them just...fuckin' up this poor thing with a—a BB gun."
"Oh my god..." You say, "What did you do?"
"I didn't do shit at first—I thought they'd stop. But they were like—about to kill this thing, I swear to God. So, I...ha..." Her face breaks into a wide smile. "you're not gonna like this,"
"...What. Not gonna like what."
"I pulled my gun on 'em."
"Ellie!"
"It wasn't even loaded, y'know I like to have it with me just in case..."
"They're kids!—"
"Asshole kids. Ok? And it fuckin' worked so—"
"I thought you said you almost got arrested?"
"Jesus—I did. You keep interrupting me—"
"Sorry." You quip, also realizing you just interrupted her with your apology.
"It's—it's fine. Anyway, those fucks called the cops on me after they ran. I found out cause the fuckin' pigs stopped me and asked if I'd seen an 'armed gunman in the area,'" She says, imitating a deep 'cop' voice. "dumbasses had no clue it was me."
You watch as she laughs, amused at her own story. Suddenly, your foot gets caught under a thick root and your arms fly out in an instant.
Ellie's hands hit your shoulders, grasping them upright, causing you to sharply crash into her chest.
"Oh—shit, sorry. I wasn't watching where I was going." You gasp out, trying to regain your balance while loosening your grip on Ellie's coat.
"No, it's those fuckin' shoes," she rebukes, hands still resting on your shoulders. She immediately takes them off you when she notices. "we're almost there anyway. Try not to kill yourself before then."
Your hand burns at your side, palm itching. Is she going to grab it again?
"Where's 'there'?" You ask, glancing around at the wall of trees and shrubbery encircling you both.
"You'll see. Just stay close." She repeats like before, clutching your hand once again.
You tighten your grip, wanting to show Ellie you're listening.
"Good. Let's move."
The two of you walk for about a mile or so more, before the view steals your eyes and you both freeze.
"Oh—wow, Ellie. This is really pretty," you breathe, entranced by the piercingly vibrant colors and towering mountainous structures.
Her head is turned toward you, taking in your reaction to the sight, instead of the sight itself.
She's must've seen it so many times, you think.
"Yeah, you like it? I knew you would." She tells you, unable to keep the satisfied grin from her face.
"Shut up. I'm still mad you didn't even let me get ready this morning."
"There's nobody here. Who're you fuckin' getting ready for?" She barks, arms wide and gesturing.
I still wanted to get ready for you, Ellie. But obviously you don't say that.
"Whatever. You just did it to be a dick." You mutter, plopping yourself down onto the boulder in front of you.
"Yeah, I did. It's funny when you're mad. You're like a cat." She laughs, sitting down next to you.
"That's toxic. You shouldn't make people mad just cause you find it funny." You chide, crossing your legs over the rock.
"Guess I'm toxic, then." She sighs, carelessly throwing pebbles at your head.
"Was that the plan? Sit on a rock and be mean to me?"
"Truly adorable that you think this is mean—"
"Well it's not nice, that's for sure." You huff.
Ellie shifts so that her body faces yours. Her legs spread out wide, elbows comfortably resting on her thighs.
"I don't think you want me to be nice to you."
Your mouth parts open in surprise, eyes now burning into Ellie's.
"Well that's a lie. I'd love for you to be nice—"
"I think you like when I'm mean to you. I think you...prefer it, actually." She juts, a confident smile forming.
"Yeah, and who told you that, Dina?" You question, crossing your arms as a breeze starts to make you shiver.
"Nobody told me anything." her head quirks to the side. "I can just tell."
It was difficult to keep your composure. There were some things Ellie seemed to know about you that you didn't even know yourself. It was terrifying, embarrassing, and flattering all at once. Your face feels like its melting. You stay silent.
"Oh—am I right? I've totally got you, haven't I?" She asks, enjoying fully the power she seems to have over you and your emotions.
"No." You bite, unwilling to try and say anything else.
You hated how often Ellie was right.
She takes a ball of black fabric from her pocket, tossing it in your lap. It's a hat.
"Put it on. It's cold."
A swarm of bats fly over the both of you, chaotic and eruptive.
"It's gonna be dark, Ellie."
"I know, I know. I was, uh—saving the best for last." She quips, hopping off of the rock to stand in front of you.
It felt kind of awkward this way, Ellie fully standing while you sat. You had to look straight up to meet her eyes. It put your head in whirl.
"What, the tattoo? I saw that already."
"No. Something else," She grabs your hand and places it on the bottom hem of her top. Your heart beats a little faster.
"Lift up my shirt."
Your eyes widen as your hand fidgets. You wait for her to keep talking. She doesn't.
"Um...like all the way?" You struggle to find words. "Or—"
"Lift up," her hand grasps yours, guiding it up. "my shirt."
Fabric shifts and the pale flesh of her abdomen comes into view. Her belly is lean—all hard edges and dense muscle. What catches your eye is the long, winding, angry scar tracing along her hip.
Your brain goes into overdrive.
Traumatic injury, surgery needed... most likely...flexor or... IT band tendonitis? Maybe, what, Bursitis? Something...invasive—a tear? Labral tear? Iliopsoas tear? What the fuck was she doing?
"Street fighting." She states. "It's my job."
Your face is blank. You shakily stand.
"Uhhh—you, you better be fucking with me, Ellie." You stutter out. Unconsciously, you move to trace your finger along the scar, feeling the warped, healed skin. "I mean this is...this is serious. This is...surgery."
"Don't I fuckin' know it," she moves her shirt back down, covering the scar. "took me out of the ring for like, eight weeks."
"Jesus—Jesus Christ. How long have you been doing this!?"
"Not much longer than you've been in school, really."
"So, not long. Is what you're saying." your fingers rake through your hair. "This is...this is fucking crazy."
"It's not that—"
"Dina's okay with this? Really. I really don't see how she could be okay with this, like, at all." You argue, cutting her off.
"She wasn't. I had to convince her."
"And how often do you go to the doctor? Once a week? Or do you pretend like you know how to patch yourself up?"
Her face slightly reddens.
"I—I learned how to do it myself. I know how."
"Oh sure. Did you google it? I'm sure google will save you from a life threatening injury."
"Ok, most of them are not 'life threatening'—"
"You don't know that! Not certainly, at least! Not certain enough to be safe!" You exclaim, voice full of anger, but mostly, fear.
She places a hand on your shoulder, gripping it tightly. She doesn't talk until you meet her eyes.
"Hey. I am fine. The hip thing was a fluke. Honest. Most of the time nothing fuckin' happens." She assures, her other hand rubbing up and down your arm. You must've looked more upset than you'd realized.
"Ok."
"Just, 'ok'? Are we...good now?" Ellie asks, blue eyes still deeply connected to yours.
"Um...yeah..." You say, partly hesitating. Ellie watches you closely.
"I wanna go with you."
Her face lights up in...shock?, you think, a pleased grin shaping her mouth.
"What—really?"
"If you really want to do...this," you bite your lip. "being there is what would make me feel...better...about it."
"Yeah? That's...I mean, I think that's great," She says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "my own cheerleader."
You step backwards, letting Ellie's hands slide away from your body.
"No, not a cheerleader. A fucking medic. So I'm not sitting home worried about you—dying. I can just be there to help if stuff goes wrong."
"I'm happy either way, princess." She gleams.
As the sun sets, it gets harder to make out the shape of her face. The woods are also quieter, amplifying the subtle sounds of you and Ellie. You wonder about the details of your plan.
"Do I have to pay to get in? How does this...work?"
"No, you're set. Pretty girls get in free—it's a club rule. Y'know, good for business and everything."
You thank the sky for it's darkness, as Ellie is unable to see the rosy hue reaching your cheeks.
"Oh. Okay...good to know."
Ellie steps up, and now familiarly, encloses your hand in hers.
"C'mon. It's too fuckin' dark to stay any longer."
You walk out of the clearing, back into the dense foliage of where you came. Your grip tightens.
"So...have you had girlfriend?" Ellie blurts.
"Um, weird question, but," you look away. "no."
"Just...trying to gauge how good of a lesbian you are. Pretty bad, it seems."
"Oh, fuck off. I've been focusing on...school." You retort, fully knowing how lame it sounds.
If you were being honest, it was just nerves. You didn't have to try for a boyfriend, he basically wouldn't even take 'no' for an answer. But with girls? It was like you froze.
"Hey I'd give you some tips but...I don't think they'd really...apply for you, y'know?"
"No, I don't know. Explain it." You demand.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm trying think of a way where it makes...sense. And won't make you mad."
"I won't get mad Ellie. Just say it." You encourage, now more curious than anything.
She stops walking and turns to you.
"Well, it's like...the roles. The roles you can have."
"What...roles...?"
She huffs a laugh before continuing, and positions her hand to point to herself.
"I'm the type that flusters the girl. The...fluster-er, right?"
She walks forwards, getting so close that you can smell the scents of the forest soaked up in her clothing.
"And you," She says, her finger poking your collarbone. "...are the girl that...is flustered. It's a...a dynamic, yeah?"
Your skin heats and all you can do is gaze at Ellie, who's completely enthused with this discussion. She stays quiet, watching your face intently, despite it being so dark.
"You're making stuff up again. I don't even—I don't even know why I let you talk." You utter.
"See? You're doing it already! It's the fuckin' dynamic princess—you know I'm never wrong." She gushes, pinching at your checks and making them even redder.
"This so stupid. And don't call me that."
It was like the world stopped. As soon as you said it, you could see Ellie's brain distinctly remembering you, in that whiny drunken voice, begging. You won't ever forget it. And neither will Ellie, for completely different reasons.
You knew exactly what she was going to say, so you try and stop her.
"Don't. I don't care what I did yesterday. Just—don't."
She sighs, clearly dropping it. Thank god. Her teeth bite the inside of her cheek.
"Whatever you say, princess."
You don't even acknowledge it, just rolling your eyes as you walk ahead. Stray branches brush over your legs and thighs, feeling like gentle scratches. You slow a bit, waiting for Ellie to join you.
And hold your hand again.
Stepping ahead of you to lead, Ellie does just that. The warmth makes you smile, and you let it own your face, bright and wide. You didn't care. It was dark enough.
"Alright. Stay close."
"I know, Ellie."
#ellie williams x reader#ellie fic#ellie x reader#tlou#tlou part 2#tlou fic#ellie tlou#ellie williams#ellie williams fic#catsfor2
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Dazai and female s/o being each other first time?
✿ 》Those Promises Of Yours.
╰⧼ 🪻 note.. ⧽ ; I got you anon. coming right up. [ holy shit zai update. apologies for my absence once again, writing hasn't been a priority recently but I'll try to start up again :) feel free 2 send in vague concepts / thirsts pls ]
╰⧼ 🌙 contents.. ⧽ ; dazai x f!reader, nsfw, slight corruption from dazais end but its still all consensual, vague mention of self harm once, dazai can't keep his fuckin promises, slightly rough sex, no aftercare but it's hinted at + he's soft at the end anyway. I suck at dialogue.
dazai osamu was a womaniser, a player anything but loyal.
that was something that everyone had learnt to know and only some could bring to love. this fact wasn't foreign to you, and neither was it ignored. though you certainly hadn't anticipated that he himself was a virgin.
so you found yourself in his lap in your apartment. he'd refused to take you back to his, claiming "a princess such as yourself should have the luxury of familiarity," but you could've easily called his bluff with the stench of alcohol on his breath. the place was probably ridden with bottles and signs of his lowest mental points.
he'd never been good at being vaunrable anyway.
dazai fumbles with your shirt, his hands shakily trying to unbutton them in a way that would hopefully erase the concept he didn't know what he was doing. you took it upon yourself to close your hand over his, giving him a soft smile, which he returned. you could almost smell the anxiety dripping from his body. was he sweating?
"it must be the drugs," he mumbles, finding an excuse. his voice is hoarse, tense, even. nothing like the usual confidence he carried himself with; his tone had never been anything but smug. and you liked this side of him. you loved it.
"you're sober." you respond, your tongue had carried nothing but truthfulness this entire time. and you were nervous too. the vaunrability that was required of both of you was enough to keep your mouth without a lie. he laughs breathily, sliding your shirt from your shoulders and unclasping your bra with only mild difficulty.
"I could be masking, no?" the brunette begins, his hand sliding down under your skirt to tap at the inside of your thigh. your breath hitches. "I've always been rather good at hiding when I'm high. you should know that." you shake your head. he didn't smell like any drug. just him. just dazai.
"you're being too conscious to be high." you respond, working to undress him back. it'd be too awkward if you were the only one shirtless, your mind wasn't foggy yet. but you still couldn't get rid of the ache between your legs. he was all you needed.
dazai doesn't respond, merely wrapping a hand around your neck and pulling you into a kiss. he was acting, you could feel it. none of his gestures were the same as how you'd see him treat the ladies he'd woo at the bar. it felt real, raw. you kiss him back.
he helps you undress him, you find yourself in a state where the only covers you both possess are your underwear. completely at each others mercy, vaunrable.
he wasn't sure if he hated it or not.
dazai brings a hand down to pull your underwear aside, collecting your wetness with his middle finger. it almost felt like he himself was adjusting to your anatomy, figuring where he'd have to touch to make you feel good. he'd always spoken about wanting to give you the best experience he could.
you wince at the intrusion as he slides his finger into you, feeling him bend down to gently kiss your forehead as he worked you apart like woolen scarfs in the autumn. the warmth of a promise to carry you through to the next spring. an unvoulentary whimper leaves your lips as he brushes against a certain spot, and you swear his eyes darken a shade.
dazai had promised himself he'd make sure it wouldn't hurt for you. he promised that he'd gently ease you in. he'd promised a lot of things. but after seeing you like this, you might as well slice his pinky finger clean off.
he doesn't quite know what's coming over him when he lays you down on the couch, pulling your underwear completely down and tossing them somewhere in the room, he didn't care. he slides a second finger into you and almost lets out a gasp at how you tighten.
he'd promised to be gentle.
"osamu." you whisper, your voice almost foreign to you. his eyes met yours, then did his lips. you'd felt how desperate he'd become, sloppy open mouthed kisses where his tongue tried to cherish your taste for all eternity. maybe calling him by a name he'd never heard wasn't the best idea.
he pulls away, pulling his fingers out and making quick work of shuffling his boxers off. gently sliding his cock in-between the warmth of your folds, daring to slide in without the prep he knew you would've needed.
the prep he promised.
he meets your gaze, noticing the slight fear in your eyes. he knew it'd hurt you, dazai knew damn well the pain the stretch would cause. but something about those eyes of yours, something about the look of fear. it was almost like he didn't care. he didn't mind breaking a promise.
"..hold your breath." He mutters, gradually sliding himself into you, and you let out a whine, trying to hold your breath like instructed. he felt your nails dig into his back. they'd be nice marks to tattoo permanently, maybe you'd be a healthier method of drawing his own blood. his pelvis pressed against yours
he smiled as you let out a shaky exhale, staying still to allow you at least a small adjustment period. cupping your cheeks as a tear fell down your cheek. fuck. he couldn't even find it in him to feel bad anymore. you were so warm.
you'd only managed to focus your eyes to look up at him for a second, before clenching them shut as he snapped his hips against yours. it stung, you could feel the trickle of blood.
"ah- 'samu-.. wait-!" was all you could manage to say, hearing his breath get heavier as he set himself a pace. he wasn't waiting for you to adjust anymore, he wasn't waiting for anything. if he could prioritise himself once, this was the time.
"shh-.. shh.. 'tll feel good. I promise. fuck-" his voice broke, moving a hand to hold onto your thigh, pushing it up to meet your shoulder. you were never this flexible, it almost stung. but you couldn't do anything but trust him.
and something about it did feel good. even as the burn hit you from more areas then you would've liked; something about the desperation behind how dazai fucked you and how he was using you to relieve his stress. it felt good. you enjoyed to be used like this.
your mind fogged, feeling him hit that one spot inside you repeatedly, you were struggling to breathe. struggling to think straight, struggling to focus on anything but the man inside of you. and dazai seemed the same. his mouth half open and bangs out of order, hanging in front of his eyes. you could hear his heavy breaths and faint whines. and it only turned you on further.
your nails dug into his back, the only sensation you processed was his thumb rubbing your clit as you hit your high, chanting out his name like a mantra as he chuckled, his thrusts becoming rougher before he buried himself deep into you, an unfamiliar warmth filling your abdomen. your vision going white.
you almost blacked out for a moment.
"..sweetheart?" a sweet voice called out as you regained your ability to see. dazai's arms were shaking, obviously struggling to keep himself pinned up over you. his eyes were softer, kinder. a man you barely knew. there was a shine of concern in them.
"..are you okay? shit- did I go too far? 'm sorry.. you felt so good.. you're a good girl.." and all you did in response was smile. he'd done enough, he'd always be enough. though the stickiness between your thighs and loss of fullness as he pulled out was mildly discomforting.
"mmhm.. im fine." you reply, feeling him sit himself back, pulling you up and into his arms. pressing you close to him and peppering you with kisses. "I love you.. s'much.. my baby.. im sorry.. i know I broke my promise. i'll get you cleaned up.."
you just smiled. maybe this broken promise wasn't so bad after all.
#bungo stray dogs x reader#bungou stray dogs#bsd x reader#bungo stray dogs imagines#bungo stray dogs x you#bungo stray dogs smut#bungou stray dogs dazai#dazai osamu#bsd dazai#dazai x y/n#dazai smut#dazai osamu x reader#dazai x reader#osamu x you#dazai osamu fic#dazai osamu smut#osamu x reader#osamudazai
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uhh uhh uhh uhh meeting enemy frat!suguru at a greek life halloween party
cw: swearing, drinking and alcohol, creepy dude at beginning
"look, i'm not interested in whatever weird shit you concocted. so, get lost," you spit at the ugly, intoxicated, ogre-looking airhead trying to give you a shot of heavens know what. he'd been trying to get into your pants since you crossed the threshold and you were having none of it. your sorority sisters, unfortunately, were nowhere to be found and you were left to glare at the stumbling goliath slowly backing you into a musty corner. "i don't want you, asshole, so stop trying to get with me."
"c'mon, lighten up a little. it's a fuckin' halloween party; why are you here if you're not getting shitfaced?" your nose wrinkles at his sheer audacity. you attempt to make a break for the door when his overworked biceps suddenly block your eyeline, trapping you against the wall. body odor and whiskey leak into your nostrils and you swallow down the bile that rises in your throat. "where the hell are you going? do you even know who i am?"
"you're gonna be six feet under if you don't leave them the fuck alone," comes a dangerously low voice somewhere behind your harasser. "get back to whatever shithole you crawled out of."
"don't be such a downer, geto," the guy drawls over his shoulder and his casual nature makes you physically recoil. "i'm just tryna get them to take a shot or two with me, that's all." before you can process it, the shot glass is snatched from the asshole's hand and downed in a blink. the man, who you assume is geto, glares even sharper daggers than you, and your heart does an unwanted little flutter. the gesture seemingly didn't get through the other bro's thick skull as he whirls around, offended. "hey, what the fuck was that?"
"lay off of 'em. don't be more trouble than you're worth." the guy hesitates for the briefest second and is just as quickly shoved to the side, landing on the floor with a satisfying thud. he groans and you inhale a deep breath of stale party atmosphere, pushing off the wall and beelining to the nearest source of fresh air. you vaguely sense someone following behind you and don't bother looking until you're shivering against the chilly october air. "you alright?"
"sure," you deadpan, "if i ignore the fact that i almost got roofied a minute ago." you cross your arms and plop into the nearest deck chair, uncomfortably eyeing a nearby couple getting a little too intimate for being in public. the guy who helped you stands next to you at a respectful distance, following your gaze to the people practically eating each other's faces.
"oi, get a fucking room," he barks and they flinch, scurrying into the house to find some empty room to bang in. "better?"
"yeah," you mutter, still uneasy about why he followed you out in the first place. "thanks for helping me, in there."
"don't mention it. it's a wonder how many frats still let him come to parties considering how easily he scares sorority girls away," he says blankly and you take a second to shamelessly analyze his appearance. long, dark hair was tied back into a loose bun and stray strands framed a mesmerizingly sharp jawline. unlike most of the guys inside, he actually was wearing a shirt, a simple sweatshirt with his frat's letters embroidered across the front. you couldn't see what the letters were, but you guessed he was probably part of a related frat by how willingly he stepped in to help you. to combat the autumn air, you figured, he also wore a flannel that had a dragon printed on the back panel. "you sure you're okay?"
"yeah, i'm good. a little cold, is all," you admit, grimacing at the goosebumps running over your arms. without another word leaving your mouth, he shrugs off the flannel and tosses it into your lap. you wrap it around your shoulders and catch him watching you, the tiniest smirk painting his pretty mouth when you pull it tighter against you. it's warm and smells like expensive cologne. "you're a real gentleman, you know that?"
"so i've been told," he replies and you huff an exasperated breath. "i swiped this for you on my way out, too. it's sealed, but i can grab you another one if you're still skeptical." he hands you a lukewarm bottle of water and, true to his word, requires a little bit of effort to break the seal around the cap. you take a few sips and your mind finally starts to process what happened. "feel a little better?"
"definitely. thank you, is it geto?"
"call me suguru." fuck, that's hot. he's hot.
"thank you, then, suguru. can i ask why you're being so nice when you don't even know me?"
"just making sure everyone's having fun and being safe so no one calls the cops." your response falls from your lips faster than you can stop it.
"nothing else?" his attention flicks to you and he chuckles in amusement at your boldness.
"and, i think you look nice in your costume," he murmurs and you'd be lying if you said it didn't make your heartrate increase. "that what you wanted to hear?"
"mhmm, thank you." the giddy excitement wears off and you check the time on your phone. "i should probably be getting back home."
"you got a ride?"
"i'll go find one of my pledge sisters that are also partied out," you shrug, praying that someone was sober enough to get you back safely.
"you mind if i call you a cab? i don't feel comfortable sending you off in some rando's car."
"technically, you're a rando," you point out, and he raises his hands in surrender. "but, sure, as long as you walk me out."
"i was already planning on it," he affirms and extends a hand, helping you out of the cold metal chair. his palm is warm, safe, and strong, nothing like the grabby ones that were begging for your body all night. suguru waits with you on the lawn until the cab arrives and opens the door for you as you slip into the second row. before you can close the door, he reaches over you and hands the driver a stack of bills that has the old man's eyes widening to the size of tennis balls. "get them home safely, please."
"what are you doing?"
"doing the next best thing besides driving you home myself. i didn't think you'd be comfortable doing that, given the progression of the evening." you're stunned into silence by his genuine chivalry and nearly forget to give him his flannel back. when you go to pull it off, however, he stops you with a gentle hand on your shoulder. "keep it, for now. i'll get it back at some point."
"alright," you concede, wrapping it around you like a safety blanket. "thank you for everything."
"of course. get home safe, yeah?"
"i will. thank you, suguru."
you wake up in the morning on the couch in the sorority house's living room, still in the same clothes from the night prior. your head pounded like it was getting repeatedly slammed with a mallet, but you were barely able to remember the events leading up to crashing at home. you look down and the flannel around your body reaffirms that suguru was, in fact, real and not just a drunk hallucination. you're in the middle of smiling giddily to yourself when one of your sisters screeches to a halt in the hallway behind you.
"good morni-"
"what the fuck are you wearing?" she asks with all the seriousness as if someone had died.
"yeah, i know i look like shit. is anyone in the shower-"
"no, stupid. that flannel, where did you get it?"
"some guy helped me get home last night and he let me borrow it; why are you being so weird?" you stumble to the kitchen and pour yourself a glass of water. your sister watches you from over the counter like you'd grown four heads. "hello? why are you looking at me like that?"
"you do realize where that flannel is from, right?"
"no...?"
"your little buddy from last night is from those assholes at theta phi fuckhead, babe." you nearly drop your glass in shock. there's no way. he couldn't have been from those dipshits, could he? "there's a reason we're not supposed to talk with them, 'cause they're dangerous and unruly."
"but this one, he-"
"doesn't matter. don't let anyone else see you with that on, or they'll have a fit." she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers. "shower is free, so go get dressed and change your clothes."
as you strip off the flannel, a small piece of paper drops from one of the pockets. the message written on it has you gripping the edge of the counter for support.
you look cute in my clothes. (XXX) XXX-XXX if you wanna wear 'em more often
-s. geto
if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)
#geto x you#geto x reader#geto x y/n#suguru x you#suguru x reader#suguru x y/n#geto suguru x you#geto suguru x reader#geto suguru x y/n#jjk x you#jjk x reader#jjk x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader
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