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pupkashi · 9 months

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boyfriend!yuta headcanons

a/n: i have been having major yuta brainrot as of late ,, here u guys go ! i hope these are too badly ooc seeing as though I’ve only written for him a couple times ! they’re a bit all over the place so plz lmk what y’all think :3

wordcount: 1,183

masterlist

first things first this boy is an absolute nervous wreck anytime he’s around you before he asks you out, I’m talking stuttering and fumbling over his words, looking anywhere but you, trying his best to not embarrass himself (he inevitably does poor guy)

asks you out when it’s just the two of you, on a picnic or watching a movie, his palms are sweaty because what if he just hallucinated you saying you liked him back and this is a big mistake??

okok this boy would definitely wear those ‘i love my s/o’ shirts, starts off as a joke, then wears it unironically because yeah, he does love you, what about it??

the biggest simp in the world yall, does anything you want him to, buys you whatever you want whenever you want it, you tell him jump he’s asking how high while already jumping

it’s a serious problem, considering you now have to make it clear that just because you say something is nice doesn’t mean you want it

“this sweater is nice right yuu?” “yeah it is really nice” ,,,, “yuta why do you have two bags?” “i got you the sweater in every color you like :3”

you’re always getting packages at your door, handing them to him only for him to say ‘oh that’s actually for you!’

the worst part of this is he absolutely hates when you get him something, always telling you to spend your money on yourself or save it, saying he has everything he needs already

still accepts your gifts with open arms, over the moon because ‘you really thought of me ?? i love you :(‘ he literally is ‘🥺’ if it was a person

calls you every sweet nickname he can think of: baby, babe, sweetheart, darling, my love, honey (he tends to favor my love and darling)

you tend to call him things like: baby, lover, pretty boy, angel

he turns into an absolute blushing mess when you call him pretty boy and angel, giggling and trying to not forget what he was talking to you about in the first place

the kind of boyfriend who will buy you flowers weekly, no matter what.

ever since he overheard you on the phone talking about how much you loved his ‘just because’ flowers, he made it a reoccurring purchase at a local flower shop

gets you all your favorite snacks when he just so happens to stop by at a convenience store, handing them to you with a happy grin, ‘we can have movie night with snacks now!’

has your coffee order memorized before you guys even started dating, rarely asks if you want some, usually just surprises you with it <3

he is such a homebody boyfriend :( prefers calm and cozy nights in sipping on hot chocolate cuddles in warm blankets over going out

takes you out to nice restaurants though !! especially if you like going out, he’ll take you on all kinds of dates

goes ice skating, amusement parks, the fair, laser tag (you destroyed him), escape rooms, literally everything

at restaurants if you’re between two things to order he’ll get one of the ones you want so you get try both :3

if you don’t like what you ordered he’ll swap with you / will tell you to order something different, saying he’ll take the other plate home and eat it tomorrow so you don’t feel bad abt it <3

LOVES going grocery shopping with you </3 finds it so domestic and lovely to be able to pick you celery with you (he also gets excited when you ask him what he wants to eat so you can get the stuff for it)

he’ll always tell you he wants to bake cookies and other treats with you, grabbing all the ingredients and grinning at you sheepishly when the cart starts to get full

“we came here for four things, how did you manage to make me get all these things” “cause you love me” he giggles

giggles at everything you say !!!!! topples over laughing when you tell a joke (we get it bro you love us 😭)

it’s so easy to make him blush and flustered, literally just winking at him makes his brain short circuit (let’s not get started on when you two make out) (he whimpers 🤭)

has pictures of you as his lockscreen, always smiles a bit when he unlocks his phone, when he’s away on missions he finds himself checking the time more often than he really needs to

AMAZING TEXTER !!!!! will reply to you very quickly and address all your messages and reacts to all the things you send him (everyone is amazed because is this the same yuta who left them on deliver red for three days before replying ??)

he is SO the jealous type ,, he tries not to be, really he hates having negative emotions of any kind, but he can’t help it :(

his entire demeanor changed drastically when someone starts flirting with you, he’s standing up straighter, clenching his jaw and has that threatening look on his face, no sign of the once cheerful and bubbly boy

he’s wrapping an arm around you, tugging on your hand and trying to get you alone so he can make out with you and remind both you and himself that you’re only his <33

insanely protective of you !!! he’ll be holding your hand in public, always making sure he knows where you are, in crowded areas he has one hand on your waist to help you through the crowds <33

will obliterate anyone who even tries to threaten you, ‘look at them again and you’ll be wishing i had killed you’ but in a not creepy and actually very 🦋way yk ?

really listens to you and everything you have to say, asking questions about your interests and genuinely loves listening to you talk about the things you like <3

i know he gets u literally everything but he gives you amazing and thoughtful gifts for special occasions !! he manages to always get you perfect gifts every single time <3

he compliments you everyday without fail, no matter where he is in the world, he will ALWAYS tell you how stunning you look !!!

reminds you everyday how much he loves you, telling you and leaving you little notes, writes you love letters like he’s away at war even though he’s most likely to get back before the letter even ships

cooks you dinner when he has the chance (he’s actually a pretty good cook!!) going all the way with wine (if you drink of course) and roses

uses your shampoo and conditioner sometimes because he just loves the way they smell and they remind him so much of u hehe

has your skincare routine memorized to when you’re too exhausted to do it he can do it for you <3

he’s overall just a soft and sweet lover, doing anything and everything he can for you because he knows you’re the one for him <33

taglist (send an ask to be added!): @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @4sat0ruu @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags

#okkotsu yuta x reader #okkotsu yuta fluff #okkotsu yuta headcanons #yuuta okkotsu x reader #yuta okkotsu x reader #okkotsu yuuta x reader #okkotsu yuta x you #yuta okkotsu x you #yuta okkotsu x reader fluff #yuta okkotsu fluff #yuuta okkotsu fluff #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen headcanons

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lokischocolatefountain · 11 months

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Sickness and Health

A married!Javi Drabble based on this request

Series Masterlist

Rating: All fluff except for a few inappropriate words

A/N: I had to use this gif because I couldn’t think of anything for sick Javi. Just imagine he’s wiping his snot instead of his sweat (you’re welcome for the new mental association I’ve created)🤪. I got this request a month ago and I’m writing it only now 🙈 Sorry anon requester, but I hope you see this and like it 💜

I’ll be fine, he said. It’s just allergies, he said. My god querida, stop mothering me, he said. Yet here he was, flopped on the sofa with a leg on the floor as he snored. The man never came home before her. There were times when he’d come home briefly in the morning to shower and put on a fresh set of clothes before bolting out the door with nothing to spare her other than a rushed kiss. And now here he was at 5 PM, sleeping.

She placed a hand on his forehead, wincing when she found him burning up. Not to say she told him so, but she told him so. But he would hear none of it. The man dropped her off at work with the promise that he’d take an Advil if he needed before driving away to the embassy. He probably forgot. Or his promise was made just to placate her, stop her from being the nagging wife.

She didn’t quite know how to do it, the wife thing. Was she supposed to force a pill down his throat? Would she be the annoying nagging wife men talked shit about to their friends if she did? Was she supposed to leave him be? Would she be a bad wife for neglecting him and letting him go to work ill?

Knowing the man, he probably didn’t have anything to eat. His only intake was whiskey and tobacco from all the smoking he did. Was she supposed to pack him lunch? Send food to the embassy? She didn’t know. He never asked for anything and was happy to eat what she gave him when he came home. She provided dinner, leaving it on the table and leaving a note on his bed reminding him to eat it. Sometimes she managed to force a glass of OJ into his hand in the morning. But that was all. Lunch was a big question mark. What he ate when in Medellin was a blind spot.

Retrieving some chicken, carrot, celery and broth from the refrigerator, she got to work. With some time, spices and low music playing on the radio, the soup was ready to be served.

She poured some into a bowl, placed it on the coffee table and hovered over him. Beads of sweat had collected on his forehead, either from the hot weather or his sickness. Messy black hair stuck to his forehead and she reached over and pushed it back.

“Javi…”

Nothing. She placed a hand on his shoulder and shook gently. “Javi?” He stayed still as a rock. Goddamn. The man usually woke up at the slightest noise. A bullet could leave a gun two miles away and he would hear it. It was rare that he slept at all, so when he did, she did everything in her power to keep his surroundings quiet.

“Mi amor…” she called, caressing his sweat soaked forehead. “Come on, get up. You need to eat something.”

He trembled under her touch and whined something incomprehensible. She tried again, called his name while giving gentle rubs to his shoulders. “…hurts.”

“I know, baby. I know,” she said, smiling at his half-awake form. He looked so sweet like this, so innocent and childlike. She wanted to pick him up like he was a puppy and give him a million kisses. He might be a big bad federal agent but sleeping on their couch like this, he was her little puppy.

“… ‘s the paperwork and…Wysession…la Quica…umm and yeah what do I think?” He mumbled, making her laugh. This fucker would not survive without his job. It took a few more tries and sweet words, some of which embarrassing enough that she’d never repeat to him if he were awake. His eyes opened a little, his mumbling about work dimmed down and he spoke her name.

“Yeah. It’s me. Get up. I made soup. You should have some, have a Tylenol and sleep on the bed. Okay?”

“What time is it?” He asked, sitting up suddenly.

“Six thirty three.” The man always wanted the exact time. No rounding up or down. It was unnerving.

He buried his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes with the flat of his palms. “Fuck. Got an early meeting at eight with Noonan. Gonna be late. She’ll kill me,” he said, getting up. He hunched over the couch, hand gripping on to the leather of the headrest for support as his other hand clutches his head.

“8 PM is not an early meeting. Unless you’re talking about a meeting scheduled for tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow? Wait, what’s the time?”

“Six thirty. In the evening. You have a bad fever and you were asleep on the couch when I got home at five.”

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

“Yeah. Fuck. Now sit down and have some soup. You can’t have Tylenol on an empty stomach.”

“Actually, I can. The body absorbs it faster on an empty stomach.”

“Alright buddy, sit down and have the soup,” she said, coaxing him to sit next to her on the couch. He sat a bit too close to her, leaning on her shoulder and placing his weight on her.

“Feel like absolute shit,” he said, dipping the spoon into the bowl of hot soup. He blew on it once and then twice before drinking it. “So good.”

“Thank you, baby,” he said, pulling her to his side. She did not want to contract whatever he had and proximity would increase the chances of infection. But she didn’t have the heart to push him away. Even on a normal day, the man liked physical contact with her. It could be anything from a hand on her back when they were out in public to full on cuddling her in bed. He just showed his affection through touch. She didn’t want to deny him affection when he was so vulnerable and soft.

He drank it down quietly, wincing every now and then from his headache. He even surprised her by asking for a second helping and she gave it to him gladly, even topping his bowl up another time when he wasn’t looking.

“Now Tylenol.”

“Nooo,” he whined, flopping back on the backrest of the couch. “Hate pills.”

She laughed and popped a pill out of the foil wrapper before handing a glass of water to him. “Aww, is the big baby afraid of pills?”

“Not scared,” he pouted and folded his arms over his chest, looking like a petulant three year old. Good god. Was this really the man being paid by the US government to catch Escobar? Or was he the secret sweet cuddly twin to her grumpy sassy Javi?

“Right. Definitely not scared. Now have it.”

“I’ll be fine without it. Just need to sleep.”

“Sure, Dr. Peña. If you say so,” she teased. She was definitely noting down all the details of his behavior in her head to tease him with later. “Can you have the liquid Tylenol?” She asked, recalling seeing a bottle of it in their medicine cabinet.

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” she said, getting up to go fetch the Tylenol for him. Before she could step away, his hand wrapped around her wrist. She looked back at him to find him staring at her with those big brown eyes, all wide and precious. He was still grumpy, but less intimidating and more adorable. “I need to take my hand with me, Agente…”

“No.”

“No?”

“Don’t go. I miss you.”

“It’ll just be gone for a minute. I’ll get you your Tylenol and be right back.” Huffing, he finally let go of her hand. When she returned, he smiled up at her lazily before grabbing both her wrists.

“Javi…I can’t give you your medicine if you don’t let go of my hand.”

“Exactly.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of this too. There is no plan C, Javier. Pill or this,” she said, holding up the bottle of the liquid acetaminophen.

“That tastes like shit.”

“Yeah. You’ll survive.”

“I wooooon’t,” he whined, pulling her onto his lap. He may be very sick, but he was still strong and worse, unaware of how much force he exerted. She fell with her face forward, smushing into his chest. She made a low sound of satisfaction before wrapping his arms around her and settling his chin on her head.

“Bebito…”

“‘m not your bebito. I’m your husband.”

“Yeah yeah. Then stop acting like a bebito, bebito.”

“Don’t do this to me. That thing tastes vile. Tastes like shit. Like, like horse shit mixed in with rat poison.”

“God, you drama queen,” she teased, adjusting herself on his lap to sit up properly. “It’s just 20 ml. Have some of it, drink some water to wash the taste off and go to bed. God knows you need the rest.”

“Fine. On one condition.”

“Uh huh?”

“Bit of whiskey after the medicine.”

Absolutely not.

“Of course, baby. All the whiskey you want,” she lied through her sweet smile. She did not have the energy to argue with a gigantic baby she couldn’t yell at. She’d make him have the medicine first and figure out the rest when she had to.

At the mention of whiskey, he smiled wider than the day they got married and happily let go of her wrists. She hissed at the dull pain around them, flushing when she realized just how strong he was. Yet he never used such strength on her, handling her gentler than this even when she asked for rough treatment. She’d have to ask for more the next time… she looked away from him embarrassed. The man was sick and delirious, for fuck’s sake. It wasn’t the most appropriate time to be horny.

“Tilt your head back,” she ordered and he followed immediately, exposing his neck to her. “Now open your mouth,” she said, bringing the little cup of the liquid to his lips. It went alright for the first second, but when it touched his tastebuds, he gagged and groaned.

“Uhh that was fucking disgusting!”

“That was just 10 ml. You need another 10 for the full dosage.”

“No, no, no. Please don’t do this,” he begged before sticking his tongue out as though casting out the organ for making him experience the medicine’s taste.

“Please, Javier… Just one more, okay?” She said, pouring him the other half of the dose. “Imagine you’re taking a tequila shot.”

“Then it should be on your bellybutton with salt on your tits and a lemon wedge between your lips.”

Horndog

“Suuure. You couldn’t tell it was evening and not morning just half an hour back but you think you can do a body shot, huh?”

“Absolutely can. You didn’t know me in college. Plus I’ll do anything to lick your tits,” he said, his eyes looking too adorable for the things he said. Shouldn’t he be too sick to be horny?

“Alright big guy, open up” she said, tipping his chin back and forcing the rest of his medicine down his throat. He groaned and whined once more and summoned a couple demons with the sounds he produced.

“Tequila?” He asked, pouting as he fixed his puppy dog eyes on her.

“Sure. Go sit on the bed and I’ll bring you the goods,” she said, helping him get off the couch.

“Perfect. You’re the best wife, you know that?”

“I’m your only wife. You don’t have much else to compare me to, do you?”

“Fine, I’ll get more wives. Test the hypo- hypo…tenuse?” He asked, squinting.

“Hypothesis.”

“That’s what I said.”

“You said hypotenuse. That’s the longest side of a right angled triangle.”

“The fuck,” he said under his breath, allowing her to lead him to their bedroom. When she’d gotten him to lie down, he pulled her to himself and held her to his chest. She was yet to have dinner and there was a tv program she’d wanted to watch before bed. But with his arms around her and his lips mumbling in his sleep, she couldn’t bring herself to pull away.

It wasn’t often that she got to be wrapped up in his arms at this early hour. Why fight it when she could savor it.

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barbiecrocs · 10 months

Text

Why not?

Miguel O'hara

tags! paralysis(miguels venom), no piv, pussy eating, squirting, hinting at food kink, kitchen sex

WC. 1059

Barbie's note... Enjoy y'all.

God, he loves the way your pussy tastes. It has his fangs tingling and his dick creating a tent in his pants. Why didn’t he do this earlier? How didn’t he do this earlier?

It was only brought to his attention once he overheard your book club while he was making a snack in the kitchen. He didn’t intend to spy at first, but the urge became irresistible when they started to talk about their husbands going down on them. Some of them go as far as to describe the techniques they use— grinding down on his face, rolling their hips, and nudging their clit with the tip of their husbands' noses. Miguel doesn’t even notice how obvious his eavesdropping is until the laughter and chatter from the living room dies down. Now turning into whispers about how much food he’s piling on and stares that he can feel through the back of his head. He looks down at his plate and sees an abundance of varying foods, carrots, celery, a glob of peanut butter, and a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Before you can say something about it, he finishes making it and takes it upstairs. Only to turn back around and sit on the steps, snooping again, and realizing he didn’t get a spoon for his ice cream.

The topic slowly deviates from Miguel to you and about why you haven’t shared a story of your own. They let out a sob out of empathy for you when you explain that Miguel hasn’t ever gone down on you or let you ride his face before. And that your sex life had been kinda dry at the moment. They all put in their unwanted two cents before you direct the conversation back to the book.

After checking the time and realizing that you have to get dinner started, you shoo your friends out. Some of them bring up the previous topic, “Trust me not only does it feel good, but it opens up a whole new world of pleasure in your sex life.” And with that, you shut the door in their face, but out of all the unwanted advice, that one was the only remotely useful one.

You turn around just to be met with Miguel’s chest as he presses you flat against the door. Your hands press against his chest to steady yourself, breath hitching when he goes straight for your neck, kissing and sucking the sweet spot on it. “Miguel! I have to get dinner started." You quiver, feeling a tingle and heat pool at your entrance. Your eyes begin to flutter as your head knocks back, giving him more access to your neck. “I was thinking that we’d have dessert first.”

“M-Miguel…” His hands crawl onto your breasts, teasing your nipples until he flips up your shirt and his lips join his hands. Your legs buckle under his touch and he’s picking you up to put you on the kitchen counter. "Miguel— If— If this is about— what my friends— Ugh, shit!” His kisses trail lower with each word that falls out your mouth, now sliding off your shorts, but leaving your panties. A big calloused hand spreads your legs apart, taking one by the knee and placing it on his shoulder. Surprising you with a wet lick to your clothed slit. “God, you taste like heaven. Why didn’t you suggest this is the first place?” He doesn’t wait for a response to his rhetorical question, immediately stuffing his face in your nether region. Your hands move to the head separating your legs, fingers sliding into and tugging his brunette mane, split between wanting him and not wanting him there. He hisses at the pain. “If this is about what my friends said then you don’t have to. It’s not like a need a story to–” He stops you short, biting your inner thigh hard, his fangs sinking into you and relaxing your muscles with his venom.

“Miguel!” You start to slur.

“This is for me as much as it is for you.” And just like that the fingers in his hair relax, relieving his scalp of the stinging he didn’t pay any mind to. “Now let me make you feel good.” You hum in response, not capable of doing much else than that and moaning. He continues to lap at your gushing pussy. Slurping and sucking up the juices and neglecting where you need him most. Your clit ached for attention and you couldn’t do anything about it other than moan or groan. So you groan, “I know, but you taste so good.” Just then an idea popped into his head. He repositions himself, putting the other leg over his shoulder and wrapping his arms around them. He begins to rub his nose against your clit, watching your face carefully for your reaction. You mewl loudly, eyes shut tight, and very little scrunching of your face due to the venom. He takes it as a good sign and advances with his movements. His thumbs move to your pussy lips spreading them wide and scooping out all you have to give him.

The venom makes you see and feel colors, right now you were feeling red, red hot. Your body was on fire with pleasure and it felt like his hands were everywhere and nowhere on you. Tweaking your nipples, spreading your lips, fingers scissoring inside of you, and then it was white. It all went white and the feeling was back as if all the venom gushed out of you because it did. You were so in your own world, eyes rolling back into your skull, fingers, and toes curling as you screamed Miguel’s name like a prayer, you hadn’t even noticed that you completely soaked his face. Yet he didn’t stop, barely coming up for a breather every minute. He keeps lapping you up, occasionally hitting your overstimulated clit, making you jerk. “Please, Miguel. It’s too much.” He comes back up, eyes bloodshot and pupils blown out. “What do you mean?” He finally unglued himself from your thighs and you see what a mess you’ve made. He disappears behind you and comes back with a bucket of vanilla ice cream and other various foods, “There’s still so much I wanna try with you.”

#smut #spider man: across the spider verse smut #spiderman 2099 smut #miguel ohara smut #miguel o'hara smut

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thechekhov · 3 months

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Man, Izutsumi's whole selfish character really is explained by how shit a hand she was dealt. Given her motivations for following the party, becoming a cat-hybrid was clearly done to her without consent, and far enough into life that she knows she isn't supposed to be such a thing and wants to turn back into a human.

She also clearly wasn't trusted or loved much in Shuro's household, given that they literally used a death curse as a collar to keep her in check, and then later decided to leave her behind when they couldn't find her in the Dungeon. It's theorized that the various non-human servants of Shuro are slaves that were bought into the household. Tade being grateful could well be because she was born into slavery and is happy to have relatively kind masters, but if Izutsumi was a free human that got turned into a catgirl, and then a slave, I can see why she's being a brat about it, especially if she's being told to be 'grateful' simply for having not actively abusive masters.

Given her childish demeanor, she'd probably learn better through rewarding good behavior than punishing bad behavior, but as a slave I doubt there were many notable rewards on offer to incentivize her. Travelling with the Thorden party is likely the first time since her transformation that she's been free, so molding her into a decent person now that she's equal to others is going to be an uphill battle, if that makes sense.

I know that there a probably no revelations to you in this message, since you already seem to 'get' her character pretty well, so this is just me phiiosophising in the comments.

P.S. the Barometz is a funny monster that kinda exists just to suffer. It's named after a type of fern that grows from a wooly bulb with a superficial resemblance to a lamb. The mythological Barometz has a long vine-like umbilical cord that connects its body to the earth. It can only eat grass within reach of that vine, so when it's eaten all the grass it can reach, it can either starve to death, or pull free from the vine, which also kills it. A new barometz then grows from the corpse. Poor bastards are really just born to die.

Mmm, yeah. I was waiting for the comic to confirm it more before I jumped to conclusions about Izutsumi's background/past but if what you're saying gets confirmed within the story then yeah, that's explains why she acts the way she does even more.

(I assumed that she was some sort of a ward of Toshiro's house, yeah, but I thought that she was a beastkin first. The fact that there was a curse which was meant to kill her if she doesn't return to them....makes me wonder how much Toshiro knew about how the whole operation was being ran. Or if it just seems normal to him.)

Presumably, even in the east beastkin are viewed as being closer to monsters than humans. Their humanity being at stake means they're probably treated pretty horribly, which is likely the reason Izutsumi acts like everyone is her enemy, waiting to trick and deceive her.

That's kinda the tragedy of being a hurt person. She may have good reasons for acting the way she does, but Chillchuck's party (he's the leader, I've decided) doesn't deserve the way she treats them because of it. It's a sort of moral impasse.

It's just kind of a bad situation, but I'm very curious to see how she changes! She has already changed quite a bit since first meeting them. It's a fascinating story!

The Barometz thing is..... I KNEW I'd heard of it before, but that confirmation is WILD. Wow. Born to die indeed.

(sauce)

They have little celery legs, even. That's terrible. And so good. The most sad creature of all time.

#chekhov answers #dungeon meshi #chekhov reads dungeon meshi

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aestheticaltcow · 3 months

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i saw you’re open to requests right now, and i love how you write carmy!! i was wondering if you could do anything about him teaching r how to cook? helping them with a recipe? i love ur work!!🫶

Stop you're gonna make me blush 😭

But, yes, I take requests. I took some creative liberties with this one, but I like how it turned out.

Soft jazz filled Carmy’s cozy apartment as the two of you stood in the kitchen. Carmy was next to you, trying to make sense of your Dad’s sloppy cursive writing. “I - this man… what the fuck does he mean by light brown chicken?” he mumbled, getting more confused by the second. “And to think the three Michelin star chef can’t figure out what this is BUT had the gull to taunt his non-three Michelin star chef partner for being confused.” Carmy rolled his eyes at your rebuttal and playfully nudged you, “Shut up baby.” you laughed and handed him the card. “They never taught us about ‘Daddy soup’ in culinary school.” you shrugged and took another sip of broth, gagging at the taste. “I don’t know how I fucked up that soup so bad.” Carmy laughed. “Describe it to me- I will figure it out.”

With the recent passing of your father, you’d found yourself desperate to find a way to connect to him, hence the need for ‘Daddy soup’ growing up; whenever it was cold out or whenever you or your siblings were upset, he’d make ‘Daddy soup’ it was the cure to everything. You attempted to explain it to Carmy, “It was chicken? Maybe turkey? There was carrot… celery? I don’t know- it just tasted like love.”

Carmy spent weeks cross-referencing cookbooks and online recipes. He made stock after stock after stock. He called both of your sisters to get a new perspective on what he should do. After weeks of eating only soup for lunch and dinner, Carmy thought he’d figured it out. “Hey, you doin’ anythin’ tonight?” Carmy asked when you answered the phone, “What you cookin’ me?” “Don’t make me say it…” Carmy awkwardly chuckled, “I’ll come over at 7.”

“Okay, can you chop these for me while I shred this duck,” Carmy explained, handing you one of his knives. “Be careful, Syd, and I sharpened our knives last night.” you shot him a confused look, “The fattiness of the duck was what my first and fourth attempts were missing- it’ll be good, I promise.” You shot Carmy a quizzical look but started chopping onions and carrots as he’d instructed. He helped you cook the garlic, making sure it didn’t burn this time around.

“Okay. Try it.” Carmy said, biting the inside of his cheek. As you brought a spoon up to your lips, he swallowed nervously. He stared at you intensely as you tasted the soup. You licked your lips and took another spoonful from the pot. You stood there momentarily and thought, “Well, it’s not Daddy soup but Carmy soup.” Carmy frowned at your criteria, “I thought I had it-” “Carmy, I don’t think anyone can recreate my Dad’s soup, but this is delicious and tastes like love. Thank you.”

#the bear #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto imagine #carmy the bear #carmen berzatto one shot #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto fan fiction #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #the bear request #aestheticaltcow #aestheticaltcow request box

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johnwickb1tsch · 2 months

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The Girl Next Door ~ Part 1

A Constantine x Reader fic based on this imagine.

Summary: John Constantine has a crush on you. He wasn’t going to do anything about it though, until you strong arm him into coming over for dinner. Little do you know, this paints a target on your back for the local vampire coven… (I had to write something sweet for my mental health y'all 😆) Rating: Explicit, NSFW, but no dead doves...😮

You are the very archetype of The Girl Next Door. Well, literally. John Constantine lives in 202, and you in 204. You share a wall, and occasionally, he sort of smiles at you when you meet in the hall.

Like tonight, as your arms are full of groceries, returning home after work. You don’t know what he does exactly, but you assume it’s the same for him, though he is only clutching a brown bag that very poorly disguises a bottle of scotch.

“Hi, John,” you say brightly over a proud sprig of celery sticking out of your bag. It’s almost a running joke between the two of you, your sunny brightness aimed at him like a weapon.

There’s a long pause, like always, before he finally answers reluctantly in his deep monotone, “Hi, y/n. Bye, y/n.”

Before you can engage him any further he disappears into his apartment, closing the door hard behind him, the slam in the air like an exclamation point. You stare for a moment at the space where he’d just been, tall, handsome, his suit rumpled, that tie half undone around his neck. He looked like he’d had a rough day, whatever he does.

He dresses like a professional something, but imagining that man as a door to door salesman with his attitude is laughable, and so is the thought of him working amicably in an office setting.

You go inside and put away your groceries, then spread out what you need to make dinner. It’s Friday night, and you’ve had a long week too. You are making comfort food—it’s kind of a shame to eat it alone.

Half an hour later, while the sauce simmers, you find you just can’t stop thinking about that man next door. He seems lonely, every time you see him. There is something about him that just makes you want to wrap him up in a hug.

He’d probably push you off if you tried, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t need a hug.

The thing is…you have this thing. He pretends like you annoy him, but sometimes in the hall, or down in the lobby when you’re collecting your mail, you catch him looking at you when he thinks you’re not looking. And the look on his face is never exactly lecherous, like you’re used to with most men who eye-fuck you on the street. His look is more…just…lost, and it tugs at your heartstrings.

You’re sure he’ll say no, but your feet seem to carry you of their own accord, when you find yourself at his door, knocking loudly.

Some time passes and you hear him grumbling on the other side before he jerks open the portal just a crack. “Yeah?”

“I’m making my Nonna’s meatballs and marinara for dinner.”

“Good for you?”

“From scratch.”

“Sounds time consuming.”

“Want to join me?”

There is a very long pause, in which he just looks at you. You can tell he’s at least one drink in already; you smell the fumes on his breath. And maybe it’s stupid, and you’re asking for trouble you don’t need, but the thought that that will be this man’s only dinner squeezes your heart.

Finally, he answers with a question. “Why?”

“Why not?”

This, amusingly, seems to actually flummox him, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. In the end he narrows his eyes at you, (those lovely brown eyes, you can’t help but notice), like you’re trying to trick him into something truly heinous.

It’s…kind of funny, truth be told, and you can’t stop yourself from grinning. “Come on. I know you can smell it.” Your door is wide open.

“Maybe I don’t like Italian food.”

“Everyone likes Italian food.”

“Maybe you’re a terrible cook.”

“Only one way to find out.”

He actually growls a little, which for some reason gives you a thrill to the base of your spine.

You really need to get back to stir the sauce. You didn’t anticipate getting this far in the conversation (argument?) with him, honestly.

“Well, door’s open,” you tell him, turning to go. You throw one last little come-hither look over your shoulder, to find he is definitely staring at your ass. Or, glaring, more like.

Maybe you have a screw loose, but you find this adorable.

You go back to your sauce, and lose yourself in the preparation of the other ingredients, watching the pasta to make sure it doesn’t boil over, checking that the meatballs aren’t burning. (Your oven is a dinosaur from the 1970s, and sometimes the temp spikes for no reason).

You are about to drain the pasta, when you find a tall, rumpled man standing beside your rickety thrift store table, looking a bit confused as to how he’d ended up there. He looks so big in your shoebox of an apartment, and if you’re being honest, maybe there’s a little bit of lust tied up with your desire to mother this man.

You offer him a welcoming smile, and for a moment, you swear he looks like he’s drowning.

“Glad you could make it,” you say somewhat teasingly.

“Can I…help?” He says the last word like it’s a completely alien thing to him.

“I’ve pretty much got it under control…” you say, which is mostly true. You peruse the sparse offerings of your 3 slot wine rack, picking a $6 bottle of Chilean red blend. “Want to open this?” The face he makes looking down at the decidedly weaker-than-whiskey beverage is almost comical, but he takes the corkscrew from you as you transfer the meal to serving bowls and put glasses of water on the table.

He removes his suit jacket at the table, rolling his sleeves up over muscular forearms that are, if you’re being honest, totally distracting. After you sit down you fill your plates, and the first few minutes of the meal goes by in semi-awkward silence.

Surprisingly, it’s John who speaks first. “This is really good,” he admits begrudgingly, and you utterly fail to damper your I-told-you-so smile.

“Thanks.”

You make halting small talk. You get the feeling he doesn’t chat much with anyone, of his own free will. When you ask him how his week was, his simple answer is, “Hell.”

You have no idea he’s being literal.

You ask him what he does, and he tells you he’s a sort of private detective, and he can’t really talk about it. He asks what you do, more to get the conversation off of him than anything. You let it go, for now, telling him that you’re a receptionist at an office building for a mega corporation downtown.

“Fitting,” he grumbles, you think because of your innate cheerfulness.

You feel the urge to tell him that half the time it’s just a thing you wear like armor—but you don’t know each other that well yet.

As you loosen up a little with food and more wine, he slowly asks more questions about you, where you’re from, what do you do in your free time, and maybe it’s stupid, but you feel like he’s actually kind of interested in your answers.

You enlist him to help you with the dishes, and as you stand together at the sink you bump him playfully with your hip. He peers down at you, his dark hair in his eyes. He is so tall, and there is a hint of a smile on his lips now. For him, it’s like a full-on toothy grin, and it doesn’t fail to quicken your heart in your chest.

Constantine can’t help but feel…puzzled, by you. Yes, you’re his cute neighbor, who teasingly likes to hail him in the hallway. And maybe he does look forward to the way your eyes sparkle, when he begrudgingly acknowledges you before retreating to the safety of the quiet solitude of his apartment. But you are so…nice. He can just tell, and he has no idea what a girl like you might want with a degenerate demon hunter like him. There are enough assholes in L.A. who would be happy to take you out. Why would you waste your time chasing him down?

And there is that smaller nagging voice in the back of his head. You are damned, and you don’t deserve her.

Fuck if it doesn’t make him want to touch you even more.

Later, he will look back on this as a moment of weakness. You, looking up at him with your big eyes, like you're old friends. You made him feel, for a fleeting moment, like he wasn't some doomed asshole with nothing to live for. Like he was an actual person. A man who could matter, to someone. Maybe even to you.

When you splash him with a flick of dishwater after he insults your favorite TV show he narrows his eyes down at you, and you get the fluttery feeling that he might like to eat you a moment before he cups your cheek in his big hand and catches your lips in a kiss. It’s everything you’d hoped for, even if you never actually expected it to really happen. Maybe the wine helped? Or maybe…he likes you? Luckily you get over your surprise, standing on tiptoe to meet him, looping your arms around his neck.

You yip with surprise when suddenly he lifts you to sit on the sink, pulling you close as the kiss deepens. “Was getting a crick in my neck…”

Your answering laugh is shaky at best. “Sorry.”

“Is this why you invited me over?”

“Sort of?”

He lifts an eyebrow at that, waiting for further explanation. You reach up to toy with his collar, tracing the line of his loosened tie, totally distracted by the shape of his collarbone and what’s bared of his neck. This man has a jawline that looks like it was sculpted from stone. There’s no shortage of beautiful people in L.A., of course, but you’ve never met anyone quite like him. He doesn’t seem vain, an oddity in this town, but underneath his rumpled suit this man definitely has the physique of a movie star. You try not to dwell on how odd it is, that he would choose to spend his Friday night with you.

“I mean, I’m definitely not complaining,” you offer with a sly little smile.

However, his answering expression is nothing less than stern.

“I’m warning you now, sweetheart. I’m not boyfriend material, and I’m not going to be your project.”

Even if both of those things may have crossed your mind, your thoughts are too hazy with lust from his lips on yours. Maybe he’s a grouch…but he’s a great kisser.

“Okay.”

“Good.”

He kisses you again, and you melt even more under his exacting touch. Those mitts for hands make you feel small, and you arch against him as they travel the ladder of your ribcage to your spine.

The wine was good, but you know you are mostly drunk on him.

Then he is lifting you again, like you weigh nothing, carrying you to the couch. You settle down into the worn vintage cushions and make-out like teenagers, all lips and teeth and pawing hands.

You’re the one who actually initiates something further, pulling off your shirt, and John blinks as he takes in the swathes of your bare skin. He glares at your lacy bra like it owes him money, and you can’t help but laugh breathily. You haven’t felt thishappy in a long time, truth be told.

“Something funny?” he asks, nipping at your neck. With a flick of his fingers your bra falls away, and your breasts are in his hands, and you forget how to speak intelligibly. With his lips on your nipples you manage to loosen his tie without strangling him, unbuttoning his shirt with an increasing desperation. You sigh when at last the bare skin of your torsos is pressed together, his weight pressing you down into the couch.

It occurs to you, how small your couch is, and this man is definitely over six feet tall. “Would you prefer…the bed?” you ask between kisses.

“Up to you.”

You nod, but find you can’t really stop kissing him long enough to move. You can feel the impressive length of him through his pants and yours, aligned with your center and you dry grind, thinking even that is wonderful. He, however, lets out a frustrated growl, and pulls you to your feet again.

Dizzy with desire, you lead him by the hand to your bedroom, and you make it there eventually between kisses and shedding the rest of your clothing. His thick fingers between your legs are a marvel. “So fucking wet for me,” he groans, and it’s too embarrassing to admit, but sometimes after seeing him in the hallway you’ve fantasized about something like this going down, and it always leaves you soaked.

“I…like you,” you admit, moaning as a second finger finds its way inside you, his thumb circling your clit.

“I still don’t get that,” he admits, but kisses you hard before you really have a chance to answer. It would be a little too crazy, to tell him right now that you’ve always just felt pulled towards him, like the Universe was giving you a nudge any time you saw him. He’d laugh at you, or he’d leave, and either of those at this point would be unbearable.

You are close already under his masterful touch, and you whine even as you flex your hips, all your muscles tightening in anticipation.

“Don’t make me cum yet,” you beg. “I want you.”

He groans in response to that, desperately pawing through the pockets of his pants on the floor for a condom. You watch with stars in your eyes, propped on your elbows as he rips open the packet and rolls it on that impressive length, your lip between your teeth. You feel empty while looking at him like this, longing to be filled to the brim.

There is a moment of raw eye contact between you that sears your soul, as he pulls you to the edge of the bed with those large hands on your thighs. For a fleeting second he looks almost vulnerable. It’s there and gone like a ripple in a pool, then his thick tip is at your entrance, and he is slowly pushing himself inside you.

It’s better than you ever dreamed, and you arch against him, moaning as he works inside.

“Fuck you are tight,” he pants in your ear, your walls clenching around him, seeming to fight him even as they crave the relief of his big cock stretching you out. You breathe deeply, easing him in. When at last he bottoms out inside you, your head rocks back behind your shoulders, blissed out.

“God, you feel good.”

This man actually snorts at the comment, though his voice is pure gravel, rough with need. “He wouldn't appreciate you saying it about me.”

Your laugh is half moan.

“What, are you on a first name basis?”

“Yeah, sort of.”

You're not sure what to make of that, and you're too cock drunk to even begin to reason it out.

He can tell you're a nice girl. Or at least, that's his perception of you. So he doesn’t bend you at impossible angles or whisper filthy things in your ear. Really, there's no time for it. Just pure vanilla missionary in your sweet little snatch is more than enough to slake his need tonight. He fucks you on your back, his thumb on your clit as he glides in and out of your tight little pussy, your legs wrapped around his narrow hips.

Your pleasure builds in the cradle of your hips, wound so tight you feel like you'll either die, or fly. Usually...alright, it's never like this for you the first time with someone. There's always fumbling, and awkwardness, and half the time, if you're honest, a faked orgasm because you're too shy or too embarrassed to ask for what you really need from a new partner, afraid he’ll think you’re too much trouble.

Well, that is not what is happening tonight. Tonight, John is taking care of you, and you can hardly believe your luck.

“You gonna cum for me, baby?”

“Yeah.” Your reply is breathy, and you almost laugh just for the pure, unexpected joy you feel in that moment. “Oh, John...” Your ability to say real words escapes you as your body erupts with scintillating pleasure spreading through your loins. You actually scream, and the fierce clench of your cunt around him brings him too. He loses himself with a groan, his face buried in the curve of your shoulder as he shudders against you.

Afterwards, you are laying against his broad chest, his heartbeat a steady drum in your ear. You don't know it, but this is not something John Constantine usually does. Snuggling. But you are sweet and soft in his arms, and he can't quite bring himself to vacate the premises just yet. In fact, he's so comfortable that he dozes, and you follow close behind him.

In the middle of the night you wake to kisses on your neck and caresses down your curvy side. You sigh, arching into him. You feel his manhood at the seam of your buttocks, his thick head kissing your hole.

“Fuck. Sorry,” he whispers with a shuddering sigh, rolling over to reach for his pants again. How many condoms did he bring? The fact that he's not careless with you, even in the sleepy haze of the early morning second round, is incredibly endearing to you. How many times have you had to insist, and been made to feel like an uncool bitch for not wanting to risk pregnancy or disease in the heat of the moment?

Maybe it's utterly insane, but you're half in love already as he hauls you on top of him, his cock freshly capped with a new Trojan Magnum.

You are still drenched from earlier, and it's no problem to impale yourself upon him.

In the blue dark of early morning your eyes meet his, and again you sense that fleeting vulnerability before he distracts you with that clever fucking thumb finding your sensitive bud. He works you just right as you ride his beautiful dick with your back arched taut as a bow, his other hand toying with your nipple. It makes you cum in record time, so quickly it's almost embarrassing, though he doesn’t seem to mind. Within a minute he's followed along with you, his big hands digging into your hips hard enough to bruise as he reaches his own release. Your name on his lips raises gooseflesh all over your body, as though your lovemaking has invoked something powerful, something binding.

You collapse against his chest, and the both of you nearly fall asleep again, with him still inside you.

“Let me get this thing off,” he requests gently, and with a plaintive little groan you roll off of him, curling in at his side. He knots the condom before throwing it in the general direction of the bin. You are both too tired to care if it actually hit home.

Again, you snuggle close and the two of you doze tangled together until morning light streams through the window.

You wake to kisses on your forehead this time. It's a miracle you rouse. You're a heavy sleeper—and he worked you out.

“I have to go, honey.”

“Want breakfast?” you murmur, half asleep.

“Yeah, but I can’t. Rain check?”

“Okay.”

Through half lidded eyes you watch as he gets dressed, half way, at least. A good portion of his clothes are still strewn around the living room.

My god, what a beautiful specimen of manhood you bagged last night. Nonna would be proud. She was an appreciator of male beauty, and if you told her that her special recipe had gotten you the best sex of your life with the handsome boy next door she would have cackled with delight.

“See you soon?” you dare ask as he buttons his pants.

“Yeah,” he agrees, after a pause, bending down to kiss you one more time, with tongue this round.

“Careful mister, or you'll start round three.”

“Jesus, woman,” he teases with that heartbreaking almost-smile. “You've drained me dry.”

You look him over appraisingly.

“Doubt it.”

He huffs with laughter, shaking his head.

“Bye, y/n.”

You sigh.

“Bye, John.”

With a surprisingly heavy heart, you watch the best lay of your life slip out the door. You really hope you'll get to do this again, and not just go back to awkward acknowledgements in the hallway.

***

Maybe John Constantine had told you he’s not boyfriend material.

But earlier that day, while he was having a smoke out on the sidewalk, he found himself looking over at the wares of a flower vendor and wondering if you would like them. He didn’t buy any, of course.

He wasn’t a total sap.

But it’s possible as he scales the stairs to his apartment, there’s a lightness in his heart as he thinks of you, and the possibility of seeing you in the hallway.

That's when he finds your door ajar, and your apartment ransacked, and a note in red ink on the table addressed to him.

If you want to see your girlfriend alive again, come to this address.

It’s a place in L.A. that’s deep in vampire territory, and something black and heavy weighs like a stone in the pit of John’s stomach. He’d deported a few big players of the local coven not too long ago, and he’d figured the Master would want revenge, but this?

Fucking diabolical—and just their style.

Goddamn vampires.

Without a moment to lose, he goes to his apartment to get his kit, praying he’s not too late to save you.

#constantine 2005 #constantine #constantine x you #constantine x reader #keanu reeves #keanu reeves x you #john constantine #constantine x y/n #constantine fic #constantine imagine #constantine fanfic #the girl next door constantine x reader fic

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angelique-of-the-volturi-guard · 1 month

Text

Thinking about Angel Dust Age Regression headcanons so I’m gonna spew them all on this post. To those who like or want them: Enjoy!

Angel often sucks his second right thumb when he doesn’t have a pacifier so that he can easily hide it by moving his gloved hands.

Fat Nuggets can tell when Angel needs a break and will often nudge objects he associates with Angel’s regressions toward him, like a baby blanket or stuffed animal. Even a pacifier if it’s within reach.

In an older headspace Angel tends to be a brat, but anywhere under the age of three and he becomes sweeter and more sensitive.

Angel’s attachment to his pacifiers runs deep and traces back to his human life both when he was a baby and when he had issues with addiction. He gets very upset when they are taken away.

Interests (across various ages) include: tea parties, stuffed animals, coloring, building with blocks, watching kid’s shows, his pacifier, blanket, rattle, and (of course) playing with and cuddling Fat Nuggets.

Angel Dust trusts Alastor the most as a caregiver because he knows Alastor is Asexual and he doesn’t have to worry about being touched in ways that aren’t platonic which was the most important thing to him. Charlie’s enthusiasm often overwhelms him when he’s littler, and Husk and Vaggie aren’t exactly the warmest people. Niffty often plays with him well, but is often too focused on keeping things clean to do play with him, and Sir Pentious had to spend a lot of time explaining things to the Egg Boiz though he is nice but awkward with Angel himself. Alastor’s better emotional control and smile combined with knowing he isn’t interested in any sort of sexual relationship helps Angel regulate himself better. Alastor’s disdain for technology also helps Angel feel safer knowing that he’ll never have to worry about being watched by The Vees.

Because of this, Angel often refers to Alastor as “Papa” when he’s little and “Pops” when he’s older while calling everyone else by either their name or a variation on it. To name a few: Husk becomes “Husky”, Sir Pentious becomes “PenPen”, Vaggie drops the V in her name, and Fat Nuggets is lovingly dubbed “Nuggies”.

Triggers in headspace include the use of the word “Daddy”, cameras, unexpectedly being touched, and the sight or smell of cigarette smoke.

Angel has a difficult relationship with touch in his headspace. From ages 0-3 he is very affectionate and loves being held or cuddled as long as it remains platonic. Anywhere above age 4, and touch is something that he has to initiate or else it is unwelcome. Alastor and Husk are the only exceptions to this rule. Alastor for the role he has in his life, and Husk because he knows Husk hates having his boundaries pushed and would never do the same to him.

Alastor has given Angel a few special gifts that he cherishes both in and out of his headspace and would be distraught to lose. The first being a pink baby blanket that he gave him upon accepting his headspace and his own caregiving role. The second is a wooden music box that plays a tinkling rendition of a lullaby that he plays to go to sleep every night. The third is an old fashioned camera that Alastor uses to take pictures of special moments in his life or what they do together, all of which go into a scrapbook that he keeps in his room that he looks at whenever he’s having a hard time or feels nostalgic.

Angel isn’t a particularly picky eater but will not eat longer foods like celery, carrots, zucchini, asparagus, or eggplant unless they’re sliced or cut up.

Angel will wear and use diapers from 0-3 in headspace due to a mix of necessity and getting so involved in whatever he’s doing that he often forgets to ask to be taken to the bathroom. However, Alastor is the only one allowed to change him.

The only person Angel has told about his regressions outside of the hotel is Cherri Bomb (“RiRi”), who will often sneak him candy or ice cream when no one is around.

Apart from the TV, Alastor maintains a strict no screens policy when Angel regresses, leading the pair of them to spend most of their time together reading stories together. Angel’s taste in books skews toward fairy tales, and Alastor frequently reads him Grimm fairytales while Niffty often tends to listen in.

After Angel initially regresses, he is very prone to tears soon afterword, and processes any pent up emotions that way. The residents of the hotel are used to this and often keep a tissue (or handkerchief) handy to give him if he needs it, while someone else alerts Alastor if he isn’t there already.

Angel suffers from intense anxiety around strangers in his headspace and (particularly in a baby or toddler headspace) experiences separation anxiety from Alastor.

Temper tantrums happen more frequently in his older headspaces, but when they do occur in his younger ones they are far more intense and difficult to soothe.

Angel skews toward using bottles in his headspace as opposed to sippy cups or regular cups because he finds being fed by someone else to be both an expression of love by them and a moment of intimacy for himself that doesn’t have any sexual connotation.

Alastor tends to limit his use of his powers around Angel per his request (as he wants the experience to feel more realistic). However, there are two things Alastor uses his power for to enhance the experience. The first is conjuring Angel a nursery that he can make disappear in the blink of an eye. The second is to enhance his own strength to be able to pick Angel up or carry him in a way that everyone else cannot.

Niffty and Charlie are his favorite playmates, and Cherri Bomb is usually his favorite babysitter.

If it seems as though Angel is spiraling in his addictions, Alastor will sometimes purposefully help him regress in order to keep him clean. It has proven a helpful tactic in keeping him sober.

Angel will not sleep without his pacifier, baby blanket, Fat Nuggets, and his music box.

Alastor can change the music of the music box at will and will sometimes sing him to sleep without his radio filter.

Angel specifically picked innocuous pieces of clothing for his wardrobe that, when put together, look childish.

Nicknames given to Angel include: “Sunshine” (Vaggie (often used sarcastically)), “Dusty” (Charlie, Niffty), “Kid” (Husk, Vaggie), “Hatchling” (Sir Pentious), “Sonny Boy”, “My Dear Boy”, “sweetheart”, and “"mon petit chou" (Alastor, translates to "my little cabbage").

#mun post #outofguard #hazbin hotel #hazbin angel dust #age regression #headcanons #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel agere #sfw agere

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lowkeyrobin · 1 month

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Headcanons for mcyt x reader doing a cooking/baking stream together??

I love your writing!!!

ooooo okay okay!!! yes of course bro ; also thank you!! I appreciate it sm 🫶🫶🫶🫶

MCYT ; cooking/baking stream

includes ; tommyinnit, tubbo, ranboo, badlinu, nihachu, quackity, & foolish gamers

warnings ; language, grease fires

masterlist

TOMMYINNIT

you guys were making lasanga

Garfield jokes every five minutes

there's pasta sauce and cheese everywhere

he's constantly screaming to the viewers because you keep slapping him with the lasagna sheets, cooked or dry

"y/n! help! I'm being assaulted with lasagna sheets!"

he stained his shirt with pasta sauce 💀💀

almost set the house on fire bc he somehow left shit in the oven before preheating it

you turn on music halfway through and it turns into a karaoke stream

"CALIFORNIA GIRLS WERE UNFORGETTABLE-"

TUBBO

what was once a nice cake baking stream turned into making your kitchen a biohazard

somehow, you both went on a spree dropping everything to the point the frustration got too much for you, and you nearly screamed, while tubbo was trying to joke around about it to make you feel better

eating the remaining batter after putting the cake pan in the oven was a must

"aren't we gonna get salmonella?"

"that's only for Americans"

"really???"

the next 40 minutes consist of karaoke and reading dumb tweets/threads and AITA Reddit stories

"no, you are not the asshole because you were accustoming to a customer's needs, the fuck?"

"fire the manager"

"if they could've I feel like they would've"

cake was a 10/10

RANBOO

you were making soup because you found a good recipe you wanted to try

you accidently spilled the broth and covered your legs in it

he cut himself chopping up the celery (very minor cut dw)

"cooking stream? more like we injure ourselves for two hours stream"

"cooking stream? I hardly know her"

very chaotic but very good soup

during the intervals where you guys were just waiting for things to cook, you started a hashtag on Twitter to ask you guys stuff

and you answered them while keeping an eye on the food

afterwards you guys watch TV and eat your food while still streaming

"normalize eating on stream 2024!"

FREDDIE BADLINU

you were making breakfast for dinner on stream

you had to go use the bathroom while the bacon was cooking and left Freddie to tend to everything for less than a minute

and he started a grease fire.

after he got it extinguished he kinda just stood there waiting for you

meanwhile chat was exploding with panic and laughter

"Hey, y/n, I don't think we're having bacon tonight!"

"What the fuck happened???"

luckily no damage to anything other than the meat

the rest of it was really good though, and the stream had enough action for tonight 💀💀

NIKI NIHACHU

you guys were making cupcakes

you dropped like two eggs 💀💀💀 so while she was getting new ones you were cleaning up all the eggshell fragments and the insides

you got the camera to show stream your fucking mess and someone sent a dono saying "butterfingers ass"

the cackling after that 💀

you're able to get them into the oven though

and while you're waiting for them to cook, you watch dance moms and discuss everything wrong with it

commentary youtubers? I hardly know them

she begins making the icing while you pull the cupcakes out to let them cool

10/10 cupcakes they're amazing

you guys had a pride flag theme so lmao

ALEX QUACKITY

you were supposed to be making pancakes as a little challenge

his are literally raw and he put chocolate chips from the freezer straight in them

"that banana isn't gonna help anything"

"how do you know that??"

flour is everywhere. it looks like a war started

you put to much non-stick spray on the skillet and started a little fire

but Alex to the rescue dw

he couldn't even figure out how to use it and almost sprayed himself in the face!

goes on Twitter later to update that your kitchen was completely fine but the underneath of your microwave is a tiny bit melted

you blame him every time after that 💀💀

"my microwave melted a bit because you don't know how to use a fire extinguisher!"

"youre the one who used too much spray!"

chat always sides with you, too 😭😭

FOOLISH GAMERS

you thought making fried rice was a good idea? wrong

he literally has no idea what's happening

"can you make the scrambled eggs for me while I tend to the vegetables?"

"how many?"

"they're literally on the cabinet"

chat clipping every single funny moment too

"is the rice cooker even on? holy shit you left it on warm"

"I thought that meant it was on!"

"dude you've used this thing before, how long did it take for you to cook it?"

"like, forever"

"oh my god"

fried rice 10/10

he's complaining about the vegetables like he didn't have like two hours to say something about different veggies

#lowkeyrobin #mcyt x reader #mcyt preferences #mcyt oneshot #tommyinnit x reader #ranboo x reader #quackity x reader #badlinu x reader #freddie badlinu x reader #niki nihachu x reader #nihachu x reader #foolish gamers x reader #tubbo x reader

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sleeplesssmoll · 4 months

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Reverse 1999 HCs: The Kitchen

I mentioned these in passing, but I finally added them in post with more detail. Feel free to add your HCs to the buffet! Word count is 960ish so you know what you're getting into if you continue down this path of madness.

Apple tends to stay out of the kitchen unless he's looking for wine. He doesn't want to be mistaken for a tasty snack.

Regulus is banned from the kitchen but barges in anyway as the "official taste tester". She also steals from people's plates if they're left unguarded, unless it's Sotheby's. She is an exception. Vertin gets the worst of it where Regulus might lean over her shoulder and chomp down on her spoonful of food. This is the tax for sharing her premium snacks with Vertin.

As for the snack sharing, one time Regulus caught Vertin eating uncooked noodles with the seasoning packet sprinkled on top like chips as a snack. Ever since then, she gave Vertin free access to the stash of snacks in her room. There's always potato chips and Dr. Papper available to her friend.

Vertin stills occasionally eats noodles like chips because Madam Z used to do it when they were traveling together. When Smoltin caught her red-handed, Madam Z advised her not to be like her and to eat her celery sticks instead. They both knew that wasn't going to happen.

Sotheby is allowed use the kitchen with supervision. There needs to be someone there to give their opinion on her creative choices (stop her from accidentally poisoning someone).

Druvis is the head chef and Sonetto is her apprentice that does everything by the book due to her upbringing in the Foundation. For example, if they don't have the right ingredients, Sonetto believes they can't make the dish anymore. However, Druvis will teach her how to substitute things and improvise.

Sonetto is a great cook, but she operates like a robot that needs to be updated with new ideas from a programmer. All the knowledge is there, but she struggle to make her own conclusions. (This is something we see her struggle with in game but I applied it to cooking lol)

The Horror Trio have no interest in cooking, only eating. Although, Jessica and her Critter friends harvest things from the garden so Druvis can supervise/mentor in the kitchen.

Vertin can't cook per say, but she can throw together very basic meals a child could do (eggs, bacon, toast, grilled cheese, simple stuff). However, her specialty is eggs. She can cook an egg in every way possible thanks to Madam Z. The scientist told her if she learns to cook anything, let it be an egg. They're easy to cook, versatile, and a good source of protein. This is an HC but I can hear her explaining egg supremacy to Vertin. Fun fact: Eggs are a staple food in China and many Asian countries. Eat an egg for Madam Z everyone.

Vertin's also handy with a knife since it's all about technique and she's good with her hands. Before her crew, she probably ate a lot of sandwiches, Foundation MREs, and instant food (with eggs on the side).

However, one day Druvis witnessed hot bacon grease pitch onto Vertin's arm. Vertin flinched at first but continued flipping her bacon, saying, "It happens sometimes." Druvis damn near threw Vertin in the sink in her rush to run cold water over it. They didn't notice how serious Vertin's disregard for injuries were due to the lack of scars and reactions from her. Vertin doesn’t understand since it'll go away with a healing potion. This breaks Druvis's heart because even if it's healed, Vertin's putting herself through unnecessary pain since she's used to getting hurt.

That was the last time Vertin was allowed to touch a frying pan (rip her beloved eggs as collateral), but they still let her use the knife since she's adept with it. Also Vertin wants to help them because it's a way for her to spend more time with them. They couldn't chase her away after she admitted that.

There is another advantage to letting the Timekeeper help sometimes; Vertin's the only one who doesn't cry rivers when she cuts an onion. Sonetto and Sotheby are a mess when they try. Pupnetto has a sensitive nose and Sotheby is baby. Druvis keeps her deadpan face but tears will prick at her eyes.

Vertin didn't always eat her veggies as a kid and Madam Z wasn't sure how to make her eat them. It's actually Tooth Fairy who found a way to make fruits and veggies fun. Vertin now does the same for her Suitcase Family.

Imagine an elegant, celebratory dinner set up by Druvis, Sonetto, and Sotheby after a particularly tough mission. What did Vertin contribute with her knife? Sandwiches? Salads? Nope. It's this:

Fruits and veggies decorated as little critters! It's how Tooth Fairy advised Madam Z to prepare them so Smoltin would eat them. As a kid she loved it. Vertin is creative so there are many variations (she's the opposite of Sonetto who's highly skilled but lacks creativity).

They're a hit with her crew too. Even Blonney, who normally acts like a moody teenager when it comes to her true feelings, finds them adorable. After seeing the way Jessica's eyes lit up from the little display, she was inspired to try and learn too. In secret, of course.

Horropedia said they were neat, but listed a terrifying bunch of ideas for Vertin's next fruit/veggie display: monsters, eyeball, tentacles, severed fingers, a dipping sauce that looks like slime or blood...

Bonus:

Regulus: Vertin! What are you doing?

Vertin: I'm making cheese toasties (grilled cheese). Don't worry, there's no way I can burn myself.

Regulus: You're dealing with hot melted cheese. On a scale of 1 to 10, how angry do you think Sonetto and Druvis would be if I called them right now?

Vertin: ...Would you like one too?

Regulus: Cut diagonally, no crust. Thanks ❤️

#reverse 1999 #reverse 1999 hc #suitcase fam #this is me being self indulgent #also the idea of madam z having small traces of gremlin energy #that only tooth fairy and smoltin know about #is important to my mental health #the gif hits different after writing this #i should just write the damn fics lol #this post contains egg propaganda

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dyslexicpieceofgay · 2 months

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ROLL CALL!! 🐌

I would like to introduce my snails to the world of tumblr so their legacy will not be lost in the dust of time.

Sock

Sock was the first snail that came into my life! They are the friendliest and most active, constantly climbing over all the other snails and zooming around the tank. I identify them by the darker colour of their shell and the thick section that has no stripes/growth lines! Top artist on Spotify is Poppy.

Henrietta

This is Henrietta! Saved first from the side of a bucket and then our trash can shortly after, Henrietta has had a hard tumultuous life indicated by the large amount of growth lines and tendency to retreat quickly into her shell. They are the largest of my snails and also the hungriest! They love carrots and celery the most Their top artist on Spotify is Grandson.

Duo

Duo, my fastest snail, got their name from the distinct double stripes on their shell. They love exploring their surroundings and are almost actively climbing around their terrarium. (The stripes make them go faster) When they are asleep, it’s typically on the lid of the terrarium or on the walls. Their top artist on Spotify is Yung Gravy!

Marigold

With their distinctive yellow marking, Marigold is the most chill of my snails, often hanging out outside of her shell without moving around much. They’re often found hanging out around the food bowl despite not typically eating much compared to the other snails. Their top artist is Girl in Red!

Catherine the Great

The shyest and least active of my snails. Likely the oldest as well. Typically hangs out inside their shell, only coming out every couple days for a snack before heading back into their shell. Holds rage in their heart and hides to avoid facing the realities of our quickly dying planet and exploitation of the working class. Their favourite artist is Sofia Isella.

Pandora

The chosen one. Hatched before I had the chance to perform snail-bortion, escaping death by a hair. Though the great embrace of death will eventually take us all without mercy, Pandora seeks to make the most of their time here and spends each day training to be the best snail they can possibly be. The child of Marigold, Duo, or Cathrine the Great. Pandora’s favourite artist is Naethan Apollo!

The Home 💖

This is the home of my snails! Typically it also has a humidifier but I’m currently house sitting so we’re doing it manually through my trusty spray bottle!

Snail info 💖🐌

These snails have all come into my possession from work! They hide away on the shipments of our florals and I take them home from there. They cannot be released into the wild as they are not native to my area and would not survive in my climate. Additionally, if they were to survive, they would be considered invasive and have an extremely detrimental impact to the local ecosystem. The best option for them at the moment is captivity.

I make sure they have the best life possible by feeding them fresh produce such as lettuce, carrots, celery, avocado, apples, peppers, etc. They also get calcium supplements through crushed eggshells and cuttlefish bone!

The information on ground snails as pets is fairly minimal so much of what I do is on instinct and based on information known about water snails.

I love my snails so much 💖 send me an ask if you have questions/comments about them and I’d be happy to answer!

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ms-demeanor · 11 months

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Do you have any food tips for someone with bad texture sensitivities? The texture I hate Most is anything fibrous, which is almost all vegetables, and makes me feel and seem like a fuckin 8 year old. The best thing I've found so far is removing the central stem from spinach, "deveining" it, but that takes Forever and doesn't add much verity

I do! Because I fucking *loathe* celery strings!

So for one thing, if you find stuff that has textures that irritate you it's perfectly fine to avoid those things. If the stem from spinach bothers you are there good alternatives that serve the same purpose? Is the texture of kale or chard less problematic? If there are good alternatives that serve the same purpose, use those!

For another - look at some options on prep and purchasing. Does baby spinach bother you the same way that regular spinach does? Does baby spinach at least mean chopping off less of the stem because it's softer and less stringy? That might be a good option! But also check and see if there are different methods of prepping the particular vegetable. I started liking asparagus a lot more when I learned to snap the stem at its natural breaking point instead of trimming to an arbitrary length because that gets you a lot less fiber from the plant!

And finally - Destroy The Basic Structure Of The Offending Texture. If eating raw whole spinach is super difficult for you, don't do that. Cook it until the fibers break down (steaming and boiling do this pretty well) or chop it up so tiny that it isn't noticeable (this is the only way I will eat uncooked celery) or Stick That Motherfucker In a Blender (I put spinach in my smoothies and will often use an immersion blender to smooth out textures in soups). A mandolin slicer is a good way to get extremely thin-sliced veggies if cutting things up very fine is difficult for you.

You may also find that you have a better time eating frozen or canned vegetables than you do eating fresh vegetables. That's fine! If you're limited to canned vegetables make sure to watch the sodium in the veggies, but frozen and canned vegetables are still vegetables and they're still good for you.

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renjunniex · 8 months

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Thank You, For Being You

Isaac Lahey x Fem! Reader Series

Raving

Prompt: Joining forces with Derek was difficult to say the least. Not only because he wanted to do things differently but it also meant you had to spend more time with Isaac.

a/n: heyyyy everybody! another chapter is here! super grateful for all the love you guys have been giving me seriously, thank you guys so much! ALSO YALL I DIDNT REALIZE I WAS SPELLING MR. HARRIS AS MR. HARRISON UNTIL JUST NOW. WHY DIDNT YALL TELL ME!?!? i went back and changed them so we should be good now lol

______________________________________

"Oh, what the hell is this?"

You and Stiles were sitting at the station with food for Sheriff, who was very unhappy with what he had been given. "Veggie burger," sang Stiles as he rearranged the contents around the table. He handed you yours before setting his salad in front of him.

"Stiles, I asked for a hamburger," complained Sheriff his mouth still full.

"Well, veggie is healthier. We're being healthy," Stiles argued. You nodded along as you rustled your fork through your own salad to mix the contents around equally. Sheriff sighed but went back to unpacking his food, when he uncovered the basket of carrots and celery his face took on the look of disappointment once more, "Oh, hell, why are you trying to ruin my life?"

You gave the older man a pointed look, "That's very dramatic, don't you think? We just do this because we care." You weren't lying, Melissa may have been the one that took you in permanently but the Sheriff had always been like a father to you just as Melissa had been like a mother.

"I'm trying to extend your life, okay? Could you just eat it, please? And tell us what you found."

Sheriff disagreed, "No! I'm not sharing confidential police work with teenagers." That didn't stop you two from looking behind the man and at the wall. You pointed to it as Stiles called attention to the board, "Is that it on the board behind you?" He turned to look at it, "Don't look at that." Stiles continued to not listen, his eyes glued onto the wall.

"Avert your eyes. Hey!"

"I see arrows pointing at pictures," Stiles said move about in his chair.

He finally gave up when he realized that you two were not going to listen. "Okay, okay, stop! Fine. I found something." Both you and Stiles brought your attentions to him, instantly satisfied with his words.

"Mechanic and the couple who were murdered. They all had something in common."

"All three," you and Stiles asked.

"Yeah. You know what I always say. One's an incident. Two's coincidence-."

"Three's a pattern," Stiles finished for his father.

"The mechanic, the husband, and the wife- all the same age. All twenty-four."

Your eyebrows scrunched together, "Then what about Mr. Lahey?" Stiles looked over at you and agreed, "Isaac's dad isn't anywhere near twenty-four."

Sheriff had stuck his finger out, stopping your questions, "Which made me think either 'A,' Lahey's murder wasn't connected or 'B,' the ages were a coincidence, until I found this," he rolled his chair backwards a little and turned. Grabbing the file and handing it you, you opened it so both of you could expect the contents.

"Which would be 'C.' Did you know that Isaac Lahey has an older brother named Camden?" Even though the question was in general, meant for both of you, Sheriff did make the most eye contact with you. You shook your head, going back to reading the words.

"'Died in combat,'" whispered Stiles.

"But if he were alive today, take one guess as to how old he'd be."

"Twenty-four," you said.

Eating was apparently going to have to wait, since both men stood up and began to go over the board. "Man, I really just wanted to eat," you whined begrudgingly getting out of your chair. Your complainants were completely ignored as they started to plot.

"Now what if same age means same class- I mean did you think of that?" Sheriff brushed off his son's question with a slight wave, "Yeah, yeah." There was a brief moment of dead air until Sheriff confessed he hadn't thought of it.

"Well I would've. I mean- look I just got Lahey's file two hours ago." Even though the statement made sense to you, Stiles didn't accept that.

"TWO HOURS? Dad, people could be dying!"

"Yeah, I'm aware of that, thank you."

You placed a hand on Stiles' shoulders to make your presence known, "He can only keep looking at this stuff for so long, Stiles. Sometimes you need to step back to refresh your eyes."

Both guys settled down at your words, before turning towards the photos, "Same class," murmured Stiles. You all shared a look, "Do you have any old yearbooks, Sheriff," you asked.

Like on cue, they scrambled to get any old yearbooks and school files they could get their hands on. To be honest, your glad they didn't need your help on that because truth be told, you really were hungry. You only got a moment to stuff your face with food because they came rushing back soon after slamming all contents on the desk.

Stiles had found the file he was looking for, "Okay this is it, class of 2006. They all went to Beacon Hills."

"Including, Isaac's brother," stated Sheriff.

"Meaning they could've, theoretically, known each other," you said finishing your carrot before standing up once more.

"Two of them were married- so maybe they all just hung out."

Sheriff shook his head lightly, "Well, they could have had the same classes together. They could've-." You saw the man's face fall into a look of recognition. Stiles had caught it too, "What?"

"Same teacher." Mr. Harris' picture was on the page, clear as day.

"All four. Now I don't know how Mr. Lahey fits in, but this- kids, this is definitely a pattern. Alright, get me the 2006 yearbook. These names, we need faces."

"Which ones," you asked as Sheriff went to make a phone call. "Everyone in that chemistry class," he answered, "If the killer's not done killing..."

"One of them is next," Stiles said.

"Yeah."

Later that night, you had promised to meet Scott at the clinic to relay everything you just found out. He wanted you there though because Derek was planning to show up and he figured a three versus one when it came to opinions would work better in his favor.

"So, you weren't able to get tickets," you asked currently perched on the half wall in the lobby. The boy confirmed your question, "Nope, but we need to find some because Jackson seemed very hell bent on getting them."

You nodded slowly, "Meaning whoever is controlling him, desperately wants to be there." Scott agreed and then his head perked up, looking at the clinic door. You figured it was because he heard Derek so you felt no need to stand up from your position.

Scott walked over, unlocking the door letting Derek in, "What's he doing here," you heard him asked.

You looked up and felt your breath get caught in your throat, you weren't expecting Isaac to come. Guess it was only fair since Derek wasn't informed of your presence either. "I need him," the Alpha said bluntly.

"I don't trust him," Scott shot back. Mean while all you could do was stare and the Beta made eye contact with you for just a second.

"Yeah, well, he doesn't trust you either," you would be lying if you were to say that his voice didn't make your heart flutter. Once he finished his sentence he walked passed both the other werewolves standing close to where you were sitting on the wall.

"You know what and Derek really doesn't care."

You raised your hands as you blurted out, "Oh my god, one more person talks in third person and (Y/N) might just punch you all in your throats." You heard Isaac snort out a quiet laugh as he turned his head to look at you. His eyes gleamed like stars when they met yours.

Derek had interrupted your little moment, "Now where's the vet? Is he gonna help us or not?" You scoffed at the Alpha, "What great patience you have there, grumpy." You hopped off the wall and crossed the little group to stand next to Scott, just in time for Deaton to come out of the back room.

"That depends, your friend Jackson. Are we planning to kill him or save him?"

"Save him," you and Scott synced.

"Kill him," Derek had said at the same time.

You and Scott both whipped around looking at the dark haired werewolf in disbelief, "Save him," Scott argued once more before looking at you. Your eyes both met and stared at each other for a moment, like a form of silent communication. You nodded at him once more before both of you turned back to Deaton and synced again, "Save him."

Deaton had a small smile on his face and nodded, gesturing for you all to follow him. Derek had silently walked passed definitely grumpy of being out numbered. Scott followed a second later, leaving you and Isaac alone for just a moment.

You turned to him quickly whispering, "Derek made you come?" He nodded in response, "And now I'm glad he did because I get to see my favorite girl." He stood next to you, throwing his arm around your shoulder, keeping you from walking towards the back room door. You chuckled lightly, rolling your eyes, "You're never gonna stop with the nicknames, are you?"

You moved passed him, his arm falling back to his side and you spoke once more, your voice still lowered, "Fine but we still need to talk everything through. After this is all over." He nodded with a smile on his face following behind you and into the room with the others. He took his place in between the other two werewolves and you stood next to Deaton and helped him lay everything out. The sound of Derek's voice made you look up.

"Watch what you touch," he said with Isaac's arm in his hand. Deaton had picked up a jar reading it then showing you the label and pointing to the ingredient in the book laid out in front of you. He had become some what like a teacher to you, every chance you got you were here, learning, reading, practicing and he would guide you. Seems like he thought now was still a good time to show you some things.

Isaac had leaned down resting his arms on the table and now at eye level with you. He smirked when he saw your attention on him before asking his question to Deaton, "So, what are you, some kind of witch?"

"No, I'm a veterinarian."

Deaton's reply made you shake your head in amusement. You saw Isaac process the answer with his lips taking an "oh" shape silently, before he looked at you again. It felt like every chance he got, his eyes were stuck on you.

"Unfortunately, I don't see anything here that's going to be an effective defense against a paralytic toxin. Except for when (Y/N) is able to learn healing abilities, but even then, that could take time we don't have and it would really only be effective after the fact." Your head shot up, your body still leaned over from reading the pages. You glanced at everyone in the room before meeting Deaton's eyes.

"Wait, I can do that?" Deaton chuckled at your astonishment and nodded, "Well that's news to me," you said looking at your best friend.

"We're open to suggestions," Derek continued to conversation. "What about an effective offense," asked Isaac.

"Unlikely," you scoffed as Derek began speaking again, "We already tried, I nearly took its head off. And Argent emptied an entire clip into it. The thing just gets back up."

You mumbled lightly, "I'm really glad I haven't had to fight this thing." The boys looked at you, a certain Alpha showing a very obvious annoyance, "What? I'm sorry, okay. Stiles isn't here to voice my thoughts like he always seems to, I can't help it."

Deaton looked at all of you, "Has it shown any weaknesses?"

Derek answered his question, "Well one- it can't swim."

"Does that go for Jackson as well?"

"No," Scott interjected as you shook your head, your posture now straight and your arms crossed. You continued for the Omega, "He's the captain of the swim team." Deaton nodded along at both inputs, "Essentially, you're trying to catch two people."

He turned grabbing something from a drawer, he show you an amulet, "A puppet... and a puppeteer." He set it on the table and continued, "One killed the husband but the other had to take care of the wife, do we know why?"

Scott piped up gaining everyone's attention, "I don't think Jackson could do it. His mother died pregnant too, and she was maybe murder. I think he couldn't let the same happen to someone else."

"How do you know it's not part of the rules?" Isaac's eyes were slightly glazed over as he stared at the table. When his eyes blinked and his attention was no longer stuck, he continued, "The Kanima kills murderers. If Jackson kills the wife, then the baby dies too."

He looked at Scott and when he did, you felt your body jolt. It was the weirdest sensation and you didn't understand why it happened. It wasn't a normal reaction so your only guess could've been it was something supernatural. You checked to see if anyone noticed and when you confirmed no one did, you made a mental note to ask Deaton about it later.

"Does that mean your father was a murderer," Scott questioned.

"Wouldn't surprise me if he was." His eyes were back in your direction only his focus was on the wall behind you; you were okay with that though, you didn't want him to see the frown you had.

"Hold on. The book says they're bonded, right?" Deaton's hand was held out as he hypothesized, "What if the fear of water isn't coming from Jackson, but from the person controlling him." You nodded along adding to his words, "Like they're not only bonded as in partners but mentally." Deaton pointed to you grabbing a small jar.

"What if something that affects the Kanima also affects its master." He circled the sand like substance around the amulet on the table, "Meaning what," Isaac asked.

"Meaning we can catch them," Scott started.

"Both of them," you finished.

The next morning consisted of both you and Scott telling Stiles everything on the way to school. "There's got to be some other way to get tickets, right?" Scott hopped out of Roscoe as he finished his question, helping you out as well. Stiles met you both on the sidewalk, "It's a secret show, there's only one way, and it's a secret." You adjusted your bag onto your shoulders, "Real helpful, Stiles," you joked.

"Hey!"

All three of you turned to find Matt, "You guys know why no one's getting suspended after what happened the other day at school?"

"Just forget about it, nobody got hurt," Stiles tried to convince him. Matt gave him a confused look, "I-I had a concussion." You turned your head and laid it into Scott's shoulder, hiding your small laugh threatening to come out.

"Okay well no one got seriously hurt."

"I was in the E.R. for six hours."

"Okay, do you want to know the truth, Matt? Your little bump on the head is about this high on our list of problems right now." Stiles had proven his point even more by leaning over and placing his hand just inches from the concrete. Your cover of your amusement was taken from you when Scott moved forward to ask if Matt was alright.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, now. So, you didn't get any tickets last night either."

"Are they selling?"

"Uh, no, but I managed to find two online. You should keep trying. Sounds like everyone's going to be there." He gave Scott a friendly fist to the shoulder before walking away.

"I don't like him," You and Stiles both said, once he was far enough.

"Hey, are you sure about this," he asked Scott. "Last time, whoever's controlling Jackson had to kill somebody because he didn't finish the job," Scott said.

You chimed in, "So, what do you think he's going to do this time?"

Stiles sighed, "Be there to make sure it happens," He shook his head before both boys turned, taking their places beside you as you walked in the school.

"Can anybody tell me where the hell Jackson is and why he missed morning practice?"

Coach was right, practice was already over and there was no sign of Jackson. Everyone shook their heads and Stiles leaned over so you and Scott could hear him better, "I thought I told you to keep an eye on him."

"STILINSKI!" You three straighten and looked at Coach, "Jackson!" Stiles shrugged, "Sorry, Coach I haven't seen him since the last time I saw him."

"Oh, and when was that?"

"The last time I saw him was definitely the time I saw him last."

"Again, Danny, tell Jackson no missing practice this close to the championships, okay," Coach was leaned over in Danny's eyesight. The boy nodded, "Sure, Coach." Coach started to back up into his office, "That goes for all of you. I should be coaching college." He started to close his door but just before he did, he looked at you, "(Y/N), I'm going to need to see you later for game plans."

You nodded, "You got it." He finally closed his door, which allowed the boys to go back to talking to Danny. "Sorry, but I only got two myself," Danny said.

"What- do you even have a date, yet?" Your head snapped to Stiles, your arm shooting out to smack him in the stomach, "Really?"

Danny's tone changed, "I'm working on it."

"Okay, okay, hear me out. You give us the tickets, and you devote your life to abstinence and just-." Before Stiles could finished both him and Scott were pulled away and you felt someone right behind you, "How do you two losers even survive?" It was Isaac, you looked behind you to see him looking between the two boys, his hands still gripping their shirts.

You scoffed and pointed to yourself, "That would be thanks to me, actually." Isaac looked at you and smirked, acknowledging your answer. Scott huffed, "What are we supposed to do? No one's even selling." He gestured to the whole locker room, where all the boys stood around, probably waiting for you to leave so they could begin changing.

Isaac's eyes were focused somewhere in the distance, you felts hands lightly place themselves on your waist guiding you closer to Scott. The tall werewolf patted Stiles on the chest, moving passed him, "Wait here, boys."

All of you gave each other looks of confusion, Scott asking, "What is he-?" But he never got to finish, thanks to the crash caused by Isaac. You guys flinched at the loudness, "Ow," you commented.

"Yup, that's excessive," Stiles added on, the sounds only getting louder as Isaac continued his actions. "That'll bruise."

"Ow," Scott repeated your first comment.

"Wow, okay." Isaac walked back over, tickets in hand, he handed you each one before turning around his hand in his pocket, "Enjoy the show."

You guys were in shock until you broke it with your words, "That was... so hot." Both boys looked at you, wide-eyed, when you saw them you just shrugged, "What? He's on our side now, I can say that."

Stiles pointed at you, "I thought you were mad at him?" Scott nodded in agreement.

You rocked your head from side to side, "I was and still kind of am, but that doesn't mean I can't find that," you circled your hand motioning to the boy walking away, "Extremely attractive." Scott and Stiles both scoffed, the spastic both pushing you slightly, "Get out of here, you dummy, let us change."

You laughed and walked out the room, only making it a few steps out the door before you heard your name once more. You turned to see the boy you were just talking about leaning against the wall, "I heard you." You smiled as cluelessly as you could and walked closer until you were inches from his figure, "Heard what, exactly?"

His arm came around your waist again, this time turning you so your back was pressed up against the wall and his body was trapping you. "You find me attractive, huh?" His eyes were on you, glancing at your lips before reaching your eyes once more, "Always did," you answered. You leaned a little closer missing his lips and bringing yours close to his ear and whispered, "See, isn't it so much more fun when you're on our side?"

You grabbed the wrist of his hand that was laying itself on your waist, removing it gently and sliding out of his grip, "I'll see you tonight, Isaac."

"Ketamine?"

"It's the same stuff we use on the dogs, just a higher dosage."

Deaton set down the syringe and bottle, "If you can get close enough to Jackson, it should slow him enough to buy you some time." He turned picking up a jar with that same sand from the other night, "This is some of what you will use to create the barrier. This part is for you, Stiles. Only you." He placed it down and Stiles picked it up his eyebrow raised, "Uh, that sounds like a lot of pressure. Can we maybe find a less pressure-filled task for me?"

"It's from the mountain ash tree, which is believed by many cultures to protect against the supernatural." He gestured to the walls, "This office is lined with ashwood, making it difficult for someone like Scott or (Y/N) to cause me any trouble."

We turned back to Stiles to see him still confused, "Okay, so then what? I just spread this around the whole building and then neither Jackson or whoever's controlling him can't cross it?"

"They'll be trapped," Deaton confirmed.

"Doesn't sound too hard," Scott reassured.

"Not all there is," Deaton said. You sighed and slumped your posture, "There's always something."

"Think of it like gunpowder. It's just powder until a spark ignites it." He pointed to Stiles, "You have to be that spark, Stiles."

"If you mean light myself on fire, I don't think I'm up for that."

Scott looked at Stiles worried and then you to which you rolled your eyes. Deaton gave a silent chuckle, "Let me try a different analogy. I used to golf. I learned that the best golfers never swing before first imagining where they want the ball to go. They see it in their mind and their mind takes over. It can be pretty extraordinary what the force of your own will can accomplish."

Stiles mumbled, "Force of will." You grabbed his hand, "You got this, no sweat."

"If this is going to work Stiles, you have to believe it."

The night had finally arrived, your nerves were definitely getting to you. It also didn't help that the car ride over seemed really awkward. Stiles was oddly quiet and you could tell that Scott noticed as well.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, why?"

You and Scott shrugged lightly and you spoke, "You didn't say anything the whole way here." Stiles grabbed the bag out of the Jeep and looked at you both, "No, I'm fine. Let's grab the other bag."

Scott looked at Stiles, "We can't, remember Deaton said you have to do this alone."

"Okay, this plan is really starting to suck."

You smiled, "There's our Stiles."

"No, not here, not now."

You turned to see Scott running off, panicked you looked at Stiles who was just as bewildered as you. "What," Stiles said.

"Scott!" You called as Stiles continued on, "What am I supposed to- plan officially sucks!" He looked at you and you just shrugged. "I'm going to go look for Isaac and Erica, you got this Stiles." He waved his hands at you in frustration, "Yeah, whatever, go make out with your boyfriend." You gasped, "He's not my boyfriend!"

"Yet."

You pointed behind him, "Go play with your sand." He huffed a laugh and you turned to make your way into the building. The music could already be heard from inside but still it was quite a shock on how loud it actually was. The lights were blinding, you squinted to try and find the two Betas but to no avail they were no where to be seen in the sea of people.

Deciding that staying on the outskirts was your best course of action, you began to make your way to the side where a line of pillars were. You leaned on one of them as you scanned the area again, looking for any signs of any werewolves.

"You planning on dancing tonight?"

You jumped at the sound of Isaac's voice right in your ear. You turned and you were sure you looked like a deer in headlights considering the boy only started laughing when he saw your face. You punched his shoulder and he faked a wince, "Don't do that! Where's Erica?"

He nudged his head in the direction of the crowd behind you, "In there, thought I would come look for you while she looked for Jackson."

"Me?"

"You and Scott."

You scoffed, "You said me." He smiled making the motion to press his forehead against yours, "Okay, it was mainly for you." You laughed and moved your head away, leaning back on the pillar, "My, you're quite the flirt these days." He shrugged leaning against the pillar with you, one hand in his pocket. He looked down and crossed your pinky with his.

"You're not as mad at me as you have been, it's a little easier now."

You chuckled and nodded, "True, true."

You saw Scott come around the corner, you let go of Isaac and that caused him to look where you were looking. You dashed towards the Omega and hugged him quickly, "Where did you go?"

"Allison's here."

You looked at him, "That means her dad is here." He nodded and started making his way to Isaac, who was still leaning against the pillar watching you guys. Scott handed him the syringe, "Why me," Isaac asked. They were standing side by side while you stood just slightly off from them.

"Because I got to make sure that Argent doesn't completely ruin the plan. Okay, look, you gotta do it intravenously, which means in the vein. When you find him, you pull back on this plunger right here. The neck is probably gonna be the easiest, so you find a vein, you jam it in there, and pull back on this trigger right here. Be careful."

Scott had given him a whole lecture on the plan, Isaac chuckled, "Oh, I doubt it'll even slightly hurt him." Scott shook his head, "No, I mean you. I don't want you to get hurt." Isaac's head shot to the side in surprise. There was this moment of silence between them and that's when you felt it... another jolt. This time it was stronger.

What was going on? Why has it happened twice now?

Your thoughts were broken when hands grabbed your shoulders. You blinked and refocused on Scott, "And you be careful too, okay? Stay out of the way." You scoffed, "Okay, Mom."

"(Y/N), I'm serious."

You laughed and pushed him away, "Yes, I know, I'll be careful. Now go growl at middle aged men." He smiled at you before running off. You and Isaac were left alone once again. He seemed to still be in shock at the conversation he just had.

"I told you so."

"What?"

"I told you, we care about you guys." He turned to see your smirk wearing face. He snickered, "You always have to be right, don't you." You gave a bright smile and a quick nod, "Yep," you grabbed his hand, "Seriously, be careful."

He used the grip you already had on his hand to bring you closer, his forehead back to resting on yours, "I will but it would be nice to have some incentive." You let your eyes lock with his, "Okay, you get out of this alive and I'll forgive you completely." His face practically lit up and he tried to hide it but you saw the bright expression just before he went back to his usual resting smirk.

"Now that's what I like to hear," his head shifted upwards and you felt his lips on your forehead. He pressed them there ever so gently before letting them leave your skin. "I'll see you soon, beautiful," he made the move of leaving first but was stopped by you grabbing the front of his shirt.

"You do anything too sexual with Erica and I'll kill you, Lahey, understand?"

He smirked, "Yes, ma'am."

You went to find Stiles after you had set up the area you guys were planning to keep Jackson. You guys had caught each other at the front entrance and you were now making your way towards the room, listening to Stiles excitement on how he had done his task.

You two had made it to the door and when you opened it you had startled the two Beta wolves. "Uh, no, no, no, just us. It's just us. Don't freak," Stiles rambled. You let out a breath of relief when you saw Isaac was alright and it looked like Isaac had done the same when he saw you.

"Is he okay," your best friend asked.

Isaac walked over to Jackson, raising his claw up, "Well... let's find out." When he went to swipe at Jackson his hand was caught as the lizard boy started to crush his hand. Isaac let out a groan of pain and he pulled back as hard as he could. He backed up to guys and you instantly grabbed his arm, "Are you okay?" Even when he was still grunting in pain, he nodded.

"Okay, no one does anything like that again, okay," Stiles pointed to everyone and he received unanimous nods. Isaac groaned one more time, "I thought the ketamine was supposed to put him out."

"Yeah, well, apparently this is all we're gonna get, so let's just hope that whoever's controlling him just decided to show up tonight."

Almost as if on cue, Jackson's eyes opened. You erratically began tapping Stiles and Isaac, "Guys, guys. Something's happening." Everyone watched Jackson as he started to speak, "I'm here." His voiced echoed and you could hear not just Jackson but someone else. It had to be the person controlling him.

"I'm right here with you."

You and Stiles looked at each other and slowly stepped towards the boy in the chair. "(Y/N), come back here." You ignored Isaac's words and crouched next to Stiles.

"Jackson, is that you," you asked quietly.

"Us. We're all here."

Stiles was taken aback by the answer, glancing over his shoulder at the werewolves behind you. "Are you the one killing people," Stiles questioned.

"We're the ones killing murderers."

His voice was full of venom and it was nearly as paralyzing as his actual toxin. It made you shiver out of fear. "So all the people you've killed so far-."

"Deserved it." He cut off Stiles violently.

"We got a little rule book that says you only go after murderers."

"Anything can break if enough pressure is applied."

You looked at Stiles again and took over the questioning, "Alright, so the people you're killing are all murderers then?"

"All. Each. Every one."

"Well, who'd they murder?"

"Me." His reply to your question truly stunned you, "They murdered me." Jackson's eyes rolled into his slitted ones and his head turned straight, "They murdered me." You and Stiles got up and started to back your way to the other two. Isaac had a small grip on your hip, keeping you close. You started to see Jackson's hands move, breaking free from its previous stillness.

"Alright," Stiles panicked, "Ketamine, the man needs more ketamine."

Isaac picked up the bottle, "We don't have anymore." Your best friend whipped around, "You used the whole bottle?" You saw Erica tap Stiles and you all looked to see Jackson standing, he hissed and his head began to shake violently.

"Okay, out, everybody out," you pushed Erica and Stiles forward. They needed no help from you though, all four of you rushed out of the room, bumping into each other until you closed the door. Everyone pressed their back on it and Stiles gave out instruction, "Okay, (Y/N), make a barrier hurry." It was too late, Jackson had busted through the wall and had made a break for it.

You guys all ran for the front door as everyone began leaving, you and Stiles made it outside and he crossed the line meeting Derek who was jogging over.

"Hey so we kind of lost Jackson inside, but it's-," Stiles' attention was on you and the two Betas who had also just walked out. You three were right on the line, they looked at you for reassurance and you raised your hand coming in contact with an invisible wall, it glowed a blueish color as you put more pressure on it.

"Oh, my god! It's working! Oh this is- yes! I did something!"

You heard a roar, it was so guttural. You felt the heat in your eyes, this time it was intense, if you weren't used to it by now it might have actually bugged you.

Scott

"Scott?" Derek had voiced your thought, he looked at you, he saw your eyes glow and he heard it too. The roar of a dying Scott.

"What," Stiles turned to Derek.

"Break it."

"What? No way!"

"Scott's dying!"

"What? How do you know that?"

"Oh, my god, Stiles! I just know! Break it!" Stiles broke the line and Derek took off. You could feel your feet moving before you could even think as you started to try and run too. You were stopped, however, by Isaac grabbing you, both arms wrapped around you.

"NO! LET GO! ISAAC! LET GO! SCOTT HE- HE'S HURT! YOU HAVE TO LET ME GO!" It was almost manic how much you thrashed to try and get out of the boy's hold. He held on tighter, "(Y/N), no, okay you can't, you can't fight yet. Derek will save him, okay, Derek will save him."

Your eyes were pouring tears at this point, "No, no, Scott he needs help, he needs me," you whimpered as you fell to the ground, Isaac coming with you but his arms never leaving their position around you.

His lips pressed against your hair and he just continued to comfort you, "I know, baby, I know. But he's gonna be okay. Derek's gonna save him. You have to stay here, okay, baby?"

You nodded still crying now holding onto Isaac like your life depended on it, muttering the same thing over and over again, "Scott he's- he's dying. He's dying- he's-."

"It's okay, baby, it's gonna be okay."

___________________________________

a/n: I finally gave you guys more isaac and y/n, aren't you guys happy with me? lol anyways hope you guys enjoy! let me know what you think!

taglist: @somiaw @vvicaddiction @mushroomelephant @breadbrobin @traumverloren-anderswelt @fandom-princess-forevermore @vanessa-boo

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gainingfiction · 2 years

Text

Big Bro

Summary: Marco is a cocky jock used to coasting through life on his good looks. His stepbrother Jared has always been fat, and teasing him about it is Marco’s favourite pastime. But when Jared starts slimming down, Marco’s latest scheme (sabotaging Jared’s diet) comes back to bite him in a big way.

This story owes a huge debt to “Neighbors” by Anonymous. I couldn’t match that story’s rapid-fire pace, but I do think I did justice to the narrator’s snarky tone.

I’m one of those guys who can eat whatever he wants. It’s true—my whole life I’ve had this amazing metabolism. I ate like a pig all through high school, and I had the best body in that place. Probably because I played so many sports.

My stepbrother, Jared, wishes he could eat like me and look as good as I do. Dude is so lazy, and so damn fat. The only exercise he gets is lifting a fork and getting up for seconds. I don’t know where he gets it—my stepdad keeps in pretty good shape; he’s a pretty good looking dude, all around. My mom definitely could have done worse.

But Jared was always big, at least as long as I’ve known him. He used to get some shit for it in high school, but never when I was around. In a weird way, I felt kind of protective over him. We were 17 when our parents got married, and we didn’t have much in common—I mean, come on, look at us. But I still don’t like other people ragging on him for being such a fat fuck. It’s like, I can say that, but it feels different if it comes from a stranger. I don’t know, it’s hard to explain.

Do I tease Jared? Well, yeah, but he knows I’m just screwing around. When you hit 300, 350 pounds like he is, you probably get used to people messing with you. One time I slapped a “Wide Load” sticker on his back, and he walked around for like, an hour before he noticed. My mom was pissed; I definitely got in some shit for that one. And then there was the time I loosened all the screws in his gaming chair—I still remember the look on his face when he came crashing down like a ton of bricks. Hilarious.

Lately, though, I have a new way of messing with him. It’s so damn funny. He’s doing this diet thing, so I’ll pig out on all his favourite junk food, right in front of him. Put on a real show, too, sighing and moaning and licking the ice cream off the spoon like I’m in some kind of commercial. Or a porno. His face is priceless, with his eyes glazed-over and his hands rubbing that big fat gut of his. It must be torture for a guy like that, to see a guy who looks like me stuffing his face with all the food he knows he can’t have.

So I’m pretty sure he’s gonna snap soon, and fall off the wagon in a big way. He’s never exactly been the poster boy for restraint, loading up at every meal like it’s gonna be his last, then waddling—and I do mean waddling—off to play video games with his arms full of snacks. Plus, he’s in culinary school now. I mean, go figure, right? How’s a guy going to stick to his diet when he’s surrounded by food for a living?

That’s why I’m glad I don’t have to diet. I’m a server at this big family restaurant, so I’m pretty used to working around good food. I’ve been working there for about four years now, since I was 16, so the kitchen staff have gotten to know me pretty well. They’re never shy with the leftovers, and I’ll never say no to free grub. Especially not when it looks that good. I used to just have a quick bite on my break, to keep my energy up, but lately I’ve been bringing a big doggy bag home so I can pig out on ribs, mashed potatoes, burgers and fries in front of poor Jared.

I’m honestly impressed he’s stuck out on this diet thing for as long as he has. It’s been a couple of months now, and he’s still at it, picking away at celery sticks and Greek yoghurt and boring salads while I pile up plate after plate of whatever I want. Seems like he’s starting to get some results, too. He’s still a massive fatass, but his clothes are a little looser (or less hilariously tight), and his gut doesn’t hang out quite as far in front of him, either.

I’ve been trying to save up enough to move out for a while now, but I’m not exactly great with money. I like to have a good time, you know? My mom’s always on my case about how often I go clubbing with my friends, not to mention all the hot clothes I buy to show off my killer bod. That shit just looks good on me. If it shows off how pumped my arms and pecs look, of course I’m gonna buy it. But I’m starting to get serious about moving out—I’ve been taking on way more shifts at the restaurant. It does mean I’ve had to cut back on my trips to the gym a little bit, but that doesn’t matter. Like I said, my metabolism can do anything.

When I do finally move out, I’m gonna miss seeing Jared’s sad puppy dog eyes when he watches me scarfing down chips and swigging beer like it’s going out of style. “Unh, this is sooo good,” I’ll moan, clutching my stomach as I shovel another spoonful of rocky road into my mouth. “These brownies are incredible,” I’ll say, licking the chocolate off my fingers while Jared just stares on, nibbling carrot sticks like the world’s fattest rabbit. So funny.

I’ve been having some uniform problems lately. It’s the weirdest thing. I’ve been wearing size 32 jeans for years, but lately my pants have been kind of hard to button. Same thing with my shirts—I’ve only ever worn a medium, but lately they’re feeling a little snug, especially when I’m a little bloated after my second dessert. My buddies have been joking that I need to cool it with all the food I’m scarfing down, but they’re probably just jealous. They’re all a bunch of diet-obsessed muscle heads; those drama queens don’t understand how much a guy like me can put away without gaining weight.

Speaking of clothes that don’t fit, Jared looks like he’s swimming in his old t-shirts and cargo shorts. I’ve seen him shirtless, heading to and from the shower, and he’s definitely still a lardass, but I can’t deny that he’s lost at least a few pounds.

And speaking of a few pounds, I had the weirdest experience at the club the other night when I was out with a couple of the guys. Looking like I do, I always clean up there. Normally, guys throw themselves at me—I haven’t had to pay for a drink of my own in ages, considering how many I get for free. But that night, I got maybe one free drink from a guy who was about twice my age! I smiled at him, but I was surprised he thought he had a shot with me. And then, later, I was flirting with this pretty little twink at the bar. We’d hooked up once before, but that night he seemed totally over me. When I finally got him to look up from his phone, he put his hand on my side, and then pulled it away like I’d burned him. “You need to hit the gym, Marco,” he said.

And then he just walked away! I was so pissed, I walked right out of there. I stopped by a pizza place on the way home and picked up a few slices… I’ll admit it, I do eat my feelings, sometimes. But like I’ve been saying, it’s no problem when you’ve got a body like mine.

The owner of the restaurant called me into the office recently, and handed me a new uniform. I was sort of confused. Then he pointed at my stomach and said, “You need a size up, young man. That show you’re putting on is distracting.” Show? What show? At first I thought he meant the gun show, although my killer biceps have never been a problem before. Then I realized that my shirt was starting to slip up around my stomach and on the sides. I really must have overdone it on the pasta, to be that bloated.

Still, I do appreciate the new threads. Clearly they’re doing something with the sizing, because the 36s fit me a lot better than my old pair of 34s. To be honest, they still aren’t what I’d call loose, but I can at least get them on without it turning into a whole production. And it’s nice to wear a shirt that I can breathe in—and eat in.

On the subject of eating, I still haven’t managed to get Jared to crack yet. He’s dedicated, but I know I can break him. I think I’m getting close. The other night, I came home with a dozen frosted donuts, and I ate one after the other, moaning like a noisy bottom during a good fuck. I can tell he’s starting to crack, because he got this weird, distant look in his eyes, and he couldn’t stop staring at me. He looked seriously tempted when I dangled my tenth donut under his nose, but he just looked at me and said, “You have it, Marco.” Well, if you insist, bro! Ten was all I could manage, though, since my tank was seriously full by that point. The other two made for a good midnight snack, at least.

Teasing him isn’t as fun as it used to be. He’s dropped some serious weight by this point. He still has a big, soft gut and a fat ass, but he must have shifted about 80 pounds. Maybe more, honestly. And he’s getting to be in better shape—he has a real spring in his step, and his hips have slimmed down enough that he can walk without waddling. I even walked in on him doing bicep curls in his room the other day! I almost laughed out loud. “Gonna get into sumo, bro?” I asked him. He just smirked at me and kept going. Like I said, he’s getting harder to make fun of.

But tempting him has never been easier. He’s practically doing it for me at this point, bringing home all this food from his culinary classes. It’s something different every day: a huge porterhouse steak fried in garlic butter, thick slices of New York style cheesecake, Nashville fried chicken… Like, okay, bro, but it’s your funeral! If you wanna see me eat all the delicious food that you can’t have, I’ll eat it, but don’t blame me when your diet goes belly up. Besides being a regular glutton, he must be a glutton for punishment, since he just stares at me while I eat plate after plate. Damn can he cook, though.

My mom has been kind of on my case about me clearing out the fridge on a regular basis. I don’t know what her damage is; I mean, a guy’s gotta eat, right? But she and my stepdad have definitely been giving me a few looks when I load up my plate with seconds and thirds at dinner. “You must be hungry, big guy!” my stepdad said the other night. He even poked me in the stomach! I assume he was kidding around, but still, it kind of annoyed me. Like, nobody ever said shit about Jared when he would demolish a big bowl of pasta, but when Marco’s the one pigging out, suddenly it’s a criminal offence? Give me a break. And who the fuck is “big guy”? Like, maybe take a look at your own son, bud.

At least Jared’s been cool. He’s really not a bad guy. I guess there are no hard feelings about me messing with him, since he did me a real solid the other day. I was trying to get into a pair of pants before work, but they were giving me a really hard time. I was tugging and fighting, and starting to get a little out of breath from all the struggling—yeah, I know, probably time to hit the gym, but that was like an arm workout of its own! But those damn pants just wouldn’t budge. I’m telling you, 38 inches is not as big as it sounds. And then Jared walks by, notices me having the fight of my life with a pair of khakis, and comes back a minute later with a pair of his own.

I tried not to laugh in his face, since he was trying to do something nice. I mean, come on, dude, those are gonna be huge on me! Or so I thought. Like I said, all these clothing companies must be getting weird with the sizes since a 40-inch waist really wasn’t a bad fit. “Don’t sweat it, Marco,” he said. “Everyone puts on a little weight in their 20s.”

Yeah, you’d know, I wanted to say. Except, that wasn’t really true. He’s still fat, but not comically fat. He just looks like a big bear. But still, where does this guy get off? “A little weight”? A guy that size is in no position to talk.

But I figured that he might have a point. I mean, I definitely do look a little softer around the edges… my gut is getting kind of hard to ignore, and I’m getting a pretty big butt. Not that a big ass is a bad thing… I have to admit, I do kind of like having a nice, round bubble butt to grab onto.

A few days later, I decided to see how much I’d put on.

When I stepped on the scale, I did a double take. I know I might have packed on a few pounds, but I was thinking 10, 15 tops. But the damn thing must have been broken, since it said I weigh 247 pounds. I mean, 247? Are you kidding me? I was 171 when I graduated high school; there’s no way I’ve packed on 76 pounds. Not with my metabolism. Maybe 20, but close to 80? That thing had to be busted.

I decided to ask Jared about it. If the scale said I was closing in on 250, I don’t know what it would have said about him! So I asked him straight-up: “How much are you weighing these days? According to the scale upstairs?”

“245, last time I checked,” he said. “Although I usually use the scales at the gym.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. Okay, so they definitely were broken. No way I’m fatter than fatass Jared. Any scale that says I am must be seriously out of whack. I decided to celebrate with a couple of pieces of the apple pie he’d brought home the day before. I ate most of it last night, but there was still enough left for a half-decent snack. I made a big show of looking my stepdad in the eyes as I shovelled out a few scoops of ice cream to go with it, almost daring him to say something. He didn’t, though.

I have to admit, I’m a little bummed out now that Jared’s graduated from culinary school. I had gotten used to free food on a nightly basis, and there was something pretty satisfying about tempting him with his own cooking. Turns out, that’s the least of my worries: Jared got a job as a cook at my restaurant! Which means I’ll have to see him at work and around the house.

There is one upside, at least. Ever since Jared started, the kitchen has been very generous with the free food. I’m talking full steaks and ribs during my shift, with two or three sides: loaded baked potatoes, cheese fries, potato wedges… the good shit. Plus, doggy bags to bring home, complete with some of my favourite desserts. And I make sure Jared can see me eating all of it. It must be killing him, now that he can’t avoid it at home or work! I bet he’s gonna give up that diet thing any day now.

“Maybe you should go on a diet, yourself,” my pal Jordan said when we were out for drinks the other night. Well, the guys were getting drinks, I was getting drinks and a few appetizers; like I said, a guy’s gotta eat! I could see Jordan staring at my body, and he had the nerve to give my gut a slap! “You’re getting bigger than Jared, dude.”

“Fuck off,” I said, laughing. I grabbed a handful of potato skins. I was starting to regret bringing up my little pet project. “He’s a whale compared to me.” I gave my arms a flex for emphasis, and then took a swig of beer.

“I don’t know, man, that gut is getting out of control,” Aiden said, poking me in the stomach. I flushed; what was this, some kind of intervention? “When was the last time you hit the gym? I haven’t seen you around there in ages.”

“Nah, Aiden, he’s been working out,” Tony said. He cupped one of my pecs and gave it a jiggle, “His jaw muscles have never been stronger!” I tugged on the hem of my shirt, trying to remember when my pecs got so damn jiggly. I can’t even explain it, but there was something about my buddies manhandling me like that that got me kind of hot and bothered.

The guys all laughed. “That’s funny, ‘cause I can’t see ‘em!” Aiden chimed in. More laughter. I clenched my jaw; maybe my face is a little rounder, but I hide it well with some stubble. I thought I looked pretty hot.

“I was talking to Reed the other day,” Tony said. “You guys remember Reed, Marco’s old fuckbuddy? Works at Silk and Satin? Well, he said he barely recognized you when he saw you at the club a couple weeks back.”

I must have been bright scarlet by that point. “Reed’s a fucking liar,” I grumbled. “He was all over me that night.” The truth was, I couldn’t even flag that little dick down to order myself a drink, but I wasn’t about to admit that to the guys. Silk and Satin is overpriced and overrated, anyway. Just a meat market full of shallow gym bunnies.

“Yeah, there’s a lot to be all over!” Jordan said. He turned to me and put a hand on my arm. “Seriously, though, let us know if you want some help at the gym. You’re not a bad looking guy, Marco, it’d be a crime to throw those good looks away.”

I wanted to melt into my seat. “Yeah, thanks,” I said. I didn’t even know what they were talking about; how exactly was I throwing my looks away? I was just hungry.

The guys might have a point about me getting bigger than Jared, though. I was passing him in the hallway the other day, and I caught sight of our guts. Well, shit, I’m pretty sure mine stuck out farther than his! Had more jiggle to it, too…. That might explain why I’ve been borrowing his old clothes and he’s been borrowing mine. But I wrote the experience off; his metabolism sucks compared to mine, so it’s definitely temporary. Probably just a bloat. I just need to cool it with the junk food and hit the gym again. I promised Jordan I’d go with him, but I just haven’t found the right time, you feel?

And I also didn’t want to run into Jared. He’s in that place every damn day, running or lifting or doing whatever he’s been doing to shrink that fat ass of his down to a reasonable size. A very reasonable size, apparently, since that ass seemed to be getting plenty of attention in the locker room: a couple of my friends had started commenting on what a round, perky bubble butt he’s sporting. He’s a fatass! I wanted to say… I would have, too, if I wasn’t wearing his old size-46 jeans. And it was probably time to ask if he had any with a 48” waist, since those are getting pretty tight…

It seems like the whole damn world is going crazy. The other day at work, a couple of the waitresses were talking about Jared like he was the hottest guy around. I had to jump in and say something, I just couldn’t ignore it. It used to annoy me when people talked shit about him, but lately, that wasn’t even a problem—everyone seemed to be joining the Jared fan club. And no, I definitely wasn’t jealous, fuck you very much. Why would I be? “Don’t you think he’s kind of… fat?”

I’ll admit, maybe my timing wasn’t great. Earlier that shift, I was turning around in the stock room and I knocked a whole bunch of cleaning supplies off the shelf with my ass. It’s not my fault, okay? That room is cramped; they really need a supply closet that’s big enough for normal people. And I’ve got a lot of junk in the trunk! Since when did that become a bad thing?

They frowned at me. Jessica gave me a look like she’d just stepped in something. Which was pretty rich, given how she used to leer at me like her own personal Playgirl centerfold. “He just has a little dad bod,” she said. “And besides, you’re one to talk.”

I scowled back. “What, this?” I patted my stomach, realizing I’d slapped it hard enough to make it jiggle a little. I had to tug my shirt down where the motion forced it up. “This is nothing. It’s like, a delayed freshman 15.” I didn’t point out that it was more like 100, at this point. Okay, okay, maybe a little more. No more than 150, though. I swear.

Kristen snorted. “Pretty sure you have to be a freshman to pull that off,” she said. “You’re obviously just jealous.”

It was all I could do not to burst out laughing. Me, jealous of Jared? If anything, they’re jealous of me, bitter that they’ll never have a shot with me.

Still, after that I decided to cool it a little with the food. I’m a big guy with a big appetite, but getting those sorts of comments is way out of my comfort zone. They give me this feeling in my gut that I don’t even understand. It’s like… shit, people are starting to think of me as a fat guy. It’s weird. So I decided to help myself to all the food the kitchen threw my way that night, and cap off the night with a trip to McDonald’s for a few Big Mac meals. The diet would start tomorrow.

Except, it didn’t. I really planned on eating better, but it’s not as easy as I thought it would be. I’ve always liked to eat, and never had to count calories in my life. It’s not like I didn’t try—I had a bowl of granola for breakfast and everything. But I don’t know how people live on that rabbit food; I was starving again after an hour. So when Jared whipped up a big plate of waffles, I couldn’t resist. I had to dig in.

It sort of became a cycle. I’d promise myself I’d start eating better and working out again. I’d have something halfway-healthy for breakfast. But I was so miserable and hangry that I just couldn’t deal. So I’d end up at Five Guys, stuffing my face with fries and washing it down with a chocolate and peanut butter shake. By that point I’d be so full that even thinking about the gym was a chore, so I’d blow Jordan off and head home to take a nap, or maybe watch the game or play some video games with Jared. He’s actually kind of fun to hang out with, to be totally honest. Rinse and repeat, day after day. Meanwhile, Jared is there throwing his healthy diet in my face, munching on salmon filets and garden salads like he’s Jenny Craig’s bottom all of a sudden.

At least he doesn’t make a big deal out of how much I’m eating like our parents. He’s like, the least judgmental guy I know. I’ve been complaining to him about how annoying it is to still be living at home, how I need my independence. Take my mom, for example: she’s always pushing stupid healthy food on me. And I swear my stepdad is judging me for eating as much as I do. I don’t care what he thinks, though. It may be your house, Roger, but I’m a full-grown man, and I can eat whatever I want. So what if I want to eat a lot? That never seemed to be a problem when your own son was stuffing his face around the clock. Glass houses, right?

And then weeks would pass, and then months, and I couldn’t get my pants to button. Well, Jared’s pants. First 48 inches got tight around the waist, then my thighs busted the seams on his 50s, and before I knew it, I had to stop raiding Jared’s closet. I’d straight-up outgrown every damn thing in there. Let me just say, I’m not proud to be walking around the big-and-tall store trying to find something to disguise my gut.

And the guys in the kitchen at work are no help. Tempting me with food is like a game to them. Let’s see how much Marco can eat today, I imagined them saying, as they loaded up plate after plate with pasta, steaks, burgers, and fries. How much can we feed him this time? I swear, it’s like they’re messing up orders on purpose just to push the rejects in my direction.

No one tells you how hard it is to be a fat guy. When I hit 350 pounds, I realized that’s what I was—a fat guy. Getting hungry all the time is one thing, and getting out of breath hauling all my weight around could have been expected. But there are a million little things I never even imagined. Like showers. I used to hop in, lather up my abs and my ass, and hop out. Not anymore. Now, it’s like a goddamn Olympic event, squeezing into the shower, soaping up all those hard to reach places… downright exhausting. And sitting in booths? Not gonna happen. I’ve even started looking at certain chairs funny, wondering if they’re gonna splinter like kindling under all this extra weight. 360 pounds… 370 pounds… When I crossed 380, I decided to stop keeping track. What difference does it even make, anymore?

And the looks I get? I never imagined. It used to be that guys couldn’t get enough of me; I used to turn heads when I walked into a room. Then people just started ignoring me. Now, those jackasses are downright hostile. Their heads turn for other reasons. Like, okay, I’m a little on the big side, I’m not gonna fucking sit on you, or eat you. Some bratty little twink straight-up huffed and rolled his eyes when I sat next to him on the bus. Sure, I may have been taking up a pretty major slice of his seat, but it wasn’t like I was letting my love handles spill over onto him on purpose. You would have been all over me three years ago, I wanted to say. And that bus ride was its own ordeal—those doors are narrow! And I forgot how sweaty I get from just walking around, not to say jogging to catch the 34. I was pretty damn pleased when I got my car back from the shop.

My so-called “friends” are the worst of all. Turns out they’re all shallow gym rats. Aiden, who I grew up with, actually pretended not to know me when I bumped into him at Starbucks for my daily caramel frappuccino! Like knowing a guy my size would make him guilty by association.

They’re all too busy chasing after guys like Jared. Yeah, that’s right, fatass Jared has become a hot commodity among thirsty gay boys. Seeing him fill out my clothes with his muscular lats and round, firm glutes almost makes me want to cry. Those jeans were mine! That Marc Jacobs bomber jacket was mine! Those friends were mine!

I can’t even stay mad at him, though. He’s just too decent. If I even seem hungry, he’ll jump up and start chopping potatoes and frying bacon. I kind of wonder about the new him, though—is he happy? He definitely seems like it, when he’s slipping on some form-hugging muscle shirt to go clubbing, or crawling home with some stud under his arm. But when he sits down across from me at the table, watching me devour donut after donut, burger after burger, there’s always this look in his eyes… it’s not even like he’s hungry. He doesn’t want the food, he wants… something else. I wish he wasn’t so damn hard to read.

I was really starting to like the guy when he went and dropped a bomb on me. He was moving out. “I’m almost 22, Marco,” he said, when I tried to protest. “I can’t live with my dad forever.”

You know what? I almost got a little choked up. “I feel like I was just starting to get to know you,” I said.

He smiled at me. “I’ll still be around.”

But what about your food? I wanted to ask him. Sure, there’s the food he makes at work, and my full-blown fast food addiction, but none of it can match the stuff he makes me. As a former fat guy himself, he knows how to make food taste good. Really, really good. It isn’t just butter and sugar, either, it’s care. Watching him cook… the guy is an artist. I didn’t want to let that go. I didn’t want to let him go.

And when it rains, it pours. About a week after Jared moved out, the owner of the restaurant called me into his office. I sat down—on two chairs, just to be safe—and felt like I already knew where this was going.

“1,932 dollars, Marco,” he said.

I just looked at him. What the hell was he talking about?

“That’s how much free food you ate in the last month alone. If you sat down and ordered all of it off the menu, it would cost almost two thousand dollars.”

I didn’t know what to say. Sure, I liked steak, and pasta, and cheesecake. I liked a lot of food. But I’d never really thought about it like that before. The guys in the kitchen handed me food, and I ate it. That’s what I told him.

He sighed. He had this pinched look on his face. I guess he might have been handsome 20 or 30 years ago, but there was something mean in his features. “I’ve talked to the kitchen staff, and they tell me you’re constantly bothering them for food. I’ve never minded giving out a few meals here and there, but…. This has become an issue.”

I gulped. Maybe I asked for a few freebies here and there, but it’s not like I was some sort of addict. They were pushing it on me! If I asked for it, they made it.

My cheeks were red hot. What do you even say to that? “Okay,” is what I came up with.

“And it’s been affecting your work performance. Customers have complained. Tips are worse when you wait tables, which makes the other waitstaff unhappy. You take breaks constantly. I think maybe it’s time that you moved on.”

Moved on? This guy was firing me? I’d been working there for more than six years, since I was a kid. And now I was out on my ass, because I like to eat and customers don’t want a 400-pounder waiting at their tables? “Woah, I don’t think that’s fair, I—”

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, Marco. I like you. But you’re not the young man I hired.”

That pissed me off. So this guy wanted me to stay some pretty little piece of ass for the rest of my life? Like the Peter Pan of hot gay jocks? Sorry I’m not a hunky teenager anymore, I wanted to say. Sorry I got fat. That’s fucking life.

But I didn’t. I just stared at him.

“You can work the rest of the shifts on your schedule. But after that, I think it’s best if you find another job.”

Bye, bye moving out: after years of saving up, getting ready to move out on my own without roommates, I could kiss that plan goodbye. I didn’t know what to do with myself.

Food was my comfort and my vengeance. If the owner had a problem with me getting fat off free meals, well, he hadn’t seen anything yet. I had four shifts on my schedule, and Jared and the other cooks made absolutely sure that my gut was completely stuffed after every one of them. How many hundreds of dollars would that have cost me, dick?

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do next, Jared,” I said after my last shift. I was off the clock, but I stayed and watched him cleaning up around the kitchen, prepping for the next day. Damn, he’s really changed: big, brawny arms, prominent pecs, a chiselled jawline… the sort of guy I used to want… and used to be.

He looked up from the herbs he was chopping, staring at me as I picked at a heaping bowl of french fries. “You could move in with me,” he said.

I paused. It was something I wanted, but something I didn’t think I could have. I didn’t even think it was right to want it in the first place. He was such a good cook, and he was pretty much the last good friend I had left in the world. He was the only one who didn’t seem to care what I ate, or how fat I got. Maybe it was because he’d been there himself, or maybe it was because he liked me.

And to be honest, I kind of liked the new me, too. I liked eating. I loved it, actually. I used to challenge myself at the gym, but now, I could challenge myself at the kitchen table. Instead of pushing myself to do more reps, or bench more weight, gluttony was my new challenge. How many donuts can I eat today? Could I polish off a whole frozen cheesecake in one sitting? The answer was usually “yes”, and I’ll admit, there’s an undeniable pleasure in pushing your gut to new horizons. If blowing up like a balloon was a side-effect of that, it was a price I was willing to pay. Big guys had more presence, they took up more space. Was that such a bad thing to be? Was that wrong to want?

I looked at Jared. How many good meals had he made me? How many times had he gone to bat for me when my mom or his dad got on my case? Living with him, hanging out with him all the time, eating his amazing cooking whenever I want it… it all sounded like a dream come true.

“I don’t know, I don’t have a job, I don’t know how I’d pay rent,” I said. Admitting that felt kind of pathetic.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. He smiled, but there was something in his eyes, something… dark? “Besides, you’re going to need someone to take care of you when you’re too fat to take care of yourself.”

I felt my throat get tight. He’s never said anything like that before. Jared’s always been this stable, comforting presence. I don’t even know where a comment like that came from.

But I nodded.

Because, deep down, I know he’s right.

And I know I’ll probably like it.

#weight gain #male weight gain #gay #weight gain story #wg story #realistic gain #gaining fiction

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