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oh-obrien · 2 months ago

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GRID ACE 0.1

GAMER READER X Lestappen SMAU

Summary: Reader is a Red Bull e-sports athlete who happens to catch the attention of two particular drivers with her streams

I am new-ish to the F1 fandom so hopefully I didn't mess this up too bad! I used to be an AVID fic writer on wattpad and I dabbled here in imagines and what not but a full time job (and a boyfriend who got me more into gaming RUDE) really shits on my desire to write sometimes and i found that SMAU's seem to be super popular in this fandom and they felt perfect 😊!

And my requests for these are open!!

All pictures are from Pinterest!!!

Reader has various face claims!

Masterlist / Next Part

Xx.y/n.xX just posted

Liked by yourbestfriend, maxverstappen1, and 6,756 others

Xx.y/n.xX the only appropriate way to spend a Friday night pre-stream

Yourbestfriend val really????

-> Xx.y/n.xX it’s almost like I’m a professional or something 🥸

-> yourteammate1 professional bottom frag maybe

-> Xx.y/n.xX SIT DOWN YOU INSTALOCK REYNA

User1 I fear the girlies claws are out today

-> Xx.y/n.xX I did do my nails today 😌

-> User1 THE QUEEN RESPONDED

-> Xx.y/n.xX rainy Friday nail day video coming to you soon!

Redbullgaming we love to see our number 1 girl on the grind

liked by maxverstappen1

-> Xx.y/n.xX awww admin you’re gonna make me blush

->yourteammate2 STOP STROKING HER EGO SHE ALREDY TOP FRAGS

-> Xx.y/n.xX get better then???

User2 is no one going to talk about THE Max Verstappen being in the likes?????

-> Xx.y/n.xX @ maxverstappen1 goes vroom vroom for RB 🤝 I go pew pew for RB

-> maxverstappen1 🫡

-> Xx.y/n.xX see he gets it!!

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Xx.y/n.xX just posted

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc, and 12,568 others

Xx.y/n.xX join me, a Redbull vroom vroom driver and some other vroom vroom guy (his team is the red one apparently) on a stream!

Redbullgaming hope @ maxverstappen1 didn’t embarrass the name too bad

-> Xx.y/n.xX he went 4/22/2 his first game @ redbullracing please take him back!!! 😵‍💫

-> charles_leclerc I went 6/18/4! 😌

-> Xx.y/n.xX I’ve been informed this one belongs to you @ scuderiaferrari please tell him to stick to cars!!

-> Scuderiaferrari it’s not a race weekend he isn’t our problem

-> Xx.y/n.xX this is why I’m a @ redbullracing fan

-> Redbullgaming your contract also helps

Maxverstappen1 I’d like to see you behind the wheel of my car then

-> Xx.y/n.xX @ Redbullracing am I ‘on the grid’ (I was told those are the appropriate terms) next weekend?

-> Redbullracing y/n reserve driver when???

-> Xx.y/n.xX @ Redbullgaming you’re going to need to find a new Neon main 🫣

-> Redbullgaming @ redbullracing I’m afraid we need to keep this one, you don’t want her anyways (she bites)

-> Charles_leclerc I won’t complain about biting

liked by @ Maxverstappen1

User3 I’m sorry Max AND Charles streaming with her??

-> User4 like exactly????

-> User5 she doesn’t realize how lucky she is?

-> Xx.y/n.xX they were actually horrible teammates so…

-> User4 WAIT DID YOU NOT SEE THE COMMENT CHARLES DELETED????

-> User3 WHAT???

-> Xx.y/n.xX I plead the fifth, I’m American I can do that.

Landonorris where was my invite?

-> Xx.y/n.xX @ maxverstappen1 @ charles_leclerc does this one vroom vroom too?

-> Maxverstappen1 yes.

-> charles_leclerc yes.

-> Xx.y/n.xX ☠️

Teammate3 you traded us in?

-> Xx.y/n.xX more like downgraded

-> User6 PLEASE. I am living for Y/N absolutely roasting Max and Charles any chance she gets.

-> Xx.y/n.xX I mean @ charles_leclerc roasted himself with Brim’s molly so…. Not really my fault?

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Charles_leclerc just posted

tagged @ maxverstappen1 @ Xx.y/n.xX

Liked by Xx.y/n.xX, maxverstappen1, and 24,568 others

Charles_leclerc when the groupchat finally meets up

Xx.y/n.xX vroom vroom 🏎️

-> User7 I love how unserious she is like she didn’t just spend the weekend with Max and Charles

-> Xx.y/n.xX I actually spent the weekend with bottom frag and almost bottom frag, who holds which title is interchangeable they haven’t earned names yet.

-> Scuderiaferrari TECHNICALLY they were first and second frag on the podium

-> Xx.y/n.xX excuse me admin, I didn't say you could speak

-> Charles_leclerc excuse me y/n, I didn't say you could be in my comments

-> Landonorris @ Xx.y/n.xX you're allowed in my comments

-> Maxverstappen1 no.

-> Charles_leclerc no.

-> Xx.y/n.xX I KNOW THIS ONE HE'S AN ORANGE VROOM VROOM @ landonorris

User7 are we not going to talk about how fast she managed to get to a GP?

-> User8 are we not going to talk about how fast it feels like this friendship developed

-> User7 or how she already has other drivers joking with her too?

-> Xx.y/n.xX I'm a big kid I can get myself to a GP

Danielricciardo Y/N showed the entire gird up at the after party

-> User9 DETAILS????

-> Xx.y/n.xX a lady never shares her secrets 🤫

-> Maxverstappen1 a lady does share her shots though

Liked by @ Charles_leclerc

-> Xx.y/n.xX SILENCE BOTTOM FRAG NUMBER ONE

Teammate1 We need her back soon thxxxxxx

-> Xx.y/n.xX I fear they have discovered they can't win games without me

-> Landonorris y/n carry!!

Liked by @ Maxverstappen1 and @ Charles_leclerc

-> Xx.y/n.xX nevermind the orange vroom vroom man can stay, I like him.

-> Maxverstappen1 no.

-> Charles_leclerc no.

Redbullgaming we hope you had a great time y/n (you better have spent time in the @ redbullracing garage also)!!!

-> Xx.y/n.xX this feels like a threat admin?

-> Maxverstappen1 sadly she was in the garage, she knocked over some tires and just said oops

->Xx.y/n.xX you love me

Liked by @ Maxverstappen1

-> User10 umm guys????? CAN WE TALK ABOUT THIS???

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Tweet 1

User13 The trio we didn't know we needed but we can't live without 🫡

-> User14 Did you see the tweet someone posted where they were apparently FLIRTING at dinner?

-> User13 NO?!?!?!

-> User14 @ User12 posted it go look at the thread

User15 I fear we have lost another one of the girlies chat

->User14 Y/N will always be a girls girl

User16 what is she doing in Monaco?

->User17 hanging out with vroom vroom boys apparently

->User16 hopefully we get a stream while she's there then!

-> Xx.y/n.xX I'm already on it, I'm trying to make sure they don't embarrass me though, they're not allowed to stream until they can go even

-> User14 She sees everything.

-> Xx.y/n.xX Yes, yes I do (so do bottom frag number one and two)

Tweet 2

User12 they were all sitting super close together and y/n kept touching both their arms, lots of shoulders bumping and giggling. They were also all totally sharing food which was kind of cute.

-> User18 sharing food??? I need DETAILS.

-> User12 they all kept just shoving their forks on to each others plates no asking or anything just stealing each others food.

-> Xx.y/n.xX to be fair we all got stuck super close together at the table so like no choice there (ick), and on the sharing we were all indecisive so sharing is caring ❤️

->User20 SHE REALLY SAID ICK.

->Xx.y/n.xX my mama always taught me boys have cooties sooooo...

User19 HELLO? Did you ask for a picture or anything like that?

-> User12 NO they literally looked like they were having the time of their lives? They kept swapping drinks and stuff too, the boys were LIVING for y/n’s fruity cocktails

-> Xx.y/n.xX I don’t drink wine, only mixed drinks or hard liquor, they were just mooching off my drinks because Mr. World Champion wouldn't order a little fruity drink himself.

-> User12 NOT THE WOMAN IN QUESTION IN MY REPLIES

-> Xx.y/n.xX I’m everywhere 👀

#f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #max verstappen imagine #charles leclerc imagine #reader x lestappen #lestappen #lestappen imagine #f1 smau #f1 social media au #max verstappen x reader #charles lecrelc x reader

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zyafics · 7 months ago

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PROOFS | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (drabble) | x Academic Weapon!Female Reader

Summary — When you're at a party instead of finishing a math assignment due tomorrow, the answer suddenly comes to you and you need Rafe's help to finish it. Word Count — 1.6k.

Content — established relationship, fluff, suggestive tone (implicit), and Rafe being a frat bro. Reader is an academic weapon and nicknamed "Ace" by Rafe's frat brothers.

Dedication — to @winterrrnight because of her comments on my initial post and dedicated to the anon who has to take the 3-hour test in a couple of days, i know ur gonna do great!

You should definitely be studying.

Instead, you're at a white lies party hosted by Rafe's fraternity. The Greek letters shining in white neon lights behind the DJ booth, which is blasting 2000s throwbacks.

The air is electrifying with a drunken buzz from the copious amounts of free alcohol from the kitchen. You were one of them. While you didn't have much, other than the red solo cup that Rafe got for you when you first arrived, it was enough to send a thrill through your system and loosen you up.

You're dancing with a random group of girl friends you found upon arrival, swaying your hips to the music with your head tilted back and a smile gleaming from your lips.

Rafe is watching you. Despite being with his frat brothers, off on the edge of the room and talking about the most random shit, his eyes always search for you from a distance. Making sure you're okay. Making sure no guy is messing with his girl.

When his gaze connects with yours, he tips his head to his direction, gesturing for you to come over. You, in your docile state from the singular beer, listen and pardon from your drunken pack of new friendships.

Rafe's arm wraps around your waist as you approach, dipping his head to deliver a greeting kiss. When you pull back, you’re a bit breathless.

"Hi, baby." He says through the loud volume of the party, the resonance of the speaker blasting the music is pumping through your body and matching your heart rate. "How's the party?"

You shrug. He knows you're still worried about your math assignment due tomorrow. It's the same paper you spent the past fourteen hours camped out in the library trying to solve. Rafe took one look at it and couldn't offer any assistance but neither was coping up in the study room till your brain is fried helping either. So, he invited you out, hoping some alcohol and music would relax you.

It works. Sort of. You are having fun, but the lingering reminder of your assignment sits in the back of your head. Edging your brain, trying to piece together the answers when you know it's there. It's a matter of time.

"Hey, Ace." One of Rafe's frat brothers, Lucas, greets. "How you been?"

You turn to him, blinking through a bit of your haze to recognize the face. "Could be better," you answer, grabbing the red solo from Rafe's hand and taking a sip for yourself. "Do you guys have anything other than beer?"

"Slow down," Lucas chuckles. "You barely attend any of our parties and you wanna start off on something hard?"

"I already drank the beer." You retort. "I gotta get something stronger. Make me forget about all my responsibilities for the night."

Rafe shakes his head, taking the cup back out of your hand and downing the rest. "You're gonna figure it out," he affirms, low enough for only you to hear, to calm your doubts and worries about getting the problem set done. "Just give yourself a break."

You frown but don't say anything else. Rafe returns into an easy conversation with the rest of his brothers, talking about an upcoming event or some random sorority girl one of them hooked up with, and you tune out. Your eyes glaze over to the dance floor in thoughts.

Your mind falls back to your mathematics. The problem flashes through your head, in perfect memory, as you recount the instructions. You consider what you were missing. Since you've been away from the assignment for the entire evening, your mind is clear from all the symbols and equations that were melting into the page.

Now, it comes fresh.

And suddenly, it all... clicks.

"Oh my god." You mutter to yourself. The shock reverberates to the rest of your body. "Oh my fucking god."

Rafe catches the end of your sentence and glances over to you. You don't look at him, pulling away from his grasp and making a direct beeline to the exit. You don't leave—no, you have no time to go back to your dorm and write this down—instead, you go to the front door where a couple of freshman brothers are acting as in-house bouncers for the party.

You tap their shoulders, and when they turn, grab the marker off the table. You don't bother to tell them, immediately uncapping and begin scribbling the problem onto your arm.

Just a few lines in, you realize it won't be enough space. The proof is too big.

Your mind is spinning. You can't go home. You won't have time before the answer flees your drunken brain. But you can't write it down. You don't have space.

Then, an idea crosses your mind.

You rush back to the dance floor, searching for Rafe. He remains at the same spot as he was last time, and when he sees you approach him, frantic and hurried, his brows pull together in concern.

"What's wrong—"

"Come on," you grab his hand and pull him away from his brothers. You don't bother apologizing for interrupting their conversations. Since you are well-acquainted with the house, you pull him to the back where you know there won't be many people.

You were right. Saved for a few drunken make-out sessions spread across the lounge, no one was there. You pull off to a quiet corner, mimicking the couples, and release your hold on him.

"Take off your shirt."

"What?" Rafe thinks he heard you wrong. You were always more conservative when it comes to sex—at least, the location—that the command seems like an auditory hallucination in his ears. "You wanna fuck?"

Normally, you would flush at such crude remarks, but you found none of that today. Too concentrated on saving your work on physical evidence, trying to remember your answers before they fade away.

He doesn't do it. He thinks you're joking.

Since he isn't complying, you start clawing at his shirt, trying to pull it off of him yourself.

He chuckles to himself. He thinks you're drunk and horny. A nice combo he has not seen from you so far. "Really, baby? Right here? I mean, I don't mind—"

"Shut up." You shush with a mumble and Rafe pushes your hands away, finally taking off his shirt for you. The white lie scribbled in his handwriting: I said I don't hate you, is thrown on his arm.

"Happy?"

You didn't even get the chance to admire him. The tone muscles. The perfect planes of his chest. Instead, you say, "turn around."

"New position?"

"Shut. Up!"

All he does is laugh, catching the attention of a couple of college students who pull away from amorous kisses to spare a glance in your direction. While there's a faint heat tinting your cheeks, from your boyfriend's words, you don't care. You were in a feverish state.

Rafe does what you say. He turns and you uncap the marker, starting at the edge of his shoulder blades and begin writing down your proof. Your assignment requires you to prove an equation for being true, utilizing implicit differentiation, trigonometry identities and partial derivatives. You've been stuck on it for the past three days.

Now, it's coming in waves. Of course you would shift it around. Of course you would have to cut the variables in half and move them to the other side. Of course you would forgo the x for the z, and vice versa. Of course, of course, of course.

Rafe feels the tip of the marker moving against his skin quickly, in rapid succession, trying to get everything down. At the rate you're going, you could be smearing the answers across his back instead of getting to your solution.

When you finish, your hand aching from how fast you were going, his entire back is covered in mathematical symbols and equations. Your eyes check through your proof, descending down until you get to his waist, and clears it's correct. "Done."

Rafe turns back around, raising a brow.

"What did you just write?"

You beam in pride. "I just finished my homework."

"On my back?"

You laugh, your lips pulled together in a genuine smile. Something he's glad you're showing off, after seeing how stressed you were with figuring out the puzzle. He’s proud of you. "I told you you'll get it. My brothers call you Ace for a reason."

You roll your eyes at the nickname. Since Rafe goes off and always brags about how smart you are—how you are the first one in your class to raise your hand, how you graduated valedictorian from your high school, and how you've been on the Dean's List for the past two consecutive years—his fraternity brothers has declared you a clear winner. An Ace, if you will.

Rafe glances down at you, at your white lie written across your short top, and licks his bottom lip.

"What?" You ask.

"I find it unfair you get to write shit on me but I can't do the same."

"What do you want to do? Sign my tits?"

He gives you a look that says that isn't a bad idea and you roll your eyes at your boyfriend. Of course.

You uncap the marker, handing it to him. He takes it, leaning forward and tugging down your white top to reveal your bra and begins scribbling his signature across your breasts. You giggle at the sensation.

When he finishes, you glance down to see he did sign it. Alongside with another message.

Not Rafe Cameron's Property.

"God, you're a caveman," you declare with a laugh, knowing this follows along with the white lie protocol.

"And you're mine."

He throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. He doesn't even bother to throw his shirt back on; displaying the intelligence of your scribbles on his back in full glory.

"Now, let's rejoin the party and celebrate."

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vikwrites · 8 months ago

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Playboy - Tony Stark

Summary ➣ Tony Stark invites you into his Rolls Royce. Pairing ➣ Tony Stark x Reader Word Count ➣ 2.5k words Warnings ➣ 18+ / Car Sex / Power Imbalance / Age Gap. Author's Notes ➣ The first full Tony Stark oneshot! Comments are highly appreciated <3 Requests are also open!

You didn’t know exactly how you ended up here.

The events leading up to your current situation were a blur, like trying to see through thick fog.

Here you were, seated in the plush backseat of Tony Stark's lavish Rolls Royce Phantom. A variety of crystal glasses in all shapes and sizes were scattered haphazardly, some full, most empty. The rich aroma of Macallan 1926 filled the air. A bottle had been tipped on its side, its deep tones spilling onto the seat and seeping into a crevice of the leather, leaving behind a multitude of stains, You wonder how many times Tony had to pay someone to clean up these messes.

The past few hours were a hazy mix of neon lights and blaring speakers, the repercussions of Shoot to Thrill by AC/DC filling your ears.

Then you recalled that Tony had spotted you at Stark Expo, at the Arc Reactor exhibit, standing in front of the machine, mesmerized by the pulsing reactor and the hypnotic hum that filled the room.

Tony had made the first approach and talked to you for a while, although most of the conversation consisted of you awkwardly sucking up to him, while another part of you was afraid of saying something embarrassing or coming off as too eager.

You never thought you'd be graced with the opportunity to even be in the same room as Tony Stark, let alone talk to him face-to-face. But as the conversation went on, you felt more and more intimidated. You had always admired Tony and maybe even had a bit of a crush on him, but now that he was standing in front of you, you didn't know what to say or do.

However, when you were invited to his limousine, you couldn't resist. He had lured you in like a moth into flame.

The air was thick with tension, your fingers found themselves subconsciously fidgeting, you were sitting mere inches away from Tony after all; who was currently fiddling with a Cuban cigar. Your heart raced with a cocktail of excitement and fear - after all, this was the Tony Stark, one of the most influential figures in the world, and you were just a mere woman-in-the-street. This man probably had more money in his wallet than you’d ever have in your entire life.

Tony seemed to have picked up on your nervousness, reaching over to the mini-fridge and picking up another bottle of liquid courage. The cigar had found its way in his mouth, and is currently hanging from his lips.

“Mr Stark—” You stuttered, trying to reach for the rear-hinged doors of the car, “I’d think it would be best if I left, it’s getting late.”

“Relax, honey.” As Tony's hand unexpectedly settled on your wrist, pulling you back, the sudden weight caught you off guard. You couldn't help but flinch when you felt his fingers close around your wrist. His touch gentle yet assertive, a delicate balance that leaves you feeling conflicted. He takes another drag of the cigar.

Internally, you battled with conflicting emotions, but externally, you remained still as his hand steadily guided another crystal glass into your grasp, the weight of the cold drink dragging you back to reality. Initially you wanted to refuse, but you didn’t want to let Stark down, or seem ungrateful—downing the whiskey, you felt the liquid burn your throat.

His hand on yours caused a weighty pause in your conversation, Tony smirked, finding it amusing how tense he made you. Eventually, he breaks the silence by redirecting the conversation towards you. "So, tell me about yourself," he prompts, his tone casual and easy. Another cigar made its way into his mouth.

You took a moment to recollect your thoughts before answering. "I'm studying at MIT," you replied, "I'm pursuing my degree in Nuclear Engineering." As soon as the words leave your lips, you notice Stark raise an eyebrow in surprise, seemingly impressed by the mention of your alma mater.

Tony leans back in his seat and exclaims, "Impressive, I’m going to assume I’ve probably funded one of your projects, you’ve been to the September Foundation Grant presentation right?" He turns to look at you, as if trying to make a connection. You nod and continue to take small sips of your Macallan whiskey.

After a few more rounds, you found yourself becoming less tense around him.

“—and he’s now the forehead of security, get it?” Tony giggled, clapping his hands at his own joke, his laughter was infectious, and you found yourself laughing along with him, feeling a sense of camaraderie that you hadn't experienced in a long time. He takes another puff of the cigar, attempting to blow smoke rings but failing horrifically, the supposedly circular puffs of smoke coming out in flattened, unidentifiable shapes.

"Mr. Stark-" you began, but were quickly cut off by the man himself.

"Please, dear," Stark offered with a shake of his head, "just call me Tony."

You took a deep breath, trying to muster up courage (as much courage as you could get while being mildly to severely intoxicated, you couldn’t tell at this point), and corrected yourself. "Tony," you said firmly, hoping to sound more confident than you felt. "Why did you invite me here?" The question hung in the air amongst the clouds of smoke.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Tony raised an eyebrow, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “I think you’re cute.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his bold statement. Did Tony Stark really just say that to you?

“Fuck, Tony Stark thinks I’m cute, never expected that, ever.” But before you could fully process the unexpected compliment, another thought crossed your mind. “Looking past the obvious," you continued, "why isn’t there some Playboy supermodel in my position? Aren’t you just slumming it?”

“Your expectations of me are too high, darling,” Tony drawled, his voice dripping with charm and confidence. “Honestly, I’d call Playboy right now and make you a model right away. You’ve got the face for it,” he paused to rake his eyes over your body, biting his lip, “—and the bod.”

A rush of heat spread through your body at his words, igniting a spark of desire that you couldn't deny. The atmosphere became charged with tension, but this time, in a good way. The constant pet names and lingering gazes from Tony were stirring you up, and you could feel something else crackling in the air between you two.

You wouldn't say no to his advances, not when his gaze was so intense and his touch so electric. After all, who would say no to Tony Stark? His smooth words and charming smile were enough to make any woman weak at the knees, and you were no exception.

“I just think that you could do better.” You muttered, all the confidence draining from you the moment he tries to make a move, you cursed yourself for it.

“Quit being self conscious and just kiss me.” Tony's words were like a soothing balm to your inner turmoil, urging you to let go of your self-consciousness and just give in to the moment. As he leaned in, his lips met yours in a swift motion that caught you off guard.

Your hands instinctively found their way to his cheek, pulling him closer to you as you melted into his embrace. While his hands grabbed at your hair, caging you in between his body and the leather seat. The taste of his lips and the warmth of his body enveloped you, drowning out the nagging voice in your head reminding you of all the reasons why this could be a mistake. Tony moaned into your mouth, you took a mental recording of that, hoping to replay it in your head later.

In this moment, nothing else mattered except for the feel of his touch and the heat that pulsed between the two of you. You surrender yourself completely, allowing yourself to be swept away by his kiss.

The cigar was carelessly discarded from his trembling hands, the smoke swirling in lazy wisps around the ash urn. The taste of tobacco still lingered on his lips, a bittersweet reminder of his vice. Your senses were heightened as you pulled away from the kiss, your hair tousled and wild from the frenzied grabbing. The two of you shared round after round of kisses, each one more desperate and passionate than the last till Tony decided to go further.

Tony pushed you down onto the seat, his movements were rough and uncoordinated, but it only added to the thrill. Your body responded to his manhandling, and you could feel yourself getting turned on. You laid horizontally on the car's leather seats, taking in the sight of stars twinkling on the headlining, but your attention was quickly diverted as Tony's lips crashed onto yours once again.

"You look so good underneath me, baby." he whispered in that seductive low tone of his, his mouth mere millimetres from your ear. The warmth of his breath sent shivers down your spine and each vibration of his words seemed to make you even wetter.

Your breath hitched in surprise as Tony's hand traveled down to your core, his fingers grazing the hem of your dress and revealing more of your skin. You were startled by the sudden move but couldn't deny the heat that pooled between your legs. His touch was tentative, tracing circles over your clothed clit with a slow, teasing stroke. Your moans grew louder as he continued, each touch feeling foreign yet undeniably pleasurable.

"F—Fuck," you gasped as his piercing gaze met yours, those maroon eyes no longer their gentle brown hue.

"God, you're so wet for me," Tony's eyes locked onto yours as he brought his glistening finger to his mouth, savouring the taste with a low moan. Just the sight of it nearly sent you over the edge. "And you taste even better." Your eyes rolled back at his declaration, you’re so close and he hasn’t even started yet.

Your fingers trembled as they reached for the button of Tony's Tom-Ford dress pants, fumbling with it in a desperate frenzy. In this moment, your entire existence seemed to depend on getting his pants off and feeling his naked skin against yours. Tony's hands were still on your clit, his skilled fingers teasing you mercilessly.

You could barely focus on unbuttoning his pants as he brought you closer and closer to the edge with just two fingers, god he was good. Every touch from him felt like electricity pulsing through your body, igniting every nerve ending and making you forget everything else except for the pleasure he was giving you.

"Please, Tony," you pleaded, your voice breathless and desperate. Your body quivered as two fingers slipped into your slick pussy, the wet sounds echoing in the confined space of the car.

At first, Tony's movements were slow and deliberate, teasing and tempting every inch of your sensitive walls. But he knew how to push all your buttons and soon, you were clenching around his fingers, begging for more.

"I'm gonna come," you gasped out, feeling your orgasm building with each thrust of his fingers.

"Come for me, baby,” Tony growled lowly, his voice making you even more wet. "I wanna see you falling apart on just my fingers." And with those words, you unravelled in a mind-blowing climax, your body trembling and shaking against his skilled touch.

As you came down from your high, you felt a new sensation. You realized you had squirted all over the interior of the car, but at that moment, you didn't care. All that mattered was how good Tony made you feel.

You were dazed and lost in the haze of pleasure when you felt him shuffling over you. His pants were unbuttoned and his cock was in his hand, slowly stroking as he took in the sight before him: your flushed skin, your heaving chest, and the evidence of your pleasure coating the seat beneath you.

You let out a soft gasp as he playfully teases you, running his member along your slit. With regained control over your limbs, your hands find their way into his once-slicked back, now ruffled hair. Your legs lock behind his lower back, pulling him closer to you in an attempt to deepen the connection between you two.

His voice is low and husky as he groans, "Your tight pussy feels so good, darling." As he pushes into you, you feel a fullness that you've never experienced before. The initial sting of pain quickly gives way to a deep pleasure that radiates through your entire body.

"Fuck, I love you, Tony." The words escape your lips before you even have time to register them. The intensity of the moment sparking a declaration that surprises even yourself. But before you can worry about whether it was too soon or not, Tony returns the sentiment.

"Love you too, baby," he whispers as he bottoms out inside of you. You can feel every inch of him inside you, and the sensation causes you to writhe beneath him. His chest is pressed against yours, and you can feel his heart beating through the fabric of his suit that was yet to leave his figure, but you figured you’d see him without the suit another time.

“Fuck, gonna be a good girl and take my cum?” Tony's deep, ragged breaths spurred you on as his orgasm neared. You could feel your own climax building, your body shuddering in anticipation. Unable to form coherent sentences, you nodded in response.

Your back arched off the leather couch as you reached your peak, crying out in ecstasy as Tony's movements became even more frenzied. "Yes, gonna come so hard, Tony. Need you so bad." Your words were barely audible through your moans as he grunted and thrust into you one final time before the both of you came.

Breathless and spent, Tony's lips crashed down on yours once again.

The heat between your bodies was almost suffocating as you rode out your high. He remained inside you until he was soft, and when he finally pulled out, a trail of your arousal leaked onto the leather beneath you. A groan escaped him as he took in the sinful sight, but you were too lost in your pleasure-drunk haze to fully register it.

You're too spent to move, but from the hazy corner of your vision, you see him in front of a mirror slicking back his disheveled hair. Still dazed and caught up in the aftermath of your orgasm, it took you a while to gather yourself and get dressed. But as soon as you did, Tony turned to you with his trademark smirk.

"So, about that Playboy call?"

⎊ back to masterlist

#iron man #tony stark #mcu #rdj #robert downey jr #avengers #tony stark x reader #robert downey jr imagine #tony stark smut #marvel #rdj x reader #tony stark fluff #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark imagine #the avengers #robert downey jr fanfic #robert downey junior #robertdowneyjr #robert downey

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oukabarsburgblr · 7 months ago

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drabble...

FEATURING: AITO SOUSUKE (OC), DAISUKE YUICHI (OC) x male reader

After a particularly frustrating match, (m/n) sat on the bench, his head low and eyes furiously glaring at gym floor. Sousuke staring from a distance, his eyes wandered to his teammates before stepping over to his captain.

(m/n) was still fixated in his thoughts, emotions swirling behind those blank (e/c) and he was pulled back into reality seeing a pair of neon red gym shoes coming into his peripheral vision.

"…do you need something, Sousuke?"

"…"

Sousuke didnt say anything, his own hazel eyes still lingering on the mop of (h/c), more than a second before his hand reached out to lay on (m/n)'s head.

The (h/c)'s breath paused before he tried to look up but Sousuke's rigid hand pushed down, countering his movement. "It's okay." Sousuke whispered. "…you don't…" The ace tried saying something. Something comforting.

But Aito Sousuke was never good at words. He could only act. And he was frustrated at himself because right now maybe (m/n) needed words to soothe his storming thoughts. Daisuke was better at him than this. But he didn't care about Daisuke right now. He cared about (m/n).

(m/n) didnt say anything, opting to stare at the neon red that reflected off of the gym lights. His lips pressed into a tight line and a pathetic whimper escaped his throat.

His hands went to grip his own face, a brew of frustration came out from his chest in the form of angry tears as it slipped down on his lower lashes. "Fuck…" (m/n) cursed, not expecting his composure to crack.

Sousuke hands moved to rub (m/n)'s head, playing with his hair in an attempt to soothe the (h/c) as he moved closer to the captain, standing straight in front of the sitting former. "I…I'm sorry." He knew the (h/c) was embarassed to cry in front of people, always hiding away his feelings to his own, pummelling it all in his stomach like the world was disgused to see him cry. To see him feel like a normal human being.

Sousuke wouldn't. He would accept all the good and bad (m/n) had to offer. He thought his captain was beautiful in every way.

(m/n)'s hand went to grip the ace's jersey, his hand trembling as he leaned his head on Sousuke's torso, frustratingly wiping away more of his tears as more streaked down his (s/c) cheeks.

Sousuke's hand hesitated, but went forward anyways, rubbing the (h/c)'s back with minimal pressure. In an instant, (m/n) hugged the redhead with both of his hands, sobbing into the ace's jersey, wetting it more with his tears and sweat.

At this point, they had garnered looks. One of the juniors, Nakamura Jurou, staring at his captain with a pained expression. "(m/n)-san…" Sousuke didn't look back, caring and focusing on his beloved captain.

Haru stared at the two. His eyes wide as his lips trembled. He always knew there was something wrong. Something (m/n) wouldn't tell. They were such a close pair but (m/n) would shy away no matter how much he prodded.

Daisuke, the vice captain, stepped into the gym, his eyes fixated on the clipboard he went to retrieve. "(m/n)-!" He was about to call out for his captain but Haru stopped him. His own blue eyes gazed at Haru confused before he looked to where the middle blocker was looking.

A word didn't escape his lips. His eyes taking in the sight of his crush weeping in the arms of Sousuke, someone he hated but tolerated. He didn't hesitate to step forward, towards the pair as he kneeled beside the (h/c). Haru followed suit, his anxiousness escaping him as he offered a hand of comfort to his closest friends.

The juniors trickled in, asking questions of concern as they all attempted to soothe their beloved captain. The (h/c) only muttering apologies and hiccups while still harshly wiping away his tears.

Daisuke stopped his hand as he gently swiped his thumb on his puffy cheek. "We're here for you, (m/n)." The vice captain peered, in an attempt to look at his beloved's face and was met with bloodshot eyes with furrowing eyebrows. (m/n) only nodded as he pulled away from Sousuke's body as he groaned before he was bombarded by his teammates who was worried for their beloved captain, including Haru.

The ravenette turned his head to Sousuke, glaring at him. The latter locked eyes with a nonchalant stare. (m/n) who was still being comforted by his first years, rolled his eyes seeing the pair, wiping his wet cheeks.

[END SCENE]

Afterthoughts:

I made this a while back, before I made this account, before I wrote any of the ocs aus. I've been spiraling for the past few days and it felt right to post this. I have a lot of ideas for my fics, most of them I never got to finish and i'm sad about that. I think I'll just post the summary. Please take care of yourself and reach out to a close one for anything...

#oukabarsburg #aito sousuke #x male reader #male reader #oc x male reader #daisuke yuichi

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pandaluver · 2 years ago

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There are two things I loved about this bit of the episode.

I find Ace and Neon’s height difference adorable and love whenever it's shown.

How Neon subtly asked Ace if he was okay. (I was probably reading too much into it but whatever)

#kamen rider #kamen rider geats #kamen rider na go #ace ukiyo #ukiyo ace #neon kurama #kurama neon #ace x neon #neon x ace

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cyllres · 2 months ago

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𝖄𝖆𝖐𝖚𝖟𝖆 | Portgas D. Ace x Reader

Scenario: Y/n shouldn't have insisted on bringing her drunken regular back home, or maybe she should've. Modern AU. Pairing: Yakuza Ace x Reader Trigger warning: consent wasn't mentioned, dumb fucking (This was requested by a friend and I already forgot about one piece so the character might be ooc)

wrds: 3.6k

“Hey, are you sure you're alright?” you asked, leaning down as you brushed the man's black hair away from his face. His skin was cool to the touch, clammy from what seemed like hours of sitting in the booth, lost in whatever thoughts had been keeping him anchored there. Ace only grumbled something under his breath, too low for you to make out, before slowly pushing himself up from the booth, his body swaying slightly.

“Are ya’ closin’ up for the night, d’rling?” Ace slurred, his words thick with alcohol and exhaustion. His usual sharp features were softened under the dim diner lights, his bloodshot eyes barely staying open as he tried to focus on you. The man had been one of your regulars for the past week, always sitting in the same booth, always coming in just before closing. While it was strange for someone like him — with his tailored suits and the faint smell of expensive cologne clinging to him — to hang out in a place like this, you didn’t mind. The diner was old, its paint peeling and the neon sign outside flickering like it was about to give up any day now. Most of the clientele were rough around the edges, men who stumbled in drunk and greasy, coming back for the cheap food made out of who knows what.

But Ace was different.

Despite his disheveled appearance tonight, he was always polite. A gentleman, even. He never stared too long, never tried to get too familiar like the other patrons who sometimes forgot where the line was. Even in the diner’s crummy waitress uniform — a faded blue dress with a stained apron — you never felt uncomfortable around him. The others would have made some crude comment by now, especially on a slow night like this. But not Ace.

“You sure you can get home okay?” You asked again, glancing at the clock. The diner was about to close, the last of the other patrons already gone, leaving only you and Ace. The silence felt heavier now, only the low hum of the fridge and the distant buzz of the sign outside filling the space. You weren’t sure if you should offer to call him a cab or just let him stumble off on his own. Something in his expression told you he wasn’t used to being in this state.

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved his hand dismissively, though his movements were sluggish. “I’ll be fine.”

But you weren’t so sure.

You watched Ace as he tried to wave off your concern, but his hand was trembling, his face pale under the flickering lights. He was in no shape to be on his own tonight, and something about letting him stumble off into the dark streets felt wrong.

“You’re not fine, Ace,” you insisted, your voice soft but firm as you stood up straight, wiping your hands on your apron. “Come on, let me bring you home.”

Ace blinked at you, his bloodshot eyes struggling to focus. He chuckled, the sound rough and humorless. “Nah, can’t do that, d’rling,” he muttered, a lopsided grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Wouldn’t be… safe.”

You raised an eyebrow, confused. Safe? What did that even mean? Before you could ask, Ace pushed himself up too quickly, stumbling. He barely managed to catch himself on the edge of the table, his legs wobbling. You reached out instinctively to steady him, but before you could make contact, he lurched forward, and with no time to react, he vomited.

It hit both of you, splattering onto his expensive clothes and ruining your uniform. You froze for a moment, grimacing as the sour smell filled the air. Ace, on the other hand, groaned lowly before his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed against you, his dead weight almost knocking you over.

“Well shit,” you muttered, struggling to hold him upright. His body went limp, his head resting against your shoulder, completely passed out. His heavy breathing was the only sign he was still conscious enough to be alive.

“Great,” you sighed, looking down at the mess. But you couldn’t leave him here, not in this state.

With a grunt, you shifted his weight, wrapping one of his arms around your shoulder. You cursed under your breath. He was heavier than he looked, solid muscle hidden beneath his expensive suit, which now reeked of vomit.

“Looks like I’m bringing you home after all,” you muttered, half to yourself as you began the slow process of dragging him out of the booth. The diner was only a few blocks from your apartment, and at this hour, the streets were mostly empty. You doubted anyone would notice you lugging a passed-out man down the street, and if they did, they wouldn’t ask questions.

It took longer than you would have liked, but eventually, you managed to get Ace out of the diner and into the cool night air. The neon sign buzzed above you as you glanced up and down the empty street, making sure no one was around. With a deep breath, you started the walk toward your apartment.

By the time you reached your building, your back was aching, and your clothes smelled even worse. Ace was still out cold, slumped against you with no sign of waking up. You fumbled with your keys, managing to unlock the door, and half-dragged him inside.

Your apartment was small but tidy, a far cry from the mess both of you had become. You led him to the couch, gently easing him down so he wouldn’t fall. For a moment, you stood there, catching your breath and wiping your forehead with the back of your hand.

Ace’s suit was ruined, his shirt stained and wrinkled. You stared for a moment longer before sighing. This was not how you imagined your night ending.

With a resigned shrug, you grabbed a towel and some water, then set to work cleaning up the both of you, starting with him. As you wiped his face and tried to salvage what you could of his clothes, you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly you had gotten yourself into.

“I can't let you sleep in this. And you'll stain my couch,” you murmured as you gently unbuttoned his shirt. The fabric was damp from sweat and spilled alcohol, and you were careful not to disturb him too much. But as you pulled the shirt open, your breath caught in your throat, and your fingers froze mid-motion. Your frown deepened, heart skipping a beat as your eyes landed on the elaborate tattoos etched into his skin.

You had seen these kinds of markings before—the intricate, swirling designs that stretched across his chest and down his arms, framing his lean, muscled body. A Yakuza member. No, not just any Yakuza member. These were the markings of someone high up, someone dangerous. Your gaze followed the ink, a mixture of mythological beasts, waves, and flames, each curve and line telling a story of power, violence, and loyalty to a world you were never meant to be a part of. The sight of it brought a chill that crawled up your spine and settled deep into your bones.

The tattoos peeked out from beneath his open shirt, winding down his torso and wrapping around his biceps like chains. The thought of what it meant—what he had done to earn those markings—sent your mind racing. You quickly grabbed a towel, your hands trembling as you dabbed at the vomit on his skin, your eyes refusing to linger on the ink any longer than necessary. Each second felt like an eternity as you fought back the growing unease swirling in your gut.

Your decision to button his shirt back up was quick, your fingers fumbling slightly as you tried to erase what you’d seen—pretend it was never there. But before you could finish, a strong hand clamped around your wrist, startling you. You looked up sharply, only to meet Ace's half-lidded gaze, his grip firm but not painful.

"You shouldn't have to, really," he slurred, his voice heavy with sleep and intoxication, yet there was a flicker of awareness in his dark eyes. He lifted your hand to his lips, brushing them softly against your knuckles. "But sweet ol' Y/n... can't just leave her grown-ass regular out in the cold, huh?"

Your breath hitched. His words, though laced with drunken humor, felt heavier now. Did he know you had seen them? The tattoos, the truth beneath his charming, reckless exterior? A part of you wanted to pull away, to retreat, but something in his eyes stopped you. They weren’t the eyes of a dangerous Yakuza right now. They were tired. Guarded.

But still, the weight of what you had uncovered tonight lingered between you like a shadow you couldn’t shake, suffocating the air around you. Your heart pounded, each beat reverberating in your chest as you struggled to process what you had seen and what it meant. Ace’s grip on your wrist tightened slightly, but it was his gaze—sharp despite his drunkenness—that held you captive, making it impossible to look away.

"I—I won't tell anyone, Ace. I promise," you stammered, your voice shaky. The words felt fragile as they left your lips, like glass on the verge of shattering. Your breath hitched, caught somewhere in your throat, and you could feel the weight of the room pressing down on you, thick with tension.

Ace's smile was slow, deliberate, and chillingly calm. “Really?” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. His eyes glinted with something darker, something you hadn’t noticed before—control. "The consequences of knowing the face of a higher-up Yakuza are very, very heavy." The words dripped from his mouth like honey, sweet but laced with venom. He leaned in closer, so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over your skin, making your pulse quicken. "What can you give to make sure that promise would be a promise? A concrete, tangible symbol?"

Your mind raced, but the moment felt too heavy for you to think clearly. The space between you and Ace seemed to collapse as his presence filled every inch of the room. His dark eyes bored into yours, seeking something more than just your words. A concrete, tangible symbol. What did he mean? Your stomach twisted in knots, but the answer slipped from your lips before you could even think.

"Anything." The word hung in the air, sharp and immediate, like the crack of a whip. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing—just the raw, desperate need to make sure this secret stayed buried. His smile widened, not with kindness, but with the satisfaction of someone who knew they had the upper hand.

"Anything," he echoed softly, almost as if tasting the weight of your agreement. His fingers brushed against your jaw, his touch unnervingly tender for the threat that lingered beneath it. "You should be careful with that word, Y/n. In my world, 'anything' can mean a lot of things. Things you might not be ready to give."

Your heart pounded harder, blood rushing in your ears as you held his gaze, unsure of what you had just agreed to.

“Ace.” You whined as you felt his tongue graze on your clit. The bathroom was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from the steam that rose from the shower. The cool tiles beneath your feet were slick with water, and the air was thick with the scent of soap and your arousal. Ace's head was nestled between your thighs, his hair damp and clinging to his forehead. The sound of water cascading down from the showerhead mixed with the wet slurping noises he made as he continued to tease your clit.

You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms, as he increased the intensity of his licks. His fingers, strong and calloused, dug into your flesh, urging your legs further apart. The sensation of his teeth lightly grazing your sensitive nub made you jerk and a whimper escaped your lips, mingling with the sound of the shower.

The sensation of his teeth lightly grazing your sensitive nub made you jerk and a whimper escaped your lips, mingling with the sound of the shower.

Ace's hands, still wet from the shower, moved up your inner thighs, the water trails leaving goosebumps in their wake. He cupped your breasts, his thumbs finding your erect nipples, and he rolled them between his fingers. The contrast between the cold water and the warmth of Ace's hands sent shivers down your spine.

Your back arched involuntarily as he continued to tease your clit with his tongue, the pressure building inside you. Ace's breath against your skin was hot and moist, the contrast with the cool tiles beneath you only serving to heighten your arousal. As his fingers continued to play with your nipples, you could feel the wetness between your legs growing. The anticipation was almost unbearable, and you could feel your body tensing. Ace's tongue, skilled and relentless, continued to dance around your clit, each flick and lick bringing you closer to the edge.

You could feel the muscles in your stomach tighten, and your breaths came in short, sharp gasps. The cold water continued to fall, oblivious to the intensity of the scene playing out beneath its cascade. Ace's grip on your thighs tightened, and he moved his head closer, burying his face between your legs.

The combination of his tongue, teeth, and fingers working in perfect harmony left you breathless, your body trembling with the force of the impending climax. Your eyes rolled back in your head, and you cried out, your voice echoing faintly in the steam-filled room.

"Did my d’rling cum?" he whispered, his voice a low, sultry rumble that sent shivers down your spine. You felt your cheeks flush with heat, trying to look away, but he wouldn't have it. He gripped your face firmly, pulling it towards him for a searing, possessive kiss.

"It's not fair," he teased, the playful note in his voice. He lifted you effortlessly from your feet, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. You clung to him, still feeling the lingering aftershocks of your climax.

Ace turned off the shower, the sudden absence of the water's roar leaving the bathroom quiet. He carried you out of the bathroom, your skin slick and cold against his, and made his way to your bedroom. The journey felt like an eternity, the anticipation of what was to come building with each step.

Once in your bedroom, he laid you gently on the bed, your skin leaving wet trails on the sheets. The hunger in his gaze was evident, as he hovered over you. His lips found yours once more, the kiss fervent and hungry, as if he needed your taste to survive. His hands roamed over your body, teasing your nipples, and tracing the outline of your hips. The sensation of his calloused fingers on your wet skin sent shivers down your spine.

You arched into him, your body begging for more. Ace, in response, placed your legs around his hips, pressing you into a mating press. He positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his erection nudging at your slick folds.

You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the scent of sex and desire filling the room. Your heart raced, the anticipation of being filled by him making your breath hitch. Ace's eyes locked with yours, the intensity of the gaze making your core clench in need.

With slow, deliberate movements, he pushed inside you, inch by torturous inch. The sensation of being filled was overwhelming, the pressure building with each thrust. A low, guttural moan escaped your lips, and your back arched, encouraging him to take you deeper.

"Fuck," he murmured, the word a breathy exhale as he continued to push in. The lust in his eyes was undeniable, the desire to claim you overwhelming. Ace wanted to take you roughly, to chase his own high, but the need to hear your whimpers and moans was stronger.

He paused, his hips nestled against yours, his eyes never leaving yours. The room was filled with the sound of your ragged breathing, the heavy thudding of your hearts, and the wet, intimate slap of skin against skin.

Ace began to move, slowly at first, drawing out your pleasure. Each thrust was deliberate, a dance of control and desire. You clung to him, your nails digging into his back as he set a rhythm that left you breathless.

His hips moved in a steady, unyielding rhythm, and the pace gradually increased. You moaned his name, the sound guttural and filled with need. Your hands found their way to his head, hugging him, gripping him tightly as if to anchor yourself to the world.

The way he pressed into you, the relentless, unyielding pace, was intoxicating. It left you breathless, your mind fogging as your body responded to his every thrust. The words "slow down" formed on your lips, but they emerged as a garbled mess. Speaking seemed a distant, unattainable luxury as your body focused solely on the sensations coursing through you.

Ace's eyes locked with yours, the intensity in his gaze making it impossible to look away. The sight of him, the feeling of him, was overwhelming. Your body arched, a silent plea for more, for him to not stop, to take you to the edge.

The room was filled with the sound of your moans, the slap of skin against skin, and the rhythmic creak of the bed .

As the intensity of the moment grew, so did the pleasure building within you. Your body tightened, the muscles in your stomach clenching in anticipation. Your breaths came in ragged, shallow gasps, and you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

Ace continued to thrust into you, his pace unrelenting, his eyes locked onto yours. The room was filled with the raw, primal sounds of sex. The bed creaked beneath the force of your fucking, the rhythmic sound to the intensity of the moment.

You clung to him, your nails digging into his back, leaving faint red marks. The sensation of his body against yours, the way he filled you completely, was all-consuming. Your mind was a haze of lust and desire, the world outside your bedroom fading into insignificance.

The pleasure coiled tighter, the edge of release within your grasp. Your body trembled, and you could feel the telltale signs of your impending climax. Your breath hitched, and you cried out, your voice a high-pitched, desperate plea.

Ace's thrusts grew more intense, his body tensing as he felt your body preparing for its release. The sight of you, so vulnerable and needy, was almost his undoing. His pace faltered for a moment, and then he began to thrust with a newfound urgency, as if to push you both over the edge.

The room was filled with the sound of your moans, the wet, intimate slap of skin against skin, and the creaking of the bed. The scent of sex and sweat hung heavy in the air, and the atmosphere was electric with the raw, unbridled passion between the two of you.

Your body convulsed, the release you'd been waiting for washing over you in a tidal wave of ecstasy. You cried out, your voice high and breathless, as the pleasure coursed through you. Your inner muscles clenched around Ace, milking him as you rode out the climax.

Ace's eyes rolled back in his head, his body rigid with the force of your orgasm. The sight of you, your body writhing beneath him, was his undoing. With a guttural groan, he thrust deep inside you one last time, filling you with his cum.

Your body quivered as he continued to pulse within you, the aftershocks of your climax merging with the rhythmic contractions of his release. The two of you lay entwined, your breaths heavy and labored, as the last remnants of your passion ebbed away.

Ace collapsed onto your chest, his forehead resting against your chest, his body still trembling from the intensity of the moment. The room was filled with the soft sounds of your heartbeats, the slowing of your breaths, and the occasional twitch from your spent bodies. In a haze of post-coital exhaustion, Ace pulled both of you up, too tired to even know what he was about to do. You clung to him, your body still buzzing with the afterglow of your shared pleasure. He positioned both of you so that you lay on top of him, his now softening cock nestled deep inside you. The sensation sent a soft whine escaping your lips, your bodies were still attuned to one another.

“Let's just talk about this tomorrow d’rling,” Ace murmured, his voice heavy with contentment and exhaustion. He patted your still damp hair, the gesture tender and affectionate. “For now, just sleep.”

You snuggled closer to him, the warmth of his body and the feeling of being cradled in his arms lulling you into a peaceful slumber. The room around you faded into the background, replaced by the comforting rhythm of your heartbeats as you both drifted off to sleep

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#reader insert #smut imagine #smut #smut requests #portgas d ace #one piece #yakuza #yakuza x reader #portgas ace x reader #portgas ace x you #portgas ace smut #mating press #creamp!e

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bratdotcom · 3 months ago

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Froyo to Go !

( Stan Pines x reader || taking Dipper and Mabel to get froyo )

You try to hide the smile on your face as you look out the window at the passing scenery. It was a slow day at the Mystery Shack. Stan decided to be nice and take you and the twins out to beat the heat with froyo because the freezer broke.

You look at the twins in the rear view mirror. Mabel was absolutely over the moon, talking almost everyone's ear off about which flavor she was going to get with corresponding toppings while Dipper seemed to be talking to himself on how to get the most frozen yogurt without overfilling it to the brim.

Stan pulls El Diablo into the parking lot.You gaze up at the giant, visibly sun-bleached cup of froyo in a perpetual spinning motion on top of the shop's roof as the car roars to a stop. You can hear Mabel gasp in awe as she spots the giant spinning froyo cup from the passenger's seat. Unsurprisingly, because of the heat, there was a small line forming right outside the door.

You all collectively step out of the car, Dipper retches, clutching his mouth. He must've gotten carsick from reading while Stan was driving. Mabel rushes to grab onto the man's arm. He smiles playfully at her when he raises his bicep up to carry her a couple inches off of the ground. You knew he'd probably complain about the joint pain later, but it was worth it to see Mabel smile. "Twenty dollars's all I got. Take it or leave it." Stan holds up a crisp, twenty dollar bill in between his fingers like a playing card as he speaks to his great niece, lowering her back onto the ground as you all group into the line.

"You really give it your all for those kids." you say quietly to him, cocking your head to the side slightly as you speak into his ear. You both watch as they play fight each other, Dipper flips his sister's hair over her back to cover her face as some sort of way to block her punches. "Our kids." he corrects, holding you close by hooking his arm around your waist.

You stumble against him at the sudden pull, making him chuckle to himself. "But you ain't wrong about what you said." he adds, adjusting his glasses against the bridge of his nose. His eyes seemed to soften as the glare of the sun reflected off of the lenses of his glasses.

"Remember when you made me pour all my beer cans out back?" he asks, already knowing the answer to his question. "Yes, I remember it clearly, Stanley." you reply softly, poking his beer gut. "You probably got a soda gut now, huh? Mr.Pitt soda Pines."

Stanley snorts to himself, playfully slapping your wrist away, which makes you laugh as well. "Will you two hurry up?" Dipper's voice cracks slightly as he calls out for the two of you. "The line's already moving, c'mon, people!" He says, as if he was the one who drove the car all the way here.

"You got two senior citizens breakin' their backs for ya, kid. Don't try your luck." Stan says as he holds you close to him, making you move forward as he does the same to catch up with the kids.

You're hit with the cold air of an AC above your head as you go inside. The amount of neon colors used to decorate the frozen dessert shop hurt your eyes badly.

Stan pats the small of your back, letting go of your waist. "Make sure they don't go crazy or somethin'. I'll find us a seat." He says gruffly, allowing you to follow and watch over the twins.

Stanley clutches his hip as he sits down with a sigh.

He leans his weight against the table, with a perched elbow he watches as you talk to the kids, making sure neither of them felt left out as you helped them pick out froyo flavors and toppings.

"Grunkle Stan!" The twins say in unison, Mabel turns around to look for the man himself. With a small heave, he uses the table for support to lift himself back onto his feet.

"Alright, alright. You don't need to holler to get me, y'know. I'm not that old." Stan says, making you stifle a laugh. He pulls out his wallet, handing a twenty dollar bill to the cashier.

"Uhm, sir," the cashier's strained voice makes his words somewhat hard to hear for both you and Stan's ears. "You're one dollar off." He says, pointing at the customer display, which showed that he owed exactly twenty-one dollars. Which he did not have.

Stan gives you the look that you were oh-so-familiar with. "Listen here, kid." He leans the side of his arm against the counter.

Stan was trying to impress you. As if he hadn't won you over for almost a decade.

"How about I give you a couple of Mystery Bucks? Get ya a couple dollars off whatever you buy from the Mystery Shack. How's that sound?" He does his signature smile, pointing a finger gun at the cashier.

Judging by the cashier's almost dead-eyed stare, he wasn't buying it. "...do you have the dollar or not?" He asks, waiting for Stan's answer.

"No. I don't." Stan's smile never falters as he speaks. Oh. You knew where this was going now.

Subtly, you grab a couple of spoons from the cup near the register. You stuff them into your pocket as you slowly drag the cups of froyo off of the weighing scale. You could tell which cup belonged to who, by the weight of each cup alone.

Stan slaps a couple of coupons onto the counter. "Go! Go! Go!" He quickly says, bolting for the door.

He holds the door long enough for the three of you to run out as well. Stan slides over the hood of his car, hurriedly opening the driver's side and jingling his keys into the ignition.

He pops the passenger’s side door open from the inside, letting you in. Mabel, followed by Dipper, jumps into the back seat with a bounce.

Dipper is completely out of breath as the car screeches out of the froyo shop parking lot. He murmurs a breathless thank you when you hand him his cup.

You weren't even surprised to see Mabel not affected in the slightest as you passed the girl her froyo cup. You had to use two hands to give it to her. She gives you an enthusiastic grin and a thank you as well. She buckles her brother's seatbelt on as he catches his breath.

As the car stops at a red light, Stan slouches forward in the driver's seat. "I think I'm gonna be bedridden for a couple of days." Stan says, rubbing his back with a groan. You rub his back with a chuckle as he begins the drive back home.

#♡ ⊹ ۫ ۪ ꒰͡₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎ reblogs n' feedback r greatly appreciated !! support ur local fanfic writers !! ♡ ͡꒱#♡ : stanley pines hearts club !!#︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧ ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿#stan pines x reader #stan pines x you #stanley pines x reader #stanley pines x you #gravity falls x reader #gravity falls x you #gravity falls fanfiction #gravity falls fluff

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dilatorywriting · 2 years ago

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Pity Party

Gender Neutral Reader x Malleus Draconia Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: 'I'm going to do it,' you thought triumphantly. 'I'm going to invite Malleus Draconia to the next Unbirthday Party as my date.' And naturally, the Universe in all its infinite omnipotence, went 'lol bet.'

A/N: A very fun commission for the lovely @toast-tales

“Heartslaybul is having another one of their Unbirthday Parties this Friday,” you said, a bit stilted but enthusiastic nevertheless. “And I was thinking—well, it was just a thought! But! Maybe it’d be nice if we, y’know, went together?” You finished, looking up from beneath your lashes at the looming figure before you.

The Gargoyle, naturally, did not respond. A sound rejection if ever there was one.

But! That attempt had sounded really good, hadn’t it? Totally natural and everything! Not a single stutter, fainting episode, or bought of nervous vomiting to be seen!

“Okay,” you muttered, pacing back and forth as you diligently fought the urge to ring your hands. “Okay, okay, okay. I can do this. It’s just, like, two sentences—Three? Was that three?—Doesn’t matter! Focus! It’s not that hard!”

You circled and circled around the alcove. It was a familiar little corner, for all that you’d only ever seen it in the dark of the evening. This was where you’d meet up with Malleus for your nighttime rendezvous. Normally you didn’t bother popping by for at least another hour, but you needed all the practice you could get. And while, yes, the stone carvings overhead were hardly the best conversational partners, it was easier to practice your totally smooth pickup skills on their emotionless faces than, like, Grim. Or God forbid, Ace and Deuce.

It was only Malleus, you reassured yourself yet again—your kindly, awkward, fey friend with the social awareness of a two-centuries-old potato. It was one thing to know, or at least assume, that he’d be sweet enough to take your offer in stride. It was another entirely to imagine the Briar Prince’s blank ass face saying something genuinely well-intentioned but harsh like ‘that doesn’t sound like a particularly riveting way to spend my afternoon,’ and immediately crushing your soul into itty bitty bite-sized pieces. It was an all too easy scene to picture, as you’d done at least a hundred times since your heart had set itself on its intentions.

You just—maybe just a bit more time. Yes. One more round of practice (perhaps two), and then you’d be ready. Like the Overblots, or whatever. Those hardly phased you at all anymore! It only took repetitive, mind rending, exposure therapy. That would do it. You just needed the teeniest bit more time to—

“Ah—Child of Man. I wasn’t expecting to see you here so earl—”

You jolted back with a truly heinous squawk and wheeled gracelessly into the stone pillar at your rear. You weren’t exactly a force of nature or anything, but the column hadn’t looked all that stable to begin with. So your frantic flailing took its toll, and the great, rock, beam creaked and fell. The Gargoyle perched atop it (the very one you’d been propositioning for the past half hour or so) crashed to the ground with an echoing BOOM and a cloud of debris fit to choke an elephant.

The poor thing lay in the dirt in pieces, its regal countenance split right down the middle. And Malleus Draconia, noted aficionado of all things carved from stone, looked two steps away from having an actual aneurism. So you hurriedly buried your invitation back in the depths of your brain and quickly went about carrying out the inanimate-object-equivalent of CPR.

“I think I have some super glue back in Ramshackle,” you offered. Even though you knew well enough that he could probably wave his hand and undo the entire thing. But it was the thought that counted, right?

“Supered Glue?” Malleus parroted, his neon eyes darting back and forth between you and the shattered gargoyle like you’d just offered him some mystical panacea. You nodded along and scuttled off in the direction of your dilapidated dorm.

‘Tomorrow,’ you promised yourself, as you rifled through your miscellaneous utilities drawer, tossing around rolls of tape and wads of too-thin elastic bands. ‘Tomorrow I’ll ask him.’

The next morning, you sat in Potion’s Class with the tacky remnants of last night’s nonsense dried along your fingertips. You sneezed and something ground unpleasantly behind your ear. You reached up to pluck a stray bit of gravel from your hair and flicked it aside.

Normally you tried to give Crewel’s lectures the entirety of your focus, primarily because you respected the man and wanted him to like you. And also, y’know, from the very rational standpoint of not wanting to lose your eyebrows or dignity when an incorrectly brewed potion exploded in your face. But today you were stuck in the clouds, replaying scenario after scenario and wondering what your next step in the whole ‘Ask The Crowned Prince of An Entire Nation Out to Lunch’ situation should be.

Your neck was itching again, and you scrubbed around mindlessly before pulling out another bit of gargoyle debris and tossing it. It bounced harmlessly off Jack’s shoulder.

“Did you get all that?” Your beastman friend asked, beginning the tedious process of organizing your group workstation for the day.

“Oh? Yes. Of course,” you nodded, not having heard a single word of what was going on. You grabbed your little instructions pamphlet for the day and made your way towards your own stool.

Jack turned and narrowed his yellow eyes at you in a way that clearly let you know that that superhuman schnoz of his had sniffed out your bullshit a mile away, but you generally had a better track record than the rest of the first years, so thankfully he let it slide.

Without further ado, you went about heating, and mixing, and tempering. And by the end, the pair of you had a lovely, silver, concoction that popped and fizzled like cola. Professor Crewel paused in his rounds of the rows to stare into your cauldron with an impassive sort of look that could have meant anything from ‘Content’ to ‘Outright Murder.’ Your eyes hastily flickered around the room, but everyone else’s potions looked liked Mercury Sprite too, so you couldn’t have been in too much trouble. You dipped the testing spoon into one of the bubbliest bits and brought it to your mouth to take a teeny sip. It tasted alright, and you smacked your lips as you tried to identify the flavor.

“Well?” The professor droned, crossing his arms over his chest in a fashion that looked entirely unimpressed. “How is it?”

You opened your mouth to reply and nothing came out but static. Literal static. Like you were some overloaded, old, plug—spitting sparks and whiny, high-pitched, nonsense that was most definitely an indication of some sort of fire risk.

Crewel hummed in that self-satisfied sort of way of his—the sort that was only mastered by those who were in the habit of being proven right during every, single, catastrophe.

“The Tickled Tongue recipe is fairly straightforward, you see,” he explained, stepping closer with a languid swishswish of his large overcoat. “It’s difficult to alter without any remarkable change or err. However,” he droned, “it is incredibly similar to the Stone Tongued Elixir. Do you know what the one, unique, ingredient in that brew is in comparison to our assigned project today, Prefect?”

You sighed fuzz.

“Stone,” he said, reaching out to pluck another bit of gravel from your hair.

Crewel brushed his hands against his vest and you debated if it’d be worth it to try jumping out of the window and escape while you still had at least some face.

“I’ve been kind enough to look the other way when you break curfew so that you may continue your… nightly excursions with a certain upperclassman,” he droned, and that open window was looking even more tempting. “But please at least give me the courtesy of cleaning up the evidence before attending my class in the mornings, yes?”

“Yes, sir,” you tried to say, but it just sounded like a busted landline.

“Hello, Child of Man,” Malleus beamed, his lips curling pleasantly at the corners. His usual trio were flanking his hind, all watching with varying degrees of interest that ranged from sharp curiosity (Lilia) to outright hostility (Sebek). “Would you care to accompany me for lunch?”

You opened your mouth and all that came out was the fucking AOL dial tone.

Lilia doubled over laughing and Malleus tilted his head at you like a dog listening to a whistle tone.

“Pardon?” He blinked.

“BZZZZZZ,” you said, miserable, and Lilia just laughed harder.

‘Two days left,’ you reminded yourself miserably. You had just under forty-eight wretched hours to not only complete your initial Date Objective, but also somehow do that whole thing while making up for the ego-crushing failures of your first two failures.

There was a Spelldrive match after classes today—another attempt for Leona to try and get one up on Malleus’s ‘Hall of Fame Worthy’ record before the pair of them aged out of the competition. And maybe that would be perfect! That was always sort of a Thing in teen movies, right? The big, heart wrenching, confession delivered on the field of whatever sport was in season. The fated couple lit all prettily beneath the glaring overhead lights and artfully drenched in a very timely shower of rain. This whole situation was practically writing itself.

So you tucked yourself into a warm, cozy, sweater fit for the breezy day and inevitable aesthetic downpour, and went to sit out in the stands. Which was your first mistake, because the match was being held on Savanaclaw’s practice field. So immediately you could feel sweat pooling along your lower back and along your brow as the magical, overhead, sunshine did its best to seer the flesh right off your bones. Malleus moved to step out onto the field and you went to wave at him enthusiastically, only to catch sight of the giant pit stains steeped into your stupid sweater. The dark spots opened up like the gaping maw on a beast, determined to derive its entire sustenance from your embarrassment alone. You clamped your arms back down to your sides and immediately began questioning the universe at large. Were you a murderer in a past life? Someone who scammed old ladies out of their pensions? What other reason could there be for the entire fucking cosmos to just perpetually go ‘hey, how about we make things worse.’

The game was probably going well or something, but you were swimming in so much swampy body heat at this point that you were starting to get dizzy.

With a sigh, you pulled the cute, wool, deathtrap over your head and tossed it aside—ruffling your sweat sticky hair for good measure to try and get some airflow going. It wasn’t the most dignified look or whatever, sitting there in only the thin cotton undershirt of your uniform and half drowned in your own secretions, but at least you weren’t in imminent danger of dying of heat stroke anymore. You leaned back on your elbows with another much more contented sigh and gave yourself a moment to let the last of that hot nausea settle.

“Oi! You horned bastard! Watch where you’re—”

There was a swirl of spitting green sparks and you looked back out onto the field just in time to get absolutely decimated by a Spelldrive disc to the face.

“He really didn’t mean it,” Lilia said, but he was laughing so hard into his fist that it was hard to make out anything beyond merry gurgling. “In fact, he’s really very upset about the whole thing.”

You stared blankly at the off-white walls of the infirmary, wondering how it was possible for one person’s luck to be this bad.

“Where is he?” you asked. Your tongue felt thick and sluggish.

“I don’t think he would appreciate me saying that he was off hiding—pouting, even,” the fey tutted, floating up to sit cross-legged at your eyelevel. “But I don’t believe there’s a much more accurate way of putting it.”

“Why would he be hiding?” you trudged forward again, mouth still entirely uncooperative. “I wanted to ask him something,” you admitted, chronically dejected and acutely brain damaged.

“Did you now?” Lilia grinned, something mischievous and far too knowing lighting his wine-red eyes.

You nodded. You could feel the tug of the bandages around your forehead.

“Well, I’ll ask that you be patient with him,” he sighed fondly, reaching out to pat your cheek. “For all his years, our Prince is still a bit stunted.”

“Oh, please! He’s six and a half feet tall!” you complained.

Lilia laughed again, doubling over in the air and doing a full roll about—like a pill bug.

“Oh, dear,” he snickered, wiping a tear from his eye as he straightened back out to lounge upside down by one of the rafters. “You do deserve each other.”

This was it. The final countdown. Friday.

The Unbirthday Party was this afternoon, and with God and the Heavens as your witness, you would be dragging Malleus Draconia there with you if it was the last thing you did.

‘The hardest part is supposed to be the rejection,’ you thought bitterly. ‘Not that crap leading up to it. This is bullshit. I want a refund.’

But no, if the Universe was going to be so cruel to you, then you were just going to have to be needlessly paranoid and prepared in advance. You set aside two spare sets of clothing and an umbrella. You packed an entire feast’s worth of provisions in case a fucking hole decided to open up in the ground or something and trap you in a cave for a week. You scribbled a little ‘Would you please go with me to the Unbirthday Party today’ on not one, or two, but three separate notes. Each in a different pocket. And laminated. And, perhaps most daring of all, you walked up to Ace and Deuce that morning with a stiff upper lip and an even stiffer spine.

“I’m going to ask Tsunotarou to come to the Unbirthday Party today,” you told them, fighting the urge to twist your hands into your jacket sleeves.

“What?” Ace choked, just as Deuce stepped in to clobber him over the back of the head and tell you very sweetly that he was sure that the House Warden would appreciate that very much.

“You must like him a lot,” your blue haired friend said, polite but clearly also at least a little unnerved.

“Yeah,” you sighed miserably, thinking of each and every horrible failure as the world at large fought your stupid affections at every turn. “I guess I do.”

So you went about your day like a soldier trudging through a warzone—always at the ready for something unknowable to fuck you over yet again. You looked twice around every corner, always let someone else walk through a doorway first, immediately spritzed Azul in the face with a spray bottle when he tried to start a conversation. It wasn’t paranoia when you knew the universe was out to get you.

The school day was coming to an end and so far you’d managed to avoid any catastrophes. When you caught sight Malleus off in the distance, you had to fight down the sudden swell of dueling panic and hope that blocked off your throat. You made eye contact with the fey prince from across the near empty corridor and he seemed to straighten. You took a deep breath and took one step forward, then another.

“Tsunotarou!” you called cheerfully. “I was wondering if you—”

“FIRE!” Crowley wailed, careening around the corner with all the urgency of someone who very much genuinely cared about the safety of their school and all its inhabitants. Which was outright ridiculous. His glowing, golden, eyes locked on you like you’d been the target of this caterwauling all along, and you wanted to scream. “Ah! My most darling and favorite of Prefects! You have to help! There’s a fire in—”

“No,” you snarled, like some great monster of old. And you watched the Headmaster pale beneath his bird mask. You reached out to pat his shoulder with a pleasantly threatening thump. thump. thump. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to sort it out on your own, sir. Have a lovely afternoon!”

And before you could chicken out, or something else could happen—like a tornado ripping the entire school up at its base and flinging you into Oz—you rushed forward and latched onto Malleus’s sleeve with a wide, panicked, sort of look in your eyes. Hisown eyes went round and wide, but he didn’t pull away, so step one complete.

“Please come to Heartslaybul’s Unbirthday Party with me!” You entreated. “As my date! With me! Together!” you word vomited, clutching at his sleeve even tighter.

“Oh,” Malleus breathed—those sharp, reptilian, pupils of his jumping into something soft and huge that swallowed the green of his irises in a sea of black. A pale, rose, pink crept along the tips of his pointed ears and you could feel your own cheeks blazing like a bonfire.

“Yup,” you nodded lamely, realizing you were still clutching his hand like a starving leper.

“Lilia had mentioned that you might…” he trailed off, gaze sliding to your fingers tangled beside his. “I hadn’t thought that—well…” He cleared his throat and stood to his full height with a puff that almost looked prideful. “Nevertheless,” he grinned, almost shy, and offered you his arm. “Shall we?”

You were going to die. Keel over. That would be the cosmos’s final strike against you. But though your heart beat like a rapid drum in your chest, you didn’t actually collapse in cardiac arrest. Your blood felt warm, but not with fever. It was… You’d actually done it!

You fought the urge to squeal and instead ducked excitedly against Malleus’s side with a secret little fist bump. His arm wound snuggly through yours and you were still too high on the thrill of victory to even consider being embarrassed about it.

“It may surprise you to know,” he said as you walked together towards the Queen of Heart’s Dormitory. “That I actually was attempting to ask something similar of you for this past week as well.”

“Really?” you gaped.

He nodded. “But it seemed as though fate itself was conspiring against me. The first evening went poorly, and then the next day you’d been cursed into silence. And you even ended up injured during one of my attempts.”

“The Spelldrive disc?” you blinked.

“Unfortunately,” Malleus sighed, leading you towards the familiar rose gardens. Which were lovely as always, and perfectly well painted for the afternoon’s festivities, and—

And… also on fire.

“Well what do you know…” you mumbled as you watched a furious Riddle chase a screeching Ace through the flaming fields. Trey had his head in his hands. Cater was filming the whole thing with an artful smear of ash drawn across his cheek.

Malleus made a low rumble of discontentment and you immediately swung the pair of you around to start heading back towards the Mirror Chamber.

“Not to worry!” you beamed, pointedly jostling the full picnic lunch in your bag. Sure, it hadn’t ended up being a gaping hole that had dragged you straight into the bowels of the abyss, but hey. Hellfire was hellfire. “I came prepared.”

“So did I,” Malleus smirked, the points of his canines peaking out of his lower lip. He twisted his fingers and the pair of you were surrounded in puffs of floating, sparkling, green lights.

And despite the Universe technically, yet again, having come out on top and flipped you and your date the proverbial middle finger, you couldn’t find it in yourself to be too upset at all.

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Malleus Draconia x Reader #Malleus x Reader #Malleus Draconia #Malleus x Yuu #My Writing #Commission #Pity Party

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nolita-fairytale · 1 year ago

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your past and mine are parallel lines | carmen 'carmy' berzatto x fem!reader

summary: a run-in with an old friend sparks a conversation between you and carmy of the people you loved before each other. or rather, the one in which you meet claire.

warnings: use of she/her pronouns, no use of y/n, second person pov, swearing, tooth rotting fluff, not-your-normal jealousy fic, soft!carmy, lives in the world of make my heart surrender

wc: 3.9k

a/n: ok so hear me out: i just want to write about healthy relationships right now and that is where i'm at. this is not your normal jealousy fic and i hope you still enjoy! this lives in the world of 'make my heart surrender' because of course it does and takes place a month after my oneshot, j is for j beard and jealousy.

masterlist

It begins with forgotten carrots, tops attached, of course – a necessary ingredient to the dish that you’ve been working on all afternoon together. Usually, you’d go for a rainbow bunch, but for the puree, aesthetically of course, the classic orange carrot is much better suited. You’d hadn’t put them on the grocery list the day before, certain that you had a bunch or two at home sitting in your vegetable drawer, only to find mid-recipe development that you did not, in fact, have carrots at home. It doesn’t take long for Carmy to suggest a quick trip to the store, insisting that you come with him because this is a date, after all.

It’s something you and Carmy have decided to do, now that neither of you are needed at the restaurant 24/7: a cooking date at home which, despite the fact that this date night was an idea born out of both of your desires to introduce more fun into your lives, will inevitably become a dish that Carmy tries to put on the menu anyways.

Divide and conquer is the strategy: while you hit up the produce aisle, Carmy is sent on a mission to procure a bottle of orange wine for dinner later tonight.

But what’s supposed to be a simple Saturday afternoon grocery store run takes a turn for the intriguing as you hear a laugh – a woman’s laugh – and the familiar sound of your boyfriend’s voice muttering something about the name of his restaurant.

As you approach, you spot your boyfriend and the woman he’s found himself in a conversation with. Carmy leans against the refrigerator doors, his chest square to the brunette, bathed in neon blues from the refrigerator lights.

“Because you’re the bear. And I remember you,” you hear her say. You observe carefully, the look of surprise and the blush that runs across Carmy’s cheeks in response to her words are not lost on you.

There’s a palpable energy between them as they converse, and it feels as if all the blood is rushing to your head as you cut the tension with a single:

“Hey.”

As the brunette turns to you, you’re only a little taken aback by how beautiful she is. With long, thick, dark hair, she has piercing blue eyes, similar to the ones you’ve found yourself lost in in your years spent loving Carmen Berzatto. You feel almost silly as you stand there, holding a bunch of carrots in your right hand, suddenly grateful that your have your favorite of Carmy’s denim jackets tied around your waist (for “just in case the store’s got the AC blasting,” Carmy had reminded you before you left the house earlier).

“Hi,” is all she replies, an almost too-friendly smile plastered to her face, as she takes a few steps towards you. “I’m Claire. I’m…” She trails off before stealing a glance over at Carmy before continuing with, “...an old friend. Of Carmy’s.” As the woman called Claire extends a hand out to you, you take it, giving her hand a curt shake as you introduce yourself.

It dawns on Carmy, who has slipped into a state of what can only be considered as shock, that he probably should’ve introduced the two of you sooner as he mutters an apology under his breath.

“Shit, yeah, sorry. I probably should’ve-. I uh, um, Claire. Yeah. This is uh, this is my girlfriend,” Carmy manages to get out, his face growing increasingly deeper shades of red as the words tumble out of his mouth.

“Your-? Wow, oh my god! It’s-it’s so nice to meet you,” Claire replies, trying her best to hide the surprise in her voice as it increases in pitch with every word.

“So… what’re you two up to-?” she begins to ask, looking from you to Carmy with wide, quizzical eyes. “Carrots. We’re uh…,” is the first thing that comes to mind as the words fly from your lips. “... buying carrots.”

You realize how stupid it sounds, completely caught off guard, as you scramble to find any word in the English language that doesn’t sound as ridiculous as what you’ve just said.

You wonder if this is how Carmy felt when you ran into Nate at the James Beard Awards about a month ago.

At this rate, something’s gotta be in retrograde, right? you think to yourself as you try to push down your feelings of embarrassment.

“Right,” Carmy mutters, while Claire tries to get the conversation back on track.

“Well, it’s really good to see you, Bear. Really. I’ll have to stop by the restaurant sometime,” she says, preparing to excuse herself.

“Yeah,” Carmy nods, still avoiding as much direct eye contact as possible.

Bear.

It shouldn’t bother you as much as it does, and yet, you can’t help the feeling that wells inside of you as she says the name.

The family name.

His childhood name.

It feels more intimate than it should, and maybe it is.

You swallow, trying to shake the feeling.

“Yes. Yeah, we’d uh… let us know. When you’re there,” you continue, exchanging a look with Carmy, who only nods along.

“Oh, you’re a-, you work there too? At the restaurant,” Claire asks, eyeing the carefully drawn fruits and veggies that adorn the length of your arms, permanently inked there forever.

“Yeah. Uh. Pastry chef,” you reply with a small laugh.

She nods, almost as if she’s accepted an unspoken agreement – something you’re not sure you’ll ever know.

“Well it was nice to meet you,” she says once more, shooting a soft smile in your direction, before excusing herself. “And it’s good to see you, Carmy.”

As you watch Claire walk away, Carmy’s still frozen inside of what he thinks could be the most awkward experience of his month so far.

“So… that was weird,” you say, as you turn towards your boyfriend. He mutters something in agreement because the only thing he can think of to say is, what the fuck just happened.

And he’s barely figured that out.

“Do… you want to talk about it?” you ask skeptically, dragging out the ‘o’ at the beginning of your question.

“Not really,” he mumbles softly, shaking his head.

“Great, me either,” you’re quick to reply, even though you both know that you’re going to have to talk about this eventually.

—-------------------------------------

It seems to be a day of forgetfulness, as Carmy realizes that he’s left his notebook at the restaurant – something he’s been working out of for any and all new ideas, a habit you think he picked up from Syd. It’s not entirely out of the way, so the two of you decide to stop by on the way home. You enter through the back, hoping to skirt the tongue lashing you’ll both get for coming in – even just for a few minutes – on your day off.

But a hall-pass just isn’t in the cards for either of you, as you’re instantly spotted, arm-in-arm, by Richie who’s just ended the pre-dinner shift all hands meeting.

“It’s your day off! Get the fuck outta here,” Richie calls out to you with a shake of his head. “You two. I swear.”

“I just forgot my notebook. We’re in, then we’re out. I swear!” Carmy defends himself, holding up his hands.

“Yeah, yeah,” Richie dismisses him before issuing a warning with a wag of his finger. “You better not stay longer than five minutes, you got that?”

“In and out. Scout’s honor,” you answer, before the abrupt interjection of Fak’s voice stops you from saying anything else.

“Incomiiiiiiiing!” Fak cries, as he bursts through the doors. “Ahhhh man. Hey Carm! I heard you ran into Claire Bear.”

Claire Bear?

You shoot Carmy a quizzical look that he’s more than eager to avoid.

“The fuck are you talkin’ about?” Richie snaps as Carmy simultaneously lets out as: “Jesus fuckin’ Christ. What do you-? How? Already?!” “Fuck it’s been two fuckin’ seconds,” Carmy grits his teeth, trying his best to answer Richie’s question. “But apparently news travels fast.” He shoots you an apologetic look as he explains, “She’s uh… close family friends with the Faks.”

“Ahhh,” you let out. “She seem good? Bet she was glad to see ya,” Fak inquires, overenthusiastically winking in Carmy’s direction.

“Yeah she’s uh… she’s gonna be a doctor in a few months huh?” Carmy replies, trying his best to avoid Fak’s continuous winks.

“Who the fuck is Claire?” Sydney asks, as she enters the conversation. Syd quickly notices the confused look on your face, in contrast to the embarrassed one on Carmy’s, and a more than eager Fak, much to Richie’s dismay.

It’s as if he can read the situation in one look as Richie cuts in this time with an explanation:

“Will you stop it, fucko? Jesus Christ.” Richie turns his attention to you this time as shakes his head, brushing off Fak’s earlier comment. “She’s just a kid from the neighborhood. That’s all.”

“Just a kid from the neighborhood?! You, Richie, you are not nice!” Fak exclaims.

But Richie is faster, quick to dismiss the man as he cuts him off with a few sharp words about fixing his bowtie before dinner service starts. As they bicker back and forth, trading barbs like brothers, Carmy has returned to his ‘I really don’t want to talk about this’ body language, his shoulders slumped and completely avoiding eye contact.

“Okay. Um…. Raise your hand if you’re off the clock but you’re acting really fuckin’ weird right now,” Sydney says, looking from you to Carmy, and then back to you.

“I…” you try your best to explain to no avail – mostly because you’re not sure what to explain yet.

“We should go. Let’s get out of here, yeah?” you propose, directing your attention towards Carmy again. You’re more than happy to be met with a nod as Carmy excuses himself, darting into his office to retrieve the notebook he came here for in the first place.

You can tell that he’s not ready to talk about it, and after the weirdness today, you’re beginning to wonder more and more about this Claire girl. Carmy had never mentioned an ex-girlfriend. You knew that there were short-lived flings here and there throughout his twenties, but by the time you met him, it was just you and him, trapped inside your little bubble of denial and unspoken feelings until you weren’t.

Claire doesn’t quite seem like an ex, but you could feel that she wasn’t just a girl from the neighborhood that Carmy grew up with either.

“You good?” Sydney asks, immediately noticing your discomfort.

“Yes,” you answer, unconvincingly. “Sooooo….?” Sydney begins to ask.

So what’s going on? So what was that all about?

“Girl, I will let you know when I know,” you answer, shooting her a matching look.

“Godspeed, my friend,” Sydney replies with a salute, eliciting a much needed laugh from you. “I’m gonna get back to work but uh… I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” you nod, trying your best to shake off this weird feeling.

As you watch her go, you’re too caught up in the what-the-fuck-ness of it all that you barely notice as Richie approaches.

“You know you got nothin’ to worry about, right, sweetheart?” Richie asks you, interrupting the thoughts swimming around in your head.

“No yeah. I-, he’ll tell me when he’s ready,” you reply, almost as if you’re trying to convince yourself.

“You ready?” you hear Carmy ask.

“Yeah,” you nod, before giving Richie a small smile because his reassurance means a lot. “Thanks, Richie.”

As you wave goodbye, Carmy takes your hand before leading you out of the restaurant and en route towards home. There’s a thick tension between the two of you, filled with things left unsaid. It’s more of an awkward kind of tension as Richie’s words echo in your head:

You know you got nothin’ to worry about, right, sweetheart?

It means more to you than he knows – that Richie is in your corner. It’s not like the two of you are best friends, but you have a mutual understanding that you’ve been good for Carmen ever since you reentered his life.

You’ve become a patient woman, knowing that, most of the time, Carmy has to come to you on his own time. You trust him wholeheartedly, and you trust that he’ll tell you when he’s ready. It just doesn’t help the anticipation that’s been building inside of you all afternoon.

“You know. We’re gonna have to talk about this eventually,” you say, breaking the comfortable silence between you.

“Yeah,” Carmy answers quietly, giving your hand a confident squeeze. And if it’s a promise, he adds, “Yeah, I know.”

—-------------------------------------

You’re barely paying attention to George Clooney’s portrayal of a former raider turned newspaper columnist of a fox, entirely distracted by your game of cat and mouse that you play with Carmy and his attention. You can feel his eyes on you as you take another sip from your wine glass, the funky and sour notes hitting your tongue as he watches you closely, your head hazy from getting towards the end of the second glass.

Carmy sighs, shifting his body position, as if choosing the comfiest position will embolden him to tell you what’s been on his mind.

He lets out yet another sigh, this one much heavier than the last and you know he’s working up the nerve.

You cradle your wine glass in your hands, giving the last of the orange elixir a swirl as you settle into the couch, your back pressed against the arm of it as you stretch your legs out in front of you.

“Penny for your thoughts?” you finally ask him, and he lets out one last sigh of relief, almost as if he’s been waiting for you to ask.

“Uh… yeah, actually,” Carmy admits, hesitantly.

You’ve been waiting for him to get here, taking in the vulnerable look on his face as he searches for the words he thinks will best convey what he wants to say. “So… there was like… someone… before me, yeah?” Carmy drags out, his face soft as he asks you a question that takes you by surprise.

You let out what can only be described as a laugh and a sob as you reply with:

“What do you mean?” you choke out, the laugh that escapes your body providing much needed relief.

It’s not what you expected. That’s for sure.

“You know…” he trails off, before taking another deep breath because as much as he hates to admit it, it’s really the only example he’s got. “Like… I know… about Nate.” “Nate?!” you exclaim with an even bigger laugh. “Bear, are you… are you asking me about my exes?”

“Uh… yeah…” he admits on an exhale, almost embarrassed to be asking. “I guess uh-, I guess I am.” In his bashfulness, you giggle, reaching out to give his arm a squeeze as you begin to understand that he’s ready to talk about what happened in the grocery store.

Carmy takes a breath, and you watch his posture soften.

“Well, Nate barely counts as an ex. I don’t… That was more of a… one-time mistake kind of thing,” you admit, knowing that it wasn’t all that long ago that Carmy found out about it in the first place.

“Right,” Carmy nods, his gaze focused on his knees for a moment because even though he brought it up, he’d really like to stop talking about Nate right about now.

“But!” you begin, trying your best to meet him where he’s asking you to. “The guy I dated… right before I met you, Alec was… definitely someone I consider an ex.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah um… we were together for two years… just before I started working at our old spot,” you begin, willing to give him as much information as he wants. “So why didn’t it work out?” Carmy asks curiously.

“I don’t know, babe. I racked my brain trying to figure that one out a ton when we first broke up,” you sigh, uncertain of how to answer that question. You take your time choosing to be as honest as possible in your explanation. “I think… I don’t know. He was never as sure about me as I was of him.”

“We were great together, y’know? He was kind, and smart… he made me laugh… And we were really happy together for a long time. I mean, I think we were exactly what each other needed as the people we were in that time of our lives,” you explain, elaborating on what really worked in your relationship with Alec.

“But eventually, none of that stuff really mattered because all I wanted was to be with someone who felt as crazy about me as I did about them, you know? And… he wasn’t… entirely sure.”

Carmy lets out a deep breath as he takes your words in.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he apologizes, as he feels the weight of your words. “I guess… well, I guess I didn’t know about all that.”

“Well, I didn’t exactly tell you,” you shrug.

Carmy thinks it over, wondering why he never asked you about your broken heart back then – not that he was ever really good about that kind of stuff – the talking about feelings kind of stuff, and whatnot.

But he wants to be good at it now. Or, at least he’d like to try. He wants to try to be good at it for you.

“Guy’s a fuckin’ loser,” Carmy comments, a bitterness in his voice as he does. “I can’t imagine it.”

“Hm?”

“Not being crazy about you,” he answers, his tone confident as his eyes catch yours.

Your heart flutters with the way he looks at you, and between his words and his certainty about you, you can’t regret the past – not even a little bit.

“It’s okay, Bear,” you reassure him, and you mean it. “If Alec and I had stayed together… well, you and I never would’ve….”

“Danced around each other for over two years?” Carmy points out letting out a dry laugh. “Right,” you chuckle in agreement, with a playful eye roll.

“Yeah.”

“We’re here now. Isn’t that what’s important?” you ask with a shrug and a half smile.

This time, his tone much more serious, Carmy answers with a, yeah, that feels heavier than the previous ones.

You and Carmy both take a beat, letting the reality of your life with each other sink in. It’s as if all the ‘no’s of the past lead you here to this moment, and you’d have it no other way.

“So. Who… is Claire?” you ask, earning a groan from Carmy as he swears under his breath with a shake of his head. You stretch out your leg, just enough to poke him with your big toe as he chuckles, wanting nothing more than to avoid this question.

“It’s just… well you’ve never really told me about any of your exes!”

“Well she’s not really… my ex,” Carmy blushes, averting his gaze once again.

“Well, she doesn’t really seem like just a friend,” you point out, and it suddenly feels like you’re showing your entire hand. Carmy agrees with you on an exhale, reminding himself that he wants to try the whole ‘better at talking about feelings’ thing with you.

“Okay. Uh… well… we’ve known each other for like… forever, I guess,” Carmy begins to explain running a hand through his curls. “Her family is close with the Faks and I-, I-, uh… well, I sort of… had this massive crush on her… like all throughout school.”

“What?” you ask, genuinely curious about his sudden coyness.

“It’s embarrassing!” he defends himself, with a dry laugh.

“Carmy, it’s not!” you insist, sitting up straight this time to reach for his hand. “Was it weird for you? Earlier today?”

“Uh. Kinda, yeah,” he confesses, stealing a glance your way.

“Yeah?” you ask.

“Yeah. Like… a lot. Was that… not obvious?” he shoots back, this time with a shake of his head. “I just-. I don’t know. It was weird.”

“Good weird or bad weird?” you ask again, patiently. “Just… weird, babe,” Carmy answers honestly with a shrug of his own.

You nod in understanding, wanting to give him the space to share more if he’d like to. It’s not that you were worried about Claire… but it had been weird, earlier today – and even stranger when no one was giving you a proper explanation. “I-, I-, it’s like. I had such a big crush on her. And I could barely work up the nerve to talk to her like… I was sort of just this-, this total fuckin’ loser,” Carmy continues, his eyes narrowing as he talks about a younger version of himself. “And now here I am… with my super hot girlfriend and I just-. I don’t know. It sorta uh… reminded me of like… a different version of myself.”

“Yeah, no, I-, I get that. It’s… it’s such a weird feeling,” you empathize, exchanging a look with your boyfriend this time.

You nod in understanding, only to be met with a laugh and another shake of his head as Carmy lets out a sigh of relief. “You’re being like… waaaaay too cool about this,” he points out, his voice lighter this time.

“Oh yeah?” you ask with a quirk of an eyebrow. “Uh. Fuck yeah,” Carmy confirms, as you exchange a laugh. He shrugs once again, only a little embarrassed as he adds, “You know… I just… I kinda lost my fuckin’ mind. You know. About Nate.” You shrug, “That’s different. I-.” A beat. “Do you want me to be jealous?” “No,” Carmy answers. A beat. “Maybe?” And another. “I-, I don’t know. This is all so new to me!”

“Carm,” you sigh, as you lean over, placing your wine glass down on the coffee table before scooting closer to your boyfriend as you continue. “You and I have been through so much together and there were days that I thought we’d never speak again… but somehow we still ended up here.”

He grabs your hands, pulling you in closer towards him as you meet him pound for pound–all heart on both sides.

“I trust you,” you reassure him, your fingers sliding perfectly between his. “And I know I have your heart… ‘cos I know you got mine.”

“Ffffffuck,” Carmy exhales, in complete disbelief that you really are being too cool about this. “Seriously?!”

You laugh, incredulously this time, as you decide to give your boyfriend just a little of what he may be looking for. “No, but. It did-, it was weird for me… today. With Claire. And then later at the restaurant when Fak brought her up. I mean… you weren’t lying. News traveled fast,” you admit, much to Carmy’s relief.

“Neighborhood’s small. That’s for sure,” he agrees, equally uncomfortable with how quickly that got around.

“And… She is like… really pretty. And… what? About to be a doctor so I guess that means she’s really fuckin’ smart. I mean-,” you continue.

It doesn’t take Carmy long to realize that you’re trying too, deciding it’s best to put you out of your misery sooner rather than later as he cuts you off with a playful, “Oh shut the fuck up.”

It’s your turn to laugh this time as you lean in, pressing your lips to his.

Carmy inhales, breathing you in as he tries to memorize the way you smell, the way you taste, the way your lips feel nestled so perfectly against his. He pulls away just for a moment, intent on telling you something.

“You do, by the way,” Carmy says, his declaration soft but sure. “Have my heart, I mean.”

“I know, babe,” you reply, with a smile. “I know.”

—-------------------------------------

a/n: if you've been wondering where i've been, i've been here! just living a whole lot of life offline these days. would anyone be interested in reading my thoughts on life? anyways, i feel like a hiatus was good for me, and now i have all this life i've lived that's inspired me to write again. i've been channeling a lot of my creative energy into other projects which has felt great and it also feels really good to be back.

#carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto #carmy x oc #the bear hulu #the bear fx #jeremy allen white #carmen 'carmy' berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto headcanon #the bear headcanon #carmy berzatto imagines #carmy berzatto fluff

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