#coffee beans to your door | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

st4rbwrry · 13 days ago

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𝓒𝓞𝓒𝓞𝓐 𝓑𝓤𝓣𝓣𝓔𝓡 𝓚𝓘𝓢𝓢𝓔𝓢. onyankopon.

ᰔᩚ . . .8.5k. fem!reader, lowercase intended, set in university, relationship building, barista!reader, football player/scholar!ony, fluff, strangers to lovers, cabin sex, oral ꒰ f.꒱ , kinda slow burn?, teasing, foreplay, some ass eating, choking, dirty talk, biting, pet names ꒰ ex. mama, ma, baby ꒱, usage of aave, size kink, spanking, dacryphilia, heavyy dirty talk, minors aren’t welcomed! reblogs + comments are appreciated. <3

꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎’𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒 ꒱ . . . took me absolutely forever to finish this fic so i hope yall rlly enjoy it. here’s some grown folk links. <3 visual. visual. visual. this is also ony’s redemption fic from the bullshit in why don’t you love me lmao.

you got it by bryson tiller thumped loudly from his airpod max’s, orangish-red leaves scattered and scrunching beneath his heavy black timberlands as he strolled along the sidewalk of the town heading to his destination; the cafe. a newfound obsession with the tranquility of studying there. the weather is fairly cold, a slight breeze making his nose wrinkle and sniffle, fighting any threat of sickness. this cozy little cafe was his haven, a place he escaped to when he needed to clear his head. or in this case, injure his brain by studying two weeks ahead of finals for the fall semester.

the warm aroma of brewed coffee and soft lo-fi music enveloped him once he pushed open the front door. the cafe is somewhat occupied, with very few seats stuffed with students gossiping or discussing daily topics of the world. the scent of freshly ground coffee beans and baked goods wafts through the air, his tummy growling at the allure. comfortable armchairs and plush sofas are arranged in cozy nooks, perfect for curling up with a book or engaging in intimate conversations. natural light streams in through the large windows, casting a warm glow over the space and highlighting the rich, earthy tones of the wooden decor. despite the bustling activity, the atmosphere remains relaxed and unhurried.

within his deepest of graces, he spots you behind the counter, a tug of a smile breaching onto his face. you’re moving around the cafe, refilling drinks, and chatting with regular customers. little did you know, your presence is a comforting constant in his increasingly chaotic life. clearing his throat, onyankopon approaches you.

“hey, handsome," you say with a warm smile, your voice smooth like honey. "it’s nice seeing your face. what can i get started for you today?"

as you speak, you continue expertly frothing milk for a customer's latte, the sound of the steam hissing filling the air between you. “hey, pretty. i’ll just take my matcha latte with one pump of syrup, cold foam, and cinnamon. lemme try the avocado toast with bacon today, please.”

“sure thing, love. the bacon is pork, will that be okay?” he watches the fluff of your falsies blink up at him, deep brown eyes glowing from the soothing lighting of the cafe, accentuating your features. freckles sprawled along the bridge of your nose, black hair styled in a cute pixie cut with soft waves. jewelry on your nose, ears, neck, and henna-tatted fingers. there’s red ink on the side of your neck of a dragon he always admired. full lips outlined with dark liner and smeared with gloss. a pretty little thing.

“yup, that’s cool,” he digs into his pocket for his phone, double clicking the button on the side to access his digital card as you tap quickly on the touchscreen to ring up his order.

“okay! your total’s g’na be twelve sixty-four.”

“thank you,” he nods appreciatively.

“i’ll bring it over to you when it’s ready.”

onyankopon’s making his way to his usual spot by the window, a comfy corner with views of brightly lit shops, couples holding hands, and trees dancing in the window. the sun had set, and the street lamps flicker on. he adjusted into his seat, pulling his sleek macbook from his black jansport backpack along with notebooks with different colors and sizes, a pen and pencil, and lots of sticky notes. in his palm where he held his iphone, he switches the music to his ‘unwind’ playlist, needing zero distractions.

the past two months have been tough for him. a lot of things happened that pushed him to second guess not only the way his life was playing out, but the people he chose to surround himself with. a lot of heavy influence gets to those who are weak and in desperate need of escape. he’s never been a big fan of peer pressure, and college is full of it. after winning the homecoming game, being betrayed by someone he had deep feelings for on top of getting into an almost-brawl. . a lot of things started altering the way he thought and carried himself. onyankopon’s always been a mature person. coming from a family of doctors, athletes, and gentle, loving parents. for the most part always laid back, concise, and respectful. so when people brought him out of character to become someone he wasn’t, it frustrated him and made him go into isolation mode where he did nothing but refocus on himself and his goals—leaving behind all the immature, childish shit.

glancing up from his laptop, he can hear you approaching, catching your gaze and giving a gentle smile as you set his beverage and food on the table, your eyes sparkling with kindness. “here you go, love.”

“thanks again.”

“you’re welcome.”

the vibrant green matcha mixture soothes him after he takes a well-needed sip, savoring the creamy texture and subtle bitterness. the hint of cinnamon adding a pleasant warmth that spreads through his chest. you always know just how to make his drink.

he’s always stuck in the cafe for about five hours, drowning in his studies. it’s become his routine now. right after practice he freshens up and makes his way over here. usually, when it’s short-staffed, he notices you closing the shop alone. as the hours tick by, the cafe gradually empties, leaving only a handful of people scattered throughout the space. he remains hunched over his laptop, concentration unwavering, but interrupted when he notices the lights beginning to dim, the soft jazz giving way to silence. realizing the cafe must be closing, he suddenly yawns, arms stretching above his head and shoulders rolling to release the tension from sitting in one spot. going to stand and gather his things, he spots you crouching behind the counter, wiping down surfaces, and organizing supplies.

“hey, need a hand wrapping things up? i didn't realize we were the last ones here."

your smile brightens as ony approaches, his tall frame looming over the counter. “oh, you don't have to do that, i can’t let you work for free.”

"nah, i insist. i can finish up. hand me a broom or sum,” he suggested, that charming smile making your heart flutter nonstop.

“okay, here,” you nod, retrieving a broom from the storage closet to hand him.

the soft swish of the broom against the hardwood floor provides a rhythmic accompaniment to the quiet intimacy of the moment. onyankopon steals glances at you, watching you count the register with a few peeps of your own, smiling to yourself when he notices. his face lights up, shaking his head as he maintains his focus on his chore. as he continues, you try your best to stop blushing, your attraction for this man strong ever since you laid eyes on him. the two of you never hung out. he attended your finance class and you’ve held a minor conversation, but that was all. of course, since he was the quarterback for the panthers, you’d catch a game now and then and see him. you didn’t do parties, mostly stayed to yourself.

considering his chaotic schedule, when he finally started coming into your job for drinks, that’s the best time to see him. he began as an acquaintance, having casual talks while doing your job. but then he started asking you about your day, complimenting your tattoos, giving you tips, calling you pretty . . now we’re here. you’re locking up the shop after cutting off the lights and calling it a night.

standing idly by, onyankopon’s got one hand on his backpack strap while the other nestled warmly into his black northface parka’s pocket. his teeth are pearl white as he smiles, a dimple on his cheek sinking in. it’s pure, and cute. his body is looming over your own, the moonlight casting across his chiseled features, emphasizing the sharp lines of his jaw and the intensity in his dark eyes, your eyes glossing over the silver stud he has pierced into his left ear. a faint mustache above his dark, full lips and a small goatee on his chin. he’s attractive as hell.

“c’mon, lemme walk you to your dorm. it’s too dark out to be alone.”

the gentlemanly gesture sends a flutter through your chest, the cool air brisking over your face as you bury your chin into your cocoa brown scarf shyly. “okay.”

together, you stroll along the quiet campus path, your black telfar decorated with keychains stacked with hot wheels and sonny angels hitting against your thigh as you walk, arms folded. usually, you’re not a person to be nervous about speaking to a boy, but something about him felt completely different from others. he’s calm, respectful, and friendly. and not to be stereotypical, you figured he’d be the opposite considering he’s an athlete. their factors consist of being hard-headed, loud . . whores. granted, you didn’t fully know him as a person. it felt nice to flirt with someone grounded.

“so, got any plans for fall break?”

“nah, not much,” onyankopon shakes his head, wrinkling his nose. “i’m taking these two weeks to focus on studying for finals. my birthday’s coming up, so i'm sure my family has sum planned for me. i don’t care for it much.”

“like every man in the world,” you joke.

he chuckles. “yeah, i used to like all that party shit, but i ain’t in the mood for it, at least not now. i’m good for sum low key.”

“that's understandable. i’m not doing much for break besides thanksgiving. my family and i usually do it big. watch the game, get tipsy, shit like that.”

“yeah? maybe me and you can hang out then. i w’na talk to you more.”

a shy smile spreads across your face as you consider the possibility. "yeah, sure. i’d love to.”

the two of you depart after saying goodnight, ony making sure you’re safely into your dorm before leaving to sleep in his. days past and the routine continues. as the semester winds down, ony finds himself relying more and more on the comforting routine of visiting the cafe, knowing that amidst the chaos of finals prep, he can count on seeing you. your conversations grow longer, less about schoolwork and more about shared interests, inside jokes, and subtle flirtation. finally, the day arrives when he can breathe a sigh of relief. finals are done, and he’s aced his tests. that heavy weight on his chest dissipating. walking into the cafe, he’s greeted by the familiar warmth you bring, a smile spread over your face when you lock eyes.

"hey, you," he says, gripping the corners of the counter, shoulders popping forward as he arches over to find you searching for oat milk.

“heyyy,” you upturn your neck, the giddy on your face evident. “i figured you’d be on your way home by now, the campus is practically dead.”

his jaw shifts as he chews his gum, fresh peppermint flavor flowing through his nostrils. “wanted to come see you first. also to let you know that i passed my tests.”

you gasp, springing up in an excited leap. “oh my god, that’s so good, ony! congratulations.”

“thank you, love,” he bows his head appreciatively. “what about you? what’d you get?”

“hmm, did really well for microbiology. passed everything else but math. it’s never been my strong suit,” you pout, ony humming apologetically.

“it’s okay, as long as you did well for everything else, that’s still something to be proud of. i know you’ll get back up.”

you bat your lashes, digging your chin into your shoulder. “thanks, ony. you’re the sweetest. becoming a vet is harder than i thought, but i know i can do it.”

“good thing is we can finally relax, my brain's been fuckin’ killing me,” he rolls his neck, your eyes falling to the adam’s apple in his throat.

"literally. i'm definitely looking forward to some downtime. finals were brutal this semester.”

a sudden realization dawns on you, and you feel a rush of nervousness pass through. you’ve been wanting to ask him something, needing to express the feelings you’ve been harboring subtly. "listen, i was thinking ‘cause i remember you saying your parents are gonna be at a banquet for the holiday . . if you wanted to join me and my family for thanksgiving? my mom’s make the best everything ‘n there’s always leftovers.”

a slow, pleased smile spreads across his face at the invitation, eyes crinkling at the corners. "i’m down as fuck, that sounds good. your place sounds like a better alternative.”

you grin, twisting in your spot. “great, my mom’s would love to meet you. they’re very sweet. you have any allergies? i’ll make sure they’re careful.”

“nah, baby. i eat everything,” onyankopon responds, the rasp in his tone suddenly making your skin hot, his comment on top of the pet name abruptly short-circuiting your brain.

“ ‘kay,” you play it off, gathering yourself quickly from your perverted thoughts. “i’ll text you when they’re ready to have guests over.”

“cool. need me to bring anything? a pie? some drinks?”

“i like stella rosè.”

on the morning of thanksgiving, onyankopon arrives at your doorstep, a handful of red roses in one hand and your bottle of wine in the other. surprisingly, your parents wanted him to come over early, really so they could have a helping hand with prepping. he awaits in front of your house, a beautiful cape cod style surrounded by bushes and tall gates. he sees the silhouette of your shape approaching the door, pulling it open to find you smiling wide. ony clears his throat, scanning you from head to toe with adornment. you’re dressed in an espresso sweater dress with sheer tights and doc martens. there’s light makeup on your face, and you smell like tom ford’s lost cherry. the smell of pinewood and soulful music coming from within the home alongside laughter immediately has his brain conjuring up a future with you. you’re breathtaking, and you can say the same for him.

“hi,” you breathe out, gnawing at your darkly lined lips.

onyankopon’s attired in a black knit sweater that’s almost loosely fitted, his muscles daring to make it fit tightly. baggy, chocolate cargo pants, and black new balance 550s. a gold chain sits around his neck and a brown fossil outlet watch on his wrist. he smelled really good, dolce and gabbana’s the one lingering on his body. you could fall out, really.

ony extends the flowers for you to grab. “happy thanksgiving. i got these for you. you look real pretty.”

you giggle from how fast he rushed that sentence. “thank you, i love them. you look real good, too. come in.”

he takes a step inside, taking in the cozy atmosphere of your home. the aroma of roasting turkey and savory spices fills the air, marvin gaye’s ‘i want you’ bumping from the surround sound along with the thanksgiving parade playing soundly on the mounted television. you guide him through the archway, setting the roses into a vase at the entryway table before entwining his hand with yours and pulling him towards the grandeur kitchen. in it stands both of your mother’s, the clinking of wine glasses, and slow dancing. the sight makes ony’s heart thump, it’s adorable, to say the least. now he understands why you smile so much.

“mom’s! ony’s here!”

turning in your direction, the two women greet him with loving smiles, your birth mother gasping at his gorgeousness, placing a hand over her heart with bulging eyes. you already caught on to what she was thinking, shaking your head.

“oh my god, hi! you’re handsome!”

your birth mother is the spitting image of you, the thick, luscious blowout curls the only difference in appearance aside from tattoos. she’s petite like you are, brown eyes and earthy-like jewelry. a pale green hippy skirt and tight black long-sleeve her attire. her wife contrasts her perfectly with a slighter darker edge. tall, slim, forest green faux locs that graze her shoulders and full sleeve tats. dressed in a dark sweater like ony is, skinny jeans, and loafers. they looked like the richest, happiest couple.

after proper greetings and conversations, a few more family members pour into the home as hours pass, mingling in the living room to watch the football game. cheers and groans emanating from uncles as you and ony stand side by side in the kitchen fixing up the last dish for the table. you’re flirting more, leaving teasing touches as you work. sipping wine with your parents before they dispersed into another part of the house. the smell of apple pie baking in the oven, the slight buzz from the wine, and the warmth of everyone together makes him feel special. it felt intimate being here with you on such a special day. onyankopon turns to face you, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that makes your face hot. unfortunately, something you won’t be able to change.

"can i ask you something?"

you pause mid-chop, turning to face him fully. his proximity makes you acutely aware of the space between you, the heat radiating off his body.

"sure, what's up?" your voice is a little softer than usual, butterflies in your stomach.

the kitchen had long cleared out, occasional bodies flowing in and out to dig in the fridge after waiting impatiently for food, but the way he stared at you made you feel like it was just the two of you. the abrupt sensation of his fingers caressing your cheek stuns you, his face inching closer while carefully observing the surroundings, flickering his eyes back to yours.

“ony?”

“i really like you,” the admission burns your stomach, his full lips brushing amongst yours erotically slow, damn near kissing you. it feels somewhat inappropriate given your family was around, but he kept it cute. he intakes air, sucking in your own before speaking again. “my parents gave me the keys to this cabin for my birthday. my dad has some kind of partnership with this guy or whatever. i want you to spend the weekend with me.”

the intensity of the moment makes you swallow. he’s so close to your face it makes you scared to back away. luckily, no one’s around. you could hear your own heart pound. hesitation sits in your chest. it sounds romantic, and of course you like him too, but a man asking you to come to a cabin in the woods with him seems a little . . scary? or maybe you’re being dramatic.

“u-uh, um . . a cabin? in the woods? i watch a lot of crime documentaries, mister,” you whispered, threatening jokingly to ignore the way he was making you feel.

he bursts out laughing at your comment, immediately putting you at ease. “pretty, i would never. you don’t have to say yes right away. i just thought it’d be a good way for us to spend more time together. have that low-key birthday i wanted. i promise i have no ulterior motive. scouts honor.”

you nod, biting your lip and cocking your head back to catch your breath. “yeah, i’ll think on it.”

“okay,” he pressed his forehead to yours, noticing you were deliberately trying to move back. “your mood changed. what you thinkin’, ma?”

“thought you were g’na kiss me,” you admit, picking at the hem of your dress.

“you want me to kiss you? i was waitin’ on you,” ony replies slyly, licking his lips.

a thumb comes up to trace the line of your jaw before he’s finally pressing his full lips to yours, and it’s deep. jaw locking and bottom lip falling to catch your own in a passionate, slow kiss. your hips prickle with heat the instant his hand goes to squeeze you there, ony breathing you in while covering your mouth with his. he’s inhaling the air from you, your hand coming up to cup his jaw to pull him away, the disconnect leaving both of you breathless. he licks your gloss off his lips with a clench of his jaw and dilated pupils.

“hey, what y'all doin’ in here?” your mother's voice interrupts, ony pulling away to hide the smirk on his face.

you step back, trying to compose yourself as your mother enters the kitchen. momentarily, you're at a loss for words. you offer a casual shrug. “just chatting, mom. nothing too serious.”

she observes the two of you, squinting her eyes knowingly. “unh huh. my pasta salad done?”

“yes ma’am. i’ll pop it in the fridge right now,” onyankopon speaks up, holding up the huge serving bowl proudly.

“aweee, such a sweetie bean,” she coed. you roll your eyes. “we can start gathering to eat. g’na say a prayer then dig in ‘cause i’m starving and my body hurt.”

you and ony share a glance before he bumps your shoulder, laughing in sync.

dinner goes more than well. your entire family adored ony, and it put this feeling in your chest that goes far beyond just a crush. everyone crowds the long dining table, passing food while conversing and laughing. he felt comfortable, and more than anything, safe. sitting next to you, he holds your hand under the table, and after everyone’s tummies are full, leftovers are taken and goodbyes are said, that’s when you and ony find yourselves sitting peacefully on a hammock out back to watch the stars.

“i’d love to come to the cabin with you.”

and just like that, the next day hits, and he’s pulling up to your house in his black jeep wrangler waiting for you to come out. when he sees you, his chest warms up like clockwork, your nike duffle bag packed heavy as you wave excitedly, comfortably dressed in a blood-red tube top, gray sweatpants, uggs, and a black hoodie. the weather wasn't too bad today, warm enough for you to only hold your coat. onyankopon hops out of the car to properly greet you, his brooding body in a simple black crewneck, sweats, and a matching hoodie.

“hi, pretty. you look gorgeous,” he lowers his head to kiss your cheek, taking your bag from you to carry to the truck.

you giggle, raising your brow. “in sweats ‘n oversized clothing?”

“your face is everything i need to see, mama.”

you smile. “you love to call me that.”

“you don’t like it? i can stop,” he says seriously.

“no, i love it. it’s very endearing.”

“mhm. c’mon, the cabin awaits!” ony exclaims, following you to the vehicle to hold open the door for you.

you slide into the passenger seat, feeling the supple leather conform to your body as you buckle up, the scent of black ice engulfing the truck. after tossing your bag in the backseat, he settles in beside you, giving you a wink as you giggle and kick your feet together.

“ready?” he asks.

“ready.”

the anticipation builds with each passing mile, the promise of a romantic escape bubbling in your stomach. the woods are dense, driving further away from civilization. hold on by the internet plays quietly from the car's speaker, air blowing in from the tiny cracks of the window. the scent he gives makes you sink comfortably into your spot, seat pulled back with your knees to your chest and a book on your lap as your soothing voice reads sentences aloud to him, his interest in the african mythology cultivating.

"keep going," he urges, fingers tightening around the steering wheel as he navigates the winding roads. the rhythmic cadence of your voice is like music to his ears, and he relishes every syllable spoken, available hand gripping onto your thigh.

the ride carries on for almost two hours, and the tranquility of each other's presence is palpable. as he reaches the top of the hill, ony kills the engine, sitting back into his seat while the two of you admire the area. it’s quaint, trees enveloping the dark oak cabin, the sun painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. the cabin's exterior exudes rustic charm, but the inside is sleek and modern. polished hardwood floors, a small kitchen, a two-seat table, and a large window that overlooks the surrounding forest with a queen-sized bed pushed up against it. there's a walk-in rainfall shower with multiple jets, and a fire pit directly outside where you were dying to make s’mores. it’s like a mini home, and you both loved it.

the night air is crisp and cool, carrying the scent of pine and wood smoke as you lounge on the outside chairs, firelight dancing across your faces. after settling in, the two of you ran to a small grocery store in town to get a few things ony could throw on the grill. seasoning the burgers and chicken skewers together before playing music from your speaker and watching him work. he sips a beer, a few specks of sweat on his forehead but luckily as it got dark, the coolness dried them away.

“y’know, i always think about the possibility of being mauled by wolves when i come up here.”

stopping from taking a sip out of your drink, you stare blankly at him. “now why the hell would you put that in my head.”

“my bad, my intrusive thoughts got to me. i promise there aren’t any around here. it gives real forks washington vibes up here.”

“not a twilight reference,” you giggle. “you don’t give me someone who’s into stuff like that.”

“whatttt, girl bye. team jacob all the way,” he playfully sways his hand, cracking a smile from your outburst of a laugh, playfully pushing at his arm.

the weather began to grow colder, onyankopon noticing the sluggishness in your tone as you speak, eyes low meaning it was time for bed. he let’s you head inside while he tidied up, the tranquility of you snuggled up in bed closest to the window sprawled out as he quietly cleans the dishes makes him smile. not long after he brushes his teeth and cuts off all the lights, he slides into the bed beside you, wrapping his arm around your waist and snuggling his face within the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent as you snore lightly.

as the morning approaches, the two of you awaken to find yourselves entwined with one another. legs tangled and skin close to skin. the morning light filters through the glass window, casting a soft glow over the entire cabin and your bodies. you softly mewl, not wanting to move an inch, savoring the comforting scent of his body and the warmth of his pressed against yours.

the two of you lay in bed for another hour, occasionally in and out of sleep before onyankopon makes a suggestion of starting the day with a hike to enjoy the nature. after getting ready and dressing comfortably, the two of you stroll along the winding trail, the path following through dense forests, trees filtering some of the sunlight and casting dappled shadows on the ground beneath your feet.

the silence is comfortable, punctuated only by the rustling of leaves and the distant call of birds as onyankopon holds your hand in his, swinging your arms and giggling like lovesick teenagers. as the trees thin out, then reveals a sparkling lake in the distance. you gasp at the sight of a waterfall beating down on rocks, the lake flowing heavily. it feels just like a disney film.

you’ve noticed something about ony. he was extremely affectionate in ways of kisses and hugs, currently holding your face within his palms to press his lips to yours, the soothing sound of the waterfall in the background making this all perfect. outside of that, he wasn’t super physical in terms of intimate touch. from his end, he’s afraid to do anything that would perceive him differently. he genuinely enjoyed your company, your personality, and you overall. physical intimacy was the last thing on his mind, but you wanted that from him including everything else. part of you didn’t want to blatantly say it, more so wanting him to make the first move so you could feel that pull from him.

he breaks away from the kiss, staring at your face intensely for a few seconds, wondering what’s on his mind. clearing his throat he says, “let’s go make some breakfast.”

after a nice breakfast of classic scrambled eggs, turkey bacon, and home fries, you spend the afternoon engaging in cute activities such as painting. you’d brought some of your crafts figuring it’d be a nice way to connect more. a paint and sip date. your playlist titled cocoa butter streams out of your speaker, playing mellow rnb tunes while you sip on stella rose and unwind. this was what he needed. he feels like he spent so much time thinking toxicity was necessary in a relationship to keep it alive. but being in this moment with you, coloring with crayons in a spider-man book while you paint on construction paper, listening to music and yapping about whatever — he felt happy.

ony finishes a random portrait he drew after getting tired of the coloring book, drawing you a giant pink heart with vines and roses, sliding it towards you shyly, and hiding his face. you laugh at his reaction, praising him for how good it looks and giving him a kiss on the cheek, telling him you’d admire it forever, even frame it.

hours slip by unnoticed, the two of you now standing side by side in the small kitchen to cook dinner. you decided on something simple; ribeye steak and broccolini. a voice in your head tells you to make ony feel more at ease with you, even if he did. caressing his arm as he sears the steaks, resting your head on the hollow of his back and chatting. you even guide him to grab your waist as you prepare a chimichurri sauce to pour over the steak. little things to give him a sign that it was okay.

once the night began to die down, ony opted to clean up since check out was in the morning. as he tidied up, you decided to take a shower to wash off the steak smell and grease on your clothing and skin. classic oldies still play lowly from your speaker, finding himself humming along to ‘good luck charm’ by jagged edge as he wipes down the stove with cleaner. ony turns his head when he hears a thud, a silent cuss, and a painful whine from you following.

he raised his head in curiosity, wanting to make sure you were okay. “aye, you good?”

he didn’t mean to push the door further open given it was cracked to make sure the bathroom wouldn’t fully fog up. but his elbow hits the door and he catches a glimpse of your entire figure. hot steam illuminating your skin and swirling around you like a mystical aura, water enhancing the pigment of your skin.

“ah, shit . . my fault. sorry,” he stumbles out, ducking his head to block his view of you.

“it’s okay!” you softly announced. “just dropped my bar, it hit my toe but i'm okay!”

“coo’, coo’. ”

clearing his throat, he closes the door to give you privacy, rubbing the back of his neck before tossing his head back and sighing. instead of letting his mind run, he jerks his attention back to the task at hand, tidying up the rest of the area. once the cabin is spotless, onyankopon gets comfortable in bed, waiting for you to finish in the bathroom so he can have his turn. when you exit, the room is filled with an awkward silence, the noticeable tension palpable.

ony catches you standing at the doorway, only dressed in one of his shirts. he’s lying on his back in the bed, legs spread as he holds the mythology book in his hands. turning to face you, he looks at you curiously, the sudden darkness in your eyes making his dick ache. he lays the open book flat on his chest, eyes never leaving yours.

“what’s wrong?” ony asks, but your silence remains, biting at your lip before glancing at his toned v-line. only one thing on your mind. “talk to me, mama.”

swallowing, you fold your arms in front of you, toes indented atop your other foot. “i . . noticed you haven’t really touched me the way i want you to.”

you didn’t mean to say it with insecurity, having this stupid feeling that he didn’t want you in a way you thought he did. obviously that wasn’t true, you just needed him to physically be infatuated with you.

ony sits up, confusion etched into his features, immediately attending to your needs. his hands resting on his knees as he looks at you intently. "i’m sorry if it came off like that. i just didn’t want you to think of me that way. like, i didn’t want you to think that’s the only reason i wanted to bring you up here.”

“oh . . .” you bite your lip, feeling a mixture of relief and higher attraction. “that’s sweet of you, i appreciate you for being a gentleman. i don’t know, i had this stupid thought that maybe you were holding back because. . well, because you weren't sexually attracted to me." you admit quietly, chest tightening at the possibility.

the look on his face looks painful, like he was in disbelief that you could even say such a thing. ony stands immediately, the quickness almost scaring you as he approaches you with an intense demeanor. glaring up at his towering figure, you gasp when he backs you up against the wall, his nose molding to yours.

"never that.”

ony inhales sharply, your scent intoxicating him. he brushes his lips against your earlobe as he whispers, "i am so fuckin' attracted to you,” his hands roam around your hips, fingers softly indenting in the soft flesh covered by fabric. his touch makes your face heat up and the throb between your thighs worse, his lips trailing down to hover over your own. "i was scared, yeah, but not because i don't want you. it's ‘cause i want you too fuckin’ much."

mewling, you drunkenly press your chest to his, your horniness on top of the few glasses of wine in your system craving him horribly. it’s bad the thoughts you’ve been having. his knee finds its way between your legs where you press yourself down slightly, dragging your hand to grip the back of his neck and he copies by doing the same.

“i w’na fuck you,” you mumble against his lips, kissing him gently, the soft peck growing rougher when you go for another one and this time it sounds wet. “you w’na fuck me too?”

ony grunts, his fingers digging into your hips harder as he grinds himself against your stomach. “fuck yes, mama. ima show you how bad i want you.”

finally, he captures your mouth in a kiss, lips smacking with greedy attention. moaning into each other's mouths in heat, your shirt raising high as his hands smooth along your body, aching to touch the softness of your skin. rubbing the sides of your thighs before sliding them to your ass where he gropes and spanks you, a sound you’ve never made before falling from you when his fingers spread your ass cheeks apart with a bit of your pussy.

groaning in your mouth, he goes to grab your wrists and pins them above your head, raising you higher to grind his hips against your pussy, feeling the outline of him in his sweats. ony kisses your neck, open mouthed and following with tongue after gently nipping at your skin with his teeth. you feel like you’re going to faint from how aroused you were.

he breaks his mouth away after a few minutes, gazing down at you with lust-filled eyes. "gotta get you naked, mama. need to feel that pussy on me.”

with a swift motion, he drags the shirt you wear above your chest, maintaining the grip he has on your wrists, his gaze devouring every inch of your curves.

“fuck,” he utters, groaning before opening his mouth to lick and suck at your tits, gasping and grinding as you push yourself closer to him. each suck is lewd, loud in the quiet space, pulling your areolas into his mouth and sliding his tongue between the valley.

his mouth comes back to your neck, kissing once more before he’s fully pulling off the fabric so you’re completely bare. picking you up, he carries you towards the bed, giggling as he lays you onto the plush mattress, instantly bending you over and rubbing his hands over your ass after climbing behind you. reaching under your left thigh with his forearm, he drags your body on the bed so you’re facing the headboard, pressing the dip of your back further down, clothed dick against your core.

“can you show her to me, baby?” ony whispers, licking his lips as he lowers his face, your back arching and ass high up. his palm lands on it, a whimper flowing from you, expressing a needy pout on your lips.

“mm hm,” you nod, goosebumps on your skin. his voice makes your clit throb harder.

onyankopon inhales sharply as your hand reaches under yourself to spread your folds apart with two of your fingers, pussy drenched and waiting for his mouth to eat it. your hips stir in desperation as you rub at your clit, waiting for him to hurry. his jaw clenches, humming to himself as the ache in his dick grows painful, leveling his face and covering your pussy with his mouth. your hand drops, ony resting his wrist in your palm you grip as your mouth falls open. brows furrowed, he grunts and drags his tongue along your slit, savoring your taste as your wetness sticks to your thighs like honey. the vibrations from his throat causes you to clench, shakily moaning and softly rocking your ass back on his face, the scratch of his facial hair making you wetter.

"ony, shitt,” you moan, your fingers tangling in the sheets as he devours you. "like that, baby.”

he’s leaving heavy licks and targeted flicks against your clit, his nose nudges your perineum, suckling your folds into his mouth before grunting and digging for your nub, flattening his tongue and rocking his head up and down along with each of your movements. moans break out in shudders, ony trailing his free hand to slowly spank you in iterations, juices coating his chin, your voice getting louder.

“ooh, fuck mama. that’s what you needed, right? you like my tongue?” the harsh licks of ony’s tongue urges your toes to curl, throwing your ass back on his face in a quicker pace, thighs shaking violently.

“unh h-huh, baby — yess.”

"you taste so muhfuckin’ good," he growls, his breath fanning over your sensitive flesh. "love having this pretty pussy in my fuckin’ mouth."

you cry out in ecstasy, hips bucking wildly as ony dips his tongue inside you relentlessly. your shoulders fall into the bed as you reach back to grab the top of his head, soft textured waves on your palm as you pull him deeper into your heat. combinations of squeals and whines spewing as he curls it within you while kissing your folds with his thick lips. "f-fuck, ony! t-there, oh my god don’t — mmgh stop!"

“stop?” he hums condescendingly, spanking you again. now he’s reaching under to lock his forearms on your thighs and lifting you up so you’re sitting on his face while he raises up on his knees.

“n-noo,” fisting the sheets, your mouth remains open as he lifts you like a dumbbell at the gym and rocks you up and down on his face, your slickness mixed with his salvia trailing down your mound to the pudge of your tummy. “ony. you eat it so good. s’too good.”

“ooh, you my bad girl,” ony hissed, landing a hard smack on your ass again, sliding his tongue over your puckered hole, refusing to miss a spot tasting you. “you turn me on so much you bad fuckin’ girl.”

he’s almost got you in a full sixty-nine position, your stomach touching the abs on his body, the heat radiating onto you. you grab his thigh, the blood rushing to your head and you feel yourself getting dizzy.

“onya,” whimpering, you crawl forward so you can breathe, escaping his aggressive hold on you, not wanting you to move but allowing you to.

“come taste it off me.”

his love taps on your thigh ease you, flipping yourself onto your back to pick yourself up. you crawl to him, eyes low and kissing his stomach, working your way up to his neck and then his mouth, molding his lips with yours. moaning, you suck on his lips greedily, taking your hands to tug down his sweats on either side of his hips, gasping when his dick smacks his thigh. you break the kiss, his eyes damn near shut as he glares at you, keeping back a grin as you stare in between where you meet to see the heavy girth of his dick. it’s curved downwards from the weight of it, two toned at the base and an angry vein wide on the side.

“mmm,” you audibly moan, brows furrowing and lips pouting. it’s obvious how horny you were by the expressions you make.

ony grabs your ass when you don’t waste any time spitting on it from where you stand, hitting his base and taking your hand to spread it over him. twisting your palm around the tip and grabbing his neck with your other hand, watching each other, concentrating on the noise of you stroking his dick.

“spit on it,” you plead softly, lips kissing his, biting his bottom.

the stir in his stomach is something he hadn’t felt in a while, finding himself obeying you, lowering his head slightly to spit over his own dick, covering your fingers and pumping your fist faster. your hand instinctively tightens around his neck when he latched his mouth on yours, biting at the flesh and dragging his tongue along your skin. you pull him in, moaning in his ear while he moans on your neck. his tongue is fat, tracing every inch of your skin with noises erupting deep within his throat, kissing and sucking and it makes you insanely wet.

“lemme beat that pussy, ꒰♡꒱. lemme take it.”

the eye contact is deadly, ony growing impatient and pining you on your back. with your head nestled between full feathered pillows, you raise your knees to your chest without help, opening yourself to him and dragging your acrylics down the front of his muscular thighs after he tosses his sweatpants fully off.

ony goes to grab behind your neck, pressing his mouth to yours once more, tapping the head of his dick on your clit a few times before rubbing it against your folds and ever so slowly sinking into you. both of you gasp in sync, ony keeping his hand around the base as he thrusts steadily to let you adjust. he’s pushing in halfway before pulling out and slipping in further. removing his hand, he groans with his head tossed back. locking his hand on the back of your left knee to fully pin your leg to the bed, your stomach caving in from the fullness he gives you, biting your lip hard.

“talk to me, lemme know when it’s safe.”

you can tell he’s trying to hold back, pushing his hips forward till they’re touching yours. you whine pathetically, feeling so good just from minimal strokes. your pussy flutters around him with praise, watching him disappear entirely inside of you and come back out coated in your arousal.

“i’m good,” pawing at his chest, you silently beg for him to bring his body closer, needing his skin on yours.

ony rests his chest on yours, noses mushed together as he locks your smaller frame beneath him, the hand behind your neck now clasping your throat where blushes of purple begin to form. the pretty waves of your pixie cut grows disheveled from this heat that you go into when he starts fucking you rough. the nasty slosh of your pussy drenching his dick in the quiet cabin. only mellow music playing and the disgusting grunts and filthy moans you equally make in each others faces.

ony’s hips smack into yours relentlessly, his jaw wide as he breathlessly grunts while pressing his forehead to yours. squeezing his eyes shut while yours weakly fail to stay open, drunk on his dick as he fucks you harder the louder you get.

“f-fuck, onyaa, shitt. feel so good.”

“ooh, it does for me too. shit, it does for me too,” his voice cracks, a throaty hum he releases vibrating against your chest.

“your dick is s-so . . . big,” you cry out, voice becoming unrecognizable from how broken it is. every pound makes you vocally recite, its needy, and its sexy as fuck. ony can’t bare to hear it, fearing he’d bust too quickly from how you sound alone.

“shit, girl,” ony shakily inhales before laying his palm over your mouth to muffle you, his eyes scrolling into the back of his skull as he balanced himself on the tips of his toes and drives his dick into you harder. “ugh, fuuck, fuck fuck.”

screaming in his palm, you somehow get so loud it didn’t matter if he gagged you quiet. your tongue lolls out on his hand, eyes crossed and breathing heavily. you hold on to his arm, chest bouncing from every hard hit, sticky skin clapping and the feeling of ony in your stomach completely fogs up your brain.

“sloppy ass fuckin’ pussy. pretty ass face, too baby. fuck, gimme this shit. shit talkin’ to me ‘n takin’ my dick so good.”

turning your head to the side, you break away from his palm on your mouth, collecting air in harsh pants and crying out his name in long streams.

“say that shit again, ma’.”

sniffling, you claw at his strong waist, helping him fuck you by yanking him forward, curling your toes and straightening your legs so your pussy clamps tighter around him when they nearly reconnect.

“onyaaa.”

“mm hmm. atta girl.”

keeping your legs to your stomach, they bury the sight of your face, onyankapon entwining his fingers on top of your head that he cradles, holding your face to his chest as he fucks you harder. he sounds ridiculously sexy, growling in the air as you hold the back of his thighs and jerk beneath him from the intensity of his aggression. grinding his dick in you, pressing on the spongy spot deep inside and you can instantly feel the warmth of nearing your orgasm.

“c-cumminn’, ony . . . fuck.”

“cum on this dick, mama. get it all over me.”

it was by far the most intense orgasm you’ve had in your entire life. the aggressive pulse on your clit as you cum, tightening on his dick which he feels it all. the broken symphonies of whines streaming along with pleasurable sobs. it felt so goddamn good.

“good girl, you so pretty when you cum.”

the drunken smile on your face makes ony smile back, kissing your forehead before lifting himself off of you. inhaling, he regains his composure, lifting your ankle to kiss before he’s turning you on your stomach and shoving a pillow under to toot you up at a good angle.

you manage to snort when he kisses the back of your neck, feeling ticklish. his kisses follow down the path of your spine, the tingles in your hips and chest arise again, grinding your ass back when his mouth finds its way there again. nipping at your ass cheeks gently with his teeth. “love all of you, baby. hold that pretty ass open for me.”

“yes, baby.”

the muscles in the back of your shoulders dance as you reach behind yourself to spread your ass apart for him to see, gasping softly when you feel a glob of spit hit your hole and trail down your entrance.

“yeah, keep ‘em there.”

the fat tip of his dick slides it’s way back into you, ony’s brows knitting together as he watches the ring of your cunt grip on him after he pulls back. your black stilettos look good on the pigment of your skin, looking back at him deviously, dark lashes with spikes on the bottom row batting in slow motion it felt like. you kiss your own shoulder, humming elatedly when he begins to fill you up with his whole dick, pouty lips parting to moan softly.

dawn was near, the light in the sky beaming into the glass windows overtime and over your gorgeous figure. his feelings for you grow stronger. he needed you in his life. needed you crying on his dick forever. needed to kiss you all the time and even laugh like idiots. his head was filled with multiple layers of emotions. you could hear the birds chirp outside as ony lifts his body in push-up form to slam into you with all the strength he had left.

your hands stay where they are, body knocking down from every rough, steady, and needy pound. your skin hitting his loudly, ony choking on his moans while you whimper his name.

“g’na fuckin’ . . bust, baby. you want dis’ nut?”

“i want it. do it, ony. i want you.”

“you want me?” he heaves.

“mhm, want you.”

wrapping his forearm around you neck, he drops his weight on you, rutting into you, easing his pace when he finally feels that buildup rush in his abdomen. balls jumping and quickly sliding his dick out to nut over your ass, shooting out in long strings of white up to your backside. onyankopon drags out a grunt, fisting his dick and pumping it to get out every ounce, tightening his palm towards the head and patting your ass with it.

smiling, you drop your arms and bring them to the pillow your head rests on, gripping tight and nuzzling your face into it. ony kisses your cheek, lingering for a few seconds before he’s picking himself up to head to the bathroom to retrieve a warm soapy washcloth. he cleans himself up with a separate one before slipping on his sweats again when he comes back.

you feel the dip in the bed where he sits, his hand on the middle of your back he rubs soothing circles into while proceeding to clean you up with the rag. he took everything out of you, turning your head in his direction to watch him with lazy eyes.

ony clears his throat, smoothing his hand over his waves. “was that . . good for you? you enjoyed it, yeah?”

his anxiousness made you giggle, nodding slowly. “i enjoyed it. yeah. did you?”

“i think i enjoyed it too much,” he admits, swallowing before giving you that serious stare again, wondering what else he had to say. “you were serious about wanting me, like for real?”

you blink, feeling yourself grow extremely tired, but wanting to give him reassurance. “mm hm, i want you.”

and that makes his heart warm, leaning down to kiss your forehead as you try your hardest to fight sleep.

“yeah. i want you too, mama.”

#꒰ ─── 𝓬𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓷 𝓸𝓯 𝓭𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓶𝓼.#onyankopon x reader #onyankopon x black y/n #onyankopon x black reader smut #aot onyankopon #ony x black reader #ony x you #ony smut #onyankopon x you #onyankopon smut #aot smut #attack on titan smut #onyankopon x y/n #snk smut

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nicksolemnlyswears · 1 year ago

Text

THE BEAR AND THE BEE HIVE

summary: in which carmy falls for the sweet café owner that supplies him with endless americanos

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

word count: 14.4k

warning: it's a little bit of a slow burn. sorry. i'm a sucker for it and i feel like carmy is a slow burn kinda guy. 18 +, cursing, smut, p in v, oral (m. receiving), fingering, they use protection guys! i deserve a pat in the back. nothing too wild. oh, and very brief mention of suicide.

a/n: i started writing this way back in october and then it was nearly done and i abandoned it. well i finally got around to completing it tonight!

this is my first time ever writing for carmy and i tried my best writing this. i love carmy and the show but i didn’t expect it to be hard to write him as a character. i wanted to get him right so i took my time with it and didn’t rush it. hopefully you guys like my carmy. enjoy!

i think i've had this stored in my drafts for like 4 months and it's time for me to set it free.

The cigarettes were not enough anymore. No matter how many smoke breaks Carmy took, he still felt the edge on his shoulders. A fear laced with anxiety that overtook him.

After deciding that blowing through yet another wall in his restaurant was the way to go, Carmy took a break. He needed it before he used the sledgehammer to destroy the restaurant in its entirety, along with his dream.

He remembers a coffee shop only a block away from The Bear and thinks he could use a coffee right about now. Maybe the mixture of caffeine and nicotine will be able to relax his shoulders, if only for an hour.

As soon as he opens the door, the smell of ground coffee beans greets him. He looks around, taking in the cozy ambiance the decorative wood brings to the place and the splashes of warm yellow that lighten it up.

Then he sees you, and his focus shifts entirely. His eyes only see you.

"Hi, welcome to Bee Hive!" You chirp with a small smile.

Carmy freezes, forgetting why he's there in the first place. He slowly steps up to the register, where you patiently wait for him. It's just after the lunch rush, so you're in no hurry.

He finds he's acting like a teenager who has just seen a pretty girl. Only he's not a teenager, and you're more than a pretty girl.

"What can I get for you today?" You ask, not noticing the effect you've had on him. You take a sharpie out of your yellow apron, preparing to scribble down his order in a cup.

Carmy has perfected the empty on the outside but screaming on the inside face. Strangers don't tend to know he's almost always losing his shit.

"I-I don't…sorry," Carmy looks at you briefly before diverting his eyes. He apologizes in a flurry, looking for an excuse for his weird behavior, "Uh, it's my first time here. What do you recommend?"

"It's not a problem," you say softly as if to calm him, "I'm a simple girl. I love the latte, but if you're looking for something stronger, the americano is one of the favorites."

Carmy nods as you ramble about the drinks, where the coffee beans come from, and the different notes of each blend. He hangs onto every word that slips from your lips. The static in his brain clearing up for the first time in hours.

It ends too soon as you realize you're talking too much and probably overwhelmed him. You sheepishly smile at him and trail off, but he continues to stare, waiting for you to continue.

"I'll take the Americano," Carmy nods, giving you a tight-lipped smile. Although he had been hanging to every one of your words, he was too focused on the shape of your lips and the sweet tone of your voice.

"Good choice," you nod, grabbing a cup from the tray beside you, "What's your name?"

Carmy looks up, slightly alarmed, as if you've asked for his social security number. "What?" He thinks you'll be forward and ask for his number next, seemingly forgetting how coffee orders work.

"Your name? For the order?" You explain, trying to ease his worries. He's odd, but in an endearing way. You believe this is his first time here because you're confident you would've remembered him.

"Fuck, right, yeah," he nervously says, pinching the bridge of his nose, "My name's Carmen."

"Your Americano will be right out, Carmen," you tell him, capping your sharpie back up.

Carmy quickly pays and stands to the side to wait for his order. He forces himself to not look at you or in your direction as you take other customers' orders. He just knows he's made a fool of himself already. Not that it matters. Why would it matter? He's there for the coffee. Nothing else, no one else.

As he walks out of Bee Hive, he sips his coffee. His shoulders instantly drop, and his fear-induced anxiety starts to dissipate for the moment. He's unsure if the effect is because of the caffeine or the thoughts of your pretty smile.

Visiting your coffee shop becomes routine for Carmy. Whenever things at The Bear become crazy -or he starts to lose his fuckin' mind- he makes his way to Bee Hive with a cigarette hanging from his lips.

For twenty minutes, he's free of Richie's constant hounding, Sugar's struggles with the permits and scheduling, and Sydney's disappointment because the menu is still extremely underway.

Each time he's stopped by, you've been there to greet him, and each time, you've left a little heart by Carmen's name, which makes his heart race in a peculiar way. His hands would touch his chest to check if it was heartburn, but it didn't feel like that. It's not anxiety either cause he knows pretty well how that feels.

All he knows is he hasn't done anything to deserve such a gesture. He's convinced himself you draw little hearts for everyone because he's not special.

One Thursday afternoon, Carmy realizes he doesn't know your name. He looks for a name tag, but you're not wearing one on your yellow apron. He should know your name if you insist on making small talk despite his short answers.

He can't help it. He gets too in his head to answer like a normal person, so his answers come out choppy and dry.

"Alright, Carmen, your order will be right out," you say, handing his cup to one of the baristas. You always hold out and ask him what he wants to order. He has the right to change his mind anytime, but for now, he's stuck with the americano, which he drowns in sugar.

As curiosity eats at him, he gathers the courage to ask. "Thanks. Hey, uh, I've-I’ve never gotten your name…” Carmy says, cursing at himself for not formulating the question correctly. His hand comes up to grip his hair instinctually.

Your smile widens when he asks your name. The silly crush you've developed for your customer fluttering to life. It's just a crush over a stranger, nothing to write home about.

You tell him your name but follow it with "-call me Honey. Everyone knows me by that name. I'm sure if you ask my friends about me with my real name, you'll throw them for a loop."

You're rambling, hoping he doesn't think calling you by your nickname is weird. Then again, how can he judge when he has a sister people call 'Sugar' and he and his siblings also don the nickname 'Bear.'

"Honey." Carmy repeats your nickname, smiling as he finds it fitting. "In that case, call me Carmy."

"Nice to properly meet you, Carmy," you say, grinning.

Like all the days before, Carmy steps aside and waits for his coffee. He doesn't let himself continue the conversation or ask more about you even if it’s everything he wants to do.

It's rare for Carmy to be in a good mood, and whenever it happens, it doesn't tend to last. His goal of opening a restaurant in 12 weeks makes it impossible for him to relax and enjoy the ride. To prolong this unusual feeling, Carmy stops by Bee Hive on his way to The Bear.

"Have you made your boss angry, Honey?" He asks as he pulls out his wallet to pay. He ordered the americano as he always does.

"No…why do you ask?" You ask, tilting your head in confusion.

"Uh, 'cause you-you're always here. Do you not take days off? Not that I'm complaining. I-I like seeing you here." Carmy's words get quieter as he speaks, red creeping up his neck. So much for trying to make a joke.

You look around the room and tell him, "Imma let you in on a little secret."

Carmy follows your hand, waving him to get closer. The smell of cigarettes invades your senses as you get close to him. You'd never admit that the mix of his cigarettes and your coffee is addicting. As both lean over the counter, you whisper, "I'm the boss. I can't run away even if I wanted to."

"You own the coffee shop," Carmy pans in shock.

Carmy is more than surprised at your words. Especially now that he knows how expensive it is to open a business. You can't be a day over 25 and own a successful coffee place. There is hope, after all.

"I do," you nod, standing straight once more.

A couple of years ago, you had inherited a hefty amount of money from an estranged aunt. Fresh out of college and with no real plan, you thought it would be a good moment to follow your dream and open the cozy café.

"How do you do it?" Carmy asks, amazed at the girl smiling at him. "I don't know if you know, but, um, I-I'm opening the restaurant around the block. Used to be The Beef?" He finishes grimly as he points to his side of the block.

"Oh, yeah. The guys who worked there helped me move some equipment when I first opened two years ago," you reveal, "Tell you what, whenever you have a break, come around. I'll give you a free americano and tell you all about it. Neighbor to neighbor."

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Carmy agrees. "I'll take you up on that."

Weeks go by, and Carmy seemingly forgets about Bee Hive and your pending conversation. You try not to overthink about his absence or how you might've scared him away. He's probably just busy remodeling his restaurant. You know better than anyone how much time that takes.

Still, his presence has become part of your routine, and you can't help but look at the door each time the bell rings. You expect to see him walking up to the counter, the remnants of cigarette smoke coming out his nose as he breathes.

You're pretty close to your assumption because Carmy has been dealing with the fire suppression test. They didn't fail the test once but twice, and if they didn't pass it on the third try, their plan to open the restaurant in 12 weeks goes out the window. Fak has tried everything, and nothing works.

He'd sent Richie once on a coffee run, but the fuckin' idiot went to the nearest Starbucks. Carmy had been looking forward to tasting your coffee and seeing his name in the cup with the little heart because he's 100% sure he's the only Carmen you know. It's not a common name in these parts of town.

One very early morning, he's walking to work, and as he passes Bee Hive, he sees you inside, wiping tables down before you open at 6:30.

Impulsively, he knocks on the glass, not giving himself the time to overthink things. You turn to look at the window and see him standing outside, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his familiar plaid jacket to protect himself from the chilly March air.

"Hey stranger," you greet him, opening the door and inviting him in.

"Hi," he breathes out, staring at you, "you're here early," he tries to casually mention.

You roll your eyes dramatically and say, "It's a downside of the job. Did you know people want coffee at the crack of dawn?"

You try acting as nonchalant as possible. It's not like you missed seeing one of your favorite customers, his beautiful blue eyes, or the way he rocks a simple white t-shirt.

"I had no idea," Carmy smiles, bringing his tattooed hand up to his lips, "I, uh, usually drink mine at night." That much is true. On those sleepless nights when insomnia takes over him, the best remedy is coffee.

"Would you make an exception and join me for a morning coffee at the crack ass of dawn?" Anxiously, you play with the rings on your fingers. It feels like you're asking the guy on a date when it's just a friendly coffee.

"As long as you have some business advice to spare?" Carmy responds shakily. He briefly looks down the street to glimpse at his restaurant. It's too early for anyone to be there yet.

"Deal."

Throwing the towel over your shoulder, you make your way behind the counter. Carmy attempts to make small talk with you as you prepare both drinks.

This is the first time he's watching you in action since you tend to stick to the cash register when he's around. It's not a coincidence. After the first time he came to Bee Hive, you wanted to see more of him, so you stationed yourself at the register where you'd be sure to see him, and he'd see you.

"Here you go." You place his coffee mug on the table along with yours before disappearing momentarily and returning with an orange soufflé coffee cake. You're pulling all the stops for Carmy to leave a good impression.

Carmy thanks you and sips his coffee, "Wow, this is fire!" He expected to taste an americano, but what you prepared was entirely different. He can make out hints of hazelnut and caramel in the coffee.

"Thanks. I took the liberty of changing your order. You can always come back to the americano, though…" you shrug shyly, looking at him over the rim of your mug.

"I-I appreciate it. Thanks." Carmy throws you a nervous grin. He gestures with his tattooed hand to dig into the cake you brought out. He shouldn't be the only one eating.

You and Carmy share the cake as you talk about yourselves and the crazy businesses you own. Somehow, talking to you comes easy to him. He's still nervous and scared to fuck things up, but the warm coffee and your even warmer smile ease him into it.

"How do you do it? This place is always packed, and you seem like you run a tight ship," Carmy wonders, playing with the fork. The cake is long gone, although the notes of orange remain on his tongue. Would you taste the same?

"It wasn't without mistakes. I had to learn a lot from my fuck ups and listen to my team because although I'm the owner, they are the ones doing most of the work. Whenever there's a flaw, they are the first to know," you speak softly, afraid of ruining the calm ambiance you've set up, twirling the small amount of coffee left in your mug.

It's your favorite part of morning coffee. When you have just the smallest bit of coffee left, and you know you'll never drink it because it's cold, but it gives you an excuse to remain where you are.

"So, all I gotta do is listen?" It's funny you say that because Carmy listens, but his friend's voices get muddled somewhere along the way. As much as he tries to focus on them, they merge together and form a cacophony in his head.

"A lot of listening and a lot of experimentation. I've been open for two years, and it's only been in the last six months that I can confidently tell you we found our groove," you admit with a grimace.

Bee Hive is your baby, but bringing it to life was everything but easy. You messed up so many times, costing you so much money. You didn't know shit about owning a business or building one from the ground up. Doing research and putting your pride aside to ask for help got you through it.

"I've only been doing this for, like, less than a fuckin' year, and I already want to pull my hair out," Carmy admits with a pitiful laugh.

"I'm sorry I can't tell you it gets better soon," you say apologetically, reaching for his hand that rests on the table.

Carmy freezes, glancing at your hand on top of his. He hasn't got a clue what to fucking do with the display of affection. Was it a display of affection? He doesn't fucking know. "It's, uh, it's, uh, it's alright. As-as long as you give me coffee, I think I can make it through," Carmen furrows his eyebrows as he stutters through the sentence.

"I can't wait to see what the award-winning chef does," you say, bringing your hand back to your lap, none the wiser to Carmy's internal struggle.

He should've done something to keep your hand on his. Place his other hand on yours or fucking turn his hand around to grasp it. He liked feeling your warm skin on his. It hasn't been a minute since you pulled away, and he's craving it already. It's ridiculous. Is he really that touch-starved that he's seeking affection from a near stranger?

He coughs and darts his eyes between the wooden table top and you, "Fuck. You-you know about that?"

"I might've done some research after finding out you're opening the restaurant. I got curious. I'm sorry." Apologizing is your default thing to do. Messing things up is your area of expertise. You really didn't think he'd mind you mentioning it.

"No, no, no, uh, you don't have to apologize. You just caught me off guard," Carmy shakes his head, reassuring both of you.

"Okay, good," you lightly smile at him, averting your eyes when your gazes meet.

If there's a time for you to make a move, it's now. Taking a shaky breath, you speak up, "I was wondering if you'd ever like to-."

A loud knock on the glass door interrupts you. You and Carmy jump and look towards the source of the noise. It's one of your regular clients, waving at you to open up. Looking at your watch, you see it's 6:30 already.

"Shit. I'm-I'm sorry I took so much of your time," Carmy apologizes, picking up his mug and the plate to put away.

You grab his wrist to make him stop in his tracks, "Relax. I enjoyed talking to you. Maybe we can do it again soon?"

Carmy nods wide-eyed. He likes the idea just as much as you do. You take away the mug and plate with a soft 'okay.' He then follows you to the door as you unlock it and turn the sign to 'open.'

"I, um, gotta go work on the menu. I'll probably be back later for another coffee?" Carmen asks you as if he's asking for permission, which you find adorable.

"I'll be behind the register," you say, watching him walk away. He turns his head back for a moment, and you catch the smile gracing his lips as yours turns to mimic him.

"Oh, he's cute," your customer, an older lady, says, watching him go along with you. "It's about time you got a boyfriend."

"Mrs. O'Hara, here for your tea?" You ask her, ignoring the comment about your love life. That woman will set you up with anyone. She does love her tea, though, and expects you to provide it on time.

It's slow, but Carmen warms up to you. Instead of grabbing his coffee to go, he now drinks it at the café, coincidentally around the same time you take your break.

He's been hesitantly opening up. It's not like he's telling you about how fucked up his family is or how his brother committed suicide. More often, it's about the restaurant and his work as a chef, the struggles of getting every permit they need on a tight schedule since they are supposed to open in about four weeks now, or the occasional childhood memory. It's everything you need to know at this stage.

You love listening to Carmy talk, even if you have to coax it out of him sometimes. He's passionate about the restaurant despite all the stress that comes from it, and he adores the people he works with. He's shy but not in a dorky way because he's actually fascinating. Before meeting him, you never knew that collecting denim was a thing.

The smell of cigarettes that clings to him is also tightly laced with his character. When you step outside to get some sun and the scent of someone smoking hits you, your heart instantly speeds up, hoping it's him coming for his daily americano, or to come swoop you away into a sunset.

"-I fell on my ass in the middle of the street. I was freaking out, thinking I was gonna get run over by a car," you exclaim as you tell Carmy about the crazy Christmas you spent in New York last year.

"It's New York. You probably would have been run over," Carmy chuckles along with you. "There was this one time I was running late and-" His phone vibrating interrupts him.

"Sorry, it's just the fridge guy," he tells you with a furrow of his eyebrows. You notice he does that a lot when he's thinking deeply. Carmy silences it and looks back over to you.

"You should pick that up. A busted fridge is the last thing you need. Trust me. Been there, done that." You encourage him to take the call. The restaurant is more important than your story about how you bruised your coccyx in New York.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Carm! Call him back before you forget," you insist, grabbing his empty cup to trash it. You don't give him any other option, leaving him there to help your employees with a faulty machine.

He watches you closely, closer than ever before. He allows himself to watch how you frown at the machine and how your ringed fingers fumble with the knobs. His eyes keep trailing down involuntarily, and they take in how nicely your jeans hug your ass.

He goes into a spiral into these old pair of Levi jeans popular in the 90s and how they would fit nicely with the shape of your hips and legs. Carmy continues on the tangent, imagining himself peeling them off your body.

The phone vibrating in his hand snaps him out of it. Clearing his throat, he picks up the phone and walks outside. He waves at you through the window as he makes his way back to The Bear. Your frustration at the machine vanishes momentarily as you wave back, except the machine splatters, forcing you to redirect your attention. When you look outside again, he's gone.

Stakes are high at The Bear. There's less than four weeks until Friends and Family, and there is much to do. Marcus has returned from Copenhagen and is working on the desserts. Tina is doing her job as the new sous chef. Fak and Sweeps are helping out wherever they can. And Richie is being Richie, trying to be open but resisting change.

"I need coffee or a pop. Anything with caffeine," Sydney says, throwing her head back. She and Carmen have been working on the chaos menu for hours, and she keeps messing up. Carmy insists that it's okay that they'll adjust and get it right soon, but she's beginning to lose hope.

"Me too. I'd kill for an espresso," Natalie agrees, softly rubbing her hand over her growing bump.

"I thought you couldn't have caffeine cause of the baby," Richie mentions, remembering Tiff's time while pregnant.

"I don't need you to fuckin' tell me what I can or can't eat, Richie," Natalie yells, glaring at him. Although he's right, the doctor told her to limit her caffeine intake. Hard to do when she's up all night thinking about everything she needs to do for The Bear.

"Shit. I'm sorry for fucking caring," Richie screams back, lifting his hands up in defense.

"I can go to the coffee place down the block. Get everyone something," Carmy pipes up, looking forward to seeing you today.

Natalie is quick to shoot that idea down, "You can't. The fridge guy is coming in 20 minutes."

"Fuck, that's right," Carmy groans, digging his head in his hands. His fingers rake through his hair, messing up his curls. He wanted to see you and talk to you, even if it was for five short minutes.

"I'll go," Sydney sighs. She needs to leave the kitchen for more than five minutes, or she'll go crazy, "Just tell me what you guys want to order."

Natalie grumbles about getting decaf, Richie orders a plain black coffee, and Carmy asks for his americano. As Sydney leaves to ask Marcus, Carmy yells after her, "Please, go to Bee Hive. If you get Starbucks, I'm gonna fucking lose it."

Richie and Natalie exchange a look. Richie because he's confused, and Natalie because she knows something is happening with Carmy. He's never been picky over coffee. In fact, they have an old coffee machine in the office that now goes unused because he's always at that coffee shop.

"Sorry, I didn't get the fuckin' memo. Since when is Starbucks bad?" Richie frowns, looking to get a rise out of Carmy.

"I don't think it's about the coffee, cousin," Natalie responds, directing her gaze towards her brother, who is hunched over the counters, chopping vegetables.

"If it's not about the coffee, what is it about?" Richie questions, crossing his arms.

"Shut the fuck up, Sugar," Carmy grumbles, looking at his sister with a glare. He already knows where she's going. She tried to bring it up a couple of days ago after she walked by the coffee shop and saw him being friendly with you.

Natalie smiles and responds, "Carmy has a crush on the barista."

"That's ridiculous. I don't have a crush on her." Carmy shakes his head, avoiding Richie and Natalie's eyes on him. They always do this. They gang up on him if he shows even the slightest interest in a girl. They think they can help, but all they do is embarrass him.

"Come on, Bear. Why else would you go almost every day to get coffee?" Natalie asks, giving him a look.

"Because it's good fuckin' coffee. Jesus, it's not that deep." Carmy grabs the veggies he chopped and drops them into a container to use later.

"It's okay to admit you like a pretty girl, cousin! I'm excited for you! Makes you human and not a lonely hermit," Richie jokes, pushing on Carmy's buttons. "When was the last time you got laid?"

"I swear to God, Richie. Shut the fuck up," Carmy points at him angrily.

"No, I should go with Sydney and see who this girl is!" Richie says, walking out of the half-built kitchen.

Carmy follows him instantly, "You're not going fuckin' anywhere, fuckin' jagoff." He's turning red from anger, seeing Richie with his mocking smile. Natalie follows behind them, amused at the situation. It reminds her of the banters they used to get in with Mickey.

"Admit that you like her," Richie shrugs, giving him a choice.

"No, I won't," Carmy refuses. "You always do this shit."

"Then, I'm going," Richie nods, stepping towards the door.

"Fuck! Shit, alright. I like her, okay? Don't fucking go anywhere," Carmy yells, rubbing a hand on his face out of frustration. It's like he's not allowed to keep anything good to himself.

"Was that so hard?" Richie grins, clapping a hand on Carmy's shoulder.

"Don't fuckin' touch me," Carmy grumbles, walking back to the kitchen. Natalie follows him with a smile, shaking her head at Richie.

Carmy sighs and squeezes his eyes shut. He has yet to admit that he likes you more than he should. He's been avoiding it, afraid of what it might lead to, or rather, what it might not.

He couldn't let Richie go see you. He has a big fuckin' mouth and will tell you Carmy has a crush on you whether it's true or not. Just like that, he feels the sour taste in his mouth, his heartburn making an appearance. Carmy should go look for his pepto before it gets worse.

Unaware of the argument back at The Bear, Sydney walks to Bee Hive. She's walked past many times but has yet to have the time to stop and try it out.

As she waits in line, she reads over the drinks menu. It's clear that it's been carefully curated. Starbucks has nothing on this menu. She can see why Carmy would prefer to come here instead.

When it's her turn to order, Sydney takes out her phone to recite everyone's drink order. She also points to a few pastries, thinking Marcus would like to try some of them and get inspiration. That and she knows Natalie will enjoy them as well.

You're sitting at a table close to the pickup counter. You often find yourself all over the store, ensuring everything goes smoothly. Sometimes, you stop to talk to your regulars and see how they're doing.

You notice Sydney struggling with all the cups she has to carry. It's proving difficult despite the to-go trays your barista put them in. Deciding to approach her, you ask, "Do you need help?"

"Oh, no. I'm fine, thanks," Sydney responds with a nervous smile. She's trying hard to grab everything, including the box with the pastries.

You continue watching her struggle because you know she needs help. You let her try and figure it out for one more minute before stepping in again when she almost drops two of the drinks, "Need some help now?"

"Yeah," Sydney sighs, "I guess I can leave one of the trays here, go to the restaurant, and come back for the rest," she speaks mostly to herself.

"Are you going far?"

"No, just the restaurant down the block," Sydney responds with a sigh, scratching her eyebrow as she tries to figure out the logistics of carrying the drinks. She could get a box to put everything in.

You perk up at her response. The only restaurant down the block is Carmen's. Could she work there? "Carmy's restaurant?"

"You know Carmy?" Sydney asks, tilting her head. Maybe Nat was right. Carmy spends his time here because of the woman in front of her.

"He comes here often. Anyway, I can go with you to help you out. It's not far, and I'd feel bad if your drinks got cold." You offer to help her out because you're a nice person. Not because you want a chance to see the curly-haired man you are developing feelings for.

"You really don't have to…"

"It's really not a problem," you press, grabbing one of the to-go trays and motioning for her to lead the way.

Sydney sighs in defeat and nods, "Thanks. I'm Sydney, by the way."

"I'm Honey," you smile, following her outside.

You chat all the way to the restaurant with Sydney. She reminds you of Carmy in some ways, so you can see why they are friends. Before arriving at the restaurant, Sydney apologizes in advance for any sort of mess there might be, including yelling.

As you near the building under renovation, your palms start to sweat. Maybe you shouldn't have come. You're showing up unannounced, and he's probably too busy to talk to you anyway. You can slip in and out without him noticing. That's the goal now.

You open the door for Sydney, letting her go through first, and quietly follow her into the restaurant. There's no time to escape, as all eyes are instantly on you.

Richie is arguing with Fak when he sees you walk in. He narrows his eyes as Carmy looks in your direction from the kitchen. With just one glance to Carmy's face, he knows who you're supposed to be.

"Guess I didn't have to go anywhere. She came to me," Richie whispers, rushing out the door.

"Shut the fuck up. Where are you going? Don't embarrass me!" Carmy whispers out to Richie unsuccessfully.

"Oh, you'll do that all by yourself," Richie throws over his shoulder.

"Honey, hey, what-what're you doing here?" Carmy speaks, not giving Richie a chance to open his big mouth. He stands between you and Richie, blocking him for the time being.

"Sydney needed help with the drinks," you answer nervously, averting your eyes.

"Oh, thanks for that. You didn't have to," Carmy approaches you and takes the drinks from your hands. His fingers brush with yours momentarily, causing you both to blush.

"I did, or else you probably wouldn't have anything to drink," you whisper to him.

Sydney, Fak, and Richie all watch the interaction amusedly. Richie has a big teasing grin on his face as he makes a plan in his head.

"Hi, I'm Richie! Carmy's cousin," he introduces himself, shoving Carmy to the side and shaking your hand enthusiastically. "I gotta say Carmen right here is obsessed with your coffee. He's banned us from getting Starbucks."

Carmy curses under his breath as Richie does precisely what he tells him not to. He has the urge to throw the coffee at him and run away.

"Is that right?" You ask, amused, looking over at Carmy with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh yeah," Richie answers for him as Carmy tries to find the right words to say. "Cousin, why don't you give the nice lady a tour of the place?"

"It's not done yet. Could be dangerous," Carmy hopelessly says with a gulp.

"Nonsense! You'll take care of her!" Richie insists. He takes the coffee from Carmy's hands and pushes him in your direction. "Go give her a tour."

Richie, Sydney, and Fak all disappear to the office to stay out of the way and try to snoop simultaneously. Fak sends Carmy a not-so-discreet thumbs-up that makes you giggle.

He's internally screaming at his so-called friends but is glad to see you. It was all he wanted before Sydney left to get their drinks. It's strange having you here at The Bear, though. He's so used to seeing you in your own space back at Bee Hive.

Trying to make things better, you say, "Sorry you've been roped into this. You probably have better things to do. I can go-"

Carmy doesn't let you finish. "No, stay. I want to show you around."

"Let's see what you got then, Berzatto," you grin, following him to the kitchen.

Carmy takes his time showing you The Bear. He wants you to stay. He wants to spend time with you but doesn't really know how to say it. So he takes it slow, answers your questions about the restaurant, shows you the front and how everything will be laid out, and introduces you to the ones around, including the fridge guy working on the handle.

Sadly, you get a call from Bee Hive asking you to come back. Carmy walks you outside, dreading having to say goodbye.

"I'm really excited for The Bear to open. You have a great place and team," you tell Carmy.

"I really got lucky with them, huh?" He asks, playing with a dish towel.

"I gotta go. I'll see you later, Berzatto." You don't know where you got the guts to lean towards him and kiss his cheek.

Carmy stays still as his face heats up. You start walking away and throw him a smile over your shoulder. When you're a distance away, he touches the cheek you kissed. Back inside, Richie runs over to Sugar to tell her what he just witnessed.

It's late when Carmy leaves The Bear. As he walks to the train station, he has his hands stuffed in his jacket pocket. On his way, he sees a lone light turned on in your café. Crossing the street to check it out, he sees you're still there with glasses perched on your nose in front of the computer.

He tries the door, and to his luck, it's open. You look in his direction, startled, but relax once you see it's him.

"Nice glasses," Carmy teases, pulling out a chair to sit.

"Are you making fun of me?" You purse your lips, propping your chin on your palm.

"No, I…I think you look cute with them," Carmy admits. After a stern talk from Sugar and Richie, he's realized he should probably make a proper move on you because if what they say is true, you also have a crush on him.

"Thanks," you blush, the light from your screen making it obvious to Carmy, who can't stop the corners of his lips from turning up into a smile.

"Late night?"

"One of my baristas is moving out of state. I have to find someone new, preferably who has experience," you say with a sigh. Glancing at him, you add, "Are you perhaps interested in the position?"

"Poaching me from my own restaurant, nice. I'll let you know I'm an excellent worker," Carmy jokes, tapping his fingers on the table.

There's no doubt in your mind he's an excellent worker. He has to be if he's considered one of the best up-and-coming chefs. Or to work in one of the best restaurants in the world with three Michelin stars.

"I don't know. I'll need references," you speak as if not believing him.

Carmy smiles and softly chuckles, "Fair enough."

There's a moment of silence between the two of you that Carmy is quick to fill, "So, uh, have you had dinner yet by chance?" This is it.

You shake your head no and look at him with hopeful eyes.

"Wanna go grab pizza? I know a place," he asks, finding your gaze on him.

"Say no more," you say, closing your laptop and taking off your glasses. "I'm starving."

Carmy waits for you to lock Bee Hive and grab your things. Then, you both walk to the pizza place. To pass the time, you and Carmy talk about your days and anything that comes to mind. Nothing serious as you get to know each other.

Waiting in line to order the pizza, you tell him all about your nickname and how you were donned 'Honey' to everyone who knows you. In return, he tells you about his nickname 'Bear' and why his restaurant is named as such. For the first time, he dares mention Mickey.

"Best pizza in Chicago," Carmy says, taking a slice of the pie and placing it on your plate.

"I'll see about that," you murmur. You wait until he has a slice of his own and dig in simultaneously.

"It's good, but this is not the best pizza place in Chicago," you say after chewing the first bite, "I'm gonna get your chef license revoked."

"Are you? With what proof? Have you tried all the pizza places to know?"

"I don't have to because I've tried the best," you hum, taking another bite. The cheese stretches as you pull it away.

"Oh yeah? Which one?" Carmy questions you, taking a drink of his beer.

"Mine. The pizza I make is the best," you shrug modestly.

"Wait. You cook?" Carmy asks, giving you a look of surprise.

Cooking is a universal thing. Most people know how to cook up to a degree, yet only some are as confident in their skills as you are. You know you're definitely not up to Carmy's level, but if there is something you know how to do properly, it's pizza.

"Yeah! You're not the only good cook here, Berzatto," you sass back at him, dipping the pizza crust in the marinara sauce.

"Sorry for assuming," he raises his palms.

"You're forgiven," you chirp.

"When will I try this famous pizza of yours then?" Carmy wonders. An attempt to see if you'd like to see more of him.

"I promise I'll make it for you once you open The Bear. You're too stressed to fully enjoy it now," you respond. You were reaching out. Throwing hints that you want this to continue in the foreseeable future.

The conversation continues to flow with an empty pizza box in front of you. Customers come and go until it's only the two of you and a drunk customer picking up his pizza.

"Tell me about your tattoos. Were they an act of rebellion or something else?"

It's an excuse to touch his hands. You reach for them, turning them to see the black ink on his hands and fingers. You gently trace over them with the pads of your fingers. Over the hand that's stabbed, the letters S.O.U. on his knuckles and the forget-me-nots. The one you're dying to touch, though, is the one on his bicep; you'd give anything to feel the hard muscle underneath the rolled-up sleeves of his white t-shirt.

"Uh, my first tattoo is the 773. Got it when I left Chicago for the first time. After that, I sort of became addicted to them. I found they helped my anxiety when it was becoming too much. The pain distracted me and made me feel stronger than I actually was," he says, letting you touch him. He finds that he likes it. Your touch is soft and warm. Comforting.

"So what you're trying to say is you're a masochist," you say, bouncing your eyebrows at him. Your touch goes further up his arm to turn it and look at the fish tattoo on his forearm.

"I guess so," Carmy responds with a breathy laugh, "Do you have any tattoos?"

"Maybe…" You shrug as the pads of your fingers trail back down to his palm until you pull them back towards you. Carmy instantly misses the feeling, opting to cross his arms to retain the warmth you left behind.

"It's bad, isn't it?" He says knowingly. Your reaction told him everything he needed to know.

"The worst," you grimace, shaking your head at the memory of you getting it.

"So, rebellion or something else?"

"Rebellion. For all the wrong reasons," you groan, burying your face in your hands, "Growing up, everyone saw me as a good girl because that's what I was. Breaking the rules terrified me. So, as a teenager, I didn't want to be seen as a goody two shoes, so the summer before I went to college, I decided that getting a tattoo would make me a badass."

"Did it work?"

"God, no. I only got the outline done 'cause it hurt like a bitch. Then I went crying to my parents, fully having a meltdown, apologizing for disappointing them," You scrunch your nose as you say the following words, "They laughed in my face, called me a wimp, and told me to suck it up."

Carmy fully laughs at your story. Head thrown back, eyes closing, "What did you get?"

"That's a secret, Berzatto," you purse your lips, avoiding responding. You just know he'll make fun of you for it.

Everyone who has seen your tattoo has made fun of you for it, yourself included. It's so silly and not badass. Carmy will have to wait to see your tattoo, and you hope this continues so he can see it up close.

"Really? That bad?" Carmy stares wide-eyed.

"It's terrible," you nod, leaning on the table. "We should probably get going before the waitress throws a fit."

Carmy looks over his shoulder to see the waitress glaring at them. It's five minutes till close, and they've made no move to go. He turns back to you and nods towards the door. Carmy helps you with your jacket and leaves a tip on the jar for the waitress. At that, she happily calls after them with a 'Good night!'

"Do you live far?" Carmy asks, seeing how dark it is now that most places have closed. There are too many lamp posts that aren't working. He'd feel better if he could walk you home or you called an Uber. Preferably the former.

"Only a couple of blocks away. Why?"

"It's late. Let me walk you home," Carmy says decidedly, not giving you much of a choice.

"Thanks," you respond with a small smile.

The pace you set is slow. You don't want your time with Carmy to end just yet. He's such an interesting and sweet guy. He's a little awkward, but it adds to his charm, and you can see he's trying.

Somewhere along the way, his hand brushes against yours briefly. Then, it happens again, and you decide to bite the bullet. You grasp his hand in yours.

"Is this okay?" You ask when he falls silent.

Carmy doesn't have a lot of experience with girls. He can't even remember the last time he held a girl's hand. All he knows is he doesn't remember ever feeling this good. "Yes, uh, this is okay."

Carmy walks you up to your front door when you reach your house. You unlock the door but stay outside face-to-face with Carmy.

"Thanks for the pizza," you say, fiddling with your fingers. You were about to make one more move for the night. Because as long as Carmy allows you, you'll keep pushing for more.

"Sorry, it wasn't the best," he retorts, rubbing his jaw with his hand. You notice he does that a lot when nervous.

"Your company made up for it," you reassure him, "g'night Carmy." You kiss his cheek goodbye, watching as his cheeks blush.

"Night," he whispers.

As you turn to leave, Carmy stops you by grabbing your wrist, "Wait-uh, can I? Uh-shit. Fuck it." For a second, Carmy shuts out the excessive thoughts in his head and does what he's been dying to do for weeks.

Carmy cups your jaw and kisses you. It's soft and slow. He gives you enough leeway to pull away if it's something you don't want, but you reciprocate eagerly. You've been waiting for this all night.

As confidence surges through his body, Carmy throws an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. You wrap your arms around him, one of your hands resting on his neck, tangling on his curls. The tug of your fingers feels like heaven.

The kiss turns needy and desperate, your lips moving perfectly in sync. His tongue brushes over your lip; Carmy has been dying to test a theory. Are you as sweet as your name?

He's rewarded by a little noise in the back of your throat as he slips his tongue into your mouth. It's endearing, and he finds a way to make you do it again. With heads tilting to deepen the kiss, he concludes he was right. You're pure honey. Sweet and addicting.

When Carmy returns to his apartment, he gets the urge to create, to cook. He wants to bring your taste to life with his cooking. Something with honey.

"I was wondering if you'd want to come to the restaurant for Family and Friends."

You and Carmy are in your little office at Bee Hive. He stands between your legs as you sit on the desk. His lips are slightly red and swollen, and the hair at the nape of his neck is messier than usual.

"Hm, I could be persuaded," you pretend to think as you play with the golden chain around his neck, pulling him towards you.

"Yeah?" Carmy laughs, leaning to brush his lips against yours. When he feels you nod, he closes the small gap between the two of you.

His hands hold your hips, pulling you impossibly closer. He tastes like coffee, which is to be expected from the discarded cup beside you. It's funny how your relationship, if it could be called that, has moved all around Bee Hive from the register to the front and now to your office.

You're at a weird spot where you're not exactly friends because friends don't kiss, but you're not a couple either. It's a situationship for sure. You're content with what you have now, although you'd also love it if Carmy were to ask you to be more. You pin it on him being shy. He'll get around to it.

"What do you say?" Carmy questions as he kisses a trail from your cheek to your jaw.

"Consider me in," you giggle when he kisses a tickly spot.

Carmy brushes a strand of hair out of your face, remaining close to you. This is what he needs. After months of stress and anxiety of having to deal with The Beef, now The Bear, he needed you and your calming presence. Someone removed from the chaos, a safe haven.

He's quiet as his thoughts consume him, and you take the intimate position to fix his gold chain. Turning it so the clasp faces the back instead of the front. "I'm excited, Carmy," you say with a smile, brushing his cheek with your thumb.

"You can bring someone with you," Carmy offers nervously because he realizes he probably won't have the time to spend much time with you. "I-I don't think I'll be around much. I'm sorry. I'd understand if that makes you change your mind," Carmy drops his head as he braces himself for disappointment.

As the weeks pass, you learn more about Carmy and his insecurities. It doesn't deter you from wanting to be with him. Everyone has their issues. "Berzatto, stop. Look at me," you softly divert his attention, "I'd love to go and support you even if it's from the sidelines."

"You sure?" He asks once more.

If reassurance is what he needs, that's what you'll give. "Don't worry about me. This is your moment, Carmy. Enjoy it. I'll be around afterward."

"Thank you for understanding," Carmy responds, stealing one more kiss from you.

When he returns to The Bear, he helps Sydney prep the dishes they finally chose to serve. He notes how everything is laid out and anything they should fix before opening.

Richie struts into the kitchen with a suit on. Apparently, it's his thing now. Carmy figures staging at Chef Terry's restaurant had a good impact on him. All Carmy wanted was to show Richie he had what it takes. That he's not a fuck up.

"Glad to see things are going well with Honey," Richie thunders.

"What are you talking about?" Carmy says in a rush as he plates the lamb expertly.

"That thing on your neck," Richie says, motioning to his own neck. He has a smug look on his face.

"I don't have time for this, cousin," Carmy grumbles, wiping the plate where the sauce might've splattered.

Groaning, Richie grabs one of the new pans and holds it in front of Carmy. "I don't see anything," he frowns, looking at Richie for an explanation.

"Right here," Richie points towards the edge of his t-shirt around his neck.

Carmy pulls it back and finally spots what Richie has been referring to. There is a fading purple bruise on his skin, a hickey. You must've done it when he was back in your office. He'd been too busy touching you to notice.

Sydney, silently watching, pipes up, "No wonder he hasn't been as on edge lately." Carmy shoots her a glare, which causes her to shrug and laugh with a, "What? It's true."

"Ay, yo, Sugar, get in here!" Richie yells down the hall to the office.

"What is it?" Natalie barges in, afraid something went to shit.

Carmy ignores Richie as he babbles to Natalie what he found. His face is red, though, as Sydney nudges his side.

"That's enough about me. We have shit to do," Carmy shouts in his chef's voice.

Everyone in the kitchen, including Richie and Natalie, repeats, "Yes, chef!"

Walking out of the kitchen Richie, 'whispers' to Natalie, "I've always wondered if he likes to be called chef in bed."

"Fuck off, Richie," Natalie glares, but then it falls, and it's replaced with a teasing grin, "He definitely does."

"I heard that! Don't you two have better things to do?" Carmy screams at them.

"Yes, chef!"

Carmy keeps hearing Cicero's 'Uh-oh' throughout the whole day. He understands Cicero, he really does, but to call you a distraction?

His work with The Bear is only starting. They managed to make it to Friends and Family. Now, they have to keep up their best work to fill up the restaurant daily and have a waiting list. His work is far from done. He should listen to Cicero.

Cicero said it with the best of intentions. He doesn't want the Berzatto siblings to fail. He wants to believe they'll succeed and, most importantly, get him his money.

If there is something Cicero has learned throughout the years, it is that girls are distractions. They mean well, but oftentimes, they keep your eyes off the ball. Especially when it's a new relationship like Carmy's. Ultimately, it's up to Carmy to decide what he wants to do. Cicero has played his part by giving him his advice.

One last delivery is made to the restaurant an hour before opening. Richie is the one to receive it and place it in front of Carmy. "She's a keeper, Cousin," he says with a pointed look and a nod. He also wants the best for Carmy, and yet it doesn't align with Cicero.

You knew Carmy would be too stressed and all over the place to eat or drink, so you sent everyone at The Bear a drink and a pastry. One of the cups has Carmen's name with a little heart and 'good luck' written on it.

"Yeah, she is," Carmy sighs, turning the cup in his hands to look at the message. His thumb brushes over your handwriting longingly. Is listening to Cicero the wise thing to do? He's one of the most successful men he knows in his family.

When it's 10 minutes till open, Carmy changes into his uniform and looks in the mirror. His heart is racing, begging for Friends and Family not to be a complete failure. Walking out of the bathroom, Carmy is a man on a mission.

It starts relatively well, but like everything in Carmy's life, the kitchen starts welcoming in the chaos.

They are too slow getting the orders out, which causes Sydney to start doubting herself and asking Carmy to step in. He reassures her she's doing good. They just have to keep up the pace.

Then, one of the new chefs disappears mid-rush. Forcing Tina to work two stations and Marcus to step out of his to help Sydney. Carmy ignores some weird tension between them as he works on ensuring the dishes are good to go.

Next thing he knows, Sugar is rushing into the kitchen, yelling at him about forks. It's wasted time, as he can't do anything about it. A shrill reverberates inside his head as he looks at the ticking clock. It's enough to give him a headache.

With no one to take a dish to its table, Carmy takes it upon himself to do it. There's no time to re-fire or wait for someone. He places it on their table and pours the tea into their cups before retreating with an 'enjoy.'

He looks at his restaurant, and suddenly, the ringing in his head gets louder. Sitting in a booth is his old boss, staring back at him like he did back in New York. Like he was waiting for Carmy to fail.

His voice echoes in Carmy's head. Why are you so fuckin' slow. Hurry up. Go faster motherfucker. Talentless piece of shit.

Right before Carmy spirals, it all goes away. His focus shifts entirely as he sees you taking your seat for the night. The one he chose because he'd be able to see you from the kitchen. You have successfully blocked the mirage he'd conjured up.

You're there with your brother as Richie talks you up, thanking you for coming. As if sensing him, your eyes lock with Carmys. Shyly, you send him a wave, which he returns, thanking you in his head for getting there at the perfect time.

Carmy ducks back to the kitchen with newfound energy. Richie enters shortly after him.

"Chef, your girl is here."

"Thanks, Chef, um, do you have the notepad?" Carmy asks as he continues cleaning dishes and making sure each one is up to par.

"Here you go."

Taking the notepad from Richie, he begins scribbling. I love- No, too fuckin' soon. Thank you for- Nope, it's too stale.

I'm happy you're here, Honey. Wait for me after you're done? -Bear

"Here," Carmy hands it to him without even looking at Richie.

"Keep up the good work, Chefs," Richie yells out to the room before disappearing to the front of the house. The door swinging shut behind him.

"Yes, Chef!"

Something isn't working in the kitchen. They're too backed up, and no matter how hard they try, they're always a tad too slow. Through Sydney surrounding the wheel to Richie, Carmy steals glances out the kitchen window. You're smiling at whatever your brother says, your lips sipping the wine he chose. Carmy can get through this night because, in the end, you'll be waiting for him.

"There he is," you sing as you spot Carmy walking out of the kitchen. The chef's whites back in his locker as he sports his white t-shirt, jeans, and jacket.

Fak, who kept you company while Carmy finished up, speaks up next, "My brother, I'm gonna grab a sandwich and head home. Honey, it was a pleasure meeting you."

"You too, Neil!"

"Thanks for everything," Carmy tells him, giving him a hug and a pat like dudes do.

Carmy turns and grabs your hand to pull you close and kiss your cheek. "What did you think?"

"It was the most delicious thing I've ever tasted," you tell him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

There's a reason Carmy has had so many accolades despite his young age. He has a gift in the kitchen. The moment his food touched your taste buds, your life changed. He and Sydney outdid themselves, and the way everything flowed showed how much work they put into the restaurant.

"You're exaggerating," Carmy modestly says, his arms wrapping around your waist.

"I'm really not," you shake your head, pursing your lips. Carmy can't resist placing a small peck on your red-painted lips.

"What about your famous pizza?"

"No, it might be the best pizza in Chicago, but whatever I ate today topped it," you smile at him, scrunching your nose. "Consider your chef's license reinstated,"

"Thanks," Carmy laughs breathily, "Do you mind if we walk? I feel some of the rush still."

"Lead the way, Mr. Berzatto."

Carmy grabs your hand, leading you to the streets of Chicago. It's silent momentarily as the wind cools Carmy's heated face. He places his hand along with yours into his pocket.

"Did your brother like it?" He asks, breaking the ice.

"Oh yeah. I'm officially like the best sister ever," you respond, squeezing his hand.

You had accidentally forgotten that your brother had passed the Bar exam. So, you didn't have time to get him anything in celebration. You figured dinner at a lovely new restaurant would help while you got him a proper present.

"How did you feel throughout, though? It looked intense." You often found yourself looking through the small glass window into the kitchen. They were always on the move, looking for the next thing to do.

"It didn't just look like it. I'm used to it, though," Carmy admits with a sniff. Everyone's best and worst habits shone through for those couple of hours. It's an environment he's all too familiar with, in and out of the kitchen.

"That rough," you grimace.

"It's fine. We have a lot to work on, but it's a start, and it wasn't entirely terrible," Carmy says, thinking back on tonight. Before coming out to meet you, he wrote down a couple of things to go through with Sugar and Sydney.

"Good, 'cause I hope The Bear sticks around the block," you say, bumping your shoulder with his.

You invite Carmy into your house when you arrive. He takes up your offer, holding your hand to help you balance as you take your heels off. It reminds Carmy he forgot to mention how beautiful you looked today.

He follows you to the kitchen, watching your hips sway and your dress skirt swishing. Padding to the wine fridge, you pick out a bottle of red to celebrate.

Carmy indulges in looking at your legs as you stretch up to reach for the glasses of wine up in your cabinets. His blue eyes darken as your dress hikes up, exposing your pretty thighs.

His gaze darts back up at you when you turn around to place the glasses on the kitchen counter. You hand him the wine opener so he can do the honors because you suck at taking the cork out. It's why you mainly stick to cheaper wines with twist-off caps.

"Here is to The Bear and its amazing owner," you say, lifting your glass in front of you.

"Here's to not fuckin' it up entirely," Carmy follows, making you giggle. Your wine glasses clink, and you take a drink.

Placing the glass back down, Carmy pins you against the counter, his strong hands resting on the edge of it. You look at him through your lashes, a hand coming up to his chest to feel the steady thumping of his heart.

"You look beautiful. I like the dress," Carmy murmurs. It's better late than never.

The dress you wear is a pretty shade of light blue. Simple yet dressy. The neckline gives him a good view of your cleavage and has long sleeves to compensate for the shorter length. They currently cover the goosebumps lining your skin.

"Yeah? I picked it out thinking you might," you reveal, biting your lip. The shade reminded you of his eyes.

"You were right," he whispers, cupping your jaw. As pretty as the dress is, he's sure it'll look so much better on the floor.

Carmy closes his eyes as he leans down to kiss you. He's always struggled with words, so he hopes it's enough for you to catch what he's trying to say.

You smile into the kiss, blindly leaving your glass to the side to be able to touch him. Your palm presses against his chest and taut abdomen. He hides a nice amount of muscle under his t-shirts, a pleasant surprise.

Carmy easily lifts you up to sit down on the kitchen island. He steps between your legs, never breaking the heated kiss. The hands on your waist trail down to your thighs and under your dress. Carmy's tattooed hands squeeze your ass and thighs, earning him a moan from you.

This is the farthest you've ever gotten, and you're more than ready to have all of him. Carmy knows this, which leads to his thoughts getting out of control.

He has to make a decision now. Does he allow himself to be with you, or does he remain by himself like always? Richie's, Sugar's, Cicero's, and Sydney's voices all shout at him different things. Some are in favor, and others are in opposition. 'Uh oh.'

He can't lead you on and sleep with you if he will back out tomorrow. The voices become deafening in an instant, ripping him away from your embrace. His emotions bubbled over and spilled all over the place.

"Wait, stop, I just-" Carmy breathes heavily, taking a couple of steps back from you. Carmy's hand comes up to his forehead as he attempts to organize his thoughts.

"What's wrong?" You ask worriedly. Did you do something wrong?

Carmen's thoughts spill out his mouth without making much sense as he paces in your kitchen. "I can't stop thinking about it and owe it to my team..."

"Carm?" You slide off the kitchen counter, approaching him slowly.

"-keeps saying it's a distraction," he rambles mostly to himself. His heart is pounding painfully in his chest. If he didn't know any better, he'd think he was having a heart attack.

"Hey, hey, hey. What's a distraction?" Softly, you grab onto his arms, stopping him in his tracks, trying to find his lost gaze.

"You. Whatever this is," Carmy breathes, finally meeting your eyes, which he instantly regrets as your eyes turn sad.

The watering of your eyes is unintentional, as is the knot forming in your throat. "You think I'm distracting you?" You question barely above a whisper.

His response is instant, "Fuck, no, the opposite. W-When I'm with you or-or think about you, things get clearer, and it's-it's when I feel the most focused." Carmy holds your shoulders, comforting you because he never meant to hurt you. He can't stand the sad look in your eyes.

Slowly, you begin to piece together his rambling and conclude that other people have been telling him you're a distraction. You wonder if they don't want him to be happy. The Bear is the center of Carmy's life, and before that, it was the restaurant in New York. He deserves more than this crazy job.

"Then fuck what others tell you, Carmen. You deserve to have a life outside The Bear." Maybe you're selfish because you don't want to lose him, but you hope he believes your words.

"I-I don't. I don't deserve all your attention or your affection. I'm nothing special. I don't deserve you." Carmy says, shaking his head with furrowed brows.

Weeks ago, he had no source of enjoyment. He said it himself at the support group. Now, he has you, yet he can't bear the thought of you wanting to be with him. He feels like he's tricking you into a bad deal. That's what he is, though, isn't he? An overachieving fuck up with tons upon tons of baggage.

Carmen Berzatto is an anxious person with too many problems in his life. He has a fucked up family. His mother is a mentally unstable alcoholic. His brother was addicted to painkillers and decided that shooting himself on a bridge was better than living this life. That's without mentioning all the trauma he has from his job and the terrible people he's worked with.

What good does he have to offer you?

"Yes, you do," you reassure him, placing your hands on his cheeks. The cool metal of your rings soothes him somewhat, grounding him. "You deserve all that and more, Carmy. You're so sweet and kind and hard-working. You've been through shit. You deserve something good in life. Maybe it's me, or maybe it's not, but don't close yourself off."

You're begging at this point. Whatever this relationship is, it's just starting. He's not giving himself a chance. You like Carmy so damn much. He's funny without knowing it and thoughtful, too. There are so many qualities he doesn't realize he has.

His eyes watch you as tears line them. He's silently pleading for you to convince him. To get him out of his own head and forget the expectations others have on him.

"I'm not going to force you into anything, Carm. It's your call, but I've enjoyed our last couple of months together. I know we don't know each other completely, but I want to know everything about you. I have feelings for you, so whatever you decide, I'll support it."

Being honest is all you can do at this point. You pour your heart out and hope Carmy chooses you.

You and Carmy stand in the middle of your kitchen. Face to face, reaching out towards each other. It's clear as day that you want the same thing. It's only a matter of taking the right steps now.

"I can't let you go," Carmy responds, grabbing the hand on his cheek. His thumb brushes over the back of it.

"Then don't."

Carmy's decision is made. Without another thought, he smashes his lips against yours. He grabs the back of your neck, tilting your head to meet his heated kiss.

It's more intense now that the cards are on the table. Nothing to hold him back.

Tongues clash together as your bodies seek each other out. The temperature rises when Carmy lifts you up to wrap your legs around his hips. His hands are on the back of your thighs, holding tight onto you.

"Bedroom?" He asks, breaking the kiss, a trail of saliva between the two of you.

"Down the hallway," you breathe heavily, kissing down his neck.

Carmy makes it to the bedroom, opening the door with a bang. He spots your bed, placing you in the middle with him holding himself up on top of you.

He watches as your back meets the bed and your fair fans around you like a halo. The curvature of your breasts accentuated even more from the position.

Carmy hikes your leg further up his hips as he dips down to kiss a wet trail down to the neckline of your dress. He leaves open-mouthed kisses on the rounded flesh, nipping at the skin playfully when you arch your back to push more into him.

"Carmy," you breathe, cupping his jaw to pull him back to your lips. Grinding your hips, you manage to graze against his bulge.

"Shit," Carmy shakily curses, thrusting his hips to meet your touch once more.

Curiously, your hands wander across his body. Carmy's moans in your ear make your panties wetter than they already are.

You grasp the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and off. You're desperate to have him, your cunt aches for him. Your nails scratch down his firm stomach when he bites into your earlobe, softly calling your name.

"Unzip me," you pant, pushing him away and pulling your hair off to the side.

Carmy grabs the small zipper, pushing it down and exposing your pretty skin. As he slides the fabric off of you, he kisses your shoulders and back, taking note of the goosebumps on your skin.

His mind is in the present, and nothing can take it away from him. It's like a switch he managed to turn off in his brain. No more family drama, no more The Bear. It's just you...and him. Honey and Bear.

You stretch your neck to the side, giving Carmy more space to pepper kisses across the delicate skin. The dress pooling at your feet exposes your chest, and Carmy's hands come up from behind you. His fingers shyly brush up your stomach, tickling you, until they find your breasts.

He draws a moan from you as he squeezes them in his palms, pushing you back to meet his chest; turning your head to the side, you find his lips.

The kiss breaks when he slides one of his hands into your underwear, dipping his finger to feel your wetness. Your arm reaches back to dig your fist in his curls.

"You're soaked, Honey," he moans, finding your clit to tease it.

"Been waiting for so long, Carmy," you whine as your hips stutter along with the flicks of his wrist.

"I'm sorry. I'm here now," he purrs into your ear.

Carmy can hear the distinct 'shlick, shlick, shlick' of his fingers against your clit. It spurs him on as he slips a finger into you. He can't wait to have his cock inside of you, snug and warm.

"Oh my god, Carmen," you gasp when he prods another finger into your entrance. Hanging onto his arm across your chest, you roll your hips against his fingers.

"I got you," he says, digging his fingers deeper into you and curling them.

Your knees buckle as the tips of his fingers curl and hit your g spot repeatedly. If it weren't for him, you'd be on the floor. With your tummy tensing under the weight of the pleasure, you stutter out, "I'm gonna cum."

Carmy's hand is wet from your juices as he ups the ante. Just as your walls begin to squeeze around his fingers, he pulls them out to circle around your clit.

"Oh, f-fuck!" You squeal, throwing your head back onto his shoulder.

The way your clit softly twitches under the pads of his fingers fucks with Carmy. It makes his cock throb and leak into his jeans.

Untangling from his embrace, you place a breathless kiss on Carmy's lips. His slick digits dig into your hips as he prolongs it.

Blindly, you find the edge of his jeans and unbutton them. If Carmy notices, he doesn't say anything. You want to give him one more reason to stay with you.

He moans into your mouth when you grasp his length through his boxers. He's rock hard as he desperately ruts against your hand.

With your hold still on him, you push him to sit on the bed. Carmy looks up at you lustfully. You plant a single short kiss on his lips before kneeling on the floor between his legs. You leave love bites down his chest while looking up at him through your lashes.

Carmy brushes away any hair that falls on your face, his blue eyes focused solely on you. When you reach the waistband of his pants, you pull them down along with his underwear.

His length pops up from its confines, slapping against his tummy. Its tip is a pretty pink shade, with a thick length and a slight curve to it. You salivate instantly at the sight of it.

Carmy's nervous under you. It's been a long since he's been with someone else, and he's never been the most confident.

"Relax," you say teasingly, kissing around his lower tummy to calm him.

Finally, your hand wraps around his cock, lightly pumping it. Leaving sloppy kisses down his happy trail, you feel Carmy's stomach taut in anticipation.

It's been so fuckin' long.

With your eyes staring into his hungry ones, you kiss the pink head that glistens with pre, teasingly brushing it against your lips. Keeping eye contact, you lick his length from base to tip. You alternate between kissing and licking for a minute, enjoying watching Carmy squirm.

"Fuck, Honey," Carmy throws his head back at your torturous pace.

"Look at me," you sweetly say.

Taking mercy on him, you part your lips to take his length into your warm, wet mouth, bobbing your head to a steady rhythm. Prying one of Carmy's hands from the bedsheets, you place it in your hair, encouraging him to use you.

"Good girl," he moans, fisting your hair to force you to take more of his cock. You let your hands rest on his thighs, feeling the strong muscles underneath.

Carmen observes you with hooded eyes as you hollow your cheeks, sucking him expertly. He's obsessed with how your lips leave behind a tinge of red lipstick on his skin.

"Shit-Fuck me," he yells into the room when you swallow around him.

You want him to cum, but Carmy has other plans. He doesn't think he'll last long if you make him cum now, so after the stunt you pulled, he pulls you off his sensitive cock.

The sight in front of him is erotic as a string of saliva connects you to his cock. The tears lining your eyes and blushed nose add to that pretty picture.

"c'me 'ere," he says, helping you up and kissing you as he leads you back to the bed. He tugs off your wet panties, throwing them somewhere in the room.

You lay back on your pillows with Carmy slotted between your legs. It's torture having him so close and yet so far. Now that you've gotten a taste of his cock you need more.

Carmy touches the inside of your thighs, inching his way closer to your cunt. He instantly notices how fuckin' wet you are. You're dripping even more than before.

"Sucking me off, got you this wet, princess?" He asks, leaning his forehead against yours.

"Mhm, Carmy, wish you would've cum in my mouth," you admit, tilting your head up to brush your lips against his.

"You have such a dirty fuckin' mouth," he chuckles darkly.

Where did this side of you come from? You're usually so sweet and delicate. He should've known you would be a freak in bed. To think he almost let this all go.

"Carmen, please."

"Please, what?" Carmen teases, lining his cock against your opening, wetting his cock.

"Fuck me," you moan, kissing his jaw.

"'m gonna fuck you good, princess," he promises, with a shaky nod before he remembers, "Fuck! I-I don't have a condom with me."

"I should have some in my drawer," you mention breathlessly.

Carmy opens the condom in record time but is surprised when you take it from his hands and roll it down his shaft yourself. You just want an excuse to keep touching him.

With your leg hiked up, he aligns himself and slowly pushes in. You both gasp at the sensation. Carmy, for one, is trying to not bust a nut so soon because you're so tight and warm.

Meanwhile, you hold onto Carmy's back as he stretches you out. It's been so long, and your toys aren't nearly as thick as him. You breathily moan in his ear, which he takes as a good sign as he begins thrusting more forcefully and deeper.

Carmy hopes this isn't a dream, and if it is, he hopes he doesn't wake up anytime soon. He has one hand holding onto your thigh and the other holding himself up. His gold chain dangles above you as he picks his head up from its spot on your shoulder. You take the chance to tug on it, returning his attention to your lips.

"You feel so fuckin' good, princess," Carmy groans, squeezing your thigh.

"I love your cock, Carmy," you whine, feeling the drag of his cock on your walls. The pleasure is all-consuming, leaving a fuzzy feeling in your brain.

"You like when I fuck you like this?"

"Yes, yes, yes, keep going."

His hips snap hard against yours, hitting that spot each and every time. His pelvis hitting your clit. He squeezes your thigh, hips, and sides before his hand squeezes your tits, too, playing with your nipples.

Suddenly, he straightens up, pulling you down the bed to have you flushed against his pelvis. He's a sight for sore eyes that forces you to keep your eyes open.

His thrusts are more forceful like this, where he digs his fingers into the fat of your hips to pull you towards him with each snap. It makes your tits bounce, hypnotizing him.

Through your lustful gaze, he looks like a marble statue. His chest glimmers under the lowlights of your room as sweat clings to him, his chain jumping against the blushed skin of his chest, and his fucking hair falling over his pretty eyes. The set of his jaw could've been sculpted by Michaelangelo himself.

Your hands indulgently reach down to touch him in any way you can. You can only reach his stomach, where a nice pair of abs appear due to the effort.

"You like what you see?" Carmy teases. He's entirely lost on you because otherwise, he wouldn't be as cocky to say that.

"You're so handsome," you pitifully say. Your brain not computing as it should, but how can it when it's being fucked out of you?

Carmy doesn't know how to respond. It's not often he's called handsome or looked at as lustfully as you're looking at him. Thankfully, he doesn't need to say much as your eyes roll back and you squeeze your walls around him.

"Carmy, I'm so close," you pant, trying to find any part of him to hold. He offers you his hand, lacing your fingers together.

"Just a little longer, princess," Carmy groans as you clench around him. "Fuck, don't do that to me."

He glances down at the spot where you and him meet to see a ring of white on the base of his cock. He's enthralled with the way you stretch to accommodate him and the way your pink walls drag along his length when he pulls out. Fuckin' beautiful.

Putting all his knowledge to use, he thumbs your clit, making you jolt. He needs you to cum now, or he won't make it. His balls feel like they're about to burst.

"Carmy," you cry out, tightening the hold on his hand.

You teeter on the edge for only a second until you cum, waves of pleasure washing over you. Carmy curses from above you as your tightening walls choke his cock, making him cum too. He stutters his hips a couple more times, riding out his orgasm.

He leans back down again, catching your lips in a small kiss. His body slowly relaxes against yours as his head rests on your neck, breathing in the scent of sweat and perfume.

"That was good," you breathe heavily, rubbing your hands up and down your back. You're just starting to think clearly.

"Fuckin' amazing," he adds.

There's a beat of silence before you both burst out laughing.

A bubble encases you, and it can't be popped as long as you stay in your bedroom. Carmy doesn't want to leave; it's late already, and in a couple of hours, he has to get up and go to The Bear to repeat the process.

For once, he forgets about that and focuses solely on you. He has a couple of hours to spare. Sleep is overrated.

You face each other on the bed, talking in hushed whispers. Your fingers trace the '773' tattoo on his bicep like you've always wanted to do. It tickles Carmy, so he grabs your hand and kisses your palm.

"Now that I'm thinking about it. I didn't see your tattoo," he whispers to prevent disturbing the peace.

Your face warms at his words. You had forgotten about that. He's seen a lot of you in the past couple of hours. What's a bit more of skin?

"You missed my big bad tattoo?" you joke, poking his nose.

"Show me," he says with a lopsided smile.

You make it dramatic, rolling your eyes and giving him a big sigh. Sitting up on the bed, you peel the bed sheets from your body. Carmy props himself up on his elbow in anticipation.

Right there, on your left side and under the curve of your breast is a small outline of Winnie the Pooh's face. Carmy touches it, biting his lip to hold back a laugh. Unsurprisingly, it's precisely what he expected from you.

A few chuckles pass his lips as he pulls you back into his arms.

"Don't laugh. It made sense at the time," you whine, covering yourself back up.

Carmy pulls you to his chest, kissing your temple, "I'm sure it does. Pooh Bear loves his Honey," Just like he does.

"Exactly! Someone gets it!"

And he does because Carmy, aka The Bear, is quickly falling for his Honey.

A couple of days later, Carmy is back at your house helping you prepare the famous pizza you promised him. He lets you take the lead on everything, preferring to follow your instructions rather than let his mind run wild. It's not like you'll let him do most of the work anyway; it's your recipe, and you're protective over it.

"Can you chop up the veggies?" You ask him as you lay down the dough in a pan.

"Yes, Chef," he nods, kissing your cheek as he digs through your kitchen drawers for a knife.

"Oh, I like the sound of that," you muse, shaking your shoulders as you knead the dough to spread it.

"Don't let it get to your head, Hun," Carmy smiles, slicing the vegetables expertly.

Cooking with Carmy is surprisingly easier than you thought. He's not controlling over the kitchen or judgy. He lets you do your thing in peace, following your orders no matter how strange they might be. This is your kitchen, not his.

As you spread the sauce and cheese over one of the doughs, Carmy gets a call. He wipes his hands with a rag and picks it up. You only hear his side of the conversation.

"No, I'm off tonight. I'm with my girl. Call Sugar. She should be able to help you with that. Great. Thanks."

Carmy had promised himself that he would try to balance it all better. He has his team to help each other out. The Bear is a priority, but so are you because you help him keep whatever sanity he has left.

Carmy hangs up, and when he returns to you, he notices the grin on your lips as you put the toppings he chopped on the pizza.

"What's with the smile?" Carmy stands behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he props his head on your shoulder. Your hair tickles his nose, smelling the notes of coconut of your shampoo he digs his head farther into it.

"I'm your girl?" You ask, the smile still present on your face. He'd missed your initial reaction when you heard him call you 'my girl.' You almost dropped the container of pepperoni that was in your hands. It's a shock cause he never asked you to be his girl.

Carmy pauses and tenses up against you. "Uh, yes? Hold up. Turn around," he orders, as he places his hand on your hips to turn your body around.

"Yes, chef," you respond cheekily, your arms around his neck, careful not to touch his sweater with your messy hands.

"Aren't you my girl?" He frowns, rubbing a thumb over your hips.

"I could be, but I don't remember you asking," you pretend to think.

Carmy never directly asked you to be his girlfriend, and you never asked him to be your boyfriend. You might as well be a couple since you've been dating long enough. You decide to seize the opportunity now to get it out of him. Having a proper anniversary day would be nice because you hope this lasts.

"I see, my mistake," Carmy nods, catching your vibe, "Honey…"

"Yes, Carmy?" You blink innocently at him.

"Would you do me the honor of becoming my girlfriend?" He finally asks.

You could joke around but decided against it cause the moment is perfect, "I'd love to," you nod, giving him a small kiss.

When the pizza is cooked, you bring it over to the dining table. Serving Carmy a pretty slice. Excitedly, you wait for him to bite into it and taste it.

"What do you think?" You ask expectantly.

"You were right. Best pizza in Chicago," Carmy agrees with an unbelievable laugh. He's got a lot to learn from you. It's the truth, or maybe he's blinded by his feelings. Only time will tell where you and Carmy will end up.

The End?

thank you guys for pulling through and reading! i know it's a slow burn but i hope you liked it! i certainly enjoyed writing it even though it took me like 4 months.

if you liked it, i would appreciate you liking it, commenting or reblogging. if you have some feedback feel free to send it my way too. i wanna get better at this whole writing thing!

thank you! bye xx

#carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #fanfiction #carmy berzatto #carmy the bear #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto fanfiction #the bear fanfiction #the bear #carmy x reader #carmy x you #carmy x fem!reader

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teojira · 6 months ago

Text

[Click Click Boom] [Shadow x Reader short stories]

Summary: You're set to be Shadow's companion to keep an eye on him and keep him in line, a courtesy from the goverment for him saving the world with Sonic and the others.

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: Can be read as platonic or romantic! Shadow/reader romance is implied though! You're human in this, age is vague but you're meant to be in your 20s.

Disclaimer: Shadow is an adult, and as for the furry debate, he's literally an adult who can consent and is sentient, don't like? Don't read!

A/N: I've literally been obsessed with this fucker since I was a literal child and it's the first time I've written for him!! The trailer yas me going insane. This is written well before the movie has come out, literally all I got to work with is Shadow in the trailer and the bits and pieces of info I psychoanalized so I don't wanna hear shit about it not being accurate tbh, this is self indulgent!!

Shadow isn't the worst task you've been assigned, you both are more akin to awkward roommates more than anything.

I'm talking randomly lingering in the corners of the room, his bright red eyes glowing and they always seemed to be locked right onto you.

You screamed the first dozen times, but now you just glare at the black hedgehog and spit out a "fuck you." and go about your business.

He'll never admit that it brings him infinite amusement, it's hard to tell, but the huff he lets out is evidence enough.

Shadow will never admit he cares for you, he loses everyone he cares for, and humans don't live that long. It's terrifying to think about how much he's come to like you.

He's not nearly as slick as he thinks he is.

You're sitting down at the dinner table, typing away on your laptop, editing the mission report from the other day when Shadow makes his way towards you. Sending him a nod in his direction, you don't think of anything when he moves in close.

A huge slam takes you off guard though, jumping damn near out of your skin as you twist your head to look at him.

"What the fuck-"

"Take it."

It's one of Shadow's guns, his emblem being engraved along the stock.

"What? No, I have guns." You raise an eyebrow at the hog, his face is perfectly still, eyes locking onto yours as he waits for you to grab the heckler.

"Your guns are worthless, you need something better."

"Well excuse me, I so happen to like my guns." You try and joke back, but the offense is taken.

Shadow rolls his eyes so hard you're scared that he's gonna blind himself. Jutting his chin towards the table once more to get your focus back onto it.

"If you have one of mine, I know you're safe." He doesn't elaborate. Not that he needs to.

"...Thank you, Shad."

All you get is a grunt in response, and he's on his way back to his room.

Gingerly picking up the weapon, you take in how pristine it is, a thumb caressing your small initials that you missed on the other side of the stock.

With Shadow saving the world, the reeking of havoc makes it to where he's limited to what he is allowed to do in the public eye.

Not that he listens, he isn't supposed to be out after curfew. But to be fair, it is extremely hard to keep a teleporting hedgehog confined to a meager two-story house.

You can hear him teleport above you, he's on the roofs of the nearby building, leering down at you.

It was a small errand you were on, simply stocking up on the essentials for the house.

Namely, snacks for Shadow, he doesn't ask for a lot other than coffee beans and Doritos.

You are choosing to ignore the fact that he eats the coffee beans straight up, the crunch echoes through your head and it sends a shudder down your spine.

He was adamant against you leaving the house this late, standing in front of the front door.

"No."

"Fuck you mean no?"

"I said no."

"....I don't listen to men."

And you weaved around him to leave the house, ignoring his shout of disapproval.

That leads you both to here now, you pretending you don't see him trailing you from the rooftops as you walk your way back home from the small shopping center.

You feign surprise when he opens the house door for you, begrudgingly sticking a hand out to help you with your bags.

"Oh! Thank you my knight in shining armor~"

"Shut it."

He's never told you his birthday, which you can understand, living for 50 years and not having your family around must be hard. No matter how he may fake that it doesn't bother him.

That doesn't stop you, not in the slightest really. You damn near kick him out of the house for the day, shoving him over to Tom and Maddie's house so he can be with the others. Despite how much he protested.

"I don't want to go over there. Not with that blue fake."

"You don't really have a choice bub, I need you out of the house."

"I don't understand why I have to-"

"Keep arguing with me and I will make it a point to not buy you shit next grocery trip."

It's an empty threat, but he grunts nonetheless.

"...."

"That's what I thought."

When he finally gets home from his long and admittedly overstimulating day with the Wachowskis, he's ready to recharge in his room.

He teleports through the house door, sighing and rubbing at his temples as he moves to kick off his shoes, knowing that if he doesn't, you'd chastise him for not doing so.

Something about tracking dirt and rocket fuel into the carpet.

Whatever.

After trying to massage his brain through his fur, he opens his eyes up to see a colorful banner strung across the mantle.

'Happy birthday!' It screams, in its disgustingly neon color palette.

Shadow wracks his brain for any information of it being your birthday, he knows for a fact it isn't today. A friend you're throwing a party for? Well, that makes no sense, he knows very well you don't have many friends, especially any that you'd invite your house up for.

You're antisocial to a fault, not that he has absolutely any room to talk.

He hears you before he sees you, turning the corner into the living room, carrying some balloons in your hands. A stupid little party hat on your head.

"Shadow! What are you doing back so early?"

Kicking off the last shoe, he stands at his full height, staring into your eyes with a shrug.

"I wasn't aware I had a time."

"....fair enough, anyways, fuck, goddamnit. Stay here. Okay?"

And you're off, running into the kitchen, his ears flick at the slamming of the fridge door, followed by the cabinets being no doubt, hip nudging it shut way too forcefully.

He's awkwardly standing there still until you yell for him to come in.

Shadow has half a mind to ignore you and go into his room, but curiosity kills the cat, so he takes in a deep breath and makes his way to you.

He finds you sitting at the little kitchenette, a nervous smile spread across your lips as you gesture to the plate in front of you.

The smell is apparent, it's a coffee cupcake.

The hedgehog feels his ears flick again, staring down at the desert, then trailing his eyes back to meet your own. Wordlessly asking you what was going on.

"You've never told me your birthday, but it's been a year since you've been here, with me. After the whole trying to destroy the world shit. So since you won't tell me, we can kinda treat this as it?" You keep rambling, eyes flitting around the room, very clearly nervous as to his reaction.

Shadow doesn't say anything, or move even. Just staring down at the cupcake.

It looks amateurish, the frosting is lopsided, and the toppings on it look messy. But you made it for him. You even added a big black "1" candle in the center.

He doesn't know what to say, he can feel heat rush through his body, rushing to his ears and his face, and his fur feels constricting.

What the fuck.

What the actual fuck.

You go to open your mouth again, no doubt to apologize, but he beats you to it.

Moving to scoop up the treat, he gently sniffs it before taking a cautionary bite.

A beat passes between the two of you.

"...it's good."

Shadow does his best to ignore the smile that blooms across your face, not wanting to remember just how pretty he finds you like this.

Disgusting.

Shadow doesn't like touch, you know it, he knows it, and everyone knows it. He's threatened to break Sonic's wrist for even so much as patting the older hedgehog on the back. Baring his sharper fangs and hissing out to not touch him ever.

He avoids group hugs from Team Sonic, avoids Tom and Maddie like the plague, dodging every invitation to be a part of the family, it makes him sick to think about it.

With you, it's a little different.

You're not like them, you don't push him to change, you don't have a problem with how closed off he is, giving him space, never once pushing his very strict boundaries.

Something churns in his chest at the sound of you crying in your room, you probably think you're being incognito, holding a pillow to your face to drown out your sobs.

The internal debate is heavy, Shadow used to be able to comfort, to provide warmth, but he hasn't done so in years. Flashes of memories where he would comfort Maria on her bad health days, letting her run her fingers over his quills, to lend an ear to Gerald when he was frustrated about treatments not working.

It's not to say he is replacing you in their place, but it's scary. To open himself up like that again. He can feel his anxiety rising as he goes over the pros and cons of crossing this line. Eyes squeeze shut forcefully as he tells himself he doesn't care about you, that you're an adult, and you don't need to be babied.

His ears twitch when a pathetic little whimper drops from your lips, and his resolve cracks.

You don't look up when he makes his way in, too stuck in your bubble.

Startling a little when two, much stronger and larger hands grab at your own, peeling them away from the pillow. Your puffy bloodshot eyes looking at the hedgehog in front of you, his face set as it usually is, stoic. But his eyes are different, and his body language is different, when has he ever looked at you so softly? It's jarring.

Oh, he's moving closer. Okay. Weird.

"Shadow? Uh, I'm ok-"

You try and lie, it's a pitiful attempt. Your voice is scratchy and the tear tracks down your cheeks aren't helping your plight.

"No, you're not."

He shuts you down immediately, hands sliding up your arms to drag you into him.

The instant your bodies touch, you feel a fresh wave of tears well up in your eyes again.

Shadow has you resting against him, your head resting on him as he wraps himself loosely in your arms, giving you the space to move away if you so choose.

It's the first time he's allowed you to hug him, the first time he's ever initiated contact with someone in years. A fact that you both are well aware of.

A sob works its way up your throat, immediately tightening your grip on the hedgehog, curling into him as you shake.

Shadow doesn't say anything, doesn't make fun of you as snot pours from your nose, doesn't point out that your mascara and eyeliner are getting everywhere, just sits there and lets you cling onto him like he's your only lifeline.

He thinks that this is okay, he's strong enough for you both, and you don't need to worry when he's here.

#IS THIS ANY FUCKING GOOD LMAO #I have no clue but i love him so bad hes been a comfort character my entire life #no one loves u shadow like i do #promise #teddy loves shadow ☆#shadow the hedgehog #shadow x reader #shadow the hedgehog x reader #sonic x reader #sonic the hedgehog x reader #sega #sonic 3 #sonic the hedgehog #shadow

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hoshifighting · 18 days ago

Text

“you know what else is pink?”

WARNINGS: roomate!jihoon, smut, ...pink cock, blowjob/handjob, penetrative sex, squirt, overstimulation.

WC: 2.7K

[got inspiration from this tiktok]

jihoon’s got this routine down, locked in. you hear the clatter of keys in the door at exactly 9:17 PM, every night without fail. he comes in smelling like roasted coffee beans and vanilla syrup, a backpack slung over one shoulder, and—of course—that little paper cup in hand as he kicked the door shut behind him with that little flick of his heel.

“got your poison,” he says, tossing the pink monstrosity onto the table in front of you. It lands with a soft thunk, condensation already forming on the sides, and the sight alone is enough to make you grin like a damn idiot.

“thanks, hoon,” you say, grabbing it immediately and taking a sip like you haven’t had this exact drink every day for months. it’s sweet as hell, tastes like summer and cavities, but you can’t help it. you’re obsessed.

jihoon just shrugs like it’s nothing—like he didn’t go out of his way to snag this for you, again.

he chuckles, already moving toward the bathroom while shrugging off his jacket. “you know what else is pink?”

your brain short-circuits. immediately. you blink up at him like he’s just asked you to solve the riddle of the sphinx.

“h-hm?”

he pauses, halfway out of his jacket, and tilts his head back to look at you. a mischievous little smirk stretches across his face, his pearly-ass veneers catching the shitty overhead lighting.

“huh?” jihoon mirrored you, raising his eyebrows all innocent.

you’re left thinking about his elbows now, how they’re faintly pink at the joints, a soft flush that spreads to his cheeks when it’s too hot in the apartment. his knees, the curve of them when he sits cross-legged on the couch watching anime. the way his nipples—god, why are you thinking about his nipples—stand out when he’s shirtless, all pale skin and rosy peaks.

and yeah, okay. you know exactly what he meant.

the “pink drink” sat in your hand, cold and totally innocent, unlike the mental image now burning in your skull.

[...]

the sound of him moving around in the bedroom after his shower is, like, a damn magnet pulling you in. you’ve been pacing the kitchen like a lunatic, the pink frappuccino now safely tucked away in the fridge because there’s no way in hell you’re gonna stomach all that milk with what you’re about to do. your heart’s doing that stupid fast thing, but you’re already walking down the hallway, bare feet quiet against the floor.

the bedroom door is cracked open, and you catch him just as he’s hanging his towel up. his back’s to you, but even from here, you can see how his shoulders move when he stretches, pale skin almost glowing under the shitty warm light of the bedroom. and those shorts are barely covering anything, and his legs look even paler against the fabric.

he runs both hands through his wet hair, brushing it back in that way that makes it stick up all messy, and for a second, you just stand there leaning against the wall beside the door, arms crossed, watching him like a creep. your bottom lip tugs between your teeth as you try to psych yourself up, but nah, fuck it, you’re already moving. you push off the wall and walk straight up to him. he doesn’t even have time to turn around fully before your hands are on him, shoving his chest hard enough that he stumbles backward.

“yo—” he starts, but his knees hit the edge of the bed, and he sits down with a soft oof, bracing himself on his elbows.

his eyes snap up to meet yours, wide. “what’s this about?”

you step closer, standing between his knees, grabbing his chin with your fingers to tilt his head up.

“oh?” he breathes out, his smirk faltering just a bit when your thumb brushes over his bottom lip.

“yeah. oh,” you shoot back, your voice sharper than the shaky confidence you’re working with. you sink to your knees in front of him, your hands trailing down his torso, the little bodyhairs raising up to meet your palm, fingers dragging over that pale skin. his breath catches, and he shifts, spreading his legs just enough for you to settle between them.

you tug at the waistband of those godforsaken shorts, sliding them down. and there it is, the very thing he hinted at earlier—exactly like you knew he’d be, flushed and already half-hard, the head its almost the same shade of your drink, but more human-skin-like, and fuck, you're probably going to think about it everytime he hands you the drink. his breath hitches again when your hand wraps around him.

“what’s wrong?” you tease, tilting your head, your thumb swiping over the tip to smear the bead of wetness there.

“ah-ah-shit—” he mutters, his voice strained. you lean forward, pressing a kiss to his hip bone, then lower, leaving a trail of warmth as your lips move closer.

he lets out this shaky little laugh, but it breaks off into a hiss when you lean in, your lips brushing over the tip, like you're about to taste it, before wrapping around him completely. his lungs get full of air before moaning all way in while he exhales and you swear you’ve never felt more smug in your life.

his hand comes up to cover his mouth, like he’s trying to muffle the sounds spilling out of him, but it’s useless. the little gasps, the way his voice breaks on your name—it’s making you swallow him in.

your hand moves in partnership with your mouth, stroking him in time with the way your tongue works over every inch of him. when you glance up, his head is tipped back, eyes half-closed, lips parted, and he looks like he is winning a bliss.

“you’re so fucking—good” he stammers, his voice cracking halfway through. “holy shit, keep—keep going.”

you don’t stop, not even when his thighs start trembling under your hands, not even when he’s biting down on his knuckles to keep himself from being too loud.

you hollow your cheeks as you pull back, dragging your lips over him until you reach the tip with a wet, obscene pop.

“jesus fucking—” he chokes out, but his words cut off when you lower your head, tongue dragging along the sensitive seam of his sack like you’re savoring it. you can feel the way his thighs tense on your sides, trembling like he’s caught between pulling away and leaning into you.

your hand is still wrapped around him, firm that his cockhead gets red, keeping that steady rhythm while your tongue works over the delicate skin below.

he lifts his head to look down at you, his lips parted in disbelief, sweat glistening on his forehead. “you—what the fuck are you doing?”

“what’s it look like?” you quip back, grinning up at him before wrapping your lips around his balls again, taking one side into your mouth gently. his reaction is instant—his hips roll under your mouth, and his eyes, roll back.

“this is—holy shit—this is fucked up.”

you hum around him, taking your time, switching to the other side, your tongue lavishing the sensitive skin as you work him over. “fucked up?” you echo between breaths, lips brushing against him. “sounds like youre enjoying it.”

his hand flies up to cover his face, fingers digging into his own hair. he groans, his hips betraying him, twitching toward your mouth like he’s chasing the feeling.

you lean back in, your mouth hot and wet against his cock again, taking him deeper this time, your tongue tracing patterns as you move.

“fuck—fuck—you’re gonna—” his eyes squeeze shut as he lets grits his teeth, failing to hold his whimpers, spilling over himself and inside your mouth.

you don’t stop until you’re sure he’s ridden it out completely, pulling back slowly, your lips slick and swollen, jaw aching, as you wipe your mouth with your thumb.

“you okay there?”

“i don’t think okay covers it...” he grimaces.

“guess i’ll take that as a compliment.”

“you should.” he says, his lips quirking into the faintest smile.

he tilts his head back, his eyes hooded and his lips curling into a lazy smirk as he lifts his hand, tapping his thigh in that slow, cocky way he knows you can’t resist. “c’mere”

you hesitate, for a second, before standing and moving toward him. his gaze stays locked on you, and you feel the weight of it like a physical thing. as you straddle his lap, your dress rides up, pooling around your hips, and his hands are already on you, one gripping your waist while the other skims up your thigh.

he pulls you closer, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that’s anything but gentle. when his tongue drags along your bottom lip, tasting the faint saltiness of himself there, he lets out an obscene groan.

“you taste like me,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your mouth before he licks along your lip again, slower this time. his teeth catch the tender skin, biting just enough to sting before he pulls back, tugging your lip between his teeth with a smirk.

your hands grip his shoulders to steady yourself as his hand slides lower, over the curve of your ass, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp. “been waiting all night to do this,” he mutters, as his fingers dip under the hem of your dress.

before you can process what’s happening, he hooks a finger under the side of your panties, tugging sharply until the fabric tears with a quiet rip. you feel the ruined cloth hanging loosely against your skin as his fingers brush over the now-bare flesh.

you open your mouth to protest—something about him owing you a new pair—but the words die in your throat when you see him lift his hand to his mouth, his tongue dragging along the length of his fingers.

the sight alone has your breath hitching, your thighs twitching around his. he catches the movement, his smirk widening as he pulls his fingers from his mouth, his free hand squeezing your waist as his other hand trails back down.

when his fingers meet your drenched cunt, he spreads the wetness, the wet noise that follows making your cheeks flush even as your body leans into his touch. he circles sensitive hole at your center, and he chuckles low in his throat when you let out a shaky breath.

“you’re already so wet.”

he shifts under you, leaning back as he wraps a hand around himself, stroking slowly to see if his cock hardens again. his jaw tightens, a sharp exhale slipping past his lips as his head tips back. “shit,” he mutters, eyes fluttering shut for a second before they snap open to find you, perched right there on his thighs, looking like a fucking fever dream. “of course, it’s you. of course it works.”

and yeah, you don’t really get what he means by that, because he’s brushing himself against you now, dragging just the tip along where you’re already sdripping

“fuck,” he hisses, wincing as his hips buck up just a little. “so sensitive—” his words cut off with a low groan when you shift, your hands steadying yourself on his shoulders as you sink down.

“oh my god,” you choke out, the sensation swamping the second you take him in. “oh my god, hoon—holy shit—this is so good.”

he lets out this strangled laugh, “yeah?” he rasps, his voice breaking a little at the end. “feels good?”

“so fucking good,” you breathe, your nails digging into his shoulders as you start to move, your hips rolling against him in these desperate little motions. you’re not even trying to play it cool—you’re too far gone for that, babbling about how full he feels, how perfect, how you’ve never felt anything like this.

and he’s just watching you, his lips parted and his cheeks flushed, looking dazed and a little wrecked, but there’s this smug glint in his eyes, like he is so fucking proub about how horny he made you.

his hands slide up your thighs, gripping tight like he’s trying to slow you down, but you don’t let him. you’re too caught up in the feeling, too desperate for more, and the way he whimpers when you move faster makes you coat him even wetter,

“slow down,” he tries, his voice cracking as his head falls back. “s-slow—ngh!”

but you don’t slow down. you go harder, grinding down on him like you’re trying to burn the feeling into your skin. “n-no,” you whine, your hands bracing against his chest. “you started this, hoon. you wanted to tease me? then t-ake it.”

his laugh is sharp and breathy, but it cuts off with a low, throaty groan when you move just right, your hips snapping against his in this perfect rhythm that has his head spinning.

“fuck, okay,” he chokes out, but it dosent last a second, his hands flying to your hips, gripping hard enough to leave marks as he tries to slow you down. “okay, okay, just—fuck—slow—a little, babe, please, i’m—”

you don’t listen. too far gone to register anything beyond the way he feels inside you, the way his body tenses under yours, the way his voice gets high pitch with every ragged breath.

“gonna kill me,” he groans, his hands trembling as they guide your hips into a slower rhythm, even though you can tell he’s fighting himself just as much as he’s fighting you.

he grips your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your skin as he finally, finally uses his strength to slow you down, forcing you to move at his pace. it’s infuriating and perfect all at once because the shift makes his tip angle just right.

when it brushes against that spot inside you, your whole body jerks. your mouth falls open in a silent scream, no sound coming out except for a broken gasp, and your hips stutter helplessly in his hands, trying to chase the feeling even as he keeps you firmly in place.

he lets out a low, relieved laugh, his voice rough but still so maddeningly smug as he leans closer, his breath hot against your neck. “see?” he murmurs, his tone soft and cooing, like he’s teasing and praising you all at once. “isn’t that good? like this? hm?”

before you can even respond—hell, before you can even think—he does it again, using his arms to guide your hips, rolling them slowly, to make him hit that same spot. and this time, the moan that tears from your throat is loud, followed by another and another, until you’re shaking so hard you’re not even sure you’re in control of your body anymore.

“fuck,” he breathes, his grip tightening as he keeps you moving, steady and devastating. “so pretty like this. so perfect.”

you barely hear him, too lost in the way he’s making you feel, your moans spilling out one after another as the pressure inside you builds higher and higher, until it’s too much. your body seizes, your walls clenching around him so hard that he hiccups. and then it happens—a sudden, blinding orgasm that has you gasping, a liquid warmth spilling out of you in an uncontrollable squirt.

“holy shit,” he mutters as he feels it, the slickness making him slip out of you as you convulse in his lap.

he doesn’t even have time to react properly before the sight of you trembling and moaning in his arms—is enough to make him cum. his hand flies to the swollen cock, stroking once, twice, before he’s coming hard, spilling onto the floor. whining and rolling his hips onto his hand.

for a long moment, the both of you cant move, both of you too fucked and out of breath to do anything but sit there.

eventually, your gaze drifts downward, and your eyes land on him—still hard, still twitching slightly, the entire length of him glistening and… pink. ridiculously pink, especially at the head where it’s darker, flushed from how tight you’d been squeezing him.

you blink, your brain still foggy, and you mutter the first thing that comes to mind: “you weren’t kidding about the pink thing.”

he snorts, now shyly, his head tipping forward to rest against your shoulder as he laughs. “told you... thank god pink’s kind of your thing.”

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cllightning81 · 14 days ago

Text

Old Married Couple [CL16]

Summary : Working in your old job for some extra cash brings up a familiar face that you didn't expect to see.

Pairing/s: Charles Leclerc x Schumacher!Reader

Word Count : 5.7k (this was going to be short but I got carried away)

Masterlist

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When you were asked to cover a shift at the little cafe where you used to work, who would you say no to? The owner and her daughter had become a third family to you, followed behind your actual family and childhood best friend family.

Turning around as the door opened, you didn’t expect to be confronted with said childhood best friend. You two still spoke all the time; it was like nothing had ever changed except it had. A lot had changed. He was chasing his dreams worldwide; your older brother had started pursuing his dreams, and your dad's. He’d gotten poorly injured.

“Y/N?” He asked, drawing you from your thoughts as you rounded the corner, almost running into his arms with a smile on your face

“You weren’t meant to be in Monaco” He frowned, and you shrugged a little

“It got a little suffocating back home, so I decided to come back here”, you replied, wrapping your arms around him

“And got a job here again, ice cream girl?” He teased as you pushed him away

“They asked if I wanted extra cash as some people are ill. There’s a sickness bug going around. I would have popped in to say hello when I returned, but I thought you were in Italy!” You exclaimed, walking back behind the counter

“I was in Italy. I just got back and decided I wanted a coffee, so here I am” He shrugged, and you turned around, taking a coffee port from the machine and knocking out the previously used grounds from the last coffee you’d made. The young girl you were working with was on her break and poked her head out to ensure it wasn’t too busy. Charles, being the only customer in the shop, you smiled at her, filling the port with ground coffee beans.

“How’s Mick and your family?” Charles asked, and you shrugged

“Mick’s living his dream. Gina’s having a baby girl. Dad’s dad and mum. She’s doing okay,” You replied, turning around to fill the milk jug with some milk

“How’s your family?” You asked, motioning for him to take a seat

“The same as the last time you asked. Which was two days ago?” He chuckled, and you shrugged, steaming the milk to make his latte.

“Something major could have happened”, you replied with a shrug of your shoulders before pouring his now-steamed milk into the cup and taking it over to him.

“Do you want any ice cream? Cake?” You asked, and he shook his head

“Diet says no”, he replied with a slight pout, and you laughed

“So, what are you doing with work now?” He asked, and you sighed

“I don’t know, Cha. I’ve got this brilliant engineering degree, yet no one wants a Schumacher to work for them,” you sighed. It had always been your dream to work in the same racing team as Mick. Yet every time he got hired. You didn’t. It hurt; of course, it did, but you wouldn’t tell Mick that.

“Maybe you’re just looking in the wrong places”, Charles offered, and you shrugged.

“I’ve tried non-racing teams as well” You sighed, looking around before taking the seat opposite him.

“Mon ami. Have you tried Ferrari?” He asked. You looked at him, shaking your head. You didn’t want to be compared.

“With Carlos leaving, some team members are leaving to join him. Lewis isn’t bringing many mechanics or engineers. Just a couple” He shrugged as the young girl walked out.

“Y/N? I’m done with my break. You can take yours.” She smiled while walking behind the counter as she fixed her apron.

“Thank you, Julie.” You smiled, getting up and squeezing Charles’s hand on the table. Walking into the small back of the shop, you removed your apron and grabbed your phone before walking to the front of the shop.

“Want to take a walk with me?” You asked Charles, who was happy enough to get up to pay for his coffee

“Yeah. You know I like walks” You smiled.

“Julie, don't charge him. I’m just going to get my lunch” You smiled as she nodded.

“Enjoy”, you hummed, walking out of the shop next to Charles

“How long until your shift ends?” He asked, and you looked at the clock

“I’m having lunch late, so it's only an hour. They managed to find someone to come in early but couldn’t get someone in the morning,” You responded as you fell into pace next to him, walking to the bakery just along the street

“I know maman would love to see you if you wanted to catch up in person together” " he offered, and you smiled, turning your head to look at that

“I’d love that” You smiled as you entered the bakery. The scent of fresh bread fills the air, and the freshly baked cakes and pastries fill the glass cabinets in front of you, their glass shining, obviously just newly cleaned.

You placed your order with the lovely woman behind the counter as you pulled some cash out of your pocket; however, Charles’ F1 reflexes bet you to pay

“Cha. I can pay for my lunch” You turned to him, and he shrugged

“You wouldn’t let me pay for my coffee” He replied

“I don’t like coffee, so you got my free on-shift coffee”, you replied with a hum, thanking the woman for your order before walking out of the shop

“Well, maybe I’m just trying to convince you to reconsider joining Ferrari. Imagine it. Me, you, travelling the world together just like you had planned. You, Max, travelling the world just like both your fathers had planned” You couldn’t help but laugh a little

“Yeah, Red Bull didn’t want a Schumacher. Horner’s word, not mine” You huffed, and he frowned, stopping in his tracks

“Oh, wait until I tell Max”, he muttered, and you shook your head

“Max knows. He wasn’t happy, but he got me the interview,” You replied

“You still speak to Max?” He asked. Something flashed across his face that you couldn’t quite understand or see for long enough

“Yeah, occasionally. He texted to check in on me and my dad, and when I mentioned I was still looking for a job, he offered to get me an interview,” you replied. Ever since your previous company went bankrupt, you have found it impossible to find a permanent job.

“He never mentioned it”, Charles frowned, holding open the cafe door for you. Smiling at Julie, you walk over to the table and sit beside Charles again.

“So, tell me about your life,” You replied, wanting to take the topic off yourself.

“The season went pretty well. I’m excited about a change of scenery with teammates; however, I will miss having Carlos as my teammate. Something just tells me I won’t have that kind of relationship with Hamilton,” He replied, and you nodded along, eating your food.

“Mercedes kind of didn’t make him do media for social media, so I have a feeling I’ll be doing those alone. Which isn’t the worst, but I enjoyed being competitive with Carlos,” He added as you tilted your head a little

“Yeah, those C-squared videos were quite good” " you replied with a smile, and he nodded.

“Who would you put in his seat if you had the choice?” You asked him, and he tilted his head a little, thinking about it as he sipped the coffee that Julie had brought

“Arthur, probably. All drivers work hard to get to Formula One, but I’ve watched Arthur struggle to live in my shadows his whole life. Hell, even Lorenzo lives in my shadows, and he’s older. So, probably Arthur or maybe Ollie. I quite like that kid” He nodded, and you couldn’t help but laugh a little

“You’ve adopted another driver” " you replied, and he frowned, looking up at you.

“What? Non!” He exclaimed, and you nodded

“I know that I avoid your invites to the paddock, but I’m not blind or deaf. The way you talk about Ollie and the way you’re always there for him. He’s your grid kid!” You exclaimed with a broad smile as Charles shook his head, attempting to deny it

“I’ve already got Oscar!” He exclaimed, and you shrugged

“You can have multiple kids”, you laughed, getting up to put your rubbish into the bin. Charles shook his head, saying it as you fixed something on the shelf that caught your eyes. You pulled your apron on before helping Julie with the coffee order that had just come in.

Over the next hour, the shop was pretty quiet, which gave you time to catch up with Charles on the stuff you hadn’t said over text because it either just didn’t feel right or you didn’t want to say it on text.

You said bye to the two staff members you’d met today before walking out with Charles. The silence was nice and comfortable as you walked through the streets of Monte Carlo to his maman’s hair salon.

Pascale had always welcomed you into the Leclerc family, even going as far as joking that you’d probably marry one of her sons in the future. You couldn’t help but notice how well the Leclerc genes hit Arthur and Charles in just the right places.

Eventually, Charles was the first one to speak up.

“If I could get you an interview at Ferrari, would you at least attend the interview?” He asked. You couldn’t help but sigh a little, quickly glancing at him. He was never going to give it up. Charles never gave up.

“I’ll do the interview, but only because I know you won’t stop until I do it”, you replied, and Charles smiled, wrapping you in a hug.

“Thank you!” He cheered before you continued walking with a laugh. You were soon on the same street as his maman’s hair salon, and he opened the door, allowing you to walk in first. Pascale looked up from her diary, standing up as quickly as Charles’ reflexes as she rounded the table.

“Oh, Y/N, look at you!” Her arms wrapped around you, pulling you into her arms before pulling back her hands resting on your face

“Après-midi Pascale” (Afternoon) You smiled, hugging her back. When you finally pulled away, Pascale moved past you to hug her son.

“Après-midi maman” (Afternoon) Charles smiled, kissing her cheek before ushering you to sit down.

“J'ai trouvé celui-ci dans son ancien café” (I found this one in her old cafe). Charles turned to Pascale, who raised an eyebrow before starting her conversation in French with Charles. While you could understand basic French while it was slow, it wasn’t a primary language, and they were talking too fast.

“Oh, I can’t believe you’re back here. You should have texted you could have stayed over. You’re getting too skinny,” Pascale fussed, and you smiled. You weren’t home in Germany often, so saying you didn’t enjoy her fussing would be a lie.

“I’m okay, Pascale” You smiled, holding her hand.

“Oh, you should join us for dinner tonight. The boys are coming over” She smiled, and you smiled up at her.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude, Pascale. It’s your weekly dinner” You frowned

“Nonsense. Charles talked her into it.” She walked away to speak to the client who had just walked in, and Charles laughed, sitting beside her.

“She’s as persistent as I am” He shrugged with a smile, pulling you into a hug. You couldn’t help but rest your head on his chest just like you used to when you were a teenager.

“Fine. I missed your maman’s cooking anyway. Takeaways aren’t hitting the spot anymore, and I’m losing money buying them,” You replied with a huff, and Charles laughed. His chest vibrated as he did.

“You know, if you were to dive into your savings accounts, you wouldn’t be losing money”, he replied with a shrug as you pulled away offended. Your hand on your chest

“Charles Leclerc! How dare you suggest I touch my savings? Those are for emergencies!” You exclaimed, and he laughed

“Get an interview with Ferrari, and you would never need to touch those savings”, he replied with a smirk as you rolled your eyes.

“I’ve already told you I’ll do the interview. What more do you want?” You asked, tilting your head as you glanced over at Pasclae, who was talking with a customer

“For you to join us at dinner. I know Arthur and Enzo would love to see you. Arthurs bringing his new girlfriend and Enzo bringing Charlotte,” He replied

“I’ve already said I’d do that as well. However, your maman is going to have me at every dinner now,” You replied, and he chuckled, pulling you back into his arms.

“Wouldn’t be the worst decision she’d ever made.” He smiled, and you rested your head against his chest.

Later that night, you were walking up to the Leclerc family home. It had been a while since you were last inside; however, you’d run past it almost every day on your run because it was the neighbourhood that you knew, like the back of your hand.

You were just about to knock on the door when the door was abruptly pulled open by none other than Arthur Leclerc, who, as usual, wasn’t watching what he was doing. Before you realised the door had opened, your hand hit his face. You both gasped at the same time.

“Scheiße! Arthur! Entschuldigung! Warum versteckst du dich hinter der Tür?” You panicked as Arthur's hand flew to his eye where you had just accidentally punched him. (Shit! Arthur! Sorry! Why are you hiding behind the door?) Charles came running out at the sound of your panicked German and almost doubled over in laughter

“Putain!” Arthur exclaimed

“Maman, Enzo. Arthur a encore récidivé!” (Mum, Enzo. Arthur did it again!) Charles called into the house as Pascale rushed out of the kitchen, ready to fuss over her boy and give a telling-off to whoever punched him; however, when she saw you, she turned to Arthur with a disapproving look. Lorenzo slowly followed behind, clearly unfazed.

“Quel garçon idiot. Je vous ai dit d'arrêter d'ouvrir la porte car les invités sont sur le point de frapper. Va mettre de la glace sur tes yeux.” She complained to Arthur. As Arthur retreated back into the house like a dog with its tail between his legs.

“Garçon idiot et idiot" " she muttered to no one in particular as Charles looked at Enzo before they both started laughing again (What a silly boy. I told you to stop pulling the door open as guests are about to knock. Go put some ice on your eye. Silly silly boy)

“Désolé Pascale”, You whispered, looking at the older woman who turned to look at you with a soft look (Sorry)

“That was Arthur’s fault. He thinks it’s funny. He’s learned his lesson this time. Now, why you were going to knock in the first place is beyond me” She shook her head disapprovingly, and you quickly came up with an excuse.

“I was just going to use it to announce my presence. In case you were talking about me,” You joked, and Pascale laughed, ushering you into the house. Charles pulled you into his arms, kissing your cheeks before Lorenzo did the same thing.

“It’s good to see you, Y/N” He smiled before walking back into the house to his fiance as you looked at Charles, who started laughing again.

“Oh, your face” He laughed as you shook your head, pushing him out of the way.

“Enfant préféré” (Favourite Child), Arthur muttered as he walked past you and Charles. You both looked at each other before laughing again. Pascale had a soft spot for you, and if that weren’t shown in her reaction to that incident, you wouldn’t know what would show it.

Arthur’s new girlfriend walked out of the living room to see what was happening and possibly what her boyfriend was complaining about. You smiled over as Charles took his time to speak up.

“Ah, Jade. This is Y/N. She’s one of my best friends. Well, I think maman adopted her when we were about nine” He shrugged, and you waved in her direction.

“Nice to meet you” You smiled.

“You too. What’s ‘Thur shouting about?” She asked as Charles started laughing all over again. For something so simple, he was easily amused.

“Oh, I went to knock on the door, and he pulled it open with his head right where I was about to knock”, Jade giggled to herself as she nodded.

“I’ll go find him” " she giggled, walking into the depths of the house as you followed Charles into the living room. Pascale still had all her favourite photos decorating the house, with a few extra ones added. The one that took pride in the middle of the mantle piece? One of you and Charles smiling at each other on the couch as Arthur slept over both of your legs. You stopped and looked at for a moment before Charles turned to look at you.

“He hates that picture. Maman loves it. She says it shows our siblingly bond.” He chuckled, resting his arm around your shoulder and talking you through the newer pictures that had been added.

Within the hour of being at the Leclerc household, it was like you had never left it in the first place. Like you’d been at every family dinner since you went to University and left Monaco to join your family back in Germany.

Despite the incident with her boyfriend, you and Jade seemed to be getting along well, even if Arthur was still annoyed at the whole incident. Mama Leclerc wasn’t about to let you take the blame for that.

Your head rested on your hand as you spoke to Charles after almost begging Pascale to let you help her with desserts; however, she refused each time.

“You should come out with me tomorrow night”, Charles declared as you tilted your head, waiting for more information about this night out. However, he didn’t continue, causing you to roll your eyes slightly.

“More information, Leclerc” " you prodded, and he hummed before nodding

“Right, yeah. Some of the grid is going out tomorrow night just to the restaurant, but we wanted to get to know the rookies because some of them have just been thrown in at the deep end, like Ollie,” He finally continued as you nodded along with his words before sitting up straight

“Does that mean I get to meet your sons?” You asked with a large smile, and he nodded slightly

“Yeah, I guess so” You smiled, clapping your hands a little

“I’ll be there then” You hummed.

Later that night, you were still in the Leclerc household, cuddled into Charles’ side as you watched a movie.

That next night, you weren’t expecting Charles to pick you up in his Ferrari; however, you walked outside the hotel room you were renting for the moment, meeting him at the front. He’d said the dress code was casual, but as always, you felt underdressed next to the Ferrari driver.

“You ready?” The Ferrari driver smiled, and you nodded, checking everything in your bag: phone, keycard, purse, random bits and bobs.

“I think so” You hummed and nodded while walking out to the car with you. He couldn’t have been the more perfect gentleman, and you were beginning to think he’d tricked you into a date. He opened the car door for you, helped you with your seatbelt, and even helped you out of the car when you arrived.

Walking into the restaurant beside him, you were happy to see the other drivers sitting around the table, including some of the rookies, which there was a lot of this year compared to previous years just past. Charles pulled out a seat for you, allowing you to sit down, and you smiled politely at him.

One seat remained, and you looked around the table, attempting to figure out who would still arrive. Charles leaned over his arm on the back of your chair to steady himself.

“This is a whole plan. George is the last one to arrive, hence how there's a seat left next to Max,” He whispered with a smirk, and you turned to him with a slight laugh.

“So you invited me along for World War Three?” You whispered back, turning your head to him, to which he nodded happily

“I knew you’d want to watch the drama” He chuckled, and you laughed before Charles leaned back a little

“Ollie?” He asked, and the boy, two seats down, turned around to look at you both. The boy you believed couldn’t be old enough to drive in Formula One also turned around. Two for one, you chuckled to yourself.

“Y/N, this is Ollie. Ollie, this is my childhood best friend, Y/N” He introduced you both, and you smiled at the young boy.

“Nice to meet you, Ollie. Charles talks about you a lot” You smiled, pleased you finally got to meet one of his grid kids.

“Oh my god”, Ollie whispered as the other boy sitting next to you just saw with his mouth slightly agape. You couldn’t help but have a little laugh to yourself.

“Oh, and Y/N, this is Kimi. He’s driving for Mercedes this year” He motioned to the other boy, and you smiled.

“Nice to meet you as well, Kimi” Kimi looked like he was gonna faint, and you could hear Charles sniggering behind you.

“You’re like-” Kimi was cut off by a nudge in the ribs from Ollie, who had previously received one from Liam Lawson, who sat beside him.

“Hey, Y/N” He waved down the table, and you waved back, turning to Charles.

“You broke them”, you whispered harshly to him, to which he just shrugged in return, watching as everyone's heads slowly turned as George walked in. You bit your lip, waiting for his reaction to the only seat. To everyone’s surprise, after Max said the seat was available, he picked it up and moved it. Hiding your mouth behind your hand, you quietly laughed, noticing the Haas and Mercedes drivers beside you doing the same thing.

Charles nudged your leg with his foot, and you turned to look at him with a smile, to which he nudged his head in the other direction of the table, which had you turning around to see what he was on about just to see the Red Bull driver attempting to start a conversation with the Mercedes driver.

The disagreement was one-sided as Max attempted to clear the air between them. Still, you could also clearly see that George wasn’t interested in listening to what Max had to say, and on the following media day, George would be starting rumours.

Throughout the night, you got to know the two rookies sitting beside you, and you couldn’t lie. You had taken a liking to them. You now understand why Charles was so supportive and why he was always worried about Oliver. You had a feeling that maybe if you got the job at Ferrari, it wouldn’t be so bad.

Two months later, you’d gone to the job interview with Ferrari mainly for Charles’ sake because you could see that he was getting annoyed with you sleeping in a hotel and not accepting his invitation to stay in his spare bedroom.

Now, here you were, walking into the Bahrain paddock with Charles at your side, laughing about something he’d just done that shouldn’t have been as funny as it was. You’d accepted the job because the thought of sitting at home any longer stressed you out because, to start with, it wasn’t home, and you were getting bored.

You’d grown closer to Charles over the past three months, even joining him and some of your shared friends on a skiing trip meant to help him “train”. You just believed it was a pilot thing because whenever you opened Instagram, there was another F1 pilot skiing or snowboarding somewhere.

“Are you feeling ready?” Charles asked, and you just smiled thinking about it

“Yeah. I think this is where my dad wants me to be. Even if Mickey isn’t in the paddock anymore, it was our dream” Charles pulled you into his side as you walked.

“Michael would want you to be here, and you already know that Mick wants you here” He smiled, and you nodded.

“Yeah, you’re right” You stood up a little taller.

“That’s it, ice cream girl”, He joked, and you pushed him away with a laugh.

“You know I always thought you’d end up with Arthur”, He hummed, and you looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“What?” You asked with a laugh

“It just always looked like you two had a thing for each other. I got slightly jealous at one point,” He confessed, leading you into the hospitality with a hand on the small of your back.

“You’re joking, right?” You asked, and he shook his head. You were about to respond when you were interrupted by Fred. You couldn’t tell your new boss to fuck off for a moment so you could continue this conversation, so you left them alone and went to make acquaintance with some of the other mechanics.

An hour later, you were standing outside the Ferrari garage when Oliver walked by, looking stressed. You frown, pushing yourself off the wall and walking over.

“Ollie”, You called out slightly.

“Oh, Y/N. Hi” He smiled slightly; however, you could see that the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Is everything okay?” You questioned gently

“My dad was meant to come out for testing, but Thomas has this major competition where he needs a parent to go with him, and you know I’m nineteen. I don’t need a parent,” He informed, and you frowned, opening your arms to take him into your embrace.

“Everyone needs their parents. What about your mum?” You asked, and he shook his head, and you instantly regretted asking

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise,” You rambled, and he shook his head again with a laugh, moving his head from the crook of your neck.

“No, it’s not like that” He giggled a little as you breathed.

“Every time she’s come to a race, it’s like she’s bad luck, so she doesn’t come any more,” He explained, and you nodded in understanding.

“Well, Ferrari might not be exactly happy if I join you in the Haas garage; however, I will be in the Ferrari garage if you need some support. If you need some support regarding the car or driving, Charles will be more than happy to help you if he can,” You assure him, and he nods, pulling out of your arms.

“Thank you. That helped a little,” He mumbles, and you nod

“I might not be your mum or dad, but if you or Kimi need anything, I’ll always be willing to help if I can” You smiled, and he nodded

“Thank you. I’ll tell him because he’s scared of you,” He confessed, and you chuckled

“I’m not scary. I get my surname makes people scared, though” He nodded

“He doesn’t want to say anything wrong even though he’s worked with Mick for years.” He laughed, and you could see that it was a genuine laugh. He wasn’t as stressed as he was when you started this conversation.

“I’m better looking than Mick and Gina, though” You joked, and he laughed. You turned your head as your name was called.

“You know where to find me if you need me.” You smiled while walking over to the group of mechanics who were discussing.

About an hour later, Charles was walking along to hospitality with you, and he bumped your shoulder with his own

“And you talk about me having grid kids. It’s your first day here, and you’ve already got two” He chuckled, and you looked at him.

“What, no, I don’t.” You frowned, and he nudged his head towards Andrea and Oliver, sitting outside the Ferrari hospitality.

“It’s not my fault my motherly instincts kicked in! They’re just kids!” You exclaimed, and he nodded

“I know they are. It’s a brutal world here as well” You sighed with a nod. You’d seen it from your side when Mick was going through it. You never really got to see your dad's race in person, and it’s something you wish you could change, but you can’t change your age.

“I think we need to talk tonight” You started looking up at him as you walked, to which he nodded.

“I think so, too” He nodded with a smile. You separated from him, walking over to the young drivers.

“You two are quite far from your garages and hospitalities”, you joked, and Ollie looked up with a smile.

“Y/N!” He smiled, almost jumping out of his seat from seeing you

“Kimi and I were wondering if you’d be free tomorrow after testing.” You raised an eyebrow while looking between the two rookies.

“It’s not for anything bad!” Kimi adds, looking up at you

“We were joining some of the grid for drinks after testing and were kind of scared”, He whispered, and you nodded.

“Yeah, I’ll be there, but you know there's nothing to fear. Most drivers are lovely, but I can give you insight on who to avoid when there’s alcohol on the go.” You winked while sitting down next to them to give them the gossip.

Later that night, you cuddled Charles in his hotel bed with your head on his shoulder.

“I think we should talk about earlier before Fred interrupted”, you whispered, and he nodded slightly. Shifting so that he could see your face

“Yeah, I think I confessed something I shouldn’t have?” He whispered, and you giggled a little

“Want to repeat that confession?” You asked, and he frowned

“Not really, non” He shook his head, and you couldn’t help but pout slightly

“Okay, fine. I said I got jealous when I thought you and Arthur liked each other” He sighed as you rested your chin on his chest.

“And why would that be?” You asked with a slight smirk, and he pushed you away jokingly and with an eye roll.

“Maybe because I also liked you?” He confessed in a whisper, and your eyes widened, not expecting him to admit that.

“What?” You asked quietly, and he looked out the window

“Don’t worry about it. I won’t let it change anything between us. It never has, and it never will” He shrugged, and you pushed yourself so you were sitting up next to him. Your hand reaches out to hold his jaw and turn his head to face you. Charles’ eyes avoided your own as you leaned down and pressed a kiss against his lips.

It took him a moment before he finally kissed you back; your hand dropped from his jaw to his chest as his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him. After a few moments, you had to pull away, your forehead resting against the Ferrari driver.

“I don’t have the same lung capacity as you”, you joked, allowing your breathing to calm down as he laughed a little.

“Now, if I knew that all I had to do was confess that I was jealous, I would have done it a long time ago” He smiled, and you hummed, laying your head on his chest again.

“We had kids before we even got together”, you joked, and he rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, that is only a few years off our actual age” You shrugged in response, looking up at him as you kissed his jaw. Charles pulled you closer to his side.

When you and Charles finally returned to Monaco, you both decided to tell Pascale. Needless to say, the older woman was more than ecstatic about the situation, her dreams finally coming true for her son and now her daughter-in-law (well, almost. She didn’t care, though)

Pascale had decided it was a reason to celebrate, so now you, Mick and the Leclerc family were out at a fancy restaurant she had picked. Charles’ warm hand was settled on your knee as he spoke to his brothers, and you talked to your own with your hand rested over his.

“I wish Gina could have flown out for this. She would have loved to see you two” Mick smiled, a teasing tone hidden in his voice.

“I wish she were here as well, but she’s giving us a niece, so can’t complain”, you replied with a slight shrug.

“Your turn next,” Mick teased, and you rolled your eyes and shook your head.

“You and Laila have been together a lot longer than we have”, you replied

“Yeah, but you two have been friends since we started karting. You lived with him for some time. You’re basically a married couple.” He argued, and you shook your head

“You and Laila are a married couple!” You exclaimed

“Den Mund halten! Wir sind noch nicht verheiratet! Versuchen Sie, niemandem zu erzählen, dass der Verlobungsring in meiner Schublade liegt, oder?” He exclaimed (Shut up! We're not married yet! Try not to tell anyone the engagement ring is in my drawer. Will you?) as Charles turned his head to look at you both

“Everything okay?” Charles asked

“Mick’s just getting a little excited.” You smiled, pressing a kiss on his lips, to which he nodded, content with the answer.

Later that night, you and Charles were cuddled in his bed. His hands threaded through your hair as one of your hands rested on his chest.

“Can’t believe I get to call you mine, mon amour” He smiled, pressing a kiss into your hair as you looked up at him with a smile.

“Well, you better believe it because you’re stuck with me twenty-four seven Schatz.” You hummed, kissing his jaw as your hand moved from his chest to his face, cupping his face.

“To think that we started off racing together, and look at us now” He rested his head back on his pillow as you watched his face turn into his thinking face. After a moment, you spoke up.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked softly

“Just our journey getting to this point in life” He smiled

“We did follow the best friends to lover troupe”, you joked, and he looked at you with a frown

“The what?” He asked

“Don’t worry about it, Schatz” You smiled

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eowynstwin · 2 days ago

Text

peristalsis - iv

selkie!soap x reader. depression. suicidal ideation. strangers to "lovers." social isolation. self loathing. hint of neurodivergent reader. manipulative soap. . Running away from life to the Scottish Hebrides, you meet a man who won't leave you alone. . Masterlist. Ao3.

The other side of the bed is empty the next morning, when you wake up.

You feel it as the dregs of sleep slough off—an absence of weight. The heavy drape of the bedsheets around you. The lone sound of your own breathing, and nothing more—

It shouldn’t punch a hole in your chest. You shouldn’t be surprised in the slightest. What is for other people is not for you.

But you are. It does.

The little speck of hope that has survived every attempt of yours to exterminate it had flared a little brighter, fed by Johnny’s attention. A distant star in a clouded sky, finally reaching earth with its light. Stupid. You know better by now, and it should too. You’ve done this before, a hundred different times, a hundred different ways. The outcome is always the same.

You sweep your hand over the empty spot—

It’s still warm.

Your eyes snap open. At the same moment, you hear movement from somewhere else in the cottage, and then, through the open bedroom door, the warm aroma of coffee and cooking food wafts in.

You sit up. Pull the sheets up with you, clutched to your chest.

“Johnny?” you call. Tentative. Unsure.

“Aye!” a cheerful brogue responds from the kitchen. “Don’ move a muscle, I’ll be right there.”

Something sharp and hot pushes through your veins; the corners of your vision darken with it.

You realize you’ve stopped breathing, and inhale. Your need to be contrary subsumes completely underneath your shock. You sit completely still, suspended in place, as something sizzles in the kitchen.

He traipses into the room in nothing but an apron, carrying a tray with two plates of food and two mugs of coffee, which he sets on the end of the bed before he slides into the empty spot beside you.

You stare as if at a wild animal—if he notices your surprise, he doesn’t take it into account as he curls an arm around your neck.

“Mornin,’” he says, dragging you in for a kiss.

A long kiss—his mouth parts yours to permit his tongue, which he slides against yours as his fingers press upward into the soft underside of your chin. He inhales deeply before his lips leave yours, and you reel, listing toward him, as he pulls away.

“Sleep well?” he asks, hand dropping to your sternum to drag his fingertips between your breasts.

You blink several times. “Uh. Yes.”

“Bet you did,” he says with a grin. Then, he taps your neck—ink-blotting soreness with ungentle fingertips. “Sorry about this. Got too into it.”

He does not sound sorry in the slightest.

“It’s fine,” you say anyway, still blinking in whiplash.

He leans away to pull the breakfast tray up into both of your laps. “Made a classic English breakfast this time, but you eat what you like, bonnie.”

A classic English breakfast turns out to be eggs, sausage, bacon, beans, seared cherry tomatoes, and toast, which Johnny digs into with the gusto of the starving. You select a crunchier-looking strip of bacon and break it between your teeth, but you don’t pay much attention to the taste.

Johnny. His mohawk is mussed from the night’s sleep, and other than the apron, he really does appear to be completely naked. It seems like the first thing he did, when woke up, was not shower or dress, but head to the kitchen to start cooking.

For you. Again.

“Why?” you ask aloud.

He turns to you, one cheek rounded with food, dark brows lifted over bright eyes. “Hm?”

“Why did you make breakfast? You could’ve just left.”

Surprise on his face, freezing his expression. Then, consternation, dragging it down. “I wouldnae do that to you, bonnie.”

He says it so gravely—as if even the notion that he would make an early getaway amounts to betrayal on the deepest level.

“It’s,” you say, “it’s fine. It’s not like this…like…”

Like this meant anything. But didn’t it? You meant to punish yourself, with him as your scourge. A necessary reminder—a bitter pill you must swallow, over and over again.

Who better to deliver it than Johnny, because, hopes aside, he with his rockstar grin and wandering hands had not given off the slightest indication that he would stay the morning after a one-night stand. Let alone get up before you to make breakfast.

You had relied on that.

“I wouldnae do that,” he repeats.

Instead—here he is. Warm, bare shoulder against yours. Lashes dark over an insistent gaze.

You break eye contact, looking at your plate. “Whatever,” you say, for lack of any other response.

You pick at your food—it’s good, same as the meal he made you last night. Not pretentious, like he’s trying to impress you, but genuine and hearty. Tasty, the way breakfast in bed should be.

Puzzle pieces forced to fit together, despite belonging to different areas of the composition. A round peg the perfect diameter for a square hole. Incongruous. Confusing. Untrustworthy.

You continue to study him out of the suspicious corner of your eye as he goes back to eating, though it isn’t exactly any hardship. It seems to be a rare sunny day on the island, with warm, buttery light streaming in from the window. It catches the dark hair on his forearms, casts the sculpted expanse of his freckled shoulders in stronger repose.

You see it again—the wound on the side of his head. Nearly hidden by the dark stubble of shaved hair, but not invisible.

“What happened?” you ask.

He looks at you with a question on his face, and then sees the direction of your gaze. He nods to himself, as if he’s been expecting you to ask this whole time.

“Told you I served,” he said, setting down his fork. Then he notices you aren’t eating much. “Ach, bonnie, don’ let it get cold. You eat, and I’ll talk, aye?”

Begrudgingly, you spear some egg and clamp it between your teeth. He smiles indulgently, and continues.

“So you met Price. Was on an operation with him in London. Chasin’ this real bad fucker in the subway tunnels. He was tryin’ to set off a bomb, but we got to him first. Well, we chased him off the payload, anyways, n’ I’m demo, so I’m the one can defuse it.”

He looks at you. You bite down on a corner of toast.

“Guess he figured that part out, ‘cause not long after I get to the wires he comes back. Nearly takes Price out, so I get after him. Stupid mistake. Price can take care of himself, an’ we had backup. Fucker ended up shooting me in the head.”

Halfway swallowing that same bite of toast, you choke. “You—you got shot in the head?”

He nods. “Aye.”

You look again at the scar near his temple. A starburst, in a whorl of dark hair. Dead center in the silhouette of his profile, as if a paper target at a shooting range.

“Johnny—how the fuck are you still alive?”

He leans back against the headboard, folding one arm behind his head, exposing a thatch of curly dark hair in his pit. He runs his hand through the back of his mohawk, mouth canted at an angle.

“Got no fuckin’ idea, bonnie,” he says.

The expression on his face is, perhaps, the most human you’ve ever seen it. Consternation, maybe. Confusion. Aggravation. You’re not sure what you would call it, but just looking at him, you understand that that exact question is one he’s been asking himself since it happened.

Asking, without finding an answer.

“I’m,” you stammer, “I’m sorry. That’s a stupid thing to—I’m sorry.”

He turns to you and smiles. Chagrined, but forgiving. “It’s all right, bonnie. Have some coffee for me, why don’t you?”

You lift a mug and sip. He’s added cream and sugar to it, the way you’d made it yesterday morning.

“So, I survived it,” he goes on. “Woke up in the hospital a few days later. One in a million chance, they said, but I still had to learn to walk again, an’ I was out. Out, out. Medical discharge, thank you for your service, enjoy the rest of your life. The boys went off to kill the guy in Kastovia or Russia or somethin.’”

Quick as the bullet in his brain. Matter-of-fact. The story ending without him, with no hand reaching out to pull him back in.

Well, not quite—

“And then John Price came here with you,” you say.

He gives you a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes; strained, much like the only smiles you have to offer these days. “Nah. Came out by myself. He came after I’d been here awhile. Told me he was ‘worried about me.’”

The way this conversation is supposed to go, this would be the part where you would say of course he was worried.

“But he didn’t get it,” you say instead, seeing it etched into the grooves of his expression.

Johnny, in exile, alive when he shouldn’t be. Reckoning with the fact that everything he cared about did not care nearly as much about him. Figuring out how to live without anyone else.

Breakfast turns inert on the plate when you look down at it.

“No,” Johnny says, private and intimate, thick as molasses. “He didnae.”

“You seem okay now,” you say, diaphragm pushing the words up your trachea like debris on an incoming tide.

The Johnny you know—the smug, satisfied prick able to laugh at anything and everything—slides back into place.

“Yeah, can’t hide that from you, can I, bonnie?”

He looks at where you’re still holding the sheet to your chest, to the imprint of his teeth on your neck, and then back into your eyes. You know exactly what he’s about to suggest, and you intercept as he opens his mouth to suggest it.

“I’m still eating breakfast,” you say, forcing a whole cherry tomato into your mouth. It pops and squirts between your teeth.

He grins—too knowing. “Ah, that’s alright. M’ takin’ you to Callanish today, and I’ve got a’catch your supper first,” he says.

With that, he slides the tray fully onto your lap and rises, stretching his arms above his head with his back to you, tensing and releasing the muscles as if for your benefit.

“Callanish?” you ask, swallowing.

“Aye, on Lewis.” Then he turns around and, beating a forkful of eggs halfway up, kisses you on the mouth. “Why don’t you take a walk? Pretty today. I’ll be back ‘round noontime.”

Something hard in your chest, held tight between your lungs. Pressure bending the lid upwards.

“I didn’t say I was going,” you reply, but Soap just laughs at you.

He disappears from the bedroom, and you hear him retrieving his clothes from wherever he’d thrown them the night before. You start to shake with the effort of holding in, listening with straining ears as he dresses.

“Left some lunch in the fridge for you!” he calls, and in a stroke of bright luck you hear the front door open and shut before there’s any chance for you to respond.

Wind strokes its fingers through the thatches of the roof. Stillness retakes the vacated space.

You eventually bring the dishes to the sink, tray held in front of you like a shield, as if wary of some predator hiding just around the counter. You approach the fridge and crack it open carefully, imagining a wire you don’t want to snap. There’s a sandwich on the middle shelf, sitting on a plate, wrapped in cellophane.

It breaks open.

Finally, you are alone.

You take the walk.

The sky is nearly cloudless, and the sunlight has transformed the island’s greys into a storm of jewel greens, with what is likely the last warm breeze of the year dancing across fronds of tall grasses. Clouds tower in the sky as if composed and painted there. You lock up the cottage behind you and find a walking trail to put your feet on.

Johnny.

It’s as quiet on the island as you’d hoped. No road noise. No humming power lines, or distant radio on someone else’s balcony. You can hear tiny insects singing together in the sedge, sea birds calling to each other. The voices of colliding winds arguing like old friends in the wide sky above you.

No other walkers on the path. It’s out of season for tourists, the nice weather a rare gift for the people who belong here and them alone.

Johnny.

You’ve tried to be happy. You have.

All you know is that when things start going well, it doesn’t last long.

You don’t know when it began—years ago, maybe, when you first noticed it. The pattern. Something you think of as a chill; rapid cooling, thermal shock cracking the facade.

It happens like this: you find out about group chats you aren’t a part of. Dinners you weren’t invited to. Conversations you might’ve enjoyed, that happened without you.

A problem. A serious one. But you were solution-minded.

For a long time, you puzzled it out. Acknowledged that the common denominator was you, in every circumstance—and so you looked at yourself. Found your flaws. Stared open-eyed into the mirror and confronted your own lack, internalized that no one owed you what you wanted from them just because you wanted it.

Love is action, isn’t it?

So you tried. You really did. You wrote down people’s birthdays. You invited them out for coffee. You commented on their Instagram posts. You messaged first, every time you’ve thought of them, memorized details about their lives, gave them plenty of space to talk about themselves—

After all, no one wants a friend absorbed in themself. People like to be remembered. Thought of. Considered.

You read books others recommended. You watched their favorite movies. Spent evenings catching up on shows they liked so that you could always have something to talk about with them, because that’s how it happens, right? Mychorrizae for the roots between trees. Fertilized ground.

It worked, for a while. And you nurtured the hope that, perhaps, there would be space for you, that something wonderful might eventually germinate.

Maybe conversations would loop back to you. Maybe all you’d done would be returned in kind.

Exhaustion bared a preliminary truth: it would not.

Puzzling more. The next solution presented itself—people don’t stand in front of mirrors all day. If all you do is echo them, what interest will they have in you? You provide nothing new, nothing more than what they already have.

Human beings love novelty, after all. Something new and shiny to turn in the light at different angles. You needed to gleam so brightly that what you’d been seeking all along could see you well enough to find you.

So you worked on yourself.

You took classes you’d been swearing to take for years. Joined a gym looking for endorphins. Dove into crafts, walking groups, trivia nights at the bar. Wrote out a cleaning schedule for your small apartment and kept to it. You spritzed your pillows with lavender, and ate more fruit.

Joined forums for things you liked. Got certifications for work and then chased down the raises they entitled you to. Went to interesting restaurants, found tiny little card shops or foreign grocery stores to explore. Learned to make Pad Thai from scratch.

Rounded yourself out. That’s what you did—you took the raw block of yourself and chiseled down into it, to set free whatever you found inside.

For another while, it was enough. Endorphins make people happy, and all that. And it seemed to be enough, becoming to attract; drops of water usually obey the laws of cohesion.

Only, in the middle of it, you observed the exact same phenomena as before.

Mirrors of yourself in others. People making the same efforts—which bore a richer harvest than you ever had available to reap. Bounties so plentiful they could barely hold it in their arms.

And you, close beside them, trying, and trying, and trying.

Hairline cracks forming.

In the end, still alone.

The teeth of the preliminary truth fit into the lock holding all the rest, and turned open the latch. They flooded your stomach in a rush, expanding, shattering their container, so abundant that they left no room for anything else. And they all connected, ligaments spiderwebbing inward to an undeniable nucleus—

There is something deeply, deeply wrong with you.

Invisible to you, but obvious to everyone else. A thing you cannot fix. A thing you cannot medicate. A thing you cannot self-care away. Unobservable when you look at it; happening just outside your perception.

Something you manage to hide, even unaware of its existence, only for a short while, before it spills out of you and makes a mess for all to see, entirely without you knowing it.

You do not know what it is. You’ve looked and looked and looked for it, and have not found it. You’ve sanded all the edges of yourself, hoping you might unknowingly catch it—but whatever it is must grow back, like a lizard’s tail or the arm of a starfish.

It must be ugly. It must be so shocking that when it rears its head, people feel so sorry for you for bearing it that they’d feel guilty rejecting you outright, and so they recede from you slowly. Masking pity with compassion, and hoping you won’t notice.

There is nothing good enough about you to accommodate for whatever it is. No matter what you do, you cannot make up for it.

So here you are, on a dying island in the North Atlantic. Far away from temptation—from what you can only, inevitably, ruin.

Hounded by a man who it would be madness to think cannot see that.

You watch one foot swing in front of the other, barely leaving any prints in the hard, packed soil exposed by every walker who’s come before you. You hadn’t brought sunglasses with you, assuming that you wouldn’t need them, and the late morning light is too blinding to look too far ahead of you.

Johnny.

It isn’t about you, whatever his interest is. You see that very clearly now.

You picture him—a special forces grunt, riding high on his own masculinity, suddenly cut down. Ripped away from everything that made him him. Cut off from anyone who might be halfway capable of understanding how that might feel.

And you—a lone woman, marginally fuckable. Obviously flawed goods. An empty well of self-esteem waiting to be filled.

Someone he can impress with a wink and a flex, and make himself feel better taking care of.

He’s enjoying getting to play suitor—that’s all. You don’t think you’ve seen many women your age on the island, so for him, this must be a rare opportunity. You can’t, you suppose, blame him too much. You understand what he’s doing, and why.

You’ve done it yourself. Chosen a likely candidate and thrown all your feelings at them until you’ve felt better.

That’s how people are, in the end—that’s how you are. People look to others to get what they want out of them, and in Johnny’s case, he’s getting it. Not even two days, and you spread your legs for him. You let him come inside of you with barely even a token fuss, because he felt you up and smiled the whole time doing it.

He’s using you. The same way you’re using him.

It’s a shitty thing to do. You are a shitty person for doing it.

And so is he.

Maybe that’s why you’re letting him.

When you return to the cottage, you find the door unlocked, and Johnny on the couch with a romance paperback open in one hand. He turns to grin at you when you walk in, and tosses the book on the coffee table without marking his place when he rises. Today, he’s wearing a dark sweater over yet another kilt, but this time—

“Your—fur, thing, is missing,” you say, in lieu of greeting.

He looks down at his hips, patting his thighs with his hands. “My pelt? Ah, yeah.” He grins. “Threw it off in a hurry, can you blame me? Couldnae find it. I’m no’ worried, it’ll turn up. You ready to go?”

You frown. “I guess.”

“Good! I packed your bag for ya already, but you migh’ wan’ to check if I missed anything.”

Your frown harder. “You—what? You packed my bag? Why would I need that?”

You swear his eyes twinkle at you. “Is a six hour boat ride up to Lewis, hen, an’ six hours back, no’ counting how long y’wanna stay at Callanish. Probably dock overnight.”

“I never said I wanted to go!” you snap, marching past him toward the bedroom.

“A’thought we were past that!” he calls after you.

You find your carry-on open on the bed, and furiously upturn it, dumping everything out—it disgorges its contents like intestines spilling from a slit belly. Three romance novels. Toiletry bag, phone charger, jewelry bag, a shirt mismatched to a pair of pants it’s crumpled up with. One pair of socks. No bra, no panties—and you think Johnny might have a shred of decency after all, but when you go to your suitcase, you find your carefully folded rows of underwear haphazardly unfolded, thoroughly pawed through anyway.

Johnny comes into the room as you stand up with appropriate undergarments in your hands, ire shoving smog from your lungs.

“You’re no’ gonna need those, bonnie,” he says with, the ever-present smirk.

“Fuck you,” you snap. You have never wanted to slap someone so much in your life, but somehow, you know he would catch your wrist in the attempt, and just use his grip to pull you in.

And you’d let him.

“Yeah, that’s why.”

You scoff, and go to repack your bag, folding your clothes and tetrising everything together so it will stand on its own when put down, ignoring Johnny’s leering until you turn around. You make no effort to hide how much you’re grumbling about fucking assholes with fucking boats thinking they’re going to get laid again just because they got their dick wet once.

You sling the carry-on over your shoulder once it’s packed and zipped—fully intending to complain the whole way, even as you go along with his nonsense.

It doesn’t feel good, exactly, but you don’t quite feel your stomach up in knots. You feel clear, at least. You know what’s going on. You know the limits of this dynamic. You can deal with it.

“Oh, one thing,” Johnny says, then sticks one hand into a pocket in his kilt.

He withdraws your phone.

Whole again, back together with a gleaming new screen. Nested back in its protective case.

“Saw you dropped it, so I took it to Castlebay to get it fixed,” he says, holding it out to you like a dog proud of the task it’s completed. “No’ a lot of signal ‘round here, but wanna make sure you can get to me if you need to.”

The words enter your hearing like cotton swaps, blurring the deeper they penetrate. You take it from him without a word. You tap the screen—there almost certainly had been signal in town, and repair places usually charge phones for free.

Nothing.

Just the time, and the stock background you never changed.

Stone lungs in your chest. In—one, two three. Hold. Out—three, two, one.

“Thank you,” you say, the words dropping like pebbles from your tongue.

“You’re welcome,” he says cheerily. “An’ I didnae know wha’ y’liked to read so I picked my favorites.” He quirks his brows. “Thought we migh’ get some ideas.”

“Okay,” you say. “Let’s go.”

He makes you brush past him on your way out of the bedroom, and follows on your heels close behind, enough that you can smell him, axe and diesel and salt spray and all.

Too close—because, when you catch sight of something odd, you stop in your tracks, and he runs into you, having to catch you before he knocks you over over. Hands wrap warm around your upper arms, big enough to shackle.

There—wedged in the lintel, above the front door. Barely visible from this angle. A sliver of white spattered with grey. You’re not sure what you’re seeing, until—

“Johnny, is that your—pelt?” you say, frowning.

You point toward it; Johnny’s chin rests on top of your head, hands squeezing. Chest hot at your back.

“Look at that,” he murmurs. “How did that end up there?”

It looks well-packed into the angle of the thatch roof meeting the wall; nothing tossed away in a hurry, the way you imagine Johnny undressed the previous night, could have ended up where the pelt is now.

It was obviously shoved there.

Moonlit eyes dance in your dreaming memory.

You turn around to look at him. You open your mouth to speak, but there are no words waiting to leave it—and he beats you before you can come up with any.

“Why don’ you head down to the beach, an’ I’ll lock up here?” he says, looking down at you with pleased, half-lidded eyes.

A killer whale will toy gleefully with its prey. For hours, flinging it back and forth, punting it through the air with powerful flips of its tail. Whatever animal unlucky enough to have encountered it has no escape—it spends its last moments thrown skyward, soaring through the only habitat it could never understand, before spinning back down to sea, pulled back home by gravity’s ignorant love.

Too stunned on impact to be able to swim away. Still breathing—the body unaware that its life has already ended. Until the teeth closing around its neck is the only mercy it will beg for.

“Okay,” you gasp out, stepping back away from him. He watches as you escape, smiling slightly. In no rush.

Out the cottage door and down the path on shaking legs—you retreat to the kayak waiting on the sand, heart pounding against your sternum again, bolting from something that isn’t chasing you. Your nerves feel raw beneath your skin, unclosed circuits buzzing.

The short burst of warm weather is rapidly cooling; a passing breeze carries the chill of a cold night oncoming. You realize you left Johnny’s jacket in the cottage, but—you’re not going back for it. You don’t want to see whatever you left behind there.

Then you hear Johnny’s footsteps approaching. You jolt, tense—readying to flee. Turning, all you see is him holding the plated sandwich as he crosses the beach, jacket draped over the bend of his elbow.

“Forgot some things after all,’” he says, grinning—teeth clean and sharp.

“Oh,” you say, trying to keep the tremble from your voice, “yeah.”

You take it from him, and see that your hands are shaking. If he notices, he doesn’t comment.

If he notices, he’s probably enjoying it.

“Let’s get goin’ then!” he enthuses, taking your bag and setting it in the kayak.

There is no pelt around his hips.

next chapter early access

a/n: I won't lie, this was a rough one to write. Part of the prose of this chapter is inspired by september is a weary month by Yasmin Belkhyr. Not sure if this is the proper attribution but it's all I can find.

#soap x reader #soap x you #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mctavish x you #john soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x you #soap mactavish x reader #soap mctavish #john soap mactavish #mwritessoap #madi writes #selkie soap #peristalsis #the person in the image isn't meant to be reader—just to communicate the feeling #we FINALLY get to the original pitch lmao #anyway WOOO it's done

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starkeysbunny · 9 months ago

Text

espresso [rafe cameron]

“oh he looks so cute, wrapped round my finger..” ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

pairing - rafe cameron x reader

summary - rafe doesn’t do relationships, cuddling, kisses, and sweetness. strictly no commitment hookups had sufficed. that was until he met the girl at the coffee shop.

warnings - nothing rlly, just super sweet whipped rafe

Rafe was heartless. Cold. Rough. Any situation he had with girls was nothing more than that—a situation, a fling. He had absolutely zero desire to be in anything committed.

To his friends, his sisters, his family, and his hookups—he was a mean, heartless monster. (Only tolerating Wheezie, of course.)

And he liked it that way.

No one expected anything from him, no one bored him with their feelings. It made his life so much easier not being overly concerned about the well-being of others.

But today, when Wheezie dragged Rafe to some fancy coffee shop she’s been wanting to visit, his philosophy flew out the window.

“Yeah, I’ll have the caramel latte with cold foam,” the young girl recites her order. “Oh! And a chocolate croissant.”

“Yeah, for sure!” I smile at her, typing her order into the till. “Anything for you?” I turn my attention to the man next to her, presumably a father or brother—probably brother, he seems younger.

He doesn’t say anything, his gaze remaining intent on my features, like my words flew right past his ears.

“Um.. sir? Did you want anything?”

The girl next him sighs, shoving his shoulder. “Stop staring at her you creep.”

His head shakes, like he was snapped out of a trance. He comes to the situation at hand, pinching the bridge of his nose “I’m sorry, that was probably creepy, my bad,” he chuckles awkwardly. The girl next to him makes a face at him, surprised by his actions.

“It’s okay,” I smile. “I zone out a lot too,” I let out a small giggle, trying to make him feel more comfortable.

He grins, “Yeah, um, I’ll take a macchiato, thanks.”

“Great, and could I get a name for the order?”

“Whe—“

“Rafe,” he interjects. I grin, writing his name down.

He pays for the drinks, smiling at me before going to find a table with the girl.

“What was that?” Wheezie questions loudly.

“Shut it, Wheeze. I was zoned out, is all.”

She blows out a puff of air, “Yeah right, me and that barista could practically see the drool falling out of your mouth the second you laid eyes on—“

I kick Wheezie’s leg under the table when that same pretty barista comes by with our drinks.

“One caramel latte with cold foam and a chocolate croissant,” She smiles sweetly, placing the pastry and sugary drink in front of Wheezie. “And one macchiato for Rafe.”

When my name rolls off her tongue, I swear I see stars. She says it with a sweetness I’ve never heard before. Her voice so soft and kind. As she’s placing the drink in front of me, all I can think about it how much I wish I knew her name.

So, I incite a moment for her to tell me. “Thank you…” I pause, trailing off.

“Oh, Y/n!” She says, surprise I asked such a question.

Y/n. So fitting. It’s perfect.

“That’s a pretty name,” for a pretty girl, I wish to say.

She grins, her cheeks flushing a shy pink. “Thanks, if you guys need anything else, let me know!” She informs before wandering off.

Once she’s out of ear shot, Wheezie begins. “Might as well go kiss her over the coffee beans.”

“Oh, shut up, Wheeze.”

one year later

I walk through the doors of Tannyhill like I have so many times before, it’s become a second home.

“Hi, sweetie.” Rose says from the living room where she sips on a glass of wine, reading a book.

“Hi, Rose! Do you know where—“

“He’s in the gym with Topper and Kelce. Beware I hear a lot of groaning and shouting. Too much testosterone for their own good.” She jokes.

I chuckle, shaking my head as I head to the side of the house near the garage where the gym is. The blasting of rap music grows louder the closer I get along with the clanking of weights, and occasional grunts.

I open the door and see Topper and Kelce doing pull ups while Rafe bench presses. Rafe can’t see me due to obviously needing to stay focused.

“Hey, Y/n,” Topper greets, jumping down from the pull up bar.

Before I could ever reply with a greeting, Rafe hooks up the bench press, sitting up quickly. “Y/n?” He smiles, his smile faltering when he turns back toward his friends. “Aye, Kelce, turn that shit down.”

He gets up, walking toward me and pushing me out the door and back into the hallway. He closes the door behind him and his hands find their spot on my waist, a grin taking home on his lips. “Hey baby.”

I smile, my cheeks flushing pink. “Hi.”

“What’re you doing here?” He asks, his thumbs rubbing comforting circles into my skin that’s exposed near the hemline of my shirt.

My hands run up his chest, manicured nails running along the collar of his shirt. “Nothin’… just missed you is all.”

“Yeah?” He questions, that sly smirk on his lips. “You missed me, baby?”

“Yeah, come hang out with me? We can just stay upstairs or we can go to the beach maybe? Or go get lunch, hm?” I coo, my hands now running along his jaw, studying his every feature.

“Whatever you wanna do, my love. Just wanna spend time with you.” He leans in, his lips kissing their favorite spots along my jaw and neck. He pauses for a moment when he hears childish giggles from the other side of the door.

Topper and Kelce walk out, teasing grins on their faces. “I missed you baby,” Topper mocks. “I missed you more, come kiss me and spend time with me, please Y/n. Let me worship the ground you—“

Kelce was cut off by a rough punch to his shoulder. “Ow! Shit, Rafe. Not my fault you’re whipped.”

Topper and Kelce chuckle, walking past us toward the front door. “Try that shit again and you won’t be able to walk out of here!” Rafe threatens.

“Oh cmon, Rafe. They just know you’re wrapped around my finger,” I say loud enough for them to hear.

“Ain’t that the motherfuckin’ truth!” Topper shouts before shutting the front door behind him.

Rafe buries his head in my shoulder, “Baby, you’re just egging them on.”

I chuckle, “Sorry, you’re just so cute all wrapped around my finger.”

He looks back in my eyes, a smile on his lips. “I’m whipped and I’m proud.”

I chuckle, slapping his chest playfully as I drag him upstairs.

#obx fic #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron fluff #rafe obx #rafe cameron blurb #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #outer banks #outerbanks rafe

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ceilidho · 1 year ago

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landscape with honey

summary: price/reader bear shifter fic. PART 4. (read the whole thing on ao3 here) tags: light daddy kink, breeding kink, very nsfw, she/her pronouns for reader

He starts showing up at your house at odd hours.

You’re fixing coffee in the morning, still fuzzy and warm from sleep, only to hear the sounds of hammering outside. Wrapping yourself in just a housecoat, you find John fixing the loose step on your stairs, barely sparing enough time to greet you before returning to the task at hand. When he finishes, he brushes off your attempts to pay him for the job, just loading his tools back in the car and driving off.

You sip your coffee and wonder. Odd.

The next day, you find him raking the leaves in your lawn. Two days later, he shows up at the grocers when you’re picking up produce, and helps you carry all your bags to the car. He also adds a peculiar amount of canned goods to your order and when you fret and try to tell him that you don’t need the pickles and sauerkraut and beans and all of that stuff, he just lays a hand flat on your head and drags it down your hair until you go quiet.

He pays for the whole order.

You’ve never had to wonder about a man’s actions. Men are largely inscrutable to you, ever-shifting. They say one thing and mean another. They look at you like one might look at an oil painting, entitled something like Virgin Meeting Her Lover’s Eyes From The Top Of The Staircase or Landscape With Virgin. They speak to you as though an answer were entirely antithetical to their purpose in conversing with you.

John listens to you with a focus that borders on intimidating, like he wants to hear each word enunciated exactly how you might enunciate it. It has the sharp clarity of respect, of a mutual acknowledgement of humanity. He also comes over to fix your sink without you having to ask. The world of men is still largely confusing to you.

John grows surlier as the days grow shorter though. He doesn’t snap or snarl at you the way he does sometimes with his recruits (you rarely see him interact with them, but sometimes you’ll drop him off his lunch on the days when you’re feeling particularly generous and that’s when you’ll have the rare pleasure of hearing him shout at a trembling twenty-three year old for littering on the trail like a military captain), but it’s a near thing.

The worst is when he catches you on a jog one morning on his drive to work. You see his truck with the faded red paint pass you by and you give a short wave that he returns. He passes you by about half a yard before coming to a full stop and reversing. You stare at him as the window rolls down, brows furrowed.

“Hi Jo—” you start.

“Get in the car,” John growls. You hear the doors unlock.

“…My uh…my shift’s in two hours, John, I can’t just—”

“Get in the car.”

“This is my only time to exercise!”

“If I have to get out of this car and drag you inside, honey, I will. Don’t play with me. Get in.”

You get in the car. Probably wisely. Still dripping sweat and shivering from the cold—you’re not used to jogging in the winter, or at all for that matter, but it seemed like as good a time as any to start—you glance over to stare at the side of John’s face. His jaw is set, almost as if in anger. His knuckles are white over the steering wheel as he makes a U-turn and drives back into town. The cab of his truck smells like flannel pulled out from the back of a closet, almost musty, but comforting in the way that old clothes can sometimes smell. There’s a cigarette ashed out in the dish in front of the centre console.

He takes you to the nearest bakery for coffee and a breakfast muffin and stares you down until you eat the whole thing. You feel like you have to scarf it down. Customers bustle into the bakery to order coffee to-go and fresh cookies and scones in waxy paper bags; everyone in town knows each other so you try to avoid the more curious stares when they’re turned on you.

“This is weird,” you say, staring down at the crumbs on your plate. “This is really weird.”

“This is what you get for exercising before winter,” John says, flagging down the barista for another muffin and a refill on your coffee. “Waste of calories.” The last part is said derisively, almost with a scoff.

You frown. “Lots of people exercise. Even when it snows.”

“Winter is a time for hibernating. Not…sweat,” he says with a grimace, like the very thought is anathema to him.

"Hibernating?" you repeat skeptically, scrunching up your nose. "I mean, I spend a lot of time indoors, but I wouldn't say I'm hibernating."

John stares at you until you look away, flushed. "Finish your breakfast."

The barista returns with another blueberry muffin and a fresh cup of coffee. At least John's the one paying. When he finally seems satisfied, he hustles you home and leaves you off at the door with a stern warning.

“You gonna be good for me this time?” he asks, a finger curled under your chin, tilting your head up. One of his hands curls around the doorframe and your heart jumps when you hear the wood creak under his grip. This close, you can see the faintest silver streaks at his temples and the flecks of it in his beard.

“It was just a light jog,” you mumble, looking away.

“Not a light anything,” he warns, ducking closer until you feel like shrinking back, like disappearing into your house. “Bake a cake if you have to burn off energy so bad. I’ll be over around seven, alright?”

You mumble something, the words getting lost in themselves. It’s impossible to think with John in your space like this. It’s only when he finally pulls away and ambles back to his truck that you rock back on your heels, let go of whatever spell he had you under.

The first week of December hits town like a truck.

You’re trudging home alone after your shift when you make the decision to cut through the forest because you missed the last bus and you don’t want to spend an hour walking home. The first snow of the season has caught you off guard, clad in boots too autumnal and a sweater too thin for the biting cold. The flakes fall in thick chunks that stick for a brief moment before melting into the skin.

It’s not the first time you’ve travelled through the forest alone. The town is surrounded by pockets of the forest, like it can’t help enveloping whatever space is left for it. Oftentimes it’s easier just to cut through the woods rather than travel the long way around. You wouldn’t even call this the forest proper, not like the acres of trees sprouting over the mountains just off in the distance.

A bush rustles. Your eyes flick over for a second, breath hovering in your chest before you decide that it’s just a squirrel. Nothing ever happens in a town like this. The man from the other day notwithstanding, nothing truly bad ever happens. You keep walking down the partially demarcated path, lit only by the full moon overhead. It’s so dark that the snow around you is almost blue.

The bush rustles again. You stop this time, feet staying planted in the snow long enough for your feet to grow cold. You stare at the dark shoots covered in a layer of snow; it stripes the branches like candy from a time ago, licorice twisted with white bark, and it doesn’t move when you look at it. The bushes and trees are dense, impossible to peer through. Even walking through the forest doesn’t make you feel immersed in it. You follow a barely marked path, hard to see through the recent snowfall, and stare out into the dark woods with a kind of animal sense. Not sure whether you’re alone, whether something’s there with you, and whether it’s sensed you or if you’ve sensed it first.

You start walking again when your feet go numb. Better to just get home.

It comes behind you again as a slightly louder rustle. It’s harder to shake off the fear this time, harder to say that it’s just the wind. The snow crunches under more than one set of feet, branches cracking under the weight of something larger than you.

You don’t want to turn around, but the sound of something chuffing makes your stomach drop. The first thing that emerges when you turn to face it is its massive head, a white frosted muzzle, and the visible hump on its back. The wispy smoke of its breath puffs out when it breathes. Its eyes are dark, hardly reflecting any light at all. Then the rest of it emerges, the saplings bending out of its way as it clambers out of the woods and onto the path, staring you down all the while.

You’ve never seen a bear before. Not this close. Not so close that you know it’s been stalking you, know that it didn’t come upon you by accident. You’re staring down at your own body from somewhere else, fear displacing you. Rending you from your own body. There’s no way to guess its weight at a glance, but it’s easily twice the size of you, easily more than that.

When it takes a step forward, everything goes dark.

You wake up snuggled under the warmth of a thick blanket. Sleep is creamy thick, engulfing you on all sides, only the faintest prickle of awareness letting you know that you’re awake.

It’s unpleasant to leave the cotton miasma of sleep, you think. Your nose scrunches up and you let out a tired huff, trying to will yourself back into it. The harder you try to force yourself back into it though, the farther away it floats.

Still it weighs you down. It takes an age to work up the energy to so much as twitch a finger. Even your eyelids insist on staying shut. Yet, the prickle of consciousness needles at you as if to say hello, wake up, you need to get up. You sigh and try to shimmy up onto your elbows.

A hand shoves you back down. The breath rushes out of you.

“Get…back down,” a rough voice grunts from over you and then the full weight of a man settles on top of you, pressing you deep into the mattress.

Consciousness snaps back into you, elastic sharp. The weight of him pins you to the bed, makes you sink into the plushness of—and this is gradually coalescing in your mind—an unfamiliar place. All four corners of your body are trapped under him. The voice is familiar though. Ragged, brutal. A saw taken to the trunk of an old, thick tree, too many interior rings to count. You whisper John’s name and he grunts, making you flinch from how the sound reverberates through the side of your head.

Exhaustion is thick though and it leaves you heavy, even when John slowly lifts himself to his elbows from behind you. You feel him drag his body down the length of the bed, beard scratching into your skin with every petal soft kiss dropped along your spine during his descent.

“John?” you whisper, only just able to turn your head, not even able to struggle up to your elbows. “J-John?”

He doesn’t answer you. The room is near pitch black, only a window on the other end of the room with the curtain pulled back the smallest amount enough to let the moonlight in. Even the moonlight isn’t enough. You know from the shape of the window that this isn’t your house, that it must be somewhere else. You can only surmise from John’s presence that it’s his, but that thought passes over you like a rock skipping over water.

“Wher’m’I?” you murmur, eyes fluttering shut when his lips press over the small of your back. Sensitive there.

Rough hands with callused fingertips smooth over your ass, pressing into the flesh. His fingers pry your cheeks apart, thumbs dipping into the space between and pressing over your hole, making you burn all over. You’re too far gone to worry about any hair on your legs or anything about your body other than John’s hands undulating over your ass and thighs. You flinch violently when his teeth sink into the meat on the underside of your ass, so tender that even exhausted to the bone your body lashes out.

Big hands pry your legs apart. You flinch at the sudden hot breath over your sex, a whine tickling your throat. His face hovers so close to your centre that the tip of his nose presses on the tender skin near your entrance.

“Wha’ d’you…think you’re doin’...” you ask breathlessly. Your brain tries to order your leg to kick, but it stays flat and limp on the bed.

The first touch of John’s tongue along your slit makes you melt, the flat of his tongue lapping upward and making your hips tilt up with it. It almost makes your mind go blank again, almost tips you back into the unconscious world because the synapses in your brain stop firing the second you remember that it’s John between your legs licking hungrily at your cunt. John from the grocery store, John from the ranger’s station in the mountains—the John you’ve been crushing on and coveting for months now, content to just be friends with the gruff, handsome man in the house next to yours. Now sucking one of your nether lips into his mouth and tracing his tongue up the inside, gliding it over the supple flesh.

“Yer in the den,” John mumbles into your pussy and it’s like he sears the words into your brain. “‘N I’m takin’ care of you, honey.”

“The…the den…?” It’s so hard to keep your thoughts in order. Each flick of his tongue makes you gasp, pussy growing wetter and hips grinding languidly down on his face.

He hums instead of answering.

“Why’m’I so tired?” you slur.

His tongue saws over your clit from behind. It tears a broken whimper from you. You feel every textured ridge, the way it flicks around in a circle and then up and down again.

“Winter season,” John says, sucking your clit into his mouth until you whine at the top of your lungs. “Bear’s sleep in winter.”

“Tha’s silly. M’not a bear,” you moan.

“No,” he agrees, humming into your sex. “Jus’ mated to one. Makes you sleepy too, honey.”

“Mated?” you repeat back, but it’s lost in the way you moan when he eats your pussy from the back, licking into you with renewed vigour. Hungry like a bear. Grunting like a satisfied man, slurping loud enough to make your face heat up.

Words and old memories about bears hardly matter when the handsome man from next door spreads your legs wide, almost to the point of pain, and sinks his tongue into your hole again. You never would’ve expected John to be vocal, but he’s noisy behind you, groaning into your cunt. He keeps mumbling things under his breath that you can’t catch.

“John—” you gasp, biting your lip when he sucks your clit into his mouth again. “John—John—”

He only has to give you a single finger to tip you over the edge, feeds it in nice and slow. Your cunt clenches down at the intrusion, teeth nearly breaking through the skin of your lip.

When he crawls back over you, anticipation makes you shudder. You hear something faint in the background that grows steadily louder as John rests his elbows on either side of your head, until you realize that it’s your own voice murmuring, “Put it in, put it in, put it in—”

He obliges. A thick, steady plunge that hardly manages more than a handful of inches before you’re crying, and it’s too much, too much, too much. Pleasure not a limpid pool anymore but something cavernous and deep-dwelling, pulling you in or trying to make a home inside of you for it. John’s biceps tense with the strain of holding himself back.

You balance on the knife’s edge between pleasure and pain. There’s a single thought in your head that it might burn you up from the inside; it runs a jagged hole through you.

His nose drags through your hair. “Never expected you. Thought I’d go another season alone ‘till I started smellin’ you around town.”

You hiccup. “Y’never—never paid me any attention ‘for— before, ah—”

“‘Course I paid attention to’ya, honey,” John says into your ear, grunting when he drives deeper into your pussy, still just a languid grind of his hips, so mind-numbingly slow that your thoughts sizzle out of your head. He keeps dragging his hips back and plunging in, barely pulling away from you, all skin on slick skin. “Made a home for m’self in your house. Made sure we had ‘nough to eat for the winter.”

“The winter?”

“Won’t be goin’ anywhere for a few months.” He brushes your hair out of the way to kiss down your neck, giving in to the urge to bite just a little. His body stays pressed tight to yours, hardly an inch of space between the two of you. “Wasn’ sure at first if it’d be here or in your house so… fuck, I had to get ready. Make sure you’d be safe when it hit.”

“Don’ even…know wha’ that means,” you mumble into the mattress, then squeal and fist the fists when John shoves a hand under you to grope your chest.

“Don’t worry about it,” he shushes you. “All y’have to do now is lie there ‘n take my cock, okay, honey? Can’ya do that for me? I’ll get some food in you after we’re done, then send ya back to bed.”

Only a whine comes out when you open your mouth. John’s arm by your head forces you to breathe in the scent of him, musky and rich. You stare at the hair on his knuckles and his thick fingers gripping the sheets as well, old nicks and scars decorating his hand. You can’t stop staring at his fingers and thinking that he had one of those in you before, that he’s felt you from the inside.

He never pulls away, never changes positions, just fucks you on your tummy in his bed. You’ve never been in John’s bedroom before, but this has to be his room—even the pillowcase smells like him, pine needles and cigar smoke. He keeps up a steady pounding into your cunt, rutting like a wild animal. Has to be close. Gets so close to you that you feel smothered, trapped in place. Like if you struggled, he wouldn’t let up. You want to test it, see if you could, but the heaviness is still in your limbs, keeping you docile. Convenient. A little convenient thing for him to use, like a doll to get himself off with.

“Never coulda imagined such a pretty girl f’r me,” John groans, getting a grip in your hair to twist your head, tugging you into a kiss. Your whole body sparks to life, so shocked that you can’t even kiss him back at first. You wait until he pulls back, staring into his half-lidded eyes through the mess of your hair all tangled up around you. “Gave up on thinkin’ there was anyone out there. Thank fuck I found you first, honey. Can start workin’ on all the good stuff now. Get you to give daddy a baby.”

“D-daddy?” you gasp back, almost scandalized.

He pants into your shoulder, worked up now. “Yeah, honey. Don’ I take care of you? Buy y’r food, fix y’r house? Give you someplace nice ‘n warm to sleep?”

You feel soaked with sweat, twitchy, on the verge of something dangerous. Vision all fogged up, heart beating so fast that your skin buzzes. Stretched out on a fat cock and pinned in a man’s bed, nowhere to run or hide.

“Y-yeah,” you stutter when John gets a bit rougher, his breathing getting more staggered, laboured.

“That’s right, girl,” he grunts, “I’m y’r fuckin’ daddy then, aren’t I?”

Magma bubbles up from deep inside of you. Rockslides off in the distance beat against the ground. When you cry out, it gets lost in the rubble.

You stumble into the living room maybe hours later after using the washroom across the hall. Maybe a day later. It’s hard to say how many times the sun has risen and fallen behind the mountains. The clock face stares back at you uncomprehendingly.

Come drips out of you onto the floor. Thick droplets run down your inner thighs. John is still sleeping in the bed where you left him, snoring like a chainsaw. It must’ve been what woke you up. There’s no way of knowing how long it’s been since he first brought you home, since he left a mess in your pussy, which is still puffy and sore from rough use. You walk with halting little steps to try to minimize the ache.

You stare bleary-eyed around the room. It feels somehow different than the previous times John’s had you over; there are more throws and blankets draped over the couch, candles scattered around the living room with a lighter on the mantle.

There’s a fire roaring in the fireplace, blanketing the house in a layer of warmth. It makes you sluggish, stumbling forward only a handful of steps before the shaggy rug in front of the fire drags you back down to the floor.

“What’re you doing out of bed, pretty girl?” someone rumbles from behind you.

“Had t’pee,” you say, blinking. You try to rub the sleep out of your eyes unsuccessfully. “Why’m’I still so tired? It’s been…I slept so long…”

“C’mon, honey,” John says, coming up behind you and curling his arms around you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Told you it was gonna be a long winter. Maybe just one more and then somethin’ to eat, okay?”

It’s easy to sink to the floor, so easy. Especially with the fluffy rug under your feet. Especially with the fireplace toasting you from the outside in, the tinder crackling in the hearth. Everything in the house is dark and warm, only the fire giving you any light at all. Outside the window, the moon is still heavy in the sky.

Something about the humidity of the den makes you suddenly so tired, boneless, pliable when he goes to move you, when John curves himself around you in the furs and reaches down to slide a hand between your thighs.

He grunts when he finds you wet and wanting, sinking a couple fingers in and palming your clit. He doesn’t talk much still, but he says good girl when he cants your hips and slowly stretches you out on his cock. Feeds it into you achingly slow, like molasses. Like nothing’s due for another few months, so why rush it? He’ll take his time so you’re nice and happy and sweet come spring for cubs.

You’re not sure what that means. The pace is slow and deep, like before but less intentional. Like he just wants to savour the warmth of your body.

When he finally comes deep inside you, your body goes limp, collapsing in a heap onto the rug. You expect John to pull out and turn over, maybe pull you onto his chest so you have somewhere to rest. Instead, he sighs all tired and content, and stays in you, still plugged up in your cunt, his spend only just starting to leak out into a pool beneath you.

“Are we gonna eat?” you mumble, already half-asleep.

Somewhere behind you, he laughs; it’s soft like a snowfall in winter. “Yeah, honey. After a nap, we can eat.”

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #captain price #captain john price #cod price #john price #price/reader #price x reader #price x you #john price x reader

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toruro · 1 year ago

Text

— ✧ back to december

a part of flower me with love ... an hhu unit x flowers collection !

genre: smut (18+ / mdni), fluff, angst (resolved!), best friends to strangers to lovers

description: it's been four months and twenty-two days since you've last talked to mingyu, however your mother still thinks you two are friends. you don't have the heart to tell her what really happened, and now you think it's time for you to move on. (un?)fortunately for you though, mingyu seems to have other plans.

inspired by back to december by taylor swift!

tags: miscommunication, unrequited love (not fr though), big dick mingyu, sex in a car >_<, riding, fingering, pet names (angel, pretty), creampie :3

w/c: 4.3k

a/n: happy birthday @gyuswhore!!! this fic is for em but if not em and ur reading it i hope u enjoy too. this is like 2/3 plot and 1/3 smut if anyone cares

Normality is bliss.

That’s what you used to tell yourself. That’s what you used to believe.

Normality was bright mornings, crisp air, slow walking down the main street, inhaling the ambrosial scent of freshly roasted coffee beans, and slipping under the fairy lights that hang over the door. It was the warm sound of the overhead bell ringing, permeating laughter in the cafe from all customers, and daisies in a pot by the entrance.

Normality was Mingyu. His bright laugh as you approach the counter, sweet voice as he playfully asks you what drink you’d like, to which you roll your eyes and respond with, “You already know, don’t you?” It was the chuckle he would let out, the wink he flashed at you, murmuring the words, “It’s on the house” (because with Mingyu, it was always on the house), the thanks you give him before stepping back.

Normality was the latte he handed you, rough yet ginger fingers brushing over your palm as he warned you, “Careful, it’s hot,” and the giggle you let out when you stepped back and asked how his morning was going. It was Mingyu telling you nothing special happened yet. It was Mingyu suggesting that you two hang out at the field after he’s done with work. It was you grinning and agreeing in an instant, but only under the condition that he picks you up after your class.

Normality was bliss until four months and twenty-two days ago.

Now, normality hurts like a bitch.

Your mother glances at you from the corner of her vision as you rummage through the fridge. “What’re you looking for?”

“Some bread,” you murmur. “Was really craving a tomato sandwich … Damn, we’re seriously out of white bread?” you ask, giving up with a sigh as you close the door and face her.

She shrugs. “If it’s not in the fridge then I guess so. We’re low on produce too actually … I’d be surprised if you find tomatoes in there too,” she says. You purse your lip, shuffling through the different rows of cabinets to find something to throw together to take for lunch as your mother continues to speak. “You think you could stop by the grocery store after class today and pick up some stuff?”

“Yeah sure,” you reply casually.

“Ah, I wish Mingyu still stopped by with the groceries,” your mother says, and the sudden mention of his name has you halting your movements as you reach for a croissant, before you inhale deeply and go back to doing your own thing.

“Yeah,” you say quietly, clearing your throat after the word comes out horsley.

“You know why he stopped doing that?”

You try not to think about how you still haven’t told your mother that you and Mingyu don’t talk anymore.

“Uhh, I guess uni’s been getting to be a lot of work,” you tell her. “We’re both taking way harder classes so, uh, I guess he doesn’t have the time.”

“Hmm, yeah makes sense. You’re always swamped up in that room of yours ‘cause of work too … haven’t seen you two hang out in a while actually.”

You chew on your lip, staring down at your little bag for lunch and the croissant that sits inside. You wonder if you’ll even have the appetite to eat anything today after this conversation.

“We’re just busy. It’s harder to talk now.” It’s not entirely a lie. Grabbing the bag and picking up your backpack, you turn to face your mother who’s scrolling on her phone. “I’m gonna go now. My first class is starting soon.”

Now, normality is huffing as you get into your car, wishing you had a coffee next to you, but being too full of cowardice to head over to the cafe.

(“Go to a different cafe!” is what common sense would tell you, but common sense doesn’t listen to a love that has been betrayed. No other latte tastes the same, but you know that’s only because no other latte has been made by Mingyu.)

You pick up groceries on the way home.

Now, normality is staring at the daisies that are on display as you walk through the front doors of the store and reminiscing. It’s wondering what once was, and what could have been, if you decided to keep your silly feelings to yourself.

Normality is regretting. Regretting ever opening your mouth and telling Mingyu four months and twenty-two days ago that you loved him, and that you had loved him for not one, not two, not five, but ten damn years, because that was when you two met, and you always loved Kim Mingyu, but you should have known that not once did he love you back. Not how you would’ve wanted anyways.

Normality is wondering. Wondering if Mingyu would still be dropping off groceries if you hadn’t told him that you loved him, if he hadn’t told you he didn’t know what to tell you. Wondering if he thinks of you now. Wondering if he has any regrets. Wondering if he’s okay, but you lost the chance to know the answer to that question four months and twenty-two days ago. Wondering if—

Tomatoes. You need to buy the tomatoes, and the bread, some green beans, spinach, bell pepper, and more cheese, milk, maybe some butter, and—what was it that your mother told you to get? Oh, some strawberries.

You need to get all of these things, but there were no daisies on the list, so how did a bouquet full of them end up in your cart? You tell yourself you picked them up because they’re on sale, but you know the real reason is because you miss Mingyu.

Directing your attention back to the list you were sent on your phone, you hum lowly to yourself as you push your cart through the aisles. Checking items off your notes app, you exist with just yourself, your tomatoes, and fresh daisies as you try and finish these groceries before it gets too late into the evening.

Staring at your screen, you almost don’t notice that the dairy aisle isn’t empty until you bump into someone. “Sorry,” you mutter quickly, “I—” The words get caught in your throat when you see just exactly who you’ve hit.

Averting your gaze quickly, you wonder if Mingyu will respond, but you choose to scurry away quickly instead, because as cowardly as it sounds, you’re not sure if you’re ready to hear his voice again.

You’re not sure why your heart beats so fast when you escape into another aisle. Maybe it’s because you couldn’t read the look on his face for the brief second that your eyes met.

(Ten years of being best friends and you somehow don’t know what he’s thinking. Can four months and twenty-two days really change a person that much? Or did you never know Kim Mingyu in the first place?)

When you get home, your mother asks you where you got the daisies from. You tell her Mingyu gave them to you, because you want to convince her that you two are still best friends, and maybe—just maybe—you’re trying to convince yourself of it too.

You decide to buy a latte five days later. Mingyu never worked the evening shifts, so you’re confident you’ll get one of the other’s as the barista if you walk in past 6pm. Seokmin’s always nice. He doesn’t make the latte’s as sweet as you like—more specifically, as sweet as Mingyu made them—but he’s kind and always cheery.

When you walk in today, the pot by the door is empty. There are no more daisies, and you wonder if this is what has become of normality.

Your eyes glaze over the familiar setting, breathing in the sweet, rusty smell of coffee, and you smile watching all the cafe-goers laugh along with each other in their seats. All is going well, and you’re telling yourself that maybe this new normal isn’t too bad. That you’ve lived with it for four months and twenty-seven days, and so you can live with it longer and—

Your heart plummets when you see who's working the register today.

Maybe you really never knew Kim Mingyu, because you swore he hated the evening shifts, but here he is with a neatly tied apron, smiling while he talks to some girl across the counter. And his toothy grin is so bright and you aren’t sure if you’re seeing things correctly because everything sound has turned to a white rush in your ears and your vision blurs because you are once again awarded the painful reminder that you are in love with Kim Mingyu.

You thought your heart broke right in two back in December, but you hear it crack in this moment and realize that this was the final blow.

There are tears in your eyes, and you don’t know how long you stand there, until you hear your name. Seokmin is calling for you, and when you look up there’s no girl at the counter and it’s just Mingyu and Seokmin staring at you.

And you wonder briefly if you should be glad that Mingyu looks concerned but you don’t have time to dwell on the fact because Seokmin calls for you again—“Hey, are you okay? You—you’re crying”—and fuck, you’ve just humiliated yourself, so with fat tears hitting the dark wood ground you turn on your heel and rush out the door.

You keep thinking and wondering and regretting and you hate it all because regret has become normality, but regret is not a bliss.

You walk down the street, and you keep walking and walking and walking until you realize you forgot where you parked the car but none of that matters because all you’re thinking about is Mingyu’s smile, and how he doesn’t smile at you anymore. And so you walk faster and cry a bit harder until you’re so far down the street you don’t even know where you are anymore but it doesn’t matter because you don’t know who you’ve become.

And there’s footsteps thudding behind you—are you going to get kidnapped now? Fuck, you’ve already had the most horrendous sequence of events that could possibly happen to you in the span of five minutes, and now it’s going to get worse? If this goddamn kidnapper could just target you any other day, then maybe you wouldn’t whip around with tearful eyes, shouting into the dark: “Please don’t kidnap me! I’ll go with you any other day but—Mingyu!?”

His tall figure is hunched over, hands over his thighs as he heaves for breath, craning his neck to look up at you. “Kidnap you? Why in the world would I kidnap you?” he asks through harsh breaths. “Fuck, you walk so fast,” he groans, finally standing up as you furiously wipe your tears away in an attempt to actually make sense of this situation.

“I—” You want to reply, but then it hits you that this is the first time Mingyu has spoken to you in four months and twenty-seven days, and the thought is dizzying. “I don’t know,” you tell him, because you really don’t know. You don’t know a damn thing.

Mingyu looks at you with a look that you, once again, can’t seem to read. “Sorry, I—I wanted to see if you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” you tell him, and anyone would be able to see through the lie but you’re hoping that Mingyu doesn’t pry any further. He doesn’t move, nor does he say anything. “You can, uh, go back now,” you add, rubbing the back of your neck as you stare at the ground. “I’m okay.”

“You—you were crying.”

Opening your mouth to protest, you realize you can’t refute him now. Not when it was so painfully obvious. You choose silence instead, hoping that your apprehension will be enough to drive him away, although it only seems to egg Mingyu on.

You don’t expect the words he blurts out after a few moments of thickness.

“You don’t know how much I wish I could go back to December and change things.”

“Please don’t lie to me Mingyu,” you tell him, and he can just hear from the way you say his name that you are desperately pleading with him. When you finally look up at him with glossy eyes, he wonders how in the world he let things get this far.

“I’m not lying, I—I wouldn’t lie about this.”

“What do you mean by this, Mingyu? What is this?” You cover your face and begin to sob, but not without gasping out words between heavy breaths. “Please don’t do this to me, not again.”

And when you uncover your face and look at him again, he’s got some bewildered look on his face, and you can’t tell what he’s going to say next.

“The girl,” Mingyu starts to say. “That’s my cousin. She was visiting me at work and—”

“It’s not about the girl, Mingyu!” And that’s a bit of a lie because some part of it is about the girl but it’s mainly about you and it’s mainly about Mingyu—mainly about the two of you.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and speaks. “Sorry, I—you’re right.”

Silence once more, before you calm your breaths and shake your head. “You should head back, Mingyu.”

“No I—wait, I just—I’m not lying. I regret everything I did in December.”

“Ming—”

“No, please listen to me. I regret not telling you how I actually felt, but I was so confused,” he tells you, repeating your name. “I was confused and fucking terrified because if things didn’t work out for some reason, then I would’ve lost my best friend but—but I was fucking stupid and lost you anyways. And you know, I wanted to reach out. I wanted to talk to you so bad but then like last week, when I saw you in the grocery store, and—daisies.”

“Daisies?” You furrow your brows.

“Daisies. You had a bouquet of them in your cart,” Mingyu tells you, taking a step forward. “And I know how much you love daisies. Your favorite flowers in the world. I saw them in your cart and thought to myself, fuck, I missed my chance, because I thought you had them for someone else and—”

“They weren’t,” you blurt out. “I-I even told my mom you got me them,” you add bashfully, “because she doesn’t know we stopped … yeah.”

There’s a silence that sits between you two, but you’re starting to realize that silence has become normality and you are no longer content with that.

“Mingyu, do you love me?”

He doesn’t hesitate to respond. “More than you love daisies.”

You laugh through your drying tears. You laugh so hard it makes you cry no longer because of pain but because of happiness, and you shake your head and throw your arms around him. “Kim Mingyu, that is a bold statement.”

“What can I say?” he grins. “I’m a bold man.”

“Where was that bold man for the past four months and twenty-seven days?” you snort.

Mingyu raises a brow. “You’ve been counting?” For a moment your expression falls but then he shakes his head and smiles. “Don’t worry—I’ve been too.”

You two are quick to head back, Mingyu begging Seokmin to hold the first alone for the weekend before taking the wheel of your car and driving you both to your favorite field of daisies.

“Are we going to have sex for the first time in your car?” Mingyu asks with a chuckle, climbing into the backseat from one end while you pile in from the other.

Giggling, you meet his lips for a kiss as soon as the door shuts behind him, arms winding around his thick neck to bring him close. “The way you said that insinuates there we’ll be having more sex after this,” you tell him with a smile before diving back into another tongue twisting kiss.

“Hell yeah,” Mingyu groans against your tongue as you adjust to situate yourself over his lap, hips pressing dangerously close to his. “Gonna fuck you every day if I can. If you can handle that,” he adds.

You roll your eyes, pulling back to help yourself out of the cardigan and shirt you’re wearing. “What makes you think I can’t handle it?”

He only flashes you a toothy grin and quickly glances down at his groin area before winking at you. “You’ll see.”

“Kim Mingyu, you are a little shit,” you conclude despite the way your tummy churns at his insinuation, throwing off your shirt as Mingyu helps you out of a bra.

“I’m not little, that’s for sure … fuck, you’ve got the prettiest tits in the world,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around your torso to pull you closer so he can plant his lips on the soft flesh. His mouth is warm, tongue tracing constellations over our skin before enclosing one of your nipples with his lips.

Slowly, his tongue traces circles around the stiffened nipple, teeth grazing over it ever so gently before biting down with slight force. “Ah!” you moan out, head thrown back as your hands travel up his neck and into his hair, fisting the thick, dark locks. “‘m sensitive, ‘gyu,” you tell him, shaky-breathed as he pulls his mouth off your tits with a slip popping sound.

“Sorry,” he says with a lazy smile. “Your tits are so nice,” Mingyu murmurs, bringing a hand up to squeeze over your other breast, tweaking the nipple in one hand as your hands begin to play with the hem of his tight fit shirt. “Fuck, can’t believe we didn’t fuck earlier. You know how much time we could’ve saved?” he says, pulling away just for a moment to peel the shirt off his body, revealing his firm, thick torso.

“I wonder whose fault that is?” You roll your eyes.

Mingyu frowns in response. “Don’t remind me … angel, take off your pants. Wanna finger you.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice, because in an instant your hands are at the waistband of your pants as heat rises to your cheeks upon hearing his words. Just the thought of Mingyu’s thick, longer fingers inside your aching cunt is enough for it to pulse around nothing as you throw your pants to the side and shove your panties to reveal your core.

“Atta girl,” he murmurs under his breath as you readjust yourself over his lap so that he can have better access between your legs. Slowly, he brings one hand up to your exposed cunt, bringing his middle finger to circle around your gaping hole. “Shit, you’re so wet, angel … so wet for me.”

“Just for you ‘gyu, just for you” you gasp out when he sinks one finger in, rough pads rubbing against your warm, gummy walls.

Now Mingyu occasionally entertains the outrageous idea that he’s well composed, but he’d be a fool to deny that, even though he can turn you to mush in the palm of his hand, you also have him wrapped around your little finger.

You only have to beg him once or twice for a second finger before he’s giving in, wanting nothing more than to spoil you until you can’t even remember what you were asking for in the first place. And naturally, when you finally tell him that you’re ready for more—ready for his cock—he can’t help but grin and comply.

“You think you’re ready?” he asks, slipping his fingers out and shoving them into your mouth so you can taste yourself.

“You think I’m not?” you mumble around his fingers. You pout a little and Mingyu chuckles, leaning in to give you a wet and sloppy kiss before lifting his hips a little.

“You’ll see angel … help me take this all off,” he tells you, and you’re quick to grab at his waistband and yank his pants and boxers down at the same time.

“What are you talking ab—oh.” The words dry on your tongue when you see his cock spring out, from underneath his boxers, the thickness slapping against Mingyu’s abdomen.

It’s fat and long and veiny in all the right places, heavy balls resting at the base of it, the reddish-pink tip smeared all over with his shiny, translucent white precum.

“Yeah,” Mingyu says with yet another chuckle, watching your face as you gaze down at his cock in awe.

“I-is it gonna fit?” you ask incredulously, eyes glancing back and forth between the smirk on Mingyu’s lips and the long length of his cock. Mingyu just shrugs and smooths his hands over your hips, your stomach, and then your neck, pulling you into a deep kiss.

Your stomach flutters, cunt growing more and more needy and wet as the seconds tick by, and the way Mingyu’s tongue flicks against yours only heightens the feeling. When he pulls away, he settles his hands over your waist and directs you right over his cock, and something in you swells with pure arousal with the next words he says.

“Don’t worry angel, I’ll make it fit. You trust me?”

“Yeah,” you breath out, steadying your position as Mingyu uses one hand to guide his heavy length so that the tip points upwards and presses right against you.

“Fuck yeah,” he hisses, and you moan as you feel him sliding against your folds in a slippery, sticky mess. “old onto me, yeah angel? If you want to stop just—”

“Say the word,” you finish for him, placing your hands on Mingyu’s bare shoulders as an attempt to steady yourself, breath hitching as his length pushes into your entrance. “Oh shit, ‘gyu!" you cry out as you begin to sink down on him.

Tears pricking at the corners of your eyes—you can’t even fathom how, even after all his prep, Mingyu still feels like he’s nearly splitting you in half.

“Fuck, pretty—you’re so fucking tight,” Mingyu grunts, helping you nearly impale yourself on his cock. “Fucking fitting inside you so well,” he praises as he bottoms out inside of you, letting your forehead fall to his shoulder as you take deep breath.

Mingyu knows he’s big—knows it’s hard to fit him inside of you—and he’s feels so fucking lucky that he has you—so willing to take all that he’s giving—sucking him in and whining for more. He waits a few moments, only listening to the way your heavy breaths start to grow lighter, until you’re whimpering a soft, “‘gyu.”

He wastes no time in jerking his hips upward, shifting inside of you and battering the inside of your soft walls. You bite down on his shoulder as you push your hips down to meet his thrusts, choking back soft sobs as you feel his cock kiss your cervix with each movement.

“Holy shit,” Mingyu grunts as you begin to bounce on his lap, his length slipping out of you halfway before being plunged right back in with a sopping mess growing on his thighs.

You whine loudly at the overwhelming pleasure that takes over your body, lifting your head up so you could look at Mingyu with your mouth agape and hair stuck all over your burning face, a sheer layer of sweat starting to envelope both your bodies.

Soon, both of your movements begin to grow erratic and sloppy, hips jamming into each other so hard you’d be surprised if you even have the ability to walk tomorrow. You now know why Mingyu was concerned about fucking every day.

“You g’na cum soon pretty? Cum all over my cock? I can feel it angel, can feel your pretty cunt squeezing me.”

“Fuck, Mingyu,” you manage to gasp out, “Yeah, ’m gonna cum—feels so good, so full, so—fuck!”

Mingyu’s cock pulses inside of you and that’s when every detail seems to be heightened to a thousand—as your orgasm racks through you, you seem to feel every curve, every vein, dragging in and out of you to such detail that it has your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you scream out his name.

Mingyu watches you fall apart, surrendering to bliss, and the way your hips are sporadically swiveling over his, your pussy’s wetness coating and creaming his cock has him going into a frenzy. Frantically, he begins to snap his hips faster up into you, your soft moans of overstimulation pushing him to his end faster than he can ever imagine. Watching the way he slides in and out of you is enough to have him cumming, shooting his hot, sticky load inside your warm cunt.

Riding out the last of his orgasm with soft rolls of his hips, Mingyu sighs contently at the feeling of you milking him dry, the both of you looking down at the wet, dirty mess you’ve made where the two of you connect, his cock still throbbing inside of you.

Both of you finally look up at the same time, grinning at each other, and you flop forward resting your head on his chest as he slowly combs his fingers through your hair, other hand running up and down your back.

“Why’d you start working the evening shifts?” you ask Mingyu after your breath has finally leveled. “I thought you hated those.”

“I did, but you stopped coming in the mornings, and I figured it was because of me. I hoped that maybe you would start coming in the evenings so I asked my boss to change my regular shifts just in case.”

“Oh wow, you really do love me.”

“I already told you I do! Even more than you love daisies, remember?”

#svt smut #seventeen imagines #seventeen smut #mingyu x reader #mingyu smut #mingyu fluff #mingyu angst #svt fluff #svt angst #kim mingyu x reader #kim mingyu smut #kim mingyu fluff #kim mingyu angst #📝 writing

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biolumien · 8 months ago

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heya!! Saw you had open requests. And I was wondering if you could do something with Hoshina with the trope of Opposites attract?

Like maybe reader could be shy and quiet type. Who is strangely not a fighter like he is. Reader could be a sweet civilian or something and it'd be nice to see how the rest of the characters react to their relationship. Though of course, feel free to change it as you wish. Whatever you write I'm sure it'll turn out amazing.

Feel free to ignore this if it isn't your fancy :DD

notes: ahh repeat it with me now the fic got away from me and took on a life of its own... i hope this is okay ;-;!!

cafe latte

soshiro hoshina x gn!reader no content warnings necessary. i think word count: 1752

the first time you were saved by soshiro hoshina was in front of the wreckage surrounding your cafe.

the smell of blood was overwhelming as you stepped out warily, wincing as a drop of the kaiju carcass’s acidic blood dripped onto the pavement in front of you, carving out a hole in the concrete.

“careful!” a voice called out from somewhere above you. “it’s still not safe for civilians.”

you watch as the vice captain of the third division, soshiro hoshina, lands deftly on the ground, sheathing his twin katanas at his back. his closed, smiling eyes crack open just a tad, and he hums, his voice muffled by his respirator.

your eyes go wide.

the third division was legendary among the defense force, after all, and it was soshiro hoshina in the flesh in front of you! your body seemed to move of its own accord, and--

“um–can i,” you stammer out, pulling out your notepad for taking cafe orders. “can i get your autograph?”

“huh?” hoshina wipes a bit of blood from his suit. “i mean, sure, but wouldn’t you rather get an autograph from captain ashiro? i’m sure the resell value on that is far better.” even as he said this, though, he’d reached out to sign your notepad, scribbling a haphazard signature.

“i mean–everyone likes captain ashiro,” you say nervously as hoshina hands the notepad back to you. “but—you kept the kaiju from wrecking my—my shop.” you shift your eyes to the front of your cafe, and then back to hoshina, covered in blood and still wearing his respirator mask. “so i wanted your signature specifically.”

“oh, i see,” hoshina says. he sounds teasing. “business will be slow for a bit, though, with the cleanup. are you going to be okay?”

“oh? i—yes, i… it’ll be fine. the cleaners usually take… two weeks, i think. so… it might be a bit slower.”

“hmm.” hoshina hums, removing his mask. you’d seen hoshina’s face on the news, largely in the background as mina ashiro spoke on eliminating the kaiju threat—so you’d known he was handsome, but something about seeing his face in person was different. he felt more—tangible. real.

“i’ll have to stop by some time,” hoshina says with a smile.

“i…” you lift up your notepad to hide your face. “i-i mean… sure. i… i don’t know why you would… but—”

“think of it like me paying you back for the slow business,” hoshina says.

“okay,” you say, your voice hitching slightly.

[…]

business was slow the next week, as you’d told hoshina. the kaiju carcass outside was pretty bad for business, really–something about the bad vibes, or something like that. so you go through the motions, cleaning up tables, ordering new coffee beans and stock for the next few weeks when business would pick up again. it was hard work, but it was made a little easier based on the fact that there was hardly anyone in the cafe right now.

you look outside the window, resting your elbows on the counter, sighing. looks like it’d be another slow day after all.

you raise your head as the cafe door jingles.

“welcome to the—it’s you,” you stammer out as hoshina walks through the door. off-duty he wears fairly loose clothes, a sharp contrast to how sharply dressed he looks during press conferences. he’s dressed in a loose black jacket with a tight turtleneck, and loose pants with a pair of reasonably-fashionable looking sneakers, with a black mask over his mouth. “you really didn’t have to—”

“not like i had much better to do,” hoshina says easily, waving a hand, pulling down his mask now that he was inside. “it’s not often i get time off. and i gave you my word, so i might as well make good on it.” he walks forward, examining the cafe menu. “what’s good here?”

“umm—the… americano, is… okay,” you say. “i… think.” “you think?” hoshina blinks at you, his eyes narrowing slightly, teasingly. “does that mean you don’t know?”

“i–no, it’s–it’s good,” you say more assertively now. hoshina laughs, and your heart skips a strange beat.

“hm… i’ll admit i don’t really drink that much coffee, so i’ll give you free reign to do whatever you think i’d like.” hoshina smiles.

“i–that’s too much freedom,” you protest. “what if you hate it–” “i’m not gonna hate it,” hoshina says. “i came here out of my own free will after all! just go with the flow.”

so you end up making him a latte, doing a bit of latte art on the top using some cream. it’s a small fox with closed eyes and a sharp smile, and you slide it across the counter for his approval. he picks up the cup, spinning it gently–and you try not to look too hard at his hands. he hums.

“looks almost too cute to drink,” he says. “cheers, though.” he takes a long, slow sip, and you feel your heart pound in your throat as he lowers the cup.

“is—”

“it’s good,” hoshina says with a smile. “i’ll have to keep coming back here. i can’t believe i’ve missed out on this place.”

[…]

he just… keeps coming back during his off duty hours, dressed sharply and plainly each time. you make him new animals in his lattes—cats, dogs, bunnies, mostly cats and foxes.

a few times you attempt a very crazy looking kaiju, but by the time you hand over the cup it’s deflated already, and you slide over the drink with shame on your face and he just laughs, and you try not to think about the fact that his fingers brushed against yours as he takes the cup each time.

you learn a bit more about him each time, but it’s mostly surface level things. how his day’s going, what’s annoying him—mostly what’s annoying him, but said in a conversationally light way.

but he asks a lot of questions about you. favorite color, animal, food—innocuous at first, down to grittier questions about good memories, lasting regrets and the like.

you answer to the best of your ability, hesitantly and nervously each time.

“not that i don’t… appreciate the conversation, but…” you say one day as you’re scrubbing down a particularly messy table, “why do you ask all these questions anyway? i-i doubt my answers are… anything interesting, so—”

hoshina takes a sip from his coffee.

you made him a penguin today.

“i’m just curious,” hoshina says, in a tone that almost sounds apologetic. “work habit. gotta know everything about everyone. your coworkers, the officers, kaiju…”

he watches out the window for a moment, and you think about the large gap between the two of you—two completely separate worlds as he fights to defend the world from a threat so foreign and massive that it seemed utterly inconceivable—and here you were, wondering about how you might sell enough cafe lattes to make ends meet and pay rent.

“but more than anything,” hoshina says after a long moment, and you nearly startle hearing his voice again, “i just want to get to know you because you’re interesting.”

and in his eyes is a weighted, assured sincerity that makes your heart flip nervously.

[…]

the second time you were saved by soshiro hoshina, it was a smaller, less dramatic affair.

you’re carrying out trays to some other customers while hoshina sits at one of the tables, his laptop open as he’s working on some paperwork.

and then suddenly you trip on one of the floorboards, falling forward with a yelp, and you brace yourself for the utter worst—spilled glassware and maybe a really bad fall—but then you gasp out as hoshina pulls an arm around your waist, keeping you from completely planting on your face.

he lets go soon after, his eyes scanning yours for a moment. you wonder why your side feels a little bit colder, why you wished for the pressure of his hand against your side to stay for a little longer. surely it was nothing.

“careful now,” hoshina says, a teasing lilt to his voice, but then he seems a little more contemplative, slightly more concerned. “nothing spilled too bad, right?”

“no,” you say, a little dazed as you check the trays to find that thankfully, everything seemed in place. “thank you, hoshina.”

“mhm,” hoshina says, his eyes flitting back to his work. a smirk crosses his lips for a moment as his eyes flit back up to meet yours. “can’t save you all the time, can i?”

you sputter for a moment, and he laughs, and it’s not long before you’re laughing too.

[…]

there are people huddled outside the street as hoshina enters into the cafe today. he seems a little weary, running a hand through his hair.

“you look out of it,” you comment.

“i… the…” hoshina glances back at the people outside. your eyes widen when you notice the telltale ponytail of—

“is that mina ashiro?” you exclaim, slamming your hands against the counter. “seriously? out here?”

hoshina looks wearier at the excitement in your voice.

“sorry,” you say. “but why is she here?”

“i…” hoshina looks up at the ceiling, exhaling for a second. “do you want to go out with me?”

you think your heart stops beating.

hoshina’s watching you, and his eyes flit to yours, before trying to look at anything else.

“where—where did this come from?” you ask. you want to hide behind something. your ears feel hot, and he coughs.

“it comes from… ah, i’m not good at metaphor,” hoshina says, spreading his hands. “it’s so much worse than being straightforward—so i’ll just put it plainly. i like you. i come to the cafe a lot because i like you. i want to go out with you. and some of my… coworkers,”

hoshina turns to glare at some of the people outside, who seem to scatter at his stare.

“…were interested in seeing the person that has captured my attention. so… i hope that’s clear.”

does he seem ever-so-slightly nervous?

your face feels hot.

“yes,” you say, reaching out to clasp his hand. “of course.”

hoshina exhales, loud.

“okay. good. not that i was nervous or anything, but i’ve got a reputation to uphold out there, with those clowns,” hoshina says, squeezing your hand back, cool as ever. you smile, leaning up to kiss hoshina quickly, and he laughs, brushing his nose against yours.

and out of the corner of your eye, you see mina ashiro taking a picture with her phone.

#kaiju no 8 #soshiro hoshina #soshiro hoshina x reader #hoshina soshiro x reader #kaiju no 8 x reader #x reader #kn8 x reader

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genshin-impact-updates · 7 hours ago

Text

Happy Birthday, Alhaitham!

You're curious about this?

According to widespread opinion, it is an ingredient that can help people improve their concentration and focus. However, I posit that this argument lacks persuasiveness. For example, drinking coffee will have limited efficacy on someone working late into the night, and they will become no more alert.

We usually keep a few packs of coffee beans at home, and replenish our supply every two months or so. According to the roster on the door, it seems like it's my turn to go shopping today.

This brew has quite a rich flavor. If you're interested, feel free to have a taste.

Thank you for your birthday wishes. It is indeed my birthday today. So as usual, I'll be heading to the tavern in a while.

#genshin impact #genshin impact updates #genshin impact news #official #official art #birthday art #alhaitham #AAAAAAGAHAGGSGAGSHAHGGHRRRRGHH #LET'S GOOOOOOO #sorry. i really like him

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hyucksos · 4 months ago

Text

after rain, comes sunshine — huang renjun

pairing: huang renjun x f!reader genre: coworkers to lovers, grumpy x sunshine, fluff, romance, slow burn-ish wc: 6.7k synopsis: a thunderstorm leaves renjun stuck with his relentlessly cheerful, ever-optimistic coworker— you. you're the embodiment of everything he hates, but as the night stretches on, renjun starts to realise that the things that irritate him the most may not be all that unbearable after all. at least, not if it involves you.

There are three things in this world that Renjun hates.

Early mornings, small talk, and thunderstorms.

He must have done something super horrible in his past life, because it's barely even 3pm, and Renjun has had to go through all three of the aforementioned in that exact order.

He wasn't even supposed to come in to work today, but Donghyuck had called in sick (Renjun finds that hard to believe) and he was the only other person on the roster who knew how to make a Toasted Caramel Cloud Latte. Obviously, that wasn't a good enough reason for Renjun to willingly sacrifice his much-needed sleep, and it seemed that Donghyuck knew that too, because not only was he quick to promise Renjun to cover him for his next shift, the boy had also vowed to chip in to buy the new set of gouache paints he had been eyeing for so long.

That was what got Renjun out of bed, albeit begrudgingly.

The last thing he needed was an extra factor to contribute to his already-terrible mood, but that was what he got anyway when he stepped into the café, only to be met with you.

"Morning, Renjun!" You chirped from behind the counter as you dried down a mug, the café already prepped for opening— you liked to take your time when doing the opening duties, and you found that coming in earlier helped avoid any unnecessary rushing on your end.

Renjun didn't say anything, opting to shut his eyes as he tilted his head to the ceiling. You didn't miss the tick of his jaw as he trudged towards you wordlessly, letting his bag fall from his shoulder to the shelf beneath the cash register.

"You know how to make a cloud latte," he muttered under his breath as he put on his apron, securing it tightly with a double knot behind his back. "Why am I here?"

Despite his less-than-enthused response, you grinned. You've been working with Renjun long enough to know that he's a little bit of a grump, so you didn't take his moodiness to heart.

"Hyuck's your best friend. It would make sense for him to ask you instead of anyone else," you reasoned lightly. "Plus, having company isn't so bad, is it? You'll be out the door before you know it!"

"Citizens are advised to stay indoors..."

Renjun lets out a groan as he lets his head hit the cabinet behind him. It hurts, but not as much as the migraine that's already beginning to form in his temples. And as if to add insult to injury (no pun intended), the sky lets out yet another guttural rumble, reminding him once more of his ill-stricken fate.

"I don't think Seoul's had a downpour this bad in ages," you remark from somewhere at the dining area. Renjun couldn't tell where exactly you are; he had slid down to the floor when he decided to accept his fate fifteen minutes ago, and his only view since are the bottles of syrup and unopened bags of coffee beans under the espresso machines.

And as if to add even more insult to injury, the two of you are the only ones left in the shop. With it being a Tuesday afternoon, most of your regulars are either at work or school. Renjun has never liked working during the rush hour, but God does he wish for that to be the case now.

He looks up when he sees your head pop above the counter, raising a brow at the smile on your face. He knows how awfully cheery you are, but even in a time like this? You must be crazy, he thinks.

"Isn't this nice? I never knew this café could get any cozier."

"Nice?" Renjun scoffs as he finally gets to his feet. "What about this is nice? We're stuck in, I don't know, what might as well be a Cat 5 hurricane, and you think it's nice?"

You roll your eyes, seemingly unbothered by his sharp tone. "You're so dramatic! I've been in one, you know? While I was on vacation in the States. It was a Cat 2, I think, and I promise this doesn't even come close to that! I mean, as long as we're not asked to evacuate, we should be fine-"

Renjun lets out a loud tsk, cutting you off as he unties his apron rashly, the fabric crumpling in his hand.

Your eyes widen when you register his movements. "You're not actually planning on leaving, are you?"

Renjun scoffs dryly in response. "You think I have a death wish?"

"Honestly? I could never tell when it comes to you."

He glares at you.

You quickly round the counter, successfully trapping him before he could escape to the break room. "Look, I'm sure it won't be too bad! Let's just continue to wait for updates. Coffee?"

"I hate coffee," he deadpans.

"You literally work in a café!" You laugh airily, moving to the teabag jars beside the espresso machines. Despite the heater being on, the coolness from the outside is starting to seep in, and you're sure Renjun could feel it too.

He doesn't say anything but huff under his breath as he leans against the cabinets behind him, taking out his phone from his back pocket. You take it that he's done with the conversation.

For a while, it's silent, the only sound apart from the tinkling of your metal spoon the harsh crashing of raindrops against the window panes outside. You think it's calming, but Renjun seems to think otherwise when you see him flinch from your periphery at the sudden flash that illuminates the room, soon followed by a loud boom of thunder.

Instinctively, you turn to him, but Renjun keeps his eyes fixed to his phone, his lips downturned into his usual frown.

"Did you know that lightning is hotter than the surface of the sun?" You remark, crossing the distance towards him with the mug of tea in your hands. Renjun looks up from his phone at your question, his stare blank, but his right brow raises slightly when he realises what you're offering.

He doesn't make the move to accept the mug as he pockets his phone, opting to cross his arms instead. "What are you doing?"

You tilt your head. "Huh?"

He nods towards the steaming mug in your hands. "What are you trying to do?"

"You said you don't like coffee, so I made you tea instead! It's Lemon Balm, known to reduce anxiety. It could also improve one's mood-"

"Yeah, so long as I'm still trapped in here, that's not gonna happen," he mutters, turning to face the window outside.

The rain is still as relentless as ever, the skies dark and gloomy despite it being daytime. If it was any other day, Renjun would have already been out the door, making his way home. A regular eight-hour shift is already treacherous enough on it's own— an eight-hour shift with you, while it's raining, on top of that, has got to be one of the worst things that's ever happened to Renjun in a while, which says a lot considering he's literally living in the same timeline as Lee Donghyuck.

Renjun turns to steal a glance at you, no longer at his side as you busy yourself with doing the dishes. As if just now never happened, you're back to humming to yourself, the song only sounding vaguely familiar to his ears. The cup of tea you made him is left abandoned on the counter, and for a split second he feels guilty for having not accepting it earlier.

You see, it's not like Renjun hates you. He's just indifferent, and that makes a huge difference. He's someone who prefers to keep to himself, a concept that you can't seem to fathom for some reason, and he finds your overtly-positive attitude equal parts annoying and draining. Renjun doesn't hate you— he just hates everything you embody, and that's enough to make him stay away.

"Look what I found!"

The last time Renjun heard your voice has to be around a few hours ago, when he decided to move from the counter to one of the couches in the dining area. It wasn't the most ideal considering the floor-length windows still gave him the perfect view of rain that he hated so much, but his legs were beginning to hurt from standing for so long and he didn't really want to sit on the floor and deal with your small talk any longer.

You must have gotten the hint when you decided to leave him alone, retreating to the break room to do God-knows-what— based on the grin on your face now, Renjun has a feeling that he's going to find out very soon.

You bound towards him, settling next to him with something in your hands. Your eyes instantly land on the sketchbook on his lap, but before you could say anything, like utter out a compliment on his drawing, Renjun snatches the pad away from your sight.

"What?" He grunts, cheeks feeling slightly warm for some reason. He had abandoned his phone some time earlier, deciding to peruse his sketchbook to pass the time. It was a good thing he brought it out everywhere he went— as awful of a situation he's stuck in, at least he has something familiar to keep his sanity in check.

Your grin grows wider (Renjun wonders how that's even possible) before you set a box between the two of you.

"I was bored, right? So I figured I'd clean out the break room to pass the time, and I found this! Johnny must have left it here and forgot about it."

Renjun studies the blue box, the words HALLI GALLI staring back at him in bold, yellow font. Oh, hell no. You're the last person he wants to play a card game with— not just because you're you, but also the fact that he just doesn't fare well with games in general.

It's not like Renjun is bad at them— if anything, it's quite the opposite, but the last time he played Halli Galli, he had almost gotten into a fistfight with his friends (he had to receive a kiss penalty from Donghyuck even though he won because Mark kept making up rules as they went along). Needless to say, all their game nights now require the presence of a moderator (not like that has done much anyway considering Jaemin hates intervening in literally anything ever, so Renjun doesn't know why they still try).

"I'm not playing this with you."

"Aw, why not? It's fun! Even for serious people like you," you tease, but Renjun doesn't laugh. Ignoring him, you continue, "we could make the most of this quiet time together."

"Nothing about today has been quiet," Renjun mutters. He's pretty sure you heard him, but you simply brush it off as you open the box, letting the cards fall on the sofa while you place the bell in the middle.

Renjun huffs, knowing he isn't left with a choice. You're adamant, he realises, and even if he weren't to give in now, he knows he'd have to eventually, and he'd rather deal with this now than later on.

You start the game, putting down a card of two coconuts before you glance at Renjun, waiting for him to complete his turn. He does the same (albeit much less enthusiastic than you), his card flipping to the other side to reveal four strawberries.

The game continues on that way, with you practically at the edge of your seat as you anticipate every next move. You had just put down three bananas, and your eyes are fixed on Renjun's hands as he slowly flips his card to reveal... two bananas.

You yelp, palm quickly outstretching to hit the bell, and despite Renjun's obvious disinterest in the game (or so you thought), you're surprised to learn that he's just as quick, his hand clashing against yours as you fight to ring the bell at the same time.

"I definitely got that one!" You proclaim proudly, to which Renjun scoffs.

"No way, you're barely even on the bell!"

"Nuh-uh, look! Your hand is literally on top of mine!" You wriggle your fingers for good measure, causing Renjun to look down at your hand— both of your hands, which are still on the bell. You were right; while most of your palm is covering the bell, only the tips of his fingers are touching the metal surface, the rest of his skin resting idly on the back of your hand. He's never really noticed how tiny your hands are— it's not like he's that huge of a guy to begin with— and the thought somehow brings an unexplainable flush to his face.

He quickly removes his hand, carding through his deck for the sole purpose of having something to do before passing you a card. "You just got lucky," he mutters, clearing his throat.

You giggle. "No, I'm just that good," you sing, waving the card mockingly in front of his face before putting it together with your deck.

Renjun rolls his eyes. You remind him so much of Donghyuck; it's a wonder how he isn't your best friend.

"I used to play this game a lot when I was younger," you quip randomly in the midst of the next round. You do that a lot, Renjun realises, stating facts he didn't ask for when it gets too quiet. It used to leave him not knowing how to react, but if there's anything Renjun has learnt about you in this limited time you've spent together, is that you don't need a response from him to continue talking, so he doesn't say anything.

"I'm an only child, so visiting my grandparents in Jeju was the only time I'd get to hang out with my cousins. We'd do everything together— even stay up late and wake up early the next morning so no time would be wasted. It was a wonder how we never ran out of things to do," you chuckle to yourself, fiddling with the cards in your hand.

"One time, it started to rain super heavily— kind of like right now, actually— all while we were cycling outside. Instead of seeking shelter, we decided to play in the rain. We got home freezing our toes off and I fell sick the next morning, but it was so worth it. I wouldn't trade that moment for anything else," you trail off softly, and Renjun doesn't miss the twinge of longing in your voice. At this point, the game had been long abandoned, your attention now fixed on the rain outside and Renjun on you. You turn to him, the fond smile still playing on your lips, and that is what causes him to look away, only then realising that he had been staring.

"What about you?"

Renjun's brows knit in confusion. "Huh?"

"You don't seem to like the rain very much."

"Yes, because it inconveniences people. Kind of like the situation we're in right now, don't you think?" His tone comes off as a little snappy, but before Renjun could regret it, you're already beaming at him in response. He wonders if you're ever capable of any other emotion apart from happiness.

"Sure, but look at where it brought us! Two friends, bonding, towards becoming even better friends!"

Nevermind. He doesn't feel bad anymore, not when he remembers that this is who he's dealing with right now. Plus, the term friends is a little bit of a stretch, isn't it? He doesn't know anything about you apart from the fact that— well, you're an only child and that your grandparents live in Jeju. He doesn't even know your last name, and he'd like to think that that should be the minimum requirement before considering someone a friend.

He rolls his eyes as he lazily throws his last card, ready to wrap up the game, only to perk up when he sees his lone strawberry face-up with four of yours. Quickly, he reaches forward to ring the bell, grinning in triumph when he realises you hadn't gone head-to-head this time.

"A-ha! I win!" Renjun smirks proudly, too caught up in his victory to realise that he's smiling. It falters when he notices you staring at him— not in defeat, but something much... softer. It looks similar to when you were recounting your memories with your family in Jeju. It looks like Jaemin when he's scrolling through pictures of his three cats in his gallery. It looks like Mark... when he's on FaceTime with his girl whenever they do long-distance.

Suddenly, Renjun could no longer hear the rain thumping harshly against the window next to him. He could no longer see the lightning that comes in flashes, nor does he flinch at the thunder that follows. Only two words form in his head:

Oh, shit.

lee donghyuck [3:41pm] yowww 🔥🔥🔥 [3:53pm] r u alive? lol [4:02pm] wait no like actually r u???? [4:22pm] pls tell me ur sfae omg im gonna start sobbinf and cryin rn dont evne [4:46pm] HUANG RENJUN [5:12pm] NAWWW we really lost an angel today.... jun i hope ur looking up at us 🙏🙏🙏

huang renjun [5:24pm] UP???

lee donghyuck [5:24pm] oh hey lol [5:24pm] wyd

Renjun utters a curse under his breath as he switches to his phone app, bringing the device to his ear immediately after he dials Donghyuck's number. It rings twice before the boy picks up.

"Injun-ah!" Donghyuck's voice is hoarse— so he wasn't lying about being sick. That doesn't make Renjun any less annoyed, though. "I was so worried-"

"Cut the shit, Hyuck. Did you know?"

Donghyuck is silent before he replies, as though carefully choosing his next words. "... Know what?"

"That she likes me."

"That who likes- oh my God. Did she tell you already?" If it's even possible, Donghyuck's already-naturally nasally voice sounds even more annoying now that he's excited while sick.

"What?" Renjun hisses into his phone, glancing around the room to make sure he wasn't too loud. Granted, he's currently alone in the men's room and he's 90% sure you aren't outside eavesdropping, but he could never be too careful. "So it's true?"

"I mean, only because she was so fucking obvious," Donghyuck snickers before he breaks out into a fit of coughs. "I'm surprised it took you this long to notice."

Renjun groans. "How the hell was I supposed to know? She talks to everyone the same way!"

"Dude, have you seen the way she looks at you? It's like when Jaemin looks at Luke, Lucy, and Lu-"

"Yeah, yeah. I got it, alright?" Renjun grumbles. "Shit, what should I do now?"

"Um, nothing? It's not like you're even supposed to know that she likes you," Donghyuck quips plainly. "Dude, why are you even freaking out? Wait- do you like her back?"

"No!" Renjun exclaims, a little too quick for his own liking. Maybe it's because he could practically see the teasing smirk on his friend's lips, or maybe it's just the suggestion that sounds so fucking absurd he had to shut it down immediately. "It's just- look, I've been nothing short of mean to her this entire time so I kinda feel bad, alright? Why would she even like me like that? I mean- is she some sort of masochist, or something?"

Donghyuck guffaws, clearly not about to let his embarrassing stuttering slide. "Okay? And why are you so worried? Since, you know, you don't like her like that and all."

"You're hopeless," Renjun mutters, not bothering to bid Donghyuck goodbye before he hangs up. He should've known that the boy is the last ever person he should seek advice from; Jaemin would have made for a better candidate.

But calling Jaemin now would only be suspicious, and Renjun knows it would only be a matter of time before you would knock on his door to ask if he's doing alright— because that's just who you are as a person.

Huh, maybe he does know you better than he thought.

Renjun has long given up hope that he'd be going home tonight. The thunderstorm is still as relentless as ever, the skies growing even darker now that the sun has set. The café is bathed in a warm light, and under a different circumstance he would've found it cozy.

You're situated behind the counter now, probably having moved there when he was in the restroom. Instead of going back to the couch, Renjun finds himself heading towards you. He doesn't know why.

"Forecast says the rain won't stop until morning." You don't look at him as you say this, and Renjun quickly notices the two cups of instant noodles you're currently busying yourself with, the rising steam swirling lazily in the air. You only turn to him once you're done mixing the noodles, a sympathetic smile on your face. "Looks like we'd have to stay the night."

"You sound oddly sad for someone who claims to love the rain." Against his better judgement, the words slip out of his mouth. Renjun thinks it must have something to do with his conversation with Donghyuck earlier, because why does he feel like he's being weird all of a sudden?

You merely shrug, handing one of the cups to him. This time, he accepts it, and Renjun tries not to flinch at the feeling of your fingers brushing against his.

"Well, I still do! If I could, I'd run outside right now and play in the rain, but the news just issued a lightning alert and I'd rather not risk getting struck, you know. Besides, staying inside isn't all that bad," you quip lightheartedly, a small grin on your face as you bring your chopsticks to your lips, blowing on your noodles lightly.

Renjun doesn't say anything, his brows only furrowing at your response. How is it that you're still so cheery even after everything that's happened? It's as though you didn't just find out that you're literally stranded here with no way home until the next morning.

The room illuminates momentarily when thunder strikes, and this time, Renjun does flinch. If he wasn't already holding on to his cup of noodles so tightly, it would have already spilled all over him. Clearly, you notice, and you don't look away quickly enough to act like you didn't.

"You know, I've learnt recently that a lightning bolt is only as wide as your thumb, but it could stretch on for miles," you say as you swallow your food, showing a thumbs-up as you grin at him playfully. "It's kind of crazy, right? How something so small could be so powerful?"

Renjun clenches his jaw, shutting his eyes momentarily. "Alright," he mutters, placing his cup on the counter. "Why do you keep doing that?"

You raise your brows, lowering your hand. "Doing what?"

"That. Every time it gets loud and I- I startle, you tell me some random fact, as if it's going to magically drown out the thunder."

"Well, it works, doesn’t it? It’s my secret technique to distract you! And think about it this way: every time it thunders, I get to share a cool tidbit with you. Like how lightning can strike the same place twice!”

"Yeah, because that makes me feel so much better," Renjun mumbles, though he finds that the edge in his voice has softened.

"Oh, relax." You roll your eyes jokingly. "Lightning only often hits tall structures like trees or skyscrapers, so you’re safe here with me.”

He scoffs. "Tall? Is that a jab?"

You gape, and you fear that you've struck a nerve within him. "N-No! I mean, I'm just saying! You're probably just not tall enough to worry about it, unless you're like, I don't know, Yao Ming or something," you start to ramble. "Even then, did you know that the tallest man in the world is a whole foot taller than him? I guess he would have a higher chance of getting struck by lightning, then, wouldn't he? Or not, considering, well, you know, he's dead. I don't-"

You're cut off when you feel a palm cover your lips, and your eyes widen at the contact. Renjun stares at you, unimpressed.

"You," he starts. "Talk too much. You know that?"

With his hand still over your mouth, you're unable to reply— even if it wasn't, you doubt you could, anyway. His skin against yours brings a warmth to your neck and cheeks, and you could only hope he couldn't see how bright red you're sure you are.

You nod your head slowly.

Renjun scoffs, finally dropping his hand as he glances to the window behind you. If you weren't already staring at him so intently, you would've missed the slight upturn of his lips. "Wow. So not only am I terrified of the storm, I'm short, too?" He shakes his head, half-amused.

"Hey, you said it, not me!" You exclaim defensively, feeling much more relieved now that you've seen him smile. You wonder if he's aware of how pretty his smile is. "Though for the record, I think you're the perfect height!" You pause, "f-for dodging lightning, of course!"

Renjun didn't like how the first half of your sentence made his heart beat faster. If only he were any closer, he'd hear your heart beating just as fast, too.

"You kids hang on tight, alright? There are blankets in the break room if you need them— and keep me updated!"

You've been in contact with your boss since the lockdown announcement hours ago, and despite your last message telling him that you and Renjun are alright, it seems that it's just in Johnny's nature to be overly-concerned as his worried face now flashes on your screen.

"We're alright, Boss, we promise!" You say for the umpteenth time. "This shop's stable enough to withstand a strike or two I'm sure, so we'll see you tomorrow morning!"

"Don't joke about that," Renjun hisses, nudging your arm with his elbow. He turns to the screen again. "We'll be sure to give you hourly updates."

At this, Johnny seems a little more at ease. You bid your boss goodbye, and the café soon falls into a silence, with only the humming of the lights and distant rumbling in the skies to keep you company.

"So... should we get ready for bed?" You ask, slapping your thighs as you stand up from the couch. For some reason, it feels awkward. You've long grown accustomed to Renjun and his lack of words, but somewhere along the way today, it seems that the air between you two has shifted— for better or for worst, you couldn't really tell— and you're not sure if you could salvage it.

You've always liked Renjun— of course you have— but today, it feels more impossible to contain your feelings with nobody else around. You like to think that you were good at hiding it all this while (despite what Donghyuck says), but right now, you're not so sure if you could spend a second longer with Renjun without accidentally blowing your own cover.

"I'll go grab the blankets," he says quietly, snapping you out of your reverie before ushering away to the break room. You let out a breath you didn't realise you were holding, turning around to face the couch. Surely, your feelings could wait, because right now, there's only one thing that matters more: your sleeping arrangement.

You bend down to grab the couch by the armrest, pulling it further towards the middle of the dining area. With it being originally situated right by the window, you figure it wouldn't make for such an ideal (or safe) makeshift bed.

"What are you doing?"

You huff, returning to your original height to see Renjun by the door of the break room, a bundle of plaid blankets in his hands. He has a brow raised— you notice he does that a lot when looking at you— and you laugh meekly.

"Just, you know. Wouldn't wanna get struck by lightning, or anything like that."

He rolls his eyes (again, something he does a lot when it comes to you) as he makes his way towards you, letting the blankets fall on the sofa. "You can take the couch. Probably should lay one of these out first, though. Not sure how many butts have been on there."

Usually, you would have laughed at his comment, but this time, you find yourself tilting your head in confusion instead. "Where are you gonna sleep?"

Renjun shrugs. "The chair works fine for me."

You frown. Taking one of the blankets, you spread it out before letting the fabric fall over the couch. "The chair? There's no way you'd be comfortable like that! Look, the couch is big enough for the both of us. We'd have to stay seated, of course, but that's better than sleeping in a chair, right? Or would you rather we take turns?"

Renjun scoffs. "What? We're not in an apocalypse. There's no need for night watch."

Still, you stall, and it causes him to sigh. Renjun steps towards you, gently planting his hands on your shoulders before guiding you down onto the sofa. "Gosh, you're stubborn. Just take the couch, alright? It's not like I'm planning on sleeping, anyway."

The last part of his sentence comes out in a low murmur, but you still catch it.

"What do you mean you're not planning on sleeping?" You echo, and based on the flash of panic that crosses his face, you're sure he hadn't mean to let that one slip.

"I mean, with the storm and all," Renjun explains stiffly, glancing away. "I'm just saying, there's no way I'd be able to sleep with all that noise."

You gape slightly before your lips transform into a grin. "Could I interest you in another fun fact, then?"

Renjun groans loudly, and you find yourself giggling at his response. And when you hear the low chuckle that escapes his lips, you find your heart swelling at the sound of his laugh.

"Seriously, let's just share, alright? Look, I'll even stay up with you! I won't talk if you don't want me to, though."

Renjun finally gives in, sitting at the other end of the couch. "When has that ever stopped you?"

Noting the lack of bite in his voice, you grin. "Touché."

Eventually, the two of you fall into a comfortable silence, and for the first time in a while, you don't feel the need to make conversation. You've never been one to be able to stay quiet for very long; clearly, Renjun is someone who does, and today, you learn that it really isn't all that bad.

Renjun steals a glance towards you, but you have your eyes fixed on the rain outside, a small smile still tugged on your lips. It looks like you're watching a movie, the floor-length windows a giant movie screen, and the flashes of lightning the different scenes bouncing off your features. He must have missed the thunder that comes afterwards, only realising it when you turn to him with that stupid, pretty smile still on your lips.

"Uh," Renjun stutters, having been caught off-guard at the sudden eye contact. He quickly looks away. "You don't have to do this."

You tilt your head. "Do what?"

"Stay up with me. You should get some rest."

You laugh, and Renjun wonders if it's always sounded this beautiful. "Don't be silly! I don't mind. I know you're gonna chide me for saying this, but it's kinda nice. I can't remember the last time I stayed up to watch the rain," you pause before turning to him. "You're probably gonna hate me forever for making you endure both a thunderstorm and my chatter in one night," you say teasingly.

"That's not true," he says quietly, only belatedly hoping that you hadn't heard him. Clearing his throat, Renjun turns to his right where his messenger bag lies, taking out his sketchbook he had haphazardly stuffed inside earlier. He flips it open, feeling your curious eyes on him as he looks for the page he had been working on.

"The rain looks better on paper for me," he explains awkwardly. "You know, since we're on the topic of likes and dislikes."

Renjun feels you scoot towards him, and he hates that he could feel the warmth emitting from your side even despite the blanket that envelops your shoulders.

"That's so pretty," you say in awe as you study the drawing. Despite it being so simple, nothing but a rough sketch of a window pane covered with rain drops, you still find yourself marvelling at the intricacy of it all. You could barely even write a whole essay legibly, yet here Renjun is, crafting a whole masterpiece with nothing but a blue ballpoint pen. "I wish I had an ounce of your talent. You're amazing, Renjun."

Even though he's no stranger to getting compliments for his works, it somehow feels different coming from you. It's probably because of how intimate it is— you and him, cramped on a couch in a barely-lit café with your arm pressing into his side— that's all there is to it, right?

But as he turns to you, taking in the stars that seem to dance in your eyes and the pink hue that dusts your cheeks even in the dark, Renjun starts to wonder if maybe, it's more than that. If maybe, the way his heart is stuttering isn't because of the setting, but you— only you.

With the way Donghyuck's question from earlier still plays in the back of his head like a broken record, Renjun knows that it's the truth.

✦ ✦ ✦

With it being late into the night, the two of you lapse into silence, too tired to keep a conversation going, but still very much awake— as though under an unspoken agreement to not fall asleep.

The rain has reduced significantly and the thunder has lessened, nothing but an occasional low rumble in the distance, but every now and then you'd still feel Renjun tensing from next to you.

“You know, statistically, you’re more likely to get struck by lightning than win the lottery,” you mumble sleepily, barely able to keep your eyes open.

Renjun lets out a soft chuckle. “Comforting,” he replies, though there’s no real edge to his voice. “So, basically, I’m doomed.”

“Not while I’m here,” you say through a yawn. “Consider me your good luck charm.”

Renjun shakes his head, but there’s a softness in his expression now, something warm and unspoken passing between you. The couch creaks slightly as you both shift to get more comfortable. Your cheek brushes slightly against his arm, but Renjun doesn't pull away. In your half-conscious state, you barely feel his arm circle behind you, pulling you closer towards him as he guides your head to rest on his shoulder.

"Then I guess I'd have to keep you around for every storm."

Click.

That's the sound you wake to, the sun that hits your eyelids being the second thing to rouse you from your slumber. You stir, your cheek brushing against something soft that only makes you want to sleep even more, but the sound of suspicious giggling causes you to open your eyes.

Your bleary vision lands on Donghyuck, who's currently standing before you with a cheshire-like grin, his phone in his hands.

"Don't you two look cozy?" He coos, tapping on his screen once more before his phone produces another click.

Finally registering what's happening, you jolt awake, only belatedly realising the oh-so-soft material to be Renjun's clothed chest. You must have fallen asleep on him sometime during the middle of the night, and you can't figure out what's more embarrassing: that, or the fact that Donghyuck has proof of said... intimacy.

"Lee Donghyuck! You better not post that!" You yelp, jumping off the couch to reach for his phone, only to fail as he waves his arm in the air, cackling manically.

Renjun finally stirs at the noise. “What’s going on?” he mumbles groggily, only to frown when he registers what you and Donghyuck are doing.

You whip to turn to Renjun, almost tripping in the process, throwing him an apologetic glance. “N-Nothing! Just- uh, a little misunderstanding!”

Donghyuck lowers his arm, tongue poking out of his lips as he types rapidly on his phone. “Oh, I’m definitely sharing this. Aw, you two are so adorable!”

Renjun groans. "Fuck off, Hyuck, seriously." He stands up, picking up his bag before stuffing all his belongings inside. "Ignore him. Let's go."

You giggle, your own embarrassment seeping away when you realise just how flustered he is. "Renjun, wait-"

"Nope, not waiting," he mutters, the tip of his ears noticeably pink as he slings his bag over his shoulder. "We're leaving before this asshole gets anymore material." He shoots Donghyuck a glare, who only waves a hand mindlessly.

"I may be an asshole, but at least I'm not delusional. Seriously, guys, it's painful watching you pretend like you're not into each other!" He cries dramatically, and Renjun's eyes widen before he forces another warning stare to his friend.

"Thanks for the unsolicited advice, Hyuck," he mutters, hoping his voice didn't waver too much, before quickly grabbing your arm and leading you to the door. "We're leaving."

"Have a good day, lovebirds!" Donghyuck sings, and Renjun flashes him a middle finger with his free hand without turning around.

You couldn't help but to laugh as you let him drag you out to the sidewalk, the cold outside air hitting your skin for the first time since yesterday. It's no longer raining, but the streets are still wet from the overnight storm, and it helps in cooling your own burning cheeks.

Renjun finally releases you when you're a little further away from the café, turning to face you with a sigh. "Sorry 'bout that," he mumbles, his cheek still painted red, and you wonder how it's possible for him to be this cute, grumpiness and all.

"It's okay." You bite your bottom lip to suppress a grin, and Renjun smiles at you weakly.

There's a moment of silence between you two before Renjun clears his throat awkwardly. "He's right, you know?"

"Hm? About what?" You ask, slightly taken aback by his sudden soft tone.

Renjun shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his voice quiet. “About… me being into you. Wait, that came out weird." He stumbles over his words, and you merely beam at him as you give him time to compose himself.

"It's just— I know I haven't been the nicest to you, and I know it may sound crazy, but I had this whole revelation yesterday that I do have feelings for you— and I promise this isn't just a fleeting thing because of the storm— I genuinely think you're really cool."

You don't say anything, only a soft smile playing on your lips, and that causes Renjun to panic.

"I mean, I know I've been a jerk to you, and I know this isn't an excuse, but I just didn't know how to-"

You cut him off by leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, effectively halting his words. His mouth hangs open slightly, eyes wide as he stares at you in disbelief, his face flushing.

When you pull back, you couldn't help but laugh softly at his stunned expression. “You're rambling,” you tease with a playful smile.

He coughs out a small laugh. "Yeah, sorry. Guess I was." The smile stays on his face this time as he meets your eyes. "So... does that mean you're not compelled to the idea of going on a date with me?"

"Nope. Not at all." You rock between your heels and toes, already feeling the excitement bubbling in your chest. You like to think that you're doing a much better job at keeping your composure, but you're sure anyone could see just how bright red you are. "I think I'd really like that, actually."

Renjun's eyebrows raise before his expression eases into one of relief, and for the first time, a large smile graces his lips. You think you might just have a new favourite thing now— one that easily tops the rain.

"Yeah? Good. Because I think I'd really like that, too."

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