#guy's working through his shit the best way he can and it's not pretty but he's getting better. he's worth more than he got as a kid

[theconstantsidekick]

Sad and Funny

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Stark!Reader (future), Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader (past), Tony Stark x Stark!Reader (siblings)

Genre: Angst? I think?

Summary: Bucky gets an unexpected call on a random Tuesday night, asking him to come to a bar and be the designated driver for Y/n Stark... the woman whose family he murdered? Yeah, that one. But she used to be his best pal's best girl, so he can't not show up, right?

(This takes place before the events of  Falcon, The Winter Soldier and Static. However, it can be read as a stand-alone piece. But it’s fun. I promise.)

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Near Alcoholism, Mentions of Past Traumas, Grief, Self Deprecation, Self Hate, just an overall sad time tbh.

a/n: I read some destiel fic about dude a crying about dude be to dude c and this idea just sprung up.

Bucky Barnes, The Boyfriend (other one-shots) | The Falcon, The Winter Soldier and Static | Static: Get, Set, Glitch | Static Verse Masterlist

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“I’m—I’m looking for—a girl? She’s apparently really drunk, looks like an Avenger?”

“Sergeant Barnes,” a voice calls out to him from the end of the bar. “This way!”

With a hushed thanks to the bartender he’d been talking to, he makes his way through the bar.

“Thanks for coming, Sergeant Barnes,” the guy puts out his hand for him to shake.

Bucky takes it. “Murdock, right?” He searches his brain for the full name. “Matt Murdock? The lawyer?”

The guy—Murdock, smiles. “Yes. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances considering the last time, but this is as good as it gets for a guy in my line of work.” He seems very sincere, like he actually is very happy to meet Bucky at a shady little bar in Hell’s Kitchen. And what does Bucky know? Maybe he is. 

“Yeah,” Bucky replies in a non-reply. But Murdock doesn’t seem to mind, and well, no one really should. Bucky’s mind is elsewhere. “I—I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what I’m doing here.”

Murdock fidgets, fixing his red glasses while his smile falters, only a little. “She’s—uh—” his lips curve up again”—pretty out of it,” he points behind himself, at the table. “I didn’t think I’d be very capable at handling that situation given… my predicament.” Murdock nods at the walking-stick in his hand. And, well, yeah. Fair enough. “So, she asked me to call you.”

“Why?”

Murdock stills for a second, gripping the handle of his walking stick with both hands. “Don’t you think that’s a question better posed to her?” 

Well, yeah. 

He can’t fucking ask her, though. Can he?

But Murdock doesn’t give him the chance to counter. “So, can I count on you?”

“What?” Bucky’s so fucking lost right now.

“Can I count on you?” He repeats. “To get her home safe?”

Oh, shit! Yeah. “Yes… Yes, of course.”

Murdock hands him a napkin, “Great! That’s her address and her keys are in her pocket.” Bucky nods, still very lost. But Murdock smiles at him again, “Thank you so much for doing this. I have an arraignment early in the morning, so I gotta be on my way. I’m really sorry for dumping her on you like this.”

“It’s—it’s no problem.”

He nods then, smile still intact. “Thanks again, Sergeant.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, not completely registering what’s going on. Murdock takes the opportunity to walk past him, and make his way towards the door.

Bucky’s intently staring down at the napkin he’s just been handed and he can’t help from wondering… did Murdock write it down? He couldn’t have, obviously. So, does that mean some random person in this bar just knows her address now? Should Bucky be worried about that? But then again, he’s gotten his ass handed to him on a platter enough times to know, it would be frankly, silly to take her on. However, the world has gone to shit lately, so maybe—

“For what it’s worth,” Murdock calls out, halfway to the door, “she seemed quite—content when you agreed to come.”

Bucky’s left speechless.

“Take care, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Yeah. See you around, Murdock.” Oh fuck.

The moment the words are out of his lips, he knows he’s fucked up. He’s fumbled—hard. He winces and his hand slowly comes up to clasp his mouth in pure embarrassment. 

Mudrock pauses at the door, head falling. 

Bucky’s thanking all the Gods above for his super hearing right about now, cause he can hear Murdock chuckling at Bucky’s horrifying fumble. 

Before he can apologise, Murdock’s already out the door.

He sends out a silent prayer cum apology to the universe, and adds this to his never ending fuck ups.

Trying to shake off the embarrassment, with measured, slow movements, he takes a seat on the table, opposite the woman who’d apparently asked him here.

“Y/n?” 

She’s sitting—if he can call it that—with her head on the cold, hard table. There’s a slice of lemon in her mouth that’s sticking out and her hand is gripping onto her liquor filled glass like someone might steal it. 

She looks like she just conked out mid sentence, and fell face first onto the table. 

He tries again, “Hey, Y/n?” No response. 

He doesn't want to jerk her awake, but it doesn’t seem like he has a choice anymore. 

“Y/n?” He gently touches her elbow. And motherfucker! She’s up in an instant.

The first thing she does the moment she’s up is spit out the slice of lime from her mouth and down her entire drink in one go. 

Once she’s done, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, slamming the glass on the table. “Tess!”

Who the fuck is—

“What do you want?” The bartender from before shouts back.

“Another drink—for me and tall, dark and brooding over here,” Y/n replies, pointing at Bucky. 

“I already told you, you’re cut off!” Tess, the bartender, throws back from behind the bar, as she continues to work.

“You can’t cut me off, Tess! I’m an Avenger! I saved the world! You can’t cut me off! Them’s the rules!” Y/n argues. Bucky can clearly smell the liquor on her, he thinks he could probably do that even without his enhanced sense of smell. But her competence doesn’t seem all that hindered because all of that made very clear sense. And sounded borderline logical too. You save the world, you get to drink however much you want? Seems like a fair bargain to Bucky. 

“Not in this bar!” Clearly it doesn’t seem fair to Tess.

Y/n huffs, deflates. “Fine,” she gives in. “I’ll take a look at the refrigerator in the back, tomorrow—when I’m sober, if you give me and my roguishly handsome comrade here another round. How about that?” Bucky’s entire body stops functioning. But Y/n either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care. “What say, Tess?”

“There’s something wrong with the lights in the office too—”

“I’ll look over the entire bar’s electrical grid.”

“... One last round and then you’re done.”

Y/n rejoices like she’s won a war. Clapping her hands, she shouts in excitement. “You’ve got yourself a deal, sweets.” And then she turns to him, “What will you have?”

Bucky’s been rebooting so far, so instead of saying anything competent he just makes a noise that sounds something like, ‘What?’

“The drink? What’s your poison?”

“Uh, no. I—I’m good.”

She rolls her eyes, annoyed. “Come on, man! Just have a drink.”

“I’m supposed to be your designated driver, wouldn’t it be pretty irresponsible to drink?” Bucky shifts nervously and shoves his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. 

But she doesn’t think his excuse is anywhere near valid. “You’re a super soldier, dude. One drink won’t even touch you. Just—gimme some company, alright?” She huffs, “Please?”

He swallows thickly. “Whiskey,” he tells Tess. “On the rocks.”

The bartender nods, “Two whiskeys on the rocks, coming up.”

The bar is fairly free of commotion, if you discount Y/n Stark’s antics. It’s a cosy little joint. Bucky must have walked past it a million times without paying any attention to it before. But now that he’s here, he can see why someone like her might enjoy it. It’s dimly lit, there’s a jukebox in  the other corner, playing songs that Bucky knows for once in his life and all the patrons are on the older side, and completely unbothered by the presence of two Avengers amongst them. 

Maybe he’ll come back here some other time. Neat place, nice bartender and no-one ogling him, the place meets all his criterias.

“Oh!” Y/n exclaims suddenly. “Where are my manners?” She sits up straighter. “Sergeant Barnes, thank you for coming. I won’t pretend that I’m not surprised to see you, but thankful regardless.”

“Yeah,” he says, slowly, brows knitting together. “Don’t—don’t mention it.” He can’t help it, he has to ask, “Sorry but, are you drunk? I really can’t tell.”

“Oh, I’m plastered,” she answers casually, grabbing another slice of lemon from a shot glass full of them. She begins nibbling at it.

“How’d you manage that? Isn’t your metabolism like mine? It would’ve taken you at least a couple bottle to even—”

She looks at him dead straight, “I own half of Stark Enterprises, and I’ve been drinking like a tankard since I first tasted freedom—back in ‘53.”

Fair enough, he thinks to himself. “So, you’re saying you’ve got practice.”

“And then some.”

Tess brings their drinks just then, and places a glass each in front of them.

Both of them quickly express thanks.

She raises her glass, he follows too, because what the hell else is he supposed to do?

“To Steve Rogers, the lying piece of shit.”

Oh.

She clicks her glass with his and takes a sip.

Bucky just cocks his head in mild disagreement and sets his drink back down on the table. “That’s what we’re drinking to?”

Eyeing him suspiciously, “Why? You got a problem?”

He sighs, “I understand why you’re upset with him, but he’s still my best friend.”

“Why?”

He bites his lip, trying to control whatever emotions are stirring inside him.

But Y/n Stark isn’t one to back down. “He left you,” she says. “Just like he left me—except yours is worse.” She smiles, and it’s the most cutting and painful thing Bucky’s seen in a while. “End of the line, he’d said.” Snorting, she adds, “Guess his line ended a lot sooner than yours, huh?” Bucky’s jaw clenches. And she must notice the shift in his demeanor instantly—which he has to admit is a feat considering her claims of being plastered. Her hand comes up to lips, covering them, like a child caught saying a cuss word. “That was—that was mean. I’m sorry—I wasn’t… It wasn’t a jab at you—really. It was,” she stumbles over her words, finally seeming drunk. “It was—it was meant for him. Not you.” She shakes her head, sadness clear in her motions. “Not you.” She raises her glass again then, “To life,” she begins, “that’s mostly sad, but sometimes—like in this moment—funny.”

Bucky’s not sure what to do next, so he decides to do the obvious thing. He raises his glass, clicks it with her and takes a drink. “Funny?” He asks, “How?”

“It’s tuesday night, and I’m so fucking hammered that I had to call up the one guy who hates me more than I hate myself to come drive me home.” She takes a sip of her drink. “Don’t know about you, but that’s pretty fucking funny in my book.”

He’s more lost now than when he walked into this joint. “Hate—I don’t hate you? Why would I—Why would I hate you?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” She asks him like it’s the most obvious thing. But it’s not. And she must see that to him it is not obvious at all, because then she explains, “I am the reason why he left, pal.” She points to herself so hard, Bucky wants to pull her hand away,  “I am the reason why he left you. Why don’t you hate me?”

His heart breaks. 

“He—he didn’t leave because of you, Y/n. You—you have to know that!”

“Didn’t he?” She challenges with her head cocked. “If I could make him love me enough, then he never would’ve left—he never would’ve felt out of place in this world, in this time. If—” She lets out a hollow, broken laugh. “If I could make him love me enough, he would’ve stayed.” She closes her eyes briefly, before opening them to face him again. “I’m your culprit, Sergeant. If I had been… enough then you wouldn’t have had to navigate this shitty new world all by your lonesome.”

Fucking hell, Steve.

“That—that’s not true! He loved you.” She begins to protest, but Bucky cuts her off. “I knew that guy since before he could stand up long enough to pick a fight, and I am telling you—he loved you.” He really did. Steve really did love her, completely and utterly. “He just needed—” he sits back. “He needed to go live the life he lost. It—it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t because you weren’t enough… He loved you, more than you know.”

“Well, he had a funny way of showing it,” she remarks, feigning ease. Taking another swig from her glass, she says, “But that’s just life, isn’t it? Sad and funny—sad that he left, funny that he maybe loved me even as he did it.” Bucky has to look away. “Still, at least he gave me this.” When he looks up she’s pointing at him. “Another curiously morose, and remarkably hilarious moment.”

“I want to ask, but I’m afraid to,” Bucky admits to her, with a curious look over his glass.

She holds up her finger, “Think about it, Sergeant Barnes—ex-Hydra assassin,” she points to him, “ex-Hydra assassin,” she points to herself. And then slowly she spreads her arms, motioning to the entire place, “United States of America, baby!”

Bucky can’t help it. He shakes his head with a hint of a smile.

“Can you imagine? If Armin Zola saw this?” She asks, clearly finding this all very, very funny. “Do you think, when he was creating us—the Winter Soldier and Static—that he could’ve even imagined a scenario where I would call you up on a random Tuesday night to be my designated driver?” She begins laughing. “Can you—can you imagine if someone were to tell him that this would happen? Do you—” she’s having a hard time getting her words out, with all the giggling, “Do you think he still would have created us? Hydra’s two most lethal weapons, sharing a drink in Hell’s Kitchen?” She cannot physically control herself, cannot stop the laugh that bursts out of her.

And Bucky’s gotta admit, that is pretty damn funny.

Sad and funny.

“Come on, you think it’s funny too,” she accuses. “I can see in your eyes, Barnes.”

“Fine,” he says, his smile blooming as he takes a sip. “It is kinda funny.”

“I remember,” she begins in between her laughs, “Peggy used to tell me Red Skull said that he could see the future, in the Tesseract, and man! That’s a load of shit, cause if he actually could, and he knew this would be the outcome, I don’t think the man would have experimented on himself and turned, you know?”

“Red?” Bucky supplies, smiling wide now.

“Red!” She shakes her head, still chuckling. “He was so fucking stupid. I mean—all of Hydra’s fucking stupid.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Bucky counters, adjusting in his seat.

“No, seriously, consider this for a second!” All of a sudden, she’s all excited and pumped. She takes another sip of her drink before she starts, “They were fucking useless, man. I mean, name one great plan of world domination that worked out for them?” 

Bucky—he stops. “What—that’s—What?”

She puts her hand up and begins counting, “Started a war, lost the war because of a kid from Brooklyn who juiced himself up with a serum they could never really recreate.” Well, okay. Bucky can concede to that. “Infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D., schemed for decades, only to be found out, by the same fucking guy.” Alright, that’s fair, too, he supposes. “Created Babayaga, a fucking ghost story,” she motions to him, “but then lost him too, cause they were dumb enough to send him on a mission to encounter his best bud—who, again, same fucking guy.” In retrospect, that does seem very stupid on their part. “Decided to commit mass genocide again, tried to kill 7 milliion people but got taken down by a guy in an eye-patch, a dude with wings, an ex-Widow, a fucking ex-Hydra employee,” meaning her, “and the same fucking guy!” 

Put it like that?

Bucky’s not sure what to say.

“You have to be a special kind of incompetent to screw up that bad, and be defeated by the same fucking guy that many times,” she surmises. “I mean, did they ever even actually accomplish anything?”

“I think you’re forgetting the countless assassinations they orchestrated,” he counters, leaving the ‘and we pulled off’ part silent.

She meets him eye to eye then, “Sure, we killed a bunch of people for them but—I’m gonna talk about the one thing we don’t talk about, now. I’m sorry, but it’s important to the point I’m making here—take Howard and Maria, for instance. The Winter Soldier killed them and stole the last of the serum, sure. And then what? They made more Winter Soldiers that were killed in their sleep by Helmut fucking Zemo?”

Bucky’s having a hard time breathing with the crushing weight of his guilt burning a hole through chest, but Y/n seems distinctly unaffected by it.

“None of the shit they did, or made us do, ever really panned out,” she summarizes, easily. Like she isn’t technically stating that her family died for nothing, that he killed them for nothing.

“Just because we can’t see it, doesn’t mean there wasn’t any damage done, Y/n. That’s not how it works,” he argues, with a curt tone.

She must notice it too, “I understand you must think I’m inferring that your… misery was all for naught. Which, I suppose I am, but I hope you can also see that if I make that statement with respect to you, it also reflects upon me.”

“Let me get this straight, what you’re saying is—we both got the shit end of the stick, years of torture and guilt, for absolutely nothing?” He leans forward, elbows on the table.

“Yes,” she answers simply.

“And that—that’s fine with you?”

She shrugs. “Isn’t all misery meaningless?” She throws back, not impolitely. “Furthermore, if there were a meaning behind our misery, would it be any less miserable?”

Well, fuck.

Bucky’s at a loss for words.

Because while it pisses him off to no end, she isn’t wrong. If there had been a reason behind Hydra’s years long torture of him, would that have made any of it better? Would it really have mattered to him? Would it have changed anything other than the fact that he’d feel far more guilty about it? And if there really isn’t any meaning to it, does it make it hurt any less?

While she’s clearly sympathetic to Bucky’s spiralling inner monologue, she doesn’t seem all that affected by it as she looks over at Tess and wordlessly asks for the bill. “Look, pain is pain is pain. Meaningful or not makes no difference. My comment wasn’t on either of ours, though. I just meant—if one has the kind of power and resources Hydra did, I’d like to think they’d do something a little more significant with it.”

It takes a second for Bucky to readjust to her casual tone and even more casual words. And that’s not even taking his spiral into account. So, his answer comes out after a short pause, “I thought you already did.” She cocks his brow at him in question. “You founded S.H.I.E.L.D.”

She tilts her head, impressed. “Most people don’t know that.”

He shrugs, “I’m not exactly most people.”

She smiles, giving in. 

Tess comes to them with a check, and Y/n pays it leaving a hefty tip.

“I may have been a founding member of S.H.I.E.L.D.” she says, once Tess has left, “but you forget that I also worked for them as an agent.” Both of them begin getting up from their seats. “I went on just as many missions for them, as I did for Hydra, if not more… But knowing what we know now, I couldn’t tell you where the orders really came from.” With that she puts on her jacket in one clean motion and walks past Bucky towards the exit.

When he catches up to her, she’s outside, staring at his bike.

“That yours?” She asks.

He pulls the keys out of his pocket. “Yeah…” His eyes fall to the ground as he adds, “Steve gave it to me.”

“Figures,” she says with a hint of annoyance. “It’s a Harley-Davidson Sportster, right?” Her eyes are set on the bike in front of her, but Bucky nods anyway. And though she can’t see him, she continues, “He gave me the same one in red.”

“You—you’ve got a bike?”

She turns to him then, “I’ve got several.”

Color him surprised. “Huh,” is all he can say. And to make up for the lack of words he begins walking over to the bike. “You coming?”

“Coming where?” She asks, blocking his way with her body.

He nods to the bike, he sidesteps her to finish his initial task of getting onto it. “I thought the whole point of calling me here was to drive you home.”

“On that?” She questions like she doesn’t already know the answer. “I’m shit faced dude, and you’re a fucking furnace. I’ll fall asleep on your shoulder in 10 seconds flat and fall off the damn thing.” The image does something to Bucky that he doesn’t want to look too closely at—not the falling off part, the other part.

“You said the word ‘furthermore’ in there like it was something people say in casual conversation. The longer I stick around, the more I wonder if you’re actually even drunk,” he argues. 

She rolls her eyes and stomps her feet. “Yes, because being babysat by you was on top of my Make A Wish list.” She puts her hands in her jacket pockets. “My place isn’t that far from here. I’ll just walk home. Don’t worry about it.”

“Y/n—”

“Thanks for showing up, especially because you didn’t have to,” she smiles at him. “You’re a good man, Sergeant Barnes.” With that she begins walking away.

And fuck him. 

Fuck this all to hell.

He gets off his bike and catches up to her in a few steps.

At first, she doesn’t acknowledge him. But then she says, almost to the world, instead of Bucky, “My place is actually really far from here.”

“I know,” he replies.

“You could’ve just put me in a cab,” she offers.

“You want me to hail one for us?” He asks.

“No,” she confesses, like it’s a secret but not one she wants to hide from him. “I want to walk.”

“It’ll take an hour on foot,” he reminds her.

“For most people, yes. But we’re not most people.”

He sighs, “So, we’re walking?”

“I know I’m walking—to my place. You can still run back to your bike and just ride off into the sunset… or moonlight, whatever.”

Yeah, right. 

Like Bucky’s gonna do that. 

So they walk.

It’s not all that late, the streets are still buzzing with pedestrians, none of whom neither care nor notice the two Avengers walking around.

Bucky’s gotta admit—it is peaceful.

“You like bagels?”

He’s caught completely off-guard by the question. “What?”

“Bagels, Sarge. I know they had them in the ‘30s. And I’m certain they are a thing in Wakanda, so you can’t—”

“Yes, I like bagels.”

She smiles. “Great! Come on!” She takes a right on the street and Bucky, as is the theme of the night, lost and confused, follows her.

The bagels are pretty fucking great. 

Bucky had skipped dinner to rush over, so he really needed to put something in his stomach so you won’t really hear him complain. He’s not all that picky about what he eats, never had a chance to be. But these—they are really good.

Well, except for—

“Why is mine rainbow colored?” He asks, but eats it anyway, it’s his last bite.

“To make up for the lack of it in your life.”

That makes him snort. 

“Can I ask you something?” She says then, looking deceptively small.

“Will it stop you if I said ‘no’?”

She makes a face that says, ‘you’ve got me there, Sarge.’ “Why’d you come?”

He almost chokes. 

Clearing his throat, he composes himself a little before he answers, “Your friend, Murdock sounded… worried on the phone.”

“He is not my friend,” she tells him laughing, as if it isn’t a sad thing to say. “We’re just… acquaintances. Even that might be a stretch. He hates me, actually. Well, maybe not hate. Let’s just say he doesn’t like me an awful lot.”

“You make it a habit of drinking with people who don’t like you very much?” He doesn’t really mean anything by that. He’s just making small talk.

But then she looks at him sideways, with a smirk. “It would seem so, yes.”

He gets up from where he’s sitting on the bench. “I don’t what gave you the impression that I don’t like you but it’s wrong.”

“Is it?”

Bucky’s not sure why he’s getting so worked up over this. All he knows is that he doesn’t want her to think that he holds any ill will against her. “I have no reason not to like you—none whatsoever. You, on the other hand, have plenty not like me!” She laughs at him. And that works him up some more. “So, tell me, Y/n, what the hell am I doing here? Why the fuck did you call me?”

It might have been all the blood rushing to his head courtesy of getting worked up, or maybe it’s just plain old carelessness. Because Bucky knows, as soon as the words are out, that he’s fucked up. 

And the atmosphere immediately shifts. 

He was supposed to emphasis on ‘me’ and not ‘fuck’. 

“Y/n—” he tries to walk his words back but it’s already too late.

“What, you had something better to do?” She asks, cutting and unkind towards him for the first time in the entire night. Bucky looks away. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she says, triumphantly. “Did it cross your mind that maybe I called you cause you’re the only person on my contact list who I knew wouldn’t have any big plans tonight? Seeing as the only friend you ever had left you hanging like a ditchable prom date.” She looks at him, accusing, “And yet, you still won’t kick him off that damn pedestal.” She laughs, pacing now. “You’re fucking pathetic, Barnes.” Oh. So that’s what this is. “You’re stuck here, still holding on to him, looking up to him like a beacon of hope, defending him—for what?” He really should have known that this is what this was. “I don’t know whether to pity you or laugh at you.”

He can’t help it. 

He laughs.

“Something funny?” She bites back, still raging.

He relaxes. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Sad and funny, like life.”

“You wanna share it with the rest of the class, Sarge? Tell us what’s got you giggling like a teenager?”

He looks at her then, with all the patience in the world. “You called me to pick a fight.” Her face loses all color, it goes slack. “You’re drunk and you’re sad, and you wanted to fight… And who better to pick it with than me?” Her jaw clenches. “Look, I know you’re hurt. You’re mad at him for leaving and it hurt—I get that, I do, better than anyone else—”

She cuts him off. “No. No! You don’t get shit. Don’t do that—don’t act like you and I are the same. We are not!” Her hands are flying everywhere. Her anger is very animated. “When he left me he was being an asshole, but when he left you he was being a fucking traitor.” And just like that, Bucky’s left dumbstruck as all the anger leaves her body. “We—we weren’t together, not really. I mean, we weren’t even a thing anymore, not since Siberia. He didn’t owe me shit anymore. But you? He owed you the fucking world and he left you anyway. So, we are not the same! Because I have absolutely no right to be mad at him!” She turns away from him. “You’re not the ditchable prom date, Sergeant Barnes—I am.”

It feels like a gut punch hearing her say that.

“Hey, look at me.” She doesn’t. She’s stubborn. But he can be stubborn too. “Look at me, come on.” She relents. “You’re a ditchable anything, alright? Now, he may be my friend, and I can understand that he had to go live out the life that was stolen from him, but that doesn't mean I didn’t tell him he was a jerk for leaving you behind.”

“You did that?” Her brows furrow.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because it was a jerk-y thing to do?”

And then, and only then—when she’s laughing does Bucky feel like he can breathe again. 

“I didn’t call you to pick a fight, James—can I call you James? I’m gonna call you James. Sergeant Barnes is really hard to say when I’m this drunk—but yeah. I didn’t call you to pick a fight with you. I called you, because you’re the only person I could.”

Bucky’s lost all over again. “What are you talking about? You could’ve called Rhodey? Or Pepper? Or Banner, or that guy with the bow and arrow, whose name I can never remember—”

“Clint Barton.”

“—Barton,” he corrects and continues, “Hell! You could’ve called Sam and he’d come running. You’ve got people, Y/n. People who care about you, a lot.”

Sighing, she slowly walks over to the bench and takes a seat. Shoving her hands in her pocket, she begins, “Rhodey’s got a hot date tonight. And Pepper’s probably reading some stupid book, after having tucked Morgan into bed. Banner is deep underground, somewhere on an Island, which you never heard from me. Batron’s youngest got this cold that won’t quit. And Sam is on a mission.” She looks up at him from where she sits, “But even if every single one of them weren’t busy, I still would’ve called you.”

Bucky’s gonna happily ignore how the sentiment warms his heart. “Why?”

She takes a second. She pauses to find her words.

Once she has them, she begins, “Apart from Sam, they’ve all done the picking me up from a bar when I’m shit-faced routine at least ten times over, each of them.” Ouch. “The last time it happened, Rhodey read me the riot act and yelled some sense into me,” she confesses. “He—he said, ‘I get that you’re grieving, Y/n. But if you don’t pull yourself together sooner rather than later, you won’t have anyone left to come pick you up from your bender.’ And yeah. He was right, but that’s not why I didn’t call him.” She clenches her jaw. “I didn’t call him, or Pep or Banner, or Barton or Sam, cause they’ll always presume that I’m grieving—and don’t get me wrong, I am. But—” her voice breaks. “I’m also trying to get over the world’s most extraordinary break up.” She sniffles and Bucky’s legs almost give out at the sound of it. “They—they think this is about Tony, and fuck. It should be about Tony! It is about Tony! But—but it’s about Steve, too! I mean, fuck. Yeah. I lost my brother, but—but I lost the only man I’ve ever loved too, goddamn it!” She’s crying now and before Bucky can think better of it, he walks over and kneels in front of her. “And—and I can’t tell them that. I can’t tell them, that I’m out here drinking myself into oblivion because of a fucking boy! Because, how fucking stupid is that?”

“It’s not stupid at all.”

“Of course it is! My brother died, James. He fucking died! He sacrificed his life to save the whole world! And I’m sitting here crying cause I got dumped!” Bucky wishes he was back in the ‘40s when he always had a handkerchief in his pocket for a dame to wipe her tears, because she’s crying in earnest now. “You know what’s the worst part?”

“What’s the worst part?”

“The one person—the one fucking person I want to call to pick me—fuck that. The one person I want to drink my sorrows with, the one person I want to go on a bender and paint the town red with is fucking dead!” Well, fuck. “Not that it stops me—you know? When I’m drunk, and I mean three sheets to the wind, kinda drunk, I completely forget that he’s—that he’s not gonna answer the fucking phone anymore.” Sniffling, she tries composing herself. “That’s probably why I drink, I think. Cause for those 30 minutes, when I’m plastered, I forget that my best friend, my brother, my Tony is dead.” And she laughs, surprising him and herself both. “I mean, that and the fact that America’s Golden Boy fucking dumped me for the most amazing woman there has ever existed in all of existence.” He can’t help me, he laughs a little at that too. 

She wipes away her tears and composes herself fully. “I called you, because you’re the only person who probably won’t think I’m an asshole for sometimes being just as heartbroken about losing Steve as I am about losing Tony.” She looks at him with her wide eyes, vulnerable and open for the first time since he met her all those years ago in whichever Hydra base they were trapped in. “I called you because, you, Sergeant Barnes, are the only person who I wouldn’t guilty with, for setting my all-consuming grief aside once in a while to let myself drown in my heartbreak.” 

Bucky Barnes doesn’t know this yet, but in a few years, he’ll become her permanent designated driver, for all time, always. He’ll become her emergency contact. He’ll become her ride to every single event. He’ll become her safe place.

In a couple of years, Bucky Barnes will become the man she loves more than she’s ever loved anyone ever before, and he’ll love her back with everything he is and everything he has—steadfast, unwavering, without hesitation.

And while Y/n Stark will give up drinking in the memory of her relationship with Steve Rogers, she’ll never fully outrun the grief of losing her brother. It will come in waves, fierce and unrelenting. And on the nights when it feels too heavy, she won’t reach for a glass of whiskey. She’ll reach for him. She’ll find him, just like tonight. But instead of throwing verbal punches, she’ll ask him to hold her. And he will—like he’s holding the world, because he will be, indeed and in fact, holding his entire world. 

He’ll even ask her about this night. Only to find out that she has no memory beyond the point of falling face first into the bar table. He’ll laugh, shake his head, and tell her the whole story. She’ll groan in embarrassment, apologize too many times, and he’ll just smile, admitting that this was the night he first knew—if he spent too much time with her, he’d fall for her completely.

She’ll tease him for being a sap.

But that comes later.

Tonight, here, he doesn’t know any of that. 

So tonight he’ll say, “Come on, let me take you home. I think we’ve had our fill of sad and funny things happening for one night.”

Find other one-shots here. Find other Static Verse works here.

[skrunksthatwunk]

yusuke urameshi thank you for being an icon for neglected kids who got mad about it

[neverendingford]

.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Good enough

Tags: Caleb x fem!Reader, smut, unprotected angry sex, Caleb’s back and he’s jealous, breeding kink, mdni, not proofread sorry, this shit is NASTY i fear.

An: This one is for a dear friend of mine 🙂‍↕️ Thanks for making me pull out of my writer’s block. LOOK i’m so sorry if this is bad but i had to write SOMETHING to pull me out of this funk… i hope you all enjoy

How did you end up trapped underneath your half-cyborg best friend who was legally deceased while taking the meanest deep strokes of your life? Well, there’s a simple answer. Caleb knew Xavier was home.

Actually, he knew everything: the dates, the tender moments, the secret times, the nightly rendezvous. Pissed was an understatement.

Had you forgotten? Had you forgotten all the promises you two made each other when you were younger? Had you forgotten that you were fucking made for him? You had to have. That’s why you were stringing along 4 different guys. You were trying to fill a hole that only he could fill.

That had to be why.

Regardless, Caleb knew Xavier was the type to listen to you through the floorboards of his upstairs apartment. He was a lot alike Caleb in that sort of manner. They were both possessive freaks who couldn’t stand the thought of you being with somebody else.

That’s why Caleb was fucking you so hard — pounding your pretty pussy so deeply into the mattress that you were seeing stars with each mean thrust.

He used his size to his advantage. It was fitting. He’d always loved how much bigger he was than you. That’s how you received your adorned nickname: pipsqueak.

He planned on his first time with you being a lot more gentle than this. He planned on being sweet and loving. He planned on cherishing your body the way you deserve, but you just had to go and give yourself to 4 other guys before him.

“Stop crying.” His voice rumbled as his piercing gaze found yours — so much different than the sweet childhood friend you had. His hand covered your mouth as he hunched over your figure, still ramming his cock head into you ruthlessly. “I know you can take it. I’ve watched you take it before.”

Your eyes blinked back tears as you looked up at him. He was being so mean. You couldn’t believe this was the same doting Caleb that you grew up with, and you didn’t even want to think about the face he had been watching you…

“Fucking pussy’s made for me, and you’ve been letting other men try to make her feel good.” He growled as he used his less-than-human arm reach down and gently rub against your small button of nerves.

“Caleb-!” You choked out as your body writhed beneath him. You could feel every ridge and vein of his thick cock splitting you apart, making you wholly his and his alone.

“That’s right… Say my name, baby. Tell me who’s making you feel so good.” He prompted with a confident smirk before he hauled your legs up above his shoulders, sinking even deeper into your dripping cunt.

Clawing at the bed, your back arched as you tried to cope with the intrusion. He’s so fucking deep it feels like you’re going to choke on him. “Caleb-“ You sob as your cunt pitifully clenches around him.

Feeling you wrapped around him so sweetly, crying out his name as you’re so overwhelmed with pleasure has Caleb revitalized with a new vigor. His hips work in tight circles, pumping his fat cock in and out of you as your cunt makes the most obscene squelching noises he’s ever heard.

“Such a fucking noisy girl. I should’ve know you were going to be a crybaby.” He teased before placing open mouth kisses along your neck snd shoulder.

“W-wait Caleb- calebcalebcaleb. I’m gonna..” You pant out nervously as his metal fingers were still rubbing languid circled around your cunt, and his tip was smooshing globs of precum against your cervix.

His fingers suddenly pinch down on your clit, making you cry out from the sensation. Your body went taut as you were being dangled on the edge of pleasure. His robotic arm wasn’t quite letting you get there.

You thought his arm was literally malfunctioning until you heard him chuckle from your suffering.

“You’re going to cum when I saw you can, okay baby?” He asked in that same condescending tone he always used when you two were younger.

His hips continued to roll after he was sure that you weren’t going to fall off the deep end, and he let out deep guttural groans, feeling your pretty pussy soak him. It was like you were practically trying to suck him in. He couldn’t believe he had waited this long to sink into your cunt like this.

and the best part about it was he knew your stupid upstairs neighbor was listening! Xavier knew you were down here getting railed, and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

Hell, if he even tried, Caleb would use his evol and force him kneel beside the bed as he drilled you even harder.

Fuck, the thought of slutting you out in front of every single one of your little boyfriends had his stomach tightening. His hips snapped forward into you with a pace that could only be described as feral.

You were a complete babbling mess at this point — utterly cock drunk as Caleb had you folded in half, filling you up to the brim with his length.

“Ohhh, that’s my girl.” He purred as he saw your glossed over look. “It’s coming, baby. I’m going to give you want you need.” He promised as he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead that completely contradicted the ruthless way his hips were rutting into you.

“C-caleb- Caleb no, wait.. Don’t cum inside-“ You stuttered out in a panic. You hadn’t been by the pharmacy yet to pick up birth control, so technically, this was all unprotected.

“Why?” He growled as his back curled over. He was fucking mounting you while holding your thighs in the prettiest mating press he’d ever seen. “You fucking let them fill you up. Am I not good enough to breed this pussy?”

His hips slammed into you. It felt like he was trying to push his way straight into your womb. It was mind-numbing pleasure, making black orbs and stars dance across your vision.

“Look at me, baby.” He ordered, dragging your face to look back up at him. You could barely see straight. It was all too much. “You’re going to let your best friend breed you, and you’re gonna fucking love it. You’re going to cum all over this fat cock until you can’t breathe. Understand?”

You dumbly nodded your head, halfway hearing his words. Your pussy was aching to cum. Your swollen puffy folds were greedily accepting him in with every thrust. You wanted this. Birth control be damned. Everyone else be damned.

Caleb gritted his teeth together as he gave you a few more good harsh thrusts for good measure. He then crushed his body against yours, burying himself all the way to your womb before his cock started to jerk and pulse inside of you, shooting rope after rope of his thick potent cum. The only thing on his mind was the need to see you, his childhood best friend, round with his baby.

He needed to see the look on each other of those pricks’ faces when they realized you were spoken for.

The cherry on top was when he felt your walls clenching around him, happily milking his cock for everything he had while you sobbed and hiccuped his name. It seemed like his childhood best friend was maybe just as twisted as he was. He’d have to give her an extra good reward for being such a good girl.

As the room went still and quiet — only filled with shared breaths and pants for air, the sound of someone stabbing a sword through the ceiling was heard, and Caleb chuckled deeply. He had definitely pissed Xavier off.

[mariasont]

What if the team has slowly been finding out that Spencer has a girlfriend, so one day while on a case they basically play 20 questions trying to figure her out. However, Spencer is struggling to answer because he’s dating reader and she works with the BAU. (sorry if that isn’t broad enough, I just wanted more of the secret relationship trope)

Dimple Deductions - S.R

summary: when morgan & jj notice spencer reid acting suspiciously happy, they do what they do best — profile him. unfortunately, spencer's biggest tell is your dimples pairings: spencer reid x fem!reader warnings: fluff, secret relationship, reader has dimples, morgan & jj being shit stirrers wc: 1.4k

Watching Spencer read feels vaguely inappropriate. His fingers ghost over the page before settling, skimming the text like he's absorbing it through sheer proximity. His lips part, just slightly, like he's tasting the words, rolling it over his tongue before swallowing it down, taking it apart, making it his. The cabin light catches in his hair, making his curls glow like some kind of bookish deity.

It's distracting, the way his throat bobs when he swallows, the unconscious flick of his lashes as his mind devours information faster than you can process a single thought.

He's mesmerizing in a way that feels almost unjust, a spectacle of intellect wrapped in a body far too beautiful for reason.

You don't even realize you're staring until he speaks.

"I will pay you to stop talking."

It's not aimed at you, Morgan and JJ are doing what they do best, picking apart his every move, but the sound of his voice breaks through you like a snapped thread, severing whatever trance you'd fallen into.

Morgan whistles, all amusement. "Now, why would you be so eager to change the subject, pretty boy?"

Spencer finally looks up, dragging his gaze upward with the slow resignation of a man who knows resistance is futile. He sighs, shaking his head.

"Because I value my peace?"

JJ grins, practically giddy now. "Too bad. We don't."

Your magazine is just a forgotten accessory now, lying stiff and ignored on your lap. Pulling your eyes from Spencer feels unnatural, but somehow, you manage.

You turn at last to JJ and Morgan, who are, without question, enjoying this way too much.

"What exactly are you guys talking about?" you ask, flipping the magazine with indifference, as if that somehow proves you'd been deeply invested in its pages and not making heart-eyes at Spencer.

JJ's eyes gleam with unfiltered delight. "Oh, just that Spencer here has been acting different lately."

"Suspiciously different," Morgan corrects, side-eyeing Spencer. "Relaxed. Preoccupied. Dare I say... a little too happy?"

"So, let me get this straight, you're bullying him for being in a good mood?" You cross your arms, biting your lip to keep from laughing, while Spencer looked genuinely offended.

Morgan stretches his arms behind his head, looking quite pleased with himself. "We're observing."

Spencer, who returns his gaze to his book, doesn't even flinch. "It's harassment."

"Wait. Wait." JJ points at Spencer, squinting. "Are you seeing someone?"

You tell yourself to be cool. Unbothered. Just another face in the crowd, a neutral bystander in this totally-not-terrifying conversation. You even try to breathe like you're not on high alert, but your body immediately mutinies, shoulders locking up, throat tightening, nerves snapping taut like piano wire. 

A single stupid, microscopic flinch that must, on some subconscious profiler level, set off JJ's internal alarm bells. Because she looks at you.

It's quick, so quick you almost miss it, but you feel it like a pinprick of static against your skin. A flick of her eyes, a fleeting brush of attention, there and then gone. 

Just as swiftly, she's back on Spencer.

Across from you, Spencer freezes for half a second. It's subtle enough that if you weren't staring at him, directly, shamelessly, obsessively, you might have missed it entirely.

Instead, you watch as he carefully schools his expression, turns a page, as if it matters, as if you couldn't see the calculations running in that big, brilliant brain, trying to find the most efficient escape route. 

And then, with a levelness that would be impressive if it weren't so obviously practiced, he finally says, "I don't see how that's relevant."

Morgan's smile is positively wolfish. The kind of smile that spells out, he smells blood in the water. "Oh, so that's a yes."

You watch Spencer. Closely. Nothing. Just that calm, emotionally bankrupt expression as he lifts his gaze, eyes so flat, so opaque, they may as well be made of glass.

"That's an assumption."

But Morgan isn't buying it. And then, he leans in. Hands clasped. You already know where this is going.

"Alright. First question. Is she blonde?"

"I am not doing this," Spencer says flatly.

"So... not blonde."

JJ taps her fingers against the table. "Brunette, then?"

Spencer exhales through his nose, all restrained patience, all carefully manufactured impassiveness. If you didn't know better, you'd think he still wasn't affected by the topic of conversation.

But you do know better.

He does this thing, barely a tell, not noticeable to an unloved eye, where his jaw tenses just slightly, the muscle feathering like a tremor beneath his skin. It's the same thing he does when you're being particularly difficult, when you're testing him, teasing him, saying something so unserious that he refuses to dignify it with anything more than this.

"This is ridiculous."

"You being weird about it is way more suspicious than just answering." Morgan shrugs.

Spencer clamps his mouth shut so hard, it's a miracle his teeth don't crack.

"Freckles?"

Spencer just presses two fingers to his temple like the headache they are causing him has officially become chronic. "This is — as I have said — harassment."

Morgan smirks. "Dimples?"

It stops Spencer mid-motion, like a misfire.

His fingers twitch, pull away from his temple, then hesitate midair, caught between freezing and fixing whatever just broke his expression. His mouth presses into a firm, flat line, but not before he falters, just once, lips parting like a reflexive inhale of shock he didn't mean to take.

JJ practically convulses, hands flying to her mouth as she gasps. "Oh my god, she has dimples!"

"See that? That was a pause, man. You're cooked."

Spencer snaps his book shut, the sound sharp, final, entirely too loud. 

His gaze cuts to you, like maybe he's checking to see if you're as deeply mortified as he is, and then he's back on Morgan and JJ.

"Even if, she hypothetically — had dimples, that means absolutely nothing," he starts, too fast, too precise, like he's clinging to logic as a life raft. "Dimples are present in roughly 20-30% of the population. That is millions of people. Trying to deduce someone's identity from that alone is not only statistically absurd, but frankly, beneath you."

Morgan and JJ exchange a look, one of those wordless, holy shit did he just say that? looks.

"So there is someone's identity to deduce?" 

A pause. A smirk.

"And she has dimples?"

They had kept going. Of course they had. 

More questions, each one shot off like a bullet with no time to dodge. What's her favorite colors? Does she drink coffee or tea? Dogs or cats? Landmine. Landmine. Landmine.

What does she do for work?

That last one had been dangerously close to blowing your cover.

Spencer had paused. Just long enough for you to panic. Long enough for your reflexes to kick in (literally), and you'd kicked him, hard enough in the shin under the table to snap him out of it. He'd blinked once, then shrugged, as casual as ever. 

Something intellectually stimulating, he'd said.

Which was, technically, not a lie. 

And Morgan and JJ had finally, finally let up after a while, though not before making sure Spencer left with at least three lingering smirks, two unsubtle eyebrow raises, and one last dig at his mysteriously happy mood.

It had been exhausting, but that was a tomorrow problem, because now you were home. 

Spencer's couch was too big for him but just right for you, and at some point, you had stopped being separate from him altogether, folded yourself into every available space he had left vacant, legs draped over his, arms wrapped loosely around his waist, cheeks smushed against his chest. 

It wasn't cuddling so much as absorbing him, your entire body molding to his like a particularly determined barnacle.

"You really almost sold us out there," you murmur, basically burrowed into his sweater. Your face is half-hidden, mostly because you are simply too tired to function, but also because he deserves to be shamed for this.

"The dimples, Spencer? Really?"

Spencer sighs, his chest rising and falling beneath you, fingers brushing over your spine. "I can’t help it. I really like your dimples."

You squint up at him. "Yeah, I noticed."

Spencer's lips twitch, just the faintest pull at the corners, like he's not entirely willing to let it happen. "They're cute."

His thumb presses into the hollow of your cheek, just barely, just enough to test it. Like he's confirming that, yes, it's real, it exists, and it belongs to him now.

Before you can roll your eyes and tell him to stop being ridiculous, he leans in.

And kisses it.

Like he's stamping his approval.

You let out a slow, lazy sigh as he pulls back, stretching out against him. "You really need to work on your poker face."

Spencer hums. "You think so?"

"I know so," you tease, shifting just enough to get a good look at him. "I mean, if I had been interrogated like that, I wouldn't have cracked."

His brows lift. "Oh really?"

"Not even a little."

You should have seen it coming, the way his fingers tighten at your waist, the way something sharp and knowing flickers behind those honey-brown eyes, but you don't.

Not until you're flat on your back with the couch swallowing you whole and Spencer braced over you, grinning in pure satisfaction.

"Oh?" His voice is smooth, as he leans in just a little closer, close enough that the warmth of his breath kisses your skin. “So if I decided to test that theory — ask you a few things — you wouldn’t crack?”

Your stomach flips.

"...That's not what I meant."

Spencer's laughter is soft but wicked, full of certainty, full of amusement at your expense. His fingers trace absentminded shapes against your hip, a contrast to the sharp intent in his voice.

"Mm. Too bad." His voice dips lower. "Because I already know you would."

Your part your lips to argue, but no sound comes out.

"See?" he murmurs, brushing his lips over your jaw. "Cracking already."

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[nicksolemnlyswears]

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

[cameronsprincess]

reader being a spoiled “good girl” kook who doesn’t give rafe the time of day with his reputation and treats jj like shit when he does work around her house for her dad. at least until jj’s snap story updates with her getting fucked from behind, the hand gripping her hip hard enough to bruise having that unmistakable signet ring on it and jj’s moans being heard from behind the camera as his cum starts to land on her tear stained face 😌

OH. this has been rotting since the end of july and i’m sooo sorry, i hope you see this sweet nonnie🥺🩷

CW: smut! 18+ only! threesome, jj posts it on his snap story, piv sex, male receiving oral, facial, praise and degrading. rafe ‘n jj are kinda fucked up for this but oh well.

requests | deadly duo masterlist

You’d always been known as the “good girl” on the island. You never got into any trouble, you steered clear of parties, and you definitely didn’t hang out with people who were constantly getting themselves into some shit.

Rafe Cameron was nothing if not persistent, he’d always tried to hit you up, asking what you were doing, wanting you to hang out with him, but you never gave him the time of day, why would you? He was not a good guy, and everyone knew it.

The same goes for JJ Maybank, the well known, most attractive Pogue on the island. You saw him a lot, seeing as your father had hired him to do work around your house a lot. JJ was also quite persistent, always trying to make you crack, bend your own rules, but your walls you’d spent years building up had you treating him like the no-good Pogue he was.

You treated both men pretty unfairly, at least, that’s what the public saw. No one knew that you were secretly a filthy slut behind closed doors for both the Kook and Pogue kings of Kildare Island.

“That’s it, baby, takin’ Rafe’s cock so fuckin’ good aren’t you? That tight little cunt loves to be pounded from behind doesn’t she?”

JJ’s words have your pussy clenching tightly around Rafe’s thick length, pulling a low groan from him. Your bloodshot eyes look up, finding JJ’s ocean-blues, his phone’s camera pointed right down at you.

Wanting to give JJ something good to watch later, you push your head down further, taking his entire length down your throat, eyes never leaving his. JJ groans, his free hand making its way to the back of your head, fingers tightly gripping at the messy, tangled locks. He holds your head down, forcing you to suck in breaths through your nose the best you can.

He slightly tilts his phone up, capturing only Rafe’s toned abdomen and the way his hands were tightly gripping at your hips. His fingers dig into your skin so hard you’re sure you’ll have bruises later, but you’re too fucked out to care. You loved that they were your dirty little secret, loved the way they took turns fucking your throat, pussy and even sometimes your ass. They knew you had a reputation to uphold though, and they didn’t seem to mind the way you treated them in public, so long as they could fuck you like this whenever they wanted, you could do as you pleased in front of everyone else.

“Fuck, Y/N, your pussy feels so goddamn good, gripping my cock like she was fuckin’ made f’me.” Rafe rasps, his thrusts becoming sloppier.

JJ releases your head, allowing you to pull off of him and suck in a much needed breath of air. More tears slip past your lower lashes, making JJ breathe out a dark laugh.

“God, you look so fuckin’ pathetic, cryin’ like a fuckin’ baby while Rafe fucks that sweet cunt and I take this sweet mouth. Go on, suck my cock, princess, it’s aching for you.”

Rafe grunts, his fingers digging into your hips harder as he uses them to pull you back onto his cock, forcing you to meet each of his thrusts.

You lower your head, tongue darting out and softly swirling around the swollen, leaking head of JJ’s cock. He groans, lowering his phone back down to capture you sucking him off again.

“Eyes on the camera, baby. Don’t wanna miss a second of your facial expressions while my cock is down your throat and Rafe fucks you from the back.”

You quickly obey, forcing your eyes to look up and into the camera of JJ’s phone. You begin bobbing your head up and down his length, sucking and licking every last inch of him until you feel his cock pulse inside your mouth.

Rafe groans, slamming his hips forward one final time before his warm, sticky load is filling your pussy. “Fuuuuuck, baby, gonna have you leaking my cum for the rest of the day.” Rafe groans, holding onto your hips as he holds your ass flush against his groin as he rides out his high.

JJ isn’t too far behind Rafe, quickly pulling himself from your mouth and jerking his cock. A low, raspy groan fills the air as his cock twitches, his warm, sticky cum landing on your face and tits. JJ slowly removes his hand from his softening dick, his phone coming down and right in your face as he records the little facial he gave you.

“That’s it, baby. Gotta show everyone whose fucking girl you are, don’t we?”

In your euphoric, fucked out haze, you don’t catch JJ’s words… You just softly nod your head, saying “Yeah… Your girl.”

He and Rafe share a look, laughing lightly between one another before they both remove themselves from your bed, quickly dressing and helping clean you up. JJ tucks you into your bed after they have you completely cleaned up, placing a soft kiss on your forehead and whispering, “Maybe this’ll teach you to be nicer to us in public, baby.”

[littlexdeaths]

𝕝𝕖𝕥’𝕤 𝕘𝕠, 𝕕𝕠𝕟’𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕚𝕥 - 𝕖.𝕞.

eddie munson x shy fem reader

warnings: hope y’all like CHEESE, reader wears glasses

part two | part three

let’s go, don’t wait masterlist

a/n: this is incredibly self indulgent and lame but i hope y’all enjoy xx.

“You’re staring… again.”

Nancy says under her breath, which has your eyes immediately darting away and back down toward your lunch out of sheer embarrassment.

“I was not staring….” you hiss, picking at the pile of peas on your tray.

“Oh, you soooo were,” she laughs, knocking her shoulder into yours. “Why don’t you just go and talk to him?”

You let out an exasperated breath before glancing over at your best friend. She’s giving you that soft yet encouraging gaze that’s entirely Nancy.

“Why would someone like him be interested in someone like me?”

Your voice is softer, but that underlying fear bleeds through nonetheless.

“I’m just so….” you trail off, chewing on your lower lip. “Boring.”

Your eyes have drifted back over to the hellfire table, where they seem to find themselves almost every lunch period now. Totally entranced by the male sitting at the end of the table.

Eddie Munson, dungeon master and local metalhead. Also the guy you’ve been harboring the biggest crush on since your junior year.

He looks even prettier with the afternoon sun shining through the windows of the cafeteria, highlighting the warm chestnut hue of his fluffy curls. His lips are poised in an annoyed pout, fingers drumming on the table in rapid succession while he listens to Dustin’s nervous ramblings.

“He’s just so— outgoing and doesn’t give two shits what these dipshits around here think of him.”

Your lips can’t help but quirk up into a small smile when you witness him tossing a pretzel at Mike’s head.

“You are not boring,” Nancy sighs, her curls bouncing when she shakes her head. “But you’re not gonna know if something could work out between you if you don’t at least try.”

Your snort has her rolling her eyes, but yours are still transfixed on the boy in question. So much so that you haven’t noticed the way your glasses continue to slip down the bridge of your nose.

“I doubt he even knows my name, Nance.”

When your eyes suddenly catch his chocolatey brown ones, you feel mortified. You’ve been very careful about your…admiring during lunch or in between classes. But Nancy had momentarily distracted you, and now you’d been caught red handed.

Unbeknownst to you, this isn’t the first time he’s noticed your wandering gaze. Soft eyes that are filled with the utmost longing and kindness. Someone with a reputation such as Eddie Munson doesn’t have looks like that thrown his way very often.

So it’s no surprise he’s caught on.

But you don’t seem to notice the way he always glances back once you look away, dark eyes seeking out your figure in the halls. The longing of his own for you to finally meet his gaze. But your nose is either stuck in a book or those pretty eyes are trained on your feet.

It was maddening.

You quickly break his curious stare and jump to your feet, missing the way he shoots up from his own chair. You sling your backpack over your shoulder and leave your tray abandoned.

“I gotta go…I’ll see you later, Nance,” you say before she even has time to protest, keeping your head down as you make your way toward the exit.

Mentally still kicking yourself for being caught gawking at him like some bumbling idiot. But your heart leaps into your throat when you hear the slapping of sneakers on the linoleum behind you.

Before you can even process what’s happening you all but collide into a denim clad chest, gasping softly when his arms slip around your waist to catch you before you almost stumble backwards onto your ass.

“Whoa, easy there,” he chuckles, those same pouty lips quirking up into a lopsided grin. “Didn’t mean to scare ya…”

When he releases you, your whole body deflates— already missing the warmth of his palms. Even if it was only for a fleeting moment.

“Uh…sorry, did you need something?” you ask, unable to hide the confusion in your tone.

He purses his lips, twisting his rings on his fingers in almost a nervous manner.

Why would he be nervous?

“I just had a question is all…” he mumbles, “and honestly, I’ve been meaning to ask you this for a while now.”

And your heart nearly stops when he carefully pushes your glasses back up the bridge of your nose.

“You free tonight?”

[tinythebunni]

How bunnyprincess!reader and Rafe met!!

inspired by @rafesangelita @princessbrunette

Rafe always came to the country club on the weekends and on Wednesdays to play golf with his friends. He wore a polo every time and always had his shoes shined pristine. Rafe usually ended up winning and afterwards he’d go inside to sit by the bar or swim in the pool.

After a long and tedious match, Rafe ended up losing. He wasn’t completely locked in on the match due to the argument with Rose this morning.

Walking inside and huffing a sigh, he took off his shirt and slouched in the lounge chair with Kelce and Topper joining him. Rafe ran his hand through his sweaty buzzed hair and used his shirt to wipe his head. He closed his eyes, zoning out the stupid conversation around him.

his head was fucking pounding and their nonsensical ramblings made him even more and more irritated. pinching the bridge of his nose he sighed as he heard someone walking over to them. probably one of those fucking bartenders, he thought to himself.

Rafe was ready to just up and leave at this point but then he noticed 3 things. He could smell the sweet scent of your perfume. Smelled of cupcakes and the sugar cookies his mom would make. Your voice sounded of honey drizzling. And when he opened his eyes, his lashes flutter at how beautiful you were.

“Hai guys! The usual?” you spoke as you pulled out your notepad. your eyes did a sweep over the three guys in front of you, lingering a bit on him. Rafe was very fucking confused, he’d never seen you before and he definitely would know.

Kelce went to open his mouth but Rafe was faster than him. “What’s your name?” He spoke, sounding a little more angry than he meant to.

“Oh i’m sorry if i interrupted your nap, i just know that these two like to-“ He cut you off once more.

“Forget about it bun, ‘m not worried bout it. last fucking thing on my mind right now.”

you blushed and blinked, wide eyed. You told him your name, pen resting on your lip as you looked at him. He introduced himself to you and stood. he towered over you, which was unusual. being tall yourself, you often felt like a giant compared to most guys on the island.

Rafe smirked at your reaction, a laugh bubbling out his throat. You could sense the God inside him, aching to be let out. Maybe you were a bit dramatic but you’re just a teenage girl!

Stepping closer to you, he put his hand on your hip and turned you so that you were right next to him. He slid his hand to the small of your back, whispering a quick come with me to you before turning around and smiling at the boys.

“Rafe come on! Ya can’t keep stealing the pretty girls.” Topper yelled in exasperation, throwing his hands up.

Rafe chuckled before saying something that made your heart flutter. “You don’t gotta worry bout that no more. I want to keep this one. Make her mine and all that” he replied.

As he lead you away to a table in the corner, he asked you little questions. Mainly about your love life, what you were doing at this bar. “girl like you should never have to work. too pretty for all that shit” He added, watching as you glanced down as if your shoes were the most interesting thing in the world.

his thumb tilted your head up and you looked away nervously. “Hey hey. none of that shit. Look at me.” You did as he said, not wanting to lose his attention. “you should have someone providing for you. So you can do all that girly shit yall like and not worry about it.” He watched as you smiled, eating up your reaction. His tounge darts out to swipe at his bottom lip before he speaks again.

“I could be that for you. All my money just rots in my fucking bank account anyways. You want me to be that for you? Could be your boyfriend. Keep your tummy full, nails done, and make you feel good. Whenever you need it.” His words made you flush, your chest blooming with nerves and anxiety. But in the best way possible.

You nodded, your eyes a bit glossy at the casual dominance. You’d always been one to prefer when people take charge about certain things. And this? it was perfect. “Yea. I’d really like dat Rafe.” You stepped closer, making a move. You placed your hand on his chest and stood on your tip toes to kiss his cheek. “Can you wait for me to finish my shift? It’s over in 30 and I wanna talk to you more” you pouted trying to win him over as you regained your confidence.

“Fuck yea!” he said a little too excited. “I mean, yea yea for sure.” he corrected, nodding his head and he turned on his heel. You watched him walk away, noticing the slight bounce in his step.

[rafey-baby]

sweet treat

construction worker!rafe spends his days ‘lifting heavy stuff and building shit’ and is always showing up to the small cafe shy!reader works at all sweaty and white shirt dirtied...

c/w: rafe being flirty, her having the biggest crush on him, suggestive, 18+ mdni!

wc: 1k

hope you enjoy xx

series masterlist

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Every time the golden bell above the door of the coffee shop dings and Rafe’s eyes settle on her soft form, the edges of his mouth tilt up— offering her a lazy grin as he asks what baked good she’d recommend for him to try that day.  

His visits have become something she begins to look forward to, him asking about her day with his raspy voice and big biceps bulging as he leans against the counter; always managing to drag a nervous giggle out of her. She feels like a Pavlov’s dog, her brain tingling and mind buzzing like a bee when the clock ticks away and the time he usually walks through the mustard yellow door approaches.   

And he thinks she’s just as sweet as sugar, especially when she smiles at him all bashful, trying to hide the way her eyes round out and her breath gets caught in her throat whenever he leans closer to her; asking what she’s doing after her shift with a slow drawl.  

And while she’s busy answering, he lifts his thumb to her cheek to swipe away a smudge of flour dusted over the skin there, lingering for a second too long. “Messy girl,” he’d murmur, purposefully trying to make her blush, taunting her.   

Slowly but surely, his visits become the best part of her day when she realizes she’s beginning to harbor fond, gooey feelings towards the slightly older guy who makes a show of loudly humming in satisfaction when he bites into a raspberry chocolate muffin she’s baked, honey dripping from his tongue when he showers her in compliments.   

And he seems to be pleased when she diverts her jittery eyes from his gaze and tries to busy herself with swiping a rag over a spot on the countertop (for the fourth time already), sneaking glances at him indulging in the confectioneries she’s practically forcing him to taste test now because whenever she tries a new recipe, she always wants him to be the first one to try it. And he’s not complaining.   

When he finds out she walks home by herself, even late at night, there’s no other option for him but to insist on driving her home because he doesn’t like the idea of such a pretty girl walking alone in the dark, doesn’t like it at all.   

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t wanna be a bother, m’fine,” she denies him immediately, to which he merely furrows his brows; telling her it wouldn’t be a bother at all since he can often work quite late as well— practically demanding to know what time she gets off that night. And she has no choice but to hesitantly reply, his stern tone almost compelling her to give into his every wish.   

It becomes a routine for them; him waiting for her to finish up cleaning and her mumbling out a soft thank you when he holds the door of his truck open with his palm on the small of her back guiding her inside. Whenever he teases her about being his little passenger princess, she practically melts into a puddle on the seat; trying to hide her flustered face from him, but failing miserably.  

And no matter how many times he’s driven her home, she still feels rather overwhelmed in the small space of his car, a plum tinge heating up her face whenever she feels his eyes on her, catching her staring at his big hands. She doesn’t know why he’s allowed to have such alluring details in the first place; a singular gold ring adorning his index finger and his strawberry lips so inviting.  

Therefore, it’s not really her fault when her mind gets lost in a haze and her brain turns foggy when she notices how his strong arms flex whenever he turns the steering wheel while his thumb taps against the leather. Or when his blunt fingernails scratch at the slight stubble on his face and she wonders how it would feel on the sensitive skin of her inner thighs or— 

“You, uh, you good, sweetheart?” Rafe asks and she blinks, realizing he’s asked her a question. A question her dazed cerebrum has no recollection of.   

“Sorry?” her face burns with embarrassment.  

A low chuckle rumbles from his chest. “What’s on your mind, hm?”   

“Oh, um— nothing, just, uh, tired and…stuff,” she attempts to sound convincing.  

However, his grin only widens. “Yeah? So, you, uh, you tellin’ me you weren’t just checkin’ me out?” his tone turns into something patronizing.   

“What? I— no, no I was just—”  

“Relax, m’just fuckin’ with you,” but there’s a mocking glint in his eyes that indicates she’s not being very subtle. 

“Asked if you were hungry?” he flits his eyes to hers once more.  

“Uh...yeah, sure. Don’t even remember how long it’s been since I ate lunch to be honest,” she starts to ramble, trying to ignore the murky thoughts trying to breach the surface.   

“Why don’t you, uh, come over to my place then ‘n I could make you somethin? Jus sayin’...I’m a great cook. Feels unfair that you’re always the one fillin’ up my belly,” he says as his mind starts to concoct a few other ways he could fill up her belly, willing to bet that she’d let him.   

After all, he’s not an idiot. He sees the way her moony eyes travel down his features whenever she thinks he’s not paying attention— thinks it’s absolutely adorable how sheepish she gets about it. However, he’s hesitant about the right way to approach it, not wanting to scare the shy little thing away.  

Therefore, he opts to warm her up with a homemade meal, and afterwards let her have a sweet treat; fuck her dumb until tears trickle down her cheeks and she’s a whimpering mess. He knows he could make her feel so good, wants to show her just how much she’s missing— wants to make her beg for it and wants to be a little mean about it, but most of all just wants to make her his. 

“Um…okay,” she agrees with a nod of her head because how is she supposed to deny him of anything when he’s looking at her with those eyes that resemble dulcet water puddles? 

[ihangelic]

NICE GUY ꒱ h.taesan

synopsis. taesan climbs through your window bloody and injured, yet all he’s wanting is to know you’re okay pair. taesan x gn!reader genre. angst to fluff (hurt/comfort), bff’s to lovers warnings. ‘unrequited’ to requited love, crying, mentioned ex, protective!taesan, injury/blood, kissing, reader wears mascara, taesan calls reader ‘pretty’, reader lives with parents wc. 1.5k

𓂃 ₊˚⊹ note. woke up this morning with an empty google doc and the need for angst. came up with this and i actually really like it!

copyright of @/ihangelic

crying in your bed isn’t how you planned to spend your saturday night, but when you heard that your ex boyfriend was going around talking shit about you— you didn’t really have the ability to do anything else.

just an hour ago you were getting ready to go to a party, your best friend taesan already in his car to come pick you up and accompany you (as always).

of course you had to get the text just as you were putting on your mascara; a friend of yours texting you that they’re already at said party— but so is your ex. they went on to tell you everything your ex said to his group of friends, yet he spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear; that he wasn’t ever really into you, that he was bored and you seemed ‘easy to get’, that he decided to drop you once you got too annoying.

after that your eyes quickly filled with tears from the humiliation that curved your shoulders, quickly texting taesan that you weren’t going to the party anymore.

he sent you a few confused texts asking ‘what’ and ‘why’ and ‘you wanna do something, just the two of us instead?’. when you didn’t answer, not able to find the energy, he started calling. after the third ring, the small flood of notifications stopped, a few minutes passing before you received one more text from taesan.

it simply read; ‘i heard. i’ll be over in a bit’.

and now you’re here; mascara running in your going-out outfit that’s going to waste as you wait to hear taesan’s car pull up in your driveway.

it’s not like you were ever that attached to your ex. it was a short, unserious relationship; one that you got into because he pursued you first and you thought he was a nice guy. but the more time you spent with him, the more you realized why you were really with him—

for a distraction.

feelings you’d been swallowing down for years, butterflies you refused to acknowledge were in your stomach— not for your ex, but your best friend.

it’s funny how the human mind works, how you can shut things out and lie to yourself until you genuinely believe it, all while your heart knows. it always knows who it really belongs to. and you hate it. you hate how as you’re lying in your bed crying, you’re unsure of what you’re really crying about; the mean words your nobody of an ex said? or is it because the one person you want is constantly by your side, yet not in the way that you want?

a knock at your window has you flinching, lifting your head to see the darkened image of taesan crouched on your roof.

this occurrence isn’t uncommon, but it has you worried every time as you hurry to get up and open your window.

“what the fuck are you doing?” you start scolding before he even steps his first foot inside, voice more harsh than needed as your emotions confuse you. “would it kill you to just use the front door for once?”

“i didn’t want to wake your parents up.” taesan says while looking down, jumping off the window’s ledge and landing on his two feet.

in the soft yellow lamp-light of your bedroom, he finally looks up— and your eyes roam over each other’s faces; taesan’s eyes hardening at your obvious tear streaks, mascara darkening the bottom of your eyes; while your heart drops into the pit of your stomach when you see a bruise already forming on the high of his cheek bone and a split on the far side of his lip.

“…what the fuck did you do?” you ask, voice coming out somewhat whispered and a little rough from your crying.

taesan looks as though he doesn’t even hear you, deep brown eyes still roaming over your features. you hate how you feel your cheeks start to heat up at the tender look of concern— and you hate it even more when his hand slowly lifts to your cheek, almost like he’s cupping your face if it weren’t for how ghostly his touch is— before his thumb starts rubbing off the grey tear stains.

your heart thumps in your chest at the action and you sniff, turning your face away from his touch so you could much more roughly wipe at your own cheeks.

“taesan, answer me.”

“got in a fight.” he answers vaguely, eyes avoiding your demanding ones as he tries to dab some of the blood onto his bent wrist instead, causing you to then notice his bruised knuckles.

“…with him?” you ask, your voice piercing the quiet between you, an odd tension— because you’re not stupid. you can put two and two together that he must have driven to the party without you to confront your ex. you can only imagine the scene it must have caused, but you honestly should have expected it. taesan has always been one to have a short fuse when it comes to how others treat you.

the butterflies that have made home in your stomach seem to want to make sure you haven’t forgotten their presence, fluttering around in a sudden burst and making you feel a little sick.

“he deserved it. he deserves more.” taesan utters, voice dark as he mentions ‘him’.

“but you got hurt in the process.” you say sternly, with a little bite as you take hold of his uninjured hand to lead him to your connected bathroom.

he sits on the ledge of the tub when the warmth of your palm leaves his, watching as you open the cabinet and pull out a washcloth.

“you should’ve seen him though.” taesan jokes, your eyes looking up to glance at his smile through the mirror before he hisses at the sting of his lips being stretched.

“i wish i could have, actually.” you softly admit, and taesan’s happy to see the corners of your mouth turn up a bit.

running the cloth under cold water, you wring it out before folding it and coming face to face with taesan, the boy only having to lift his chin slightly to compensate.

your brows furrow as you gently dab up the blood on his lip, careful with the open wound.

in your concentration you don’t notice how taesan’s soft eyes continue to take you in until he speaks up again— the surprising reverency of his tone, uttered so closely to your face, sending goosebumps across your skin.

“you look really pretty.”

your ministrations pause, eyes moving from his plump lips to his gaze— which you’re too frazzled to think about what emotion they’re holding.

you try to laugh it off, awkward and airy as you shake your head with a little smile. “please. i look like a mess. i have raccoon eyes.”

“no,” taesan disagrees gently. “looks cool, like grunge-y smudged eyeliner.”

you huff through your nose, still smiling as you remove the washcloth from his mouth, rinsing off the blood under the open faucet. once it’s all clean, damp with cold water and neatly folded, you raise your hand with the intention of holding it to his lip again to prevent swelling— but taesan stops you with his fingers curling around your wrist, lowering it so it doesn’t obscure his view of your face.

“i can’t stand knowing you were crying over him— hurt because of him…”

his confession, once again whispered while you swear his eyes glance down to your lips before connecting back with your stare— it has your confusing emotions rousing all over again, like you're scrambling to hold the pieces of your heart together before they can even break, bracing for impact.

“m’ hurt because of you.” you mumble without thinking, eyes widening in panic when you realize the words you just said out loud.

“what?” taesan asks, bewildered yet desperately wanting to understand.

you attempt to escape his hold on your wrist and run like a coward from the situation— from your feelings; but taesan doesn’t let you, standing up and pulling you captive into his arms.

“don’t make me wait anymore.” he pleads, breath fanning against your face as the proximity between you has lessened even more. “say what’s on your mind.”

and suddenly there’s nothing; everything in your head quiets except for the beat of your heart and a voice that tells you to lean into his lips. and so you do, the magnetic pull of taesan’s eyes helping you inch closer, meeting you halfway until the warm press of his skin is against yours.

the moment you touch, it’s like you’re both breathing in your first breath of life, ribs expanding before sighing and melting deeper into each other’s arms. taesan’s kiss is so wanting, yet careful— as though you’re the one with an injury.

your hands grab onto taesan’s shirt as if to confirm this is real— real enough to feel between your fingers. his arm wraps more firmly around the curve of your spine while his other hand cups your cheek, and it’s like you fit together perfectly.

when you part, taesan’s eyes still have that magnetic energy— unable to look away from his gaze that’s now completely ungaurded, more open than you’ve ever seen him before.

“say it…” he yearns, warm palm still holding your cheek— and suddenly it’s like words are easy.

“i love you.”

[nescence]

Marriage life

JJK men x Fem!Reader

Summary - Basically just you and him in a marriage. Both wholesome and smutty. Involves: Gojo, Getou & Nanami

Warnings: Mirror sex, pervert Getou, praising, masturbating, massage sesh with Nanami ;), overstimulation.

PT2 pending…..

GOJO

You and Gojo are pretty much the rich aunty and uncle. You don’t have kids because your sister has pretty much filled that hole for you and babysitting the two twins is enough.

Movie night is a must with you guys. It’s relaxing and comforting especially on rainy days. So before bed when the kids are over you either watch horror or comedy, all snuggled up in a blanket. Gojo is always the last to fall asleep, it’s like he’s programmed to stay awake and protect you - always being the one to carry each of you to bed carefully.

“Satoru?” You mumble as your body is carefully placed onto the bed. You hear him hum as he covers you up. “The kids…” you trail off, sleep still in your body. He joins you in bed placing a kiss on your cheek then lips. “took care of em, get some beauty sleep” he reassures, arms sneaking around your waist, pulling you closer to him planting another on your forehead before you snuggle into him. The warmth emitting his body immediately putting you to sleep. His embrace has always been comforting, bringing you a sense of saftey you couldn't describe.

Clinginess, Gojo can be clingy whenever you’re off to work. He found it ridiculous why you would want to work in the first place. He had enough money for generations upon generations so you working was always baffling to him. Who in their right mind would work willingly?.

Sweets. You guys could make a factory with the amount of sweets you had in your cupboards. Maybe that’s why he always has an unbelievable amount of energy. Even in bed.

Practically a house husband.

“How’s my beautiful wife doing today?” Spreading his arms wide, Gojo pulls you into a hug. You were tired but you gladly accepted it, letting yourself fall into his hold. His arms remain at your hips staring down at you. “You’re glowing” his eyes sparkle, and you frown.

“Really? I thought I looked like shit” you say but he shakes his head “that’s weird…didn’t use anything new”. Once those words came out your mouth Gojo grins. “I could think of a reason why” his tone was cheeky, eyebrows wriggling as he stares down at you. Realising what he meant, you groan pinching his nipple which makes him jump.

“Ya nasty” rolling your eyes with a smile on your face.

Always, always praising you.

“Look at you…” Gojo practically whispers to himself, watching his fingers circle your wet clit through the mirror. Your body twitching under his electrifying touch, the way the tip of his middle finger delicately presses against your clit has you shaking for mercy. Licking his lips hungrily, his eyes observe. A fucking. Sight. To see.

Your brows curled and bottom lip disappears underneath your teeth. Legs broadened - felt embarrassing to you - like a work of art mirrored at gojo, granting him the sight of every inch and surface of his wife; your pussy glosses under the soft lighting of your bedroom, keeping his glistening cock cosy within whilst drops of cum seep out, running down his length. Your low whimpers sounding like the desperate cry of a pup. Face stained with dried tears. And Gojo loves it, bringing you to such a state to show how much he adores your body, how a stunning woman like you should be treated - he wants to give you nothing but pure pleasure caused by him and him only.

“Ahn~~” you moan, trying your best to keep your legs open as Gojo continues teasing your abused clit. Your sensitivity at a high due to your nonstop cumming. “You’re soo..beautiful [Name]” He lulls into your ear, mouth against your heated skin as he speaks. “Look baby, look” he stops fidgeting with your bud, your eyes avert to his in the mirror. “Don’t ya look fucking gorgeous?” Mouth parted as he speaks, breathing hungrily as he takes your hand into his. Guiding your fingers through your folds, making you spread yourself nice and wide for him to marvel at how well you suck him in, he hisses feeling you squeeze him along with the gorgeous sight. He has your fingers run through your slit, gathering both his and your essence. You exhale at the action any light touch on your clit making you twitch. “Bet you taste as good you look” his eyes lock onto yours, “hmm?”. Your gaze never leaves his blues as he guides your hand up to your lips, the pure intimacy in your eyes as your lips fall open, giving him the opportunity to push your fingers into your mouth. Closing it shut, you relish in the sweet taste of you and your husband, moaning vulgarly as you suck and swirl your tongue around your digits. Causing your husband to further expand within you.

His eyes, lost in yours, clouded by his lust whilst he watches you swirl your hips. Gaining whatever friction from his cock Sitting deep within your walls. All the while you’re lost in the motion, your eyes rolling shut revelling in the sensation. Your sucking becoming weak as you grow a knot within your stomach, mouth loosening and drool running down your chin. Drunk with sweet bliss.

Fucking hell. You’re killing him.

“Fuck…c’mere” his hand faces you towards him, lips immediately magnetise. Giving Gojo a chance to taste both you and him. Hungrily devouring you, not giving you a bit of control as his tongue rolls, leading you whilst moaning. Gojo sucks In a breath feeling your soft walls pulsate and squeeze his girth, his lips hung on yours. Letting out pleasured breaths as he finally moves his hips again, nicely…slowly…gliding his length up into your drenched hole. His name rolls off your tongue barely above a whisper, Gojo lazily kisses you as his mind is now elsewhere, gradually increasing his speed now that both his hands held onto your hips. A yelp slips your tongue feeling his swollen tip hit your cervix. The creamy mess of your cum reaching both ears, evidence of your unceasing sex. Whatever words Gojo grunts out falling into deaf ears, a feeling of rapture throughout out your body. Your vision blurry due to a well up of tears, eyes glued to the ceiling, mouth remaining parted as rhythmic moans are beat out your throat every time Gojo’s hips bounced you upwards.

“Your pussy’s so goood [Name]” Groaning, Gojo spouts out whatever comes into his mind. Big hands squeezing the flesh of your hips whilst he enjoys your cunt socked on him. “Feels so- so good baby- fuck” he grunts eyes catching the motion of his length disappearing into your pussy, a white ring of cum developed around his base. A reminder of your previous rounds, and yet he couldn’t get enough.

Seeing your head hung over his shoulder, tits bouncing, tears streaming….He wants more, he needs to make his wife feel just how fucking amazing she is to him.

GETOU

One thing about Getou is his acts of service, that's his love language. He'd help you with your hair, help with cooking despite being horrible at it. Anything he feels would burden you he'd do it.

Despite his act of service, you love returning the favour - one thing between you two is you self care days. Getou only doing it because of you. You'd help him out with his long silky hair, massaging his scalp, oiling his face. all sorts.

"Is it nice" you whisper softly, smiling as you watch him relax into you. His eyes remain closed as he hums, enjoying the feeling of your fingers scratching his scalp. You chuckle, reaching to get a serum for his face, whilst applying it you lean over to place a peck onto is lips. Getou’s purple eyes fluttering open to be met with the face of his beautiful wife, a fond smile spreads across his face as he watches the softness in your expression as you scrub his scalp. You’re always so gentle and pulpous with him. Just like he his with you.

He reaches his hand to take yours in, you let him although caught off guard. His lips meet your skin, a gentle kiss from him on your hand.

One thing you both love are drives, it didn't matter the destination or if there even is a destination. You both found amusement in having long drives either in comforting silence or with music. And during all that Getou's hands dont leave yours, interlocking your fingers in silence no matter how sweaty it gets he doesn't let go. Unless you stop for a snack.

Whenever your clothes go missing/ get damaged. Getou doesn't hesitate in replacing them. One day a bra or shirt of yours would be gone and the next day it'll be there right where you left it all brand new. Even if when you point out something you like, it'll be in your possession the next day.

Speaking of clothes getting damaged or lost. The reason being?. Your husband. Despite his cool demeanor and being your husband, Getou is a pervert for you. Stealing your clothes, enjoying their scent as he fucks himself using them. Just to make up for when you're not there.

You had gone out to meet your best friend because of an alleged emergency. And now Getou is left alone with his thoughts.

1 hour later, he finds himself watching a show to pass time. Frequently checking his phone to see if you’ve messaged him or called. But nothing. It doesn’t help when the last thing you said to him was hinting at something, something he knew very well what to be.

‘I have some things I wanna try out with you…’

Those words ring in his head and his mind goes into the gutter. Immediately thinking of the videos he came across on your laptop. You’ve both never done that before. Maybe?….

2 hours later, fuck… he groans into his hands. Unable to focus on the show. His dick was aching…throbbing for a release he can’t bear to resist any longer.

10 minutes past, and Getou finds himself digging through your dirty laundry. Eyes laying on that one lace panty he loves on you. He doesn’t waste time pulling the band of his sweats down to set himself free, tip angry and leaking with precum. Veins popping as if he was gonna explode. His mouth goes agape, letting out sharp breaths once he brings the piece of cloth to his nose. His free hand rubs his inflated tip whilst deeply inhaling the musky scent of your cunt.

“Fuck…Baby.” He gasps, eyes rolling as he begins to stroke his cock. Imagining your flooded hole welcoming him in. Desperately pumping him. “Sssshit [name]” he amps up speed, bringing the lace down to wrap around himself. He needs you. He needs so bad and you’re not here.

“[Name], [Name], [Name]— fuck ah—”

It’s not enough. He needs more, he’ll never cum this way. His hips buck into his hand in attempt to gain more friction, to replicate your gummy walls bouncing up and down him. Milking him. Emptying his balls till he’s all dried up.

“Yes baby…shit— ah- ah-”

His hand moves at an alarming speed, his release is right there. Within reach. A few more pants and strokes before he’s finally done, ropes of cum covering your laced panty, Getou hunching over as the release hits him hard. He groans, letting out a few breaths before looking at the mess he made.

All that mess and he’s still hard.

5 minutes pass.

“I need you- I need you-” Getou’s humping your pillow like a dog, rolling his hips into the soft cushion head thrown back at the frictions. “Ohhh fuck, fuck.” already chasing his third orgasm, his tip sensitive and red from the action. Pillow soaked with his cum and sweat running down his torso. Your lace panty lays on the floor all stained with his seed, Getou payed it no mind. Telling himself he’d get rid of it later and buy you a new one tomorrow. Now a new pillow too. Your name chants from his lips multiple times, your face appearing to him every time he closes his eyes.

He just. Couldn’t. Get. Enough.

He wants his dick to be squeezed, drenched, overstimulated to his limit. Your moans, his name leaving your soft lips in a scream. Everything about you makes his thrusts harder. Sweet moans leave his lips, as he goes harder. His mind filled with your every being, voice, touch.

“Suguru”

“Agh…fuck…yes baby” Your voice sounded so real, Getou could only throb at the sound.

“What’re you doing?” Sounded too real, his head snaps to your doorway. Seeing you stood eyes wide as you watch your husband hump your pillow shamelessly. Even then he doesn’t stop, eyes locked on yours feeling not only his heart but his cock best at the sight of you. He should stop, he should stop. He repeats in his head, but his body refuses, the pure sight of you bringing him closer to a finish.

“[Name]” he grunts, face red and hair stuck to his skin. “I need you…please- please-” begging you, his voice cracks, the sounds going straight to your already wet core. And of course, you couldn’t deny it.

NANAMI

One thing about Nanami is his consideration. No matter the situation he’s always have you first in mind. After work he’d always stop by the convenience store to buy you your favourite snacks. Now you have a whole cupboard full of it.

Compared to him, you have much more energy than he does. So every time he’d try his best to entertain your interests since it makes you happy.

Just like Gojo - he praises you every chance he gets.

“Awww kento what’s this” you pick up the stunning dress from the bed, admiring the way it shimmers under the light.

Nanami watches you with a small smile, your eyes sparkling just like the dress “It reminded me of you” he mumbles just enough for you to hear before your throwing your arms around him “Thank you so much. I love it.” You place a long kiss on his cheek, his arms wrap around your waist staring into your eyes as he spoke. “Why don’t you try it on? Since you like it so much let’s show it off” your brows perk up in shock. But then again, you should be used to this.

An hour later you’re coming out the bedroom all dressed up. The light in Nanami’s eyes glows once he lays them on you. What a beauty you are…

“I don’t know what I did in my life to deserve you” He speaks without thinking, reaching his hand out for you to take. “Oh stop it” you wave your hand, giggling like a Highschool girl receiving a compliment from her crush for the first time.

“I’m only stating the truth my love”.

Speaking of showing off. Nanami would never waste a chance to take you out, bringing you to restaurants, making sure you have your fill. Overall showing off his beautiful wife to let the world know how much of a lucky man he is to be graced with such a woman.

Working overtime is a habit Nanami can’t seem to get over. And because of that days or even weeks go by without you guys having that intimate time together. And Nanami, of course, always manages to make it up you.

“This is the least I can do. And no, you can’t return the favour” He speaks sternly, lifting you off the floor - hooking a hand underneath your knees and another around your torso.

“But you’ve been working. A lot. May I add and I’ll feel bad Kento” you argue as he places you on top of the massage bed. He plants a kiss onto your head, walking towards a cabinet “take your robe off”.

You watch him, annoyed by his disagreement. But oblige, a massage isn’t something you can easily pass on. And by your husband? You know it’ll be the best massage of your life. You lay face first on the bed, shuffling so you could get comfortable. You felt slightly chilly since Nanami suggested you go completely naked. But you have no complaints since it’s him.

“You ready?” He checks, his voice coming from your right.

“Mhmm”

Once you said that you felt a cool liquid dripping onto your back. The temperature sending shivers throughout your whole body. Your eyes close feeling his hands rub your back, spreading the oil whilst applying pressure.

“Relax for me [Name]” He spoke so calmly, so softly, it could put you to sleep. And on command you did. Relaxing just as your husband instructs, letting out hums of satisfaction whenever he hits the right spots. “Does it feel good?”. Fuck, his voice. That smooth, deep voice that you love so much. You’re trying so hard to ignore it, to not think so inappropriately about this innocent session.

“Yeah…you’re really good at this hun” you add, feeling his hands right above your rear, circles around your lower back. When he hits a specific spot you moan. “Right there Kento” you hiss as he goes back to area again, circling it until you’re satisfied “S’that good?” He inquires, making sure he’s done enough. And you nod, enjoying the tension being released.

Once he’s done with your back, he moves down to your legs, massive hands rubbing intently. Lathering them with oil. Doing to them what he did with your back.

You feel his hand move upward, now kneading your ass which caught you off guard. But you’re not complaining, rather, you giggle “Saving the best for last?” You imply, hearing Nanami sigh as he continues massaging.

“I won’t give you the satisfaction of my answer” You could hear the smile in his tone. But you don’t push on, enjoying the feeling of his hands on your body.

“Give me a sec”

Once he’s done, you hear his footsteps receding. Coming back after a few seconds later but he doesn’t do anything other stand there.

“Kento? What’re you doi— Ah!—” your husband causes you gasp as his fingers run through your folds with a cold oil. “K-Kento” your eyes expand, letting out a pleasured yelp as you hand springs to grip the massage bed. His fingers stuff you up so well, your insides already writhing. Turning you to mush as your husband's fingers slither deeper within you - the oil making it easier but also acting as an enhancement to your pleasure. What the fuck? you've felt good before but right now... you felt elated. And your moans only grew more intense as he went on.

“Judging from your reaction I made the right choice buying this oil.” He comments, fingers dragging in and out from your sopping cunt. Your eyes squeeze shut as you feel heat pool at your core, his fingers fucked you so good it’s almost embarrassing how they could bring you to this state.

“It’s only the two of us here my love. No need to restrain yourself” And with those words, a stimulation to your clit had you yelping. “Kento!”.

“Yes?”

Nanami is answered with a mewl, your body writhes beneath him. Legs springing up as a result of the overwhelming pleasure. Every once of your body felt hot. You felt goosebumps by your lower back where your husband’s hand laid whilst the other digs into your pussy, bringing you closer to climax.

“Too…ah…too much…” you barely manage to get your words out, constantly falling back into that world of pleasure. Mind solely focused on how your husband’s fingers glide against your sensitive walls, how they rub against clit. Oh…you were so close…and it didn’t go unnoticed by Nanami, he felt your cunt clench around his digits. And with that your husband increases his speed, your body tenses. Legs stretching, and hands clenching as you were on the edge of climax.

Before you knew it. Flashes blind your vision as you came. Soaking your husband’s fingers with your juices.

Nanami gives you a chance to catch your breath, soothing you with a hand massaging your back. But he doesn’t let it prolong for too long since he still had to move into the second part of this massage session.

✦ Finally back on my grind.

[matchingbatbites]

The woman is fucking stunning. A goddess amongst mortals, a vision sent from the heavens to bless any who may see her. Eddie could honestly go on, but she has to return her focus to the man currently standing at the counter and not the beauty that just walked through the door.

"Here's your change," she says as she passes over the few coins and receipt. "Pickup is at the end of the counter, and they'll call your name when it's ready.

The man gives Eddie his thanks before walking away, and then Aphrodite incarnate is stepping up to the counter. God, she's even more beautiful up close. The slant of her nose, the artful swoop of her chestnut hair - the twin moles on her cheek that are eerily familiar for a reason Eddie can't quite place.

"Welcome to Black Roast Café, can I have a name for your order?"

"Hi there," the woman says with a soft smile, and god, Eddie feels bad for ever making fun of Jerry Maguire. You had me at hello, indeed. "Uh, Stevie is fine."

Eddie nods and types the name into the system. "Okay, Stevie, what can I get you?"

The woman - Stevie - doesn't even look at the board before she rattles off her order. "Can I please get a large, iced caramel latte, with three shots of espresso, a pump of white chocolate, and extra whip? Oh, and a butterscotch blondie."

Eddie's brain shudders to a halt. The order is specific, unique, and it's one she's heard before, from- well if she's being honest, from the only man that's ever made Eddie question her lesbianism.

Steve had been so beautiful and so kind. He was her absolute favorite customer before he'd moved away two years ago, following his best friend when she transferred to a different university to complete her master's. Eddie had mourned just a little, had grieved the loss of sunshine he brought to her days.

Eddie's eyes snap to the two moles on the woman's cheek and everything clicks into place. "Oh shit! You're back!" she says, her filter absolutely failing her. Stevie's smile fades a bit, replaced with a tinge of nervousness as she shifts in place.

"Oh, uh, I didn't- I wasn't expecting you to-"

"Remember you?" Eddie cuts in as she finally punches the order into the register. "Honestly, your order is a hard one to forget. Clearly I was right about all that sugar going to your hips."

It's a gentle tease, one she used to make back when- before, because the order really is just so sweet. It works the way Eddie hoped it would, because Stevie just laughs softly and smooths her hands over her full, curvaceous - fuck, Eddie, head out of the gutter - her hips.

"Yeah, I could probably stand to cut back a little, huh?"

"Don't you dare," Eddie retorts, offended at just the suggestion. "If anything I encourage more, because you're- you look amazing, actually."

The woman blushes, so pink and pretty, and bites into her lower lip the way Eddie wants to. "You think so?" she asks as she hands her card over to Eddie.

"Uh, totally. Like, you were attractive before - and that's coming from a lesbian - but now you-" Eddie pauses, taking a second to run the card as she shrugs. "You're like, glowing. And it only makes you more beautiful."

There's no response from Stevie as the receipt prints, and it's not until Eddie is handing back the card that she sees the stunned look on Stevie's face, her flush even darker. Fuck, that might have been too much.

Before Eddie can apologize though, Stevie takes her receipt and blurts out "I think you're hot."

Huh?

"You do?" Eddie asks, and Stevie nods.

"I've always thought you were hot. But you have the little-" She points to where Eddie's nametag is, to the little lesbian flag sticker that she stuck on it. "The sticker, and like- My best friend, Robin? She's also a lesbian, and she's talked about how annoying it is when guys hit on her and I didn't want to be like that, so I never said anything."

God, Stevie's just as sweet as she used to be, and much more considerate than Eddie even knew. She probably wouldn't have minded getting hit on by Steve at the time, and now that Stevie is standing before her, more beautiful than she's ever been and claiming that she finds Eddie attractive? Well, there's no way Eddie can't make a move.

"How long are you in town?" Eddie asks.

"Oh, uh, we just moved back, actually. Robin finished her master's program and got a job at a local museum translating documents and artifacts."

"Okay, that's cool as hell and I definitely want to hear more about that, but first- Do you want to go out with me? Like, on a date?"

The question seems to surprise Stevie, and it takes her a second to process it. "Are you sure? Even though I'm-"

"The most beautiful woman I've ever seen and way out of my league? Yeah, I'm pretty sure, sweetheart. And I'm not above begging if I have to."

Stevie blushes again and oh, Eddie is already addicted to the way it floods her cheeks, is in love with how alive, how happy she looks. "Then yeah, I'd really, really like that." She grabs a pen from the nearby cup and scribbles her number on the back of her receipt before passing it to Eddie. "Call me when you're off?" she asks, and Eddie nods, beaming.

"The moment I clock out," Eddie promises, and Stevie giggles - giggles! Stevie's name is called and Eddie is thankful that the store is practically empty, because for a second there she genuinely forgot where she was.

Stevie gives her a wink and a "Talk to you later, Eddie," and Eddie barely waits for her to leave the store before she's adding Stevie's number into her phone.

"Okay," Chrissy says as she slides up beside Eddie. "Who is she and how did you get her number so easily?"

Eddie grins as she saves the new contact under Stevie 🩷🌹😍 "That, darling Christine, is my future wife."

[gotta-winwin]

OT13 Reaction -- to you asking them what their fave juno pose is

a/n: hellooo!! im curious what juno poses you guys think the boys would be into... feel free to send an ask with the pose (asks with media + anon are open!) - favourite one gets its own spinoff oneshot :)

MINORS DNI

tw: sexual positions, allusions to sex, boner talk

not proofread, if you don't like it - don't interact!

seungcheol is initially taken aback at the question. you ask it so innocently, so out of the blue - and he can feel his heart skip a beat at the mere pictures that are being conjured by his mind at the mention of you in any of those poses. he regains his confidence quite quickly though, proudly pulling up his favourite pose and eyeing you as you splutter. so, honey? reminds me of that one night we...

throwing up a shit eating grin, jeonghan takes the question with ease. he's been expecting it - he knows you well and ever since you sent him that reel, he's been preparing his answer. i personally really enjoy this one he'd say while showing you, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively in a way that makes you snort in laughter. 100% expects action later. you were the one who brought it up babyyy...care to follow through?

you cannot tell me this man doesn't prefer missionary over anything else. joshua loves seeing your face through it all, so asking him this question probably isn't going to get you anything you didn't already know. he blushes at the thought of it, shyly muttering under his breath that he likes it best when he can see your pretty face and hold you.

jun blinks, not quite getting what the fuck a "juno" pose is. he nods along as you show him his "options," turning red at the particularly scandalous ones and cringing at the ones he knows ya'll can't pull off. i don't think you're that flexible, baobei. he'd say, more worried he'd accidentally break you if you guys attempted the pose.

like with anything else, soonyoung is excited to answer your question. don't be surprised if he pulls out a powerpoint specifically for the occasion, listing out the pros and cons of each pose and the probability of how much he'd enjoy it. he's passionate with everything he does - and what better thing to be passionate about than fucking the love of his life?? lowkey ends up not being able to choose just one favourite. he likes variety in his sex life, thank you very much.

wonwoo stares at you once you're finished asking, bluntly dropping his answer and moving on with his day. he lowkey thought it was already obvious what his favourite one was?? you guys do it every time?? it's his default?? he calmly (a bit too calmly for the topic) explains to you why it's his favourite, giving you all the stats. well, it's easier to move - and you're more comfortable, and- you'd think he was giving a persuasive essay by the way he goes on and on.

you know better than to ask jihoon without first sending him the reel, asking him to check his message and to watch it. he sends back a screenshot of his favourite pose, a little miffed that this was the reason you interrupted his recording session but answering you nonetheless because he loves you. he tries to return to work, although the thoughts of you in that pose is sending him reeling. ends up giving in to his urges and rushing back home to test out his theory. told you that was the best pose, he'd say after destroying your insides.

again, a strong believer that minghao is secretly very kinky but prefers missionary because it allows him to feel the closest to you. reveals to you that his absolute favourite isn't on the juno pose list because sabrina would be canceled for acting it out - gives you that look, silently challenging you if you'd like to try it. don't pretend it doesn't excite you, love.

seokmin's face is burning the moment you ask the question, stuttering violently through his words as his brain computes your question. shyly points to his favourite pose, cringing into his hands as he awaits your reaction. why would you ask me that right before i have to go to work? he'd complain, hating how inconvenient being turned on could be during practice.

mingyu's got that shit eating grin on his face similar to jeonghan's, although his is more of a i think we should test all of them before i choose one type of grin. you can tell by the way he's eyeing you that he's already picturing you in those poses. i don't know, babe, he'd drawl out, reaching over to grab your waist. i think you should give me a refresher before i pick.

seungkwan's the one that asks you for your favourite juno pose, curious to know which one you prefer yourself to be in. it ends up being a whole conversation - riling both of you up as you discuss the pros and cons of each pose, leading to you guys ending up in the bedroom. who's idea was it to talk about this again? you know what, i don't care - c'mhere.

by the way vernon's looking, you can tell he's thinking about his answer like it's the most serious thing in the world. you let him think, sitting there in silence as you watch the guy contemplate. anyone else would think he was making a major life decision, with the way his eyebrows are furrowed and his eyes are full of concentration. finally deciding, he picks one that surprises you. idk, i know we've never done it before but i feel like i'd enjoy it. and you'd look so hot like that babe.

chan sends you his favourite juno pose before you can even ask. a cheeky lil grin on his face, he asks if you guys could try it out, his eyes sparkling with mischief and his boner already prominent. he's imagining you fucked out in the position that he's chosen and he- well, it's not his fault he can't control himself. you'd look sooo hot, babe. he'd persist. i'll take care you.

[void-my-warranty]

Ghost Gets You Ready to F**k Johnny (18+)

Service Dog Johnny Part 3 (full part list here)

Pairing: Simon Riley/Fem Reader/Johnny MacTavish Content Warnings: Nudity, light foreplay, she/her reader Word Count: 2.6k

“She’s just tired.”

Simon’s words vibrate against your ear, drawing you out of the half-doze you were floating towards. 

You crack your eyes open a little, convinced that you haven’t missed anything since cuddling into your boyfriend’s arms, but unable to remember what Johnny said last. It’s hard to see much of anything, now that it’s fully nighttime and the flames of the fire have died to mostly coals. 

“Thinkin’ I scared her off?” Johnny quietly asks from his patio chair nearby. In your peripheral vision you can see the toe of his boot bounce atop his knee. 

They must think you’re asleep. 

You really should make some indication that you’re awake, but being the incurable snoop that you are, you quickly shut your eyes again and make sure your breathing is steady. 

“Hardly,” your boyfriend says with a definite note of amusement. “She’s been shaving every fucking day since. Haven’t you, love?”

“Shut up,” you grumble, half heartedly smacking his squishy, relaxed pec. You have been shaving. Everything.

“They run her ragged at work,” Simon explains. “Poor thing’s too knackered to get it up.”

“I’m going to stab you in the neck,” you promise, peeling your face off his chest to glare at the faint smudge of his features in the darkness. 

Simon just flicks your nose, and you know he’s got that lazy smirk on his face. You figured out early on in the relationship that he loves affectionate threats of violence. 

The thing is, you’re not too tired to get it up. You’ve been slightly wet ever since you found out Johnny was coming over for dinner, and you’re pretty sure if you went to bed with him right now, you’d be quite taken care of without having to lift a finger. But when you finally fuck him, you want it to be actually good for him. Especially after his generosity last time. 

“I’m not too tired to do it,” you finally tell Johnny, thankful he can’t see your face in the darkness. “I’m just too… relaxed.” 

God, that came out wrong. The truth is that at the moment you’re feeling too happy and peaceful to be hyper vigilant about everything that could go wrong, all the ways you could mess it up. You know, the way you need to be, the first time you fuck Johnny. 

“Too relaxed? What sort of ideas has LT been feeding ya, lass?”

“That’s all this one,” Simon gruffs. “Thinks everything’s meant to be stressful.”

“I do not!” You protest, then address Johnny with a quieter tone. “You just didn’t get anything for yourself the last time, and I want to make sure it’s good for you.”

“A nice, lazy pump is some of the best shit there is,” Johnny counters.

“You’d get a fuckin prize to get this one’s knickers untwisted,” Simon teases. “First time she ever showed me—“

You cut him off before he can ruin your image any more than it already is. “I’ve had boyfriends before, you know. I’m not new to this.”

“Knobs, the lot of them,” Simon supplies unhelpfully.

“They were… perfectly normal guys.”

Both men make noises of disgust. 

“You know what?” you announce, clambering off your boyfriend’s lap and pointing right at Johnny. “I’m awake now, and I will fuck you.”

You don’t stop to reconsider, you just storm back through the sliding glass door into the house. They aren’t laughing, at least. There are no voices behind your back as you close the door - humiliatingly gentle, unfortunately, as you have to be with those doors - and go shut yourself in the bedroom. 

The bed you share with Simon looms in front of you, with just the one lamp casting a warm glow over the corner. You might even flop yourself down on the mattress for a minute to pull yourself together, except the blanket is so flawless and smooth, it feels like vandalism. 

It’ll get roughed up when you get fucked, though. Those perfectly straight pillows might as well be Simon’s fingerprint, and you’re about to mess them up with your inability to be content with the best relationship you could ask for. 

You caused this. If you had just hidden away your unsatisfied body, maybe even faked some orgasms or something, none of this would have happened. You wouldn’t be fucking leaking into your underwear at the idea of someone else fucking you, and you definitely wouldn’t have two men sitting in the backyard right now, laughing about it.

The most torturous mix of arousal and guilt whirls through your gut, so you cross over to the bathroom and shut yourself in there, too. You flip the light on and your own stricken face stares back in the mirror, hair mussed and eyes wide. Dammit. You’re spiraling.

Simon forgets sometimes that you’re not one of the guys. You can’t take his little roasts like they can, especially in front of other people. It’s just because Johnny’s here, has to be. He’s used to joking around with his friends all day, and you’re being stupid for letting it affect you. 

Thoughtlessly you slump onto the sink counter, laying your forearms down on that cool surface and resting your face in the dark cradle of your arms. It’s nice here. Quiet. You can feel your pounding heart start to slow, can take in a deeper, steadying brea—

The distant sound of the bedroom door opening has your muscles immediately locking into place. You strain your ears for male voices, but hear nothing. No footsteps, either, though the carpet doesn’t allow much noise.

The bathroom door opens behind you. You stay there listening for the reprimand, but Simon doesn’t say anything. It’s definitely him standing in the doorway, watching your back rise and fall with the artificial cadence of your forced breathing. 

“I’m so embarrassed,” you finally confess into the dark void of your arms, “and so horny.”

There are a few seconds of silence where you desperately hope he’s not rolling his eyes at your dramatics. But Simon only mumbles, “I’m sorry, love. Force of habit, I shouldn’t have—”

His words cut off when you fling yourself around and bury your face in his chest, squeezing him around the middle like you can erase everything if you just lock your arms hard enough. He wraps you up just as tight, resting his chin on your head the way he likes to do. 

“Is Johnny still here?” you ask, all muffled in your boyfriend’s chest.

“He was just offered a shag, of course he is.”

Relaxing your hold, you peek your head under Simon’s arm, just to glimpse Johnny sitting right there on the edge of the bed a few feet away. As soon as he notices you, his eyes shoot to the ceiling, expression innocent as if he’s just here to study the drywall. 

You make a nervous noise in your throat and shift back into Simon’s chest, only to feel something completely unexpected pressing into your belly. 

Stiffening in surprise, you jerk your chin up to get a look at your boyfriend’s— sheepish— face. 

“Ahh, yeah,” he sighs. “Sorry.”

Wait. 

It’s not just you?

A wild surge of relief expands in your chest. You can feel it break out across your face in a slow, impish smile that you do nothing to hide. 

Simon’s lips twitch at the corners, eyes going lazy and lidded as they trace over your face. He’s going to enjoy this. It’s not just about you, because he’s actually going to get off on watching you getting fucked. This isn’t like a chore for him, this is where he actually wants to be.

“I don’t want to kiss,” you impulsively tell Johnny, craning your neck to look at him past Simon’s bicep. 

His beautiful, clear eyes abandon their study of his boots to meet your gaze. “Alright.”

“Pretty much anything else is fine. You can trust me to tell you no.”

Hesitantly he reaches down to his shoelace, beginning to untie it. “Alright.”

You blink, flashing through the sequence of events in your head and finding a snag. “Do you have a condom?” you ask uncertainly. 

“Aye.”

“Okay.” Shit. What now? How do you elegantly go from moping in the bathroom to riding Johnny?

“One moment,” Simon interjects, nudging the bathroom door shut with his foot.

You take a nervous step away from him, bumping into the sink thanks to the tiny bathroom. “What?”

Simon tilts his head, narrowing his eyes at you in that way that means he’s about to be right about something. 

“What?” you whisper again.

“You’re good. You know that, yeah? You’re a good person.”

“I know,” you lie, swallowing. Where is this coming from?

“You’re not listening.” He hooks his fingers into the belt loops of your jeans, tugging you a half-step closer. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I know.” You try to hold his eyes, but it’s difficult because you do have buckets and buckets of shame weighing you down. 

“I know you, darling.” His fingers give your jeans little tugs while he methodically works the button free, then unzips them. The tone of his voice is slow and warm now. Patient, like you don’t deserve him to be. “You’re good, and you’re considerate, and there’s no one’s word I would trust above yours.”

You can feel the pressure of his knuckle against your pubic bone, unnecessarily repeating the slide down it that he did with the zipper. It feels good. 

“Thanks,” you mutter, because really, what do you say to that? 

That gentle touch happens again, this time sending a wash of awareness though you, forcing you to look away from his eyes. You’re not allowed to feel like this when he’s touching you. This is forever off limits, that interested tingle between your legs. 

Stop it, he’s just being sweet.

Simon bends to pull your jeans down your thighs, and you try to block out the mental images which are suddenly assaulting you. Simon, getting on his knees and doing that thing again to the front of your underwear. Kissing that spot. Running a thick finger across the fabric, back and forth over your clit. 

Stop it, stop it, stop it. 

Your boyfriend straightens up, only to wrap his hands around your waist and effortlessly deposit your ass onto the cold bathroom counter. 

“Simon,” you warn, breathless, but he’s already releasing you. 

His warm, brown eyes flick up to your face. Cradling your foot in one hand, he slips your shoe off and says your name right back to you, so soft and deep that the texture of his voice sends a flood of goosebumps across your nape.

“You’re turning me on,” you whisper. It’s what you’ve always done, any time he’s inadvertently touched you in a way that your body perceived as sexual. You always let him know, let him cut it out before it makes him feel a certain type of way. The last thing you want to do is find secret, perverted enjoyment in moments that would trigger him if he knew.  

This is when he retreats. Every time you’ve ever told him that you’re getting worked up, he’s always taken a step back and let you get a grip on yourself. You don’t resent it, you never have.

“A stiff breeze would get you going right now, love.”

He merely removes your other shoe and drags your jeans the rest of the way off your legs. Smooth, moisturized legs, which you’ve prepped for consumption all the way to your pussy. You move to close your knees, but Simon steps in between them before you can. 

“Baby,” you plead, your pulse thrumming in your ears. 

“Do me a favor, just stay still.” He grabs the hem of your shirt and drags it up over your head. “It’s easier if I— if you don’t talk for a moment.”

This has never happened before. He’s never pushed himself this far, standing between your legs like this when you’re in your underwear. Why he’s doing it now, you can’t fathom, but this is his struggle. You have to trust that he won’t hold it against you if he gets too far past his limits.

Those hands which have held steady on countless missions shake as he works to unhook your bra. You obediently keep your mouth shut, resting your forehead on the crook of his neck while he reaches around you. He’s not great at maneuvering the clasps and it takes a few seconds to get it right.

Finally the straps slide down your shoulders and Simon takes a stuttered step back, like he wanted to retreat farther but stopped himself. Chewing nervously on your mouth, you lean back on your hands and watch his face, watch his eyes as they track over your bare breasts, your thighs. 

“Can you take your those off?”

He says it so quietly that you almost wonder if he didn’t want you to hear it, if he was hoping you wouldn’t. 

Carefully you lean forward and drag your underwear down your ass, wiggling your weight back and forth to remove them without falling off the counter. Simon doesn’t help this time, just watches with his hands tucked behind his back while you use your foot to flick the panties onto the floor. 

He’s got that desperate look on his face that you recognize as him slipping out of control. He’ll occasionally come home from a mission looking like this, needing to exhaust himself for a few hours in the garage with the human-shaped punching bag. 

“Can I see?” he asks in a hoarse whisper. 

Fully naked, you let your back hit the mirror and silently open your knees, showing him the damp, soft little area that he’s too wounded to touch. Suddenly the little bathroom feels minuscule with your giant in it, with all of his heavy air between you. You’re trying not to cry, you really are, but emotion is clawing at the back of your throat. 

Your man leans forward, and his giant hands grab onto the lip of the counter, right outside each of your legs. The space is cramped enough that one of your knees rests against the scarred knuckle of his thumb. He reaches for you with his lips, softly kissing your cheek, and says, “You look like heaven.”

Your stomach dips so hard that you make a quiet, pained noise. The man you love tilts his head to kiss you, keeping his hands where they are, but reaching that thumb out to run it along the outside of your knee. It’s a movement he’s done a hundred times before, but never with you naked. Never with you so turned on that your clit hurts, and you have to force yourself not to squeeze your thighs together for relief. 

All he manages are a handful of slow, delicate kisses, but it’s enough. It pumps dopamine through you, curling fingers of desire in your belly and turning you into some submissive, soft thing. You'll stay here and let him kiss you as long as he wants, keep your pussy on display because he said so. The need to please this man is so deeply ingrained, it seems like the cruelest thing in the world that you're not allowed to help him cum. He's earned that pleasure, through months of care and tenderness. If only it was possible.

When Simon pulls away, your heart feels broken and your head feels light.

“I love you,” you mumble, not daring to chase his mouth the way you want to. 

“I love you, my good, good girl. You’re a keeper, aren’t you?”

You make a happy little noise and shiver in place, willing to sacrifice your ass to the cold counter if it means he continues looking at you like this. 

“Gonna let me keep you?” he asks, stroking your knee again. 

“Yes.” 

“Gonna let Johnny help you feel good?”

“Mhmm.” He’s been waiting out there a while now, poor guy. 

“Go show him how pretty you are.”

Next Part

Dividers by @the-aesthetics-shop

Chronological Read-Through Path

[hoshigray]

I told you I was going to do it and here I am lmao. Any who reader and Toji are bumming on the couch watching a movie within the movie there is a spicy scene involving 69 that is mediocre. It gives reader an idea to make a bet with Toji to see who can last the longest. Toji isn't budging at first but when the reader mentions that they want to do in the same position within the movie (something they never did before) he gladly accepts the challenge. I'll leave the plot and ending up to you love. I know you will work your magic for him.

69 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐒 𝐒𝐎 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐄 .ᐟ | toji fushiguro

hehehe ty jazz, i'll do my best for youuu ☆☆☆

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Toji x fem/afab! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - masturbation (m! receiving) - 69 position - oral (f! + m! receiving) - impact play (spanking + f! receiving) - overstimulation - clitoral play (licking and sucking) - pet names (baby, doll, mama, pretty thing) - mention of saliva/spit. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.9k

“Wow….this movie kinda sucks.”

“Mhm…Aye, y’re the one who wanted to watch this shit.” 

“Well, I mean, at least it’s…semi-enjoyable.”

Toji and you were sitting on the couch, winding down in the living room after a nourishing dinner. One of the many things you liked to do with your man was to watch movies, figuring that would be a perfect thing to do during the downtime to chill and huddle with your man. What you didn’t expect, however, was how underwhelming the movie seemed. 

It was one of those rated R movies batted around within the year, figuring now would be an ideal time to get to it. Welp, it was entertaining enough for you two to continue watching. Now, being midway through, it’s getting a little frustrating to deal with. 

“Oh, okay…” annnnnd now the film has transitioned to an abrupt sex scene….how great. “I guess this is why it’s rated R.”

The sex scene you two were watching was…average at best. You’ve seen way spicier scenes in your life — hell, literal cringey porn you’ve watched with your friends was heavily more explicit than this. There was the rushed kissing, the frantic clothes coming off, no amount of foreplay whatsoever — just heading right into it, exaggerated cries coming from the woman as the guy frantically humps her nude frame.

You observe the scene through a neutral gaze as you lay against Toji’s side, his arm stretched to your shoulder to keep you close. But then, your head tilts when something on the screen catches your attention. 

The camera pans to the guy’s face, who’s lying on the bed as the other straddles them, facing his lower half. For a few seconds, you can only see the guy’s face until the camera follows him going closer to the girl’s ass that’s hovered before him. His tongue sticks out before he propels his mouth to her bottom, and her muffled moans can be heard off-screen with his grunts. 

Loud, amateur sounds aside, the position sparked something for you to turn and ask the following to your boyfriend: “Hey, Toji?” He hums, feeling the vibration of his voice from your hand on his chest. “Have you ever done that position?”

You can see his eyebrows trench down — not bewildered by your question, but pondering how he could answer truthfully. “Mmm…I think so? Been a long while, though.”

You nod aimlessly with your eyes glued to the screen, hearing the woman’s whimpers get a bit louder as the guy grasps her ass while “eating her out.” The thought of being on top of Toji and his mouth and hands on your body like that, you had to bite the inside of your cheek to remind yourself not to get too—

“Why you ask; ya horny?” Well, you can’t be too modest around this man, huh. You finally turn to look at him, prepared for the smirk he greets you with. A smile is all you reply with. “Sorry, baby, I don’t know about tonight. Kinda tired.” 

For a few seconds, you’re on his side. You understand he’s a little fatigued from work today and only wants to chill with his partner. However, a tiny part of you – the devilish cutie side – takes over and slides your hand from his chest. Down to his hard abs covered by his black wife beater, stopping at his clothed inner thigh, resulting in him hitching his breath. 

“Tired?” You say in a soft tune, your eyes peering down to your hand as it rubs on his thigh, inching further and further in. You take note of Toji’s fingers tapping on your shoulder – a silent warning. “Are you sure about that?” 

“You better move that hand, Y/n.” His body jolts when your hand creeps up to his groin, motioning around it with provocative kneads. 

“Hmm, why?” You play coy, placing kisses on the underside of his chin. “You tired of me?” 

He throws his head back at your soft lips, attacking his neck while your hand comes to the hem of his sweatpants. A shaky breath is released at the contact of your cold fingers on his warm erection. “Hmmm…could never be tired of you….Ahhh,“ your forefinger swipes around the glans.

“Then what are you so scared of?” You keep pressing on, sucking on his skin under your lips. His length gets firmer under your grasp, veins grazed by your fingertips. “Scared you wouldn’t last longer than me?”

“Ohh, don’t play with me, Y/n,” Toji grunts, the hand on your shoulder grips your cardigan. His erect cock throbs on your palm, and precum begins to leak out from you, playing with the tip. “–Mmmph…I already told you I wasn’t feelin’ it tonight.”

Liar, you say to yourself, noting him breathing slowly while you massage his balls. “Please, Toji?” You ask sweetly to his ear, his hand coming down to your waist as you stroke him off. “I never done that position before, but it looks real fun…I wanna do it with you.” 

Toji doesn’t give in easily, looking at you with a raised brow. So you throw in another please with an innocent pout and two bats of the eyes to seal the deal. He chortles; how can he say no to you looking at him like that? “Bet I can make you lose within the first few minutes.” 

You beam at him, “Bet I can make you cum first.”

“Y’re not gonna last for very long, princess, I can promise you that.”

A smirk pulls your cheeks. “Let’s try it out then.”

And just like that, with a mutual agreement, the challenge was put to the test. 

So here you are, straddling on top of Toji on the living room couch, both your bottoms and his sweats on the cold floor. Your bare ass out in front of him to see as he lies with his head on the couch pillow. Your front facing his legs, and his dick erected for you to lick and suck on. 

It started slow in the beginning; Toji massages your asscheeks as you lick around the glans and stroke his girth. “Mmmm, just like that, mama,” he praises, egging you on to take in more of him. Your mouth bobbing up and down his shaft, gradually taking in inch by inch until your mouth reaches the hilt. “Fuuck, feels so good…”

You aren’t forgotten either, Toji starting with slow licks, his tongue lapping your labia. You mewl on his cock, voluntarily moving your hips to satiate the throbs of your cunt. Shit, you love it when he eats you out, but this position makes you turn on even more — unable to see what he’s doing, letting his hands and tongue speak for himself. 

And you have to give it to yourself; you mangled to survive for a little while! The first minute was just him warming you up, teasing your folds with swishes to get you real wet as you blow him, his fingers groping your ass as his thumb plays around your ass taint. It all had you riled up, rocking your lower half so much that the man had to station you still for him to feast on your wetness properly. 

It wasn’t until you felt his tongue brush up on your clitoris did shit get serious. One sharp, muffled gasp paired with a jolt from your body. Of course, Toji noticed, his grin coming from ear to ear. “Oh, did I do that?” Yes, you did, you bastard. “Heh, you are not ready for this, baby…”

He says this before stuffing his mouth back into your leaky chasm so his tongue could swirl around your slit with vigor so rough that you nearly choked on your gasp for air. “—Oohh!! W–Wait, Toji, not so—Ahhn!” Fast licks have you squirm, prompting your man to keep you on him with his hands on your waist. It’s hard to concentrate giving Toji a blowjob with him nibbling on your labia before throwing more laps on your clitoris. 

“Wait, Toji, s-stoop; I’m gonna—Nnaaah!” Your fingers clamp around his girth, howling as he bullies his tongue to enter your vagina, his face buried nose-deep in your ass while sucking on your genitals. “Fuuck, oh shit, I can’t…Ohh, ohhh!!”

And just like that, you release into his mouth before you could even prepare yourself. Your trembling figure jolts with every shock coursing through your body. And Toji drinks your essence with every passing wave, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you straddled above him. 

Oh fuck, the clarity you experience is mind-blowing every time he eats you out — whimpers escape pretty lips as your sensitive nerves still receive gingerly laps on your soapy folds. That felt way too good, oh my God…

But it doesn’t stop there — no, no. Not with Toji, too pleased with how he made your legs tremble before him. He snickers while spreading your folds, “Pretty thing, look at you winking at me...Nnmm, so fuckin’ good…”

He brings his mouth back to your cunt, and you jerk from the contact as your body is still not rid of the shocks from the previous orgasm. You frantically call for him, trying to writhe your ass away from him. “Ohhnn, Toji, wait, let me rest for a—Ahhhnn!!“

A sharp pain comes from an abrupt smack to your buttcheek, the skin stinging from the impact of Toji’s hand. “Aht, aht, don’t try and run now. You talked big earlier, even when I warned you.” He smacks your ass again, his fingers digging deep into your flesh to pinch. You scream for him — that’s what he wants. “Now you’re gonna sit right here and let the winner have his fill.” 

You can’t argue with him from there; Toji’s hold on you not giving in to your attempts of mercy — same for his mouth on your delicate labia. The noises coming from there are so raunchy, downright erotic, way more than whatever the hell that movie was doing. You could only wail out your cries, eyes spiraling up to your head from every lap to your clit. No point fighting the pleasure, resting your head on his thigh.

But that was short-lived because Toji was quick to correct you with another slap to your butt. Shit came out of nowhere, almost choking on your spit. “C’mon now, doll, you can’t leave me hangin’ here. Suck me off, princess.” He rubs the pain on your butt away, yet you know he’d do it again if you weren’t compliant.

You bring his fat cock back to your face, licking on the tip while stroking him. You take in the head and suck him in, bobbing your head and coating his length with your saliva. Kisses to his glans result in him burrowing his face into your ass again, hungry lips ravishing your tender insides. Jesus, the way his tongue flicks on your clit has you humming on his cock nonstop.

Oh, God, oh fuuuuck, you remove your lips from Toji’s dick, yet your hand keeps gliding up and down. “—Mwah! Hoohhh, oohhh, Tojiiii…! Again, I’m gonna cum, again….Khaa—Ohhhhh!!”

The second orgasm hits you hard, more keenly than the last, and your body quivers on top of Toji once again. Whines come from wet lips as you descend into your haze, and your toes curl as Toji doesn’t withdraw himself until he’s satiated his thirst with every remnant of your fluids. 

With every jolt and shock flowing down your frame, you use this time to let your body ride this high out, placing chaste kisses on Toji’s cock. That is until you feel Toji suck on your folds suddenly. You jump and quake, turning around to beg. “Stooohp; let me rest, please!”

He gives you a smug look with a playful smack to your hot, stinging butt. “Done being curious now, mama?”

requests/thirsts are open hehe~ 🧸

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are wholeheartedly appreciated ☆ dividers by @/benkeibear.