#mikey was his responsibility and he fucked it up
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kisakis-boyfriend · 1 day ago
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I lowkey feel like a weirdo just reading and interacting with your posts without actually sending anything in the ask box LMAO
So here I am, to rant about pretty (not so) little twinks to my favorite writer
Everyone headcannons Hanma to be sadistic, and while I can definitely see that based on the way he acts and fights, I personally headcannon him to be a hardcore masochist who just tries to hide it by saying he's a sadist. Like this man doesn't dodge powerful punches and kicks from Mikey or Draken, no, no, he blocks them with his own body instead. His whole thing is always getting back up after tanking heavy hits like a monster. But he also very regularly eggs people on. He taunts and maims people to get them to fight him. He does this, every. Single. Fight.
So how does this translate into the bedroom? Well of course, his lanky ass wants nothing more than to get on your nerves. He wants to see how far he can push you, if he can make you genuinely mad. He wants to be the biggest little shit he possibly can until you have no choice but to punish him for it. And this boy can take a lot. Spanking? No problem. Choking? Yes please. Cbt? Why the hell not? Putting him into a borderline painful full nelson while relentless pounding into his prostate at mach jesus? He'd love every second, even if it renders him damn near bedridden for the next three days. Hell, we've seen how Hanma fights, you could probably beat the shit out of him or try to kill him and he'd pop a stiffy.
I feel like he might have a humiliation kink too. Like- shame this man for being so kinky and mock him for being pathetic. You could call him your little bitch and spit in his mouth and he'd just grin in response. And he's not really the type to break easily either. Even as you have him clutching the sheets, trembling, tears rolling down his cheeks, barely even able to stay conscious, he'd still talk shit and try to aggravate you. That carries into every day couple life too, just in a more minor way. He likes to play pranks on you, poke and prod you both literally and metaphorically. He's also almost definitely smart, I mean- Kisaki hates dumb people, and he hangs out with Hanma. That just means that Hanma will start the dumbest, prettiest arguments, and win purely by technicality. He's a total smartass. Of course, Hanma wouldn't say or do anything to actually hurt you, he's just be annoying and a nusience on purpose because he finds it entertaining to piss people off. It's alright, there's an easy fix. Just fuck hin so dumb he can't talk, so hard that he just passed out in your arms straight after.
Moral of the story, Hanma is a freaky little masochist, and the world's most annoying little asshole (affectionate)
~Neon
(Ajdksj no need to worry! I accept lurkers of all sorts — including lurkers who don't interact at all, and instead silently read my works <3
I do appreciate things like this too though, thank you! I love hearing y'all's thoughts and ideas!)
THIS is canon, as far as I'm concerned. He's such a painslut, it's not even funny. I definitely agree that Shuji will do his best to annoy you, that's just his favorite past time :P
I recently learned that getting punched in the gut (or just, in general) is a kink/fetish, so I think we can safely assume that Shuji would be into that too. I know that wrestling is also a sexual thing for some people. Just tossing that out there. Pin that tall boy in a painful position and hammer your cock into him, he'll love it!
Forget play fighting, he's the kind of guy who'd want to actually fight you until he's spitting up blood. Rasping a snarky remark even as his knuckles are busted, and his ribs ache from your heavy hits. Just normal couple things~
I also just thought about a "softer" moment: Cuddling with Shuji and pressing on the bruises you left on him. He winces as your thumb presses down on the large purple area on his arm, your other hand combing through his hair. This kind of pain is the kind that makes his whole body tremble, and he easily becomes addicted to it <3
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just-sp-in-inginthevoid · 11 months ago
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Shinichiro wished for Mikey to become greater than him. He was convinced it would happen.
But, life had another plan in mind. That's just how it is. Still, Shinichiro's life has all been about his brother. With his father's death and his mother in the hospital, with being the person responsible of her, the one the hospital kept updated, he did every he did with Mikey in the back of his head.
Everything for Mikey. And Mikey would become greater than him, because it's his brother and that's just how it's supposed to be
Hence, when the chance of that happening came back: when Mikey comes back to life, what's taken from him is this. Mikey ends up the same way Shinichiro does without Mikey around.
Shinichiro wanted Mikey to be greater than him — Mikey ends up how Shinichiro was supposed to, had Mikey not been here.
And I know we talk about 'Mikey's curse' but it's Shinichiro's
Shinichiro is the one who killed. Shinichiro is the one who got cursed. Shinichiro is the one who messed up with karma and time. It's Shinichiro's curse because the most efficient way to curse him is to fuck up Mikey's life.
He wanted to save his brother's life and he ended up making it bad (euphemism). He's the reason why.
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mariusroyale · 2 years ago
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sunset duo has me fucked up dude
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chalkscene · 1 year ago
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tokyo revengers ⇢ YOU’RE TOO DRUNK TO RECOGNIZE YOUR BOYFRIEND
ft. manjiro “mikey” sano, ken “draken” ryuguji, keisuke baji, takashi mitsuya, rindou haitani, ran haitani & shuji hanma
warnings: alcohol and a very hammered reader. the boys are more responsible than you <3
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this is one of the rare occurrences wherein MIKEY actually shares his food. when you’ve finally given up on fighting him for the last bottle of alcohol, you start whining about your sudden hunger so he slides his plate of nachos over to you. he watches you eye it for a second before you drag your gaze up to him. “i have a boyfriend you know?” you tell him, your attempt to be menacing coming out pathetically as the attitude dripping from your tone is dampened by your slurred speech. mikey doesn’t need the club to be well lit. the strobe lights already illuminate your face enough for him to get a clear view of your glassy eyes and flushed cheeks. “i know,” he confirms with a tinge of exasperation, “because it’s me. mikey. your boyfriend.” he emphasizes his last words, his last effort to knock some sense into you but you only let out a cackle which catches him off guard. “nice try but mikey never shares his food.”
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“that’s enough.” DRAKEN snatches the last of your many drinks for the night before you can gulp it down. being the perceptive boyfriend he is, he can already hear the complaint that’s about to slip from your tongue so he’s quick to pull you by the wrist, up from your seat and out the door. “where are you taking me?” you ask as clearly as your drunken state can let you—not so much but enough for your boyfriend to understand. “home.” at his curt reply, you yank your hand from his grip with a strength that startles even toman’s former vice president. “what the hell are you doing?” draken hisses lest you make a scene in public. “i’m calling my boyfriend,” you warn him, “bet he can kick your ass.” “yeah? i’d like to see him try.” he dismisses your empty threat, reaching for you once more to guide you to the exit but upon hearing a few whispers from prying strangers who are clearly getting the wrong idea, he stops in his tracks and turns to no one in particular, no longer caring about whatever commotion he may cause as his voice booms over the loud music: “i’m the boyfriend!”
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“let me go!” you relentlessly thrash around, yelling out threats of calling your boyfriend, while BAJI—the boyfriend in question—pulls you into an empty alleyway to avoid any possible public humiliation for the both of you. “fuck,” he huffs out a breath, “when did you get this strong?” some time in the night, he’s tuned you out telling him off, on a sole mission to stop you from drinking more than you already have. and he’s relieved he managed to get you out of the bar—that is until he hears a weird noise coming from you. “wh-” baji doesn’t get the chance to utter a single word as you begin to throw up. in a panic, he hastily puts your hair up with his spare tie before rubbing soothing circles on your back. your hair looks real messy, he notes, but that’s the least of his worries. “you feeling better?” he checks on you after a while, only to be met by more retching, making him grumble to himself, “and i get an earful when i drink too much.”
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MITSUYA is helping you get on your feet—sweet boyfriend he is—but as soon as you find your footing, you give him a hefty shove. “i have a boyfriend, jackass!” you seethe, too drunk to recognize him, and all he can do is sigh as he regains his balance. “yes. me.” something clicks in your brain at his response and you squint your eyes to get a better look at him. “takashi?” “hi, love.” and just like that, you perk up, your mouth stretching into a wide grin. “taka,” you squeal, excitement coursing through your veins when you recognize your boyfriend, “hiiiii~” he laughs at the shift in your tone and takes the opportunity to slide an arm around your waist once more. “let’s get you home okay?” “mhm.” you wrap your arms around him and he lifts you with ease. mitsuya assumes you’re fast asleep until a few minutes later, you mumble something against his skin, “someone tried to flirt with me but i said no.” a chuckle bubbles past his lips as he adjusts his hold on you. “really?” “mhm,” you nod into his neck as you snuggle closer, “i only love you.” “i love you more.” “love you most,” you reply before soft snores fall from your lips and your breathing evens out.
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you’re rambling about RINDOU to rindou himself, going on and on about the reasons that made you fall in love with him. and while you’re occasionally interrupted by your hiccups, he patiently listens to your every word then he hears a “but.” the ways you describe him next are less flattering, less romantic—how he tries so hard to act indifferent to your cooing as if the tips of his ears don’t instantly turn red. or how he has a permanent scowl etched on his face. and other things you already tell him even when you’re sober. “he’s really lucky he doesn’t have any wrinkles yet,” you add with a giggle. “you’re really annoying when you’re drunk, you know that?” rindou deadpans. despite the lack of lighting in the club, he doesn’t miss the shock washing over you, your eyes getting mistier by the second. “what?” your voice comes out shaky and your bottom lip starts to wobble, making rindou release another groan. “for fuck’s sake.”
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in spite of your insistence to stay at the club, RAN easily managed to drag you to his car. this isn’t his first rodeo. as an older brother, he has had to deal with rindou when he was blackout drunk. “where are we going?” you mumble as you begin to stir in the passenger seat. “home.” “i wanna see ran.” your boyfriend throws you a quick glance—your eyes remain closed and the rest of your words are incomprehensible—before he focuses back on the road. amused by your drunken state, he plays along. “alright, we’re going to ran.” the stretch of silence that follows is cut short when you speak again, “i’m thirsty.” so ran makes a quick stop at a convenience store, coming back shortly with a bottle in hand. he unscrews the cap before he gives you the drink, “careful.” you take a big gulp, instantly grimacing at the taste and it elicits a snort from your boyfriend. “what is this?” “water.”
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“want more,” you slur. across from you, HANMA watches as you clumsily reach for the empty shot glasses on the table, flipping them upside down as if more alcohol will magically appear. he’s not going to lie—he finds it funny. entertaining, even. and if the circumstances were any different, he would’ve even encouraged this behavior. but he’s your boyfriend now and if there’s one thing he truly cares about, it’s you. drunk out of your wits, you don’t notice when hanma slides out of the booth until he’s soon presenting two more glasses to you. even though the contents are the same, he asks you to choose, “which one?” “hmm… that.” before you can get your hands on your drink, hanma intercepts and downs it in one go. you’re about to protest when he throws you over his shoulder and chugs the other drink out of your sight before heading for the exit. “let’s go.”
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fueledbysano · 1 year ago
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it has been raining for days on end, which also meant that your boyfriend had been fucking you nonstop. stay dry, they said. but he kept your pussy wet, full, and sore.
“one more, sweetheart, I know you can take more~" you've been at it like rabbits, but he is still insanely horny! with your mind airy and drool falling on your chin, you could only nod in response to his invitation.
“ah— don't stop!” he had just shoved his dick back inside of you, but you're already begging for more and provoking him further.
“Fuck, you have such a tight hold on me, you don’t even know.” he exhaled, rolling his hips, your tits sticking to his chest as the sweat from his abs warmed you, his hips piston faster, needing more.
“nghh~ [ Y / N ]~” he cried into your shoulder, hips desperately chasing for release as he rut so deep into your pussy.
“all mine~” he whimpered, fingers clawing with yours and pushing your body deeper into the mattress.
his thrusts keeps getting deeper and static fills your head. you can't think. he grinds, fucking and speeding up the pace, his finger rubbing your clit in agonizing, sweet circles.
“Ugh,” you pant, kissing him hard as you climaxed for the nth time. your pussy is extremely sensitive, yet throbbing, clenching on emptiness when he pulls out to lay you on your stomach.
"I'm not done with you yet..." the sheet falls from his shoulders, baring you to the cold air brought by the rain outside.
— [ TR ] Hanma, Baji, Shinichiro, Rindou, Kazutora, Kakucho, Mikey, Hakkai, Chifuyu, Wakasa, Sanzu.
— [ JJK ] Gojo, Yuji, Megumi, Yuta, Suguru.
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♡ mdni banner by @ benkeibear!
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strawhbrrries · 1 year ago
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Love and Lust
pairing: mike schmidt x afab!reader
summary:
warnings: unprotected sex, no foreplay, oral (m receiving), creampie??, female pronouns, whiny mike, whiny reader, switch!mike??, teasing, overstim, hair pulling, nipple pinching, not proofread, porn with no plot
word count: 1.3k words
author’s note: this isn't as needy n whiny as I originally hoped so I hope you guys can forgive me!!! please send requests for what you'd like to see next! very dedicated to @mfdxz because queen has been WAITING for this one
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“Please.” He whined in your ear, licking and sucking at any of the skin on your neck that he could reach. “I need you, now.”
“I’m trying, I can’t get your stupid belt unbuckled.” You whined back, sitting up from your position on top of him to try and see the belt buckle better.
“Baby, I am going to cum in my pants if you don’t hurry up.” He relaxed his head against the pillows that lined the headboard, chest rising rapidly as he tried to regulate his breathing. 
On normal days when Abby was home you tried to avoid doing anything sexual, but the second Mike had gotten home the atmosphere shifted. He came up behind you in the kitchen, pressing your ass against the hard-on raging in his jeans, trying to slide his hand under the waistband of your sweats. His fingers made it as far as touching your clit before Abby stumbled in asking for more dinner, a small groan only loud enough for the two of you came out.
The clink of the buckle hitting the floor dissipated any frustration you had, your fingers immediately unzipped his jeans and threw them off somewhere on the floor. Today was one of the few days he’d chosen to go commando, both of you were now appreciating this.
You went back to straddling his waist, grinding down against his cock, your wetness causing your underwear to conform to your folds as you slid his cock between them. His breath hitched at the feeling, he turned his head to the side in an attempt to cover his mouth. 
“Fuck, baby..” Mike groaned, thrusting his hips upwards in an attempt to create more friction.
“Feel good, Mikey?” You teased, moving down his body to sit in between his legs.
“Baby..” Is all he could muster in response, anything else was lost the second you put the tip of his cock in your mouth.
The feeling of him in your mouth, hard and leaking from the need to fuck you, caused a moan to vibrate around him. He tried to close his legs at the feeling, you hadn’t even done anything and yet it was all too much already. Your hands pushed them back open, taking his cock as far as it could go, your nose was pressing against his pubic bone. You hollowed your cheeks as you pulled off of him, using your tongue to swirl around it as you went.
You climbed back up his body, straddling his waist yet again, and placing your lips against his. The kiss was needy and messy, strings of saliva connecting your chins together. His fingers found your hair, entangling themselves at the base and pulling your head back. He needed you, and he was tired of letting you have that control.
“I said, I needed you, now.” He grunted, nipping at your exposed collarbone.
Mike lifted your shirt and threw it to the growing pile of clothes on the floor, latching onto one of your nipples and rolling the other in between his fingers. You threw your head back at the sensation, trying to hold yourself up against him in an attempt to keep control. Any ounce of control that you had left disappeared when your hair was yanked backwards, causing a loud whimper to leave your mouth and Mike to slap a hand over it. 
The sound of Abby shuffling around in her room stopped the two of you in your tracks, the soft padding of her footsteps passed by the bedroom door. You exchanged a look, it was past her bedtime, and he was off to go check on her. Nights when Abby left her room after her initial bedtime meant she’d be more likely to leave more times throughout the night, sometimes she just wasn’t tired and sometimes she just couldn’t sleep, it’s how she worked.
You heard the two of them exchanging muffled words quickly followed by their footsteps back into her room. To save time, in the chance Abby did leave her room again, you threw your underwear into the pile on the floor.
“She needed water.” He mumbled, closing the door and locking it behind him, throwing off the sweats he’d put on in a hurry. 
The bed dipped as he climbed up you, kissing his way up your body. His fingers slid between your folds, collecting your wetness and bringing the fingers to your mouth. He tapped your lips, an indicator that he wanted you to open your mouth, and slid his fingers in when you opened them.
“How do you taste, sweet girl? Let me taste.” Mike removed his fingers from your mouth and leaned closer to kiss you, swirling his tongue around yours. “Fuuuck.”
Two fingers swirled at your entrance, pushing in slightly as his other hand covered your mouth just in case. He curled his fingers, brushing against the soft, spongy spot inside of you. Your body jerked against him, whining against his hand. 
“Shhh, I’ll take care of you, I promise.” He whispered in your ear, a low groan following behind it as he removed his fingers and replaced them with his cock.
The stretch was wonderful, stinging slightly at the lack of prep but an oh so delicious sting. A small whine escaped his throat, hips stuttering slightly at the feeling of your warm cunt stretching around him. His eyes were squeezed shut, trying to keep himself quiet and to stop himself from cumming so soon. There was just something about having to be quiet and the dire need to fuck you into the mattress was sending him into a spiral, his eyes were just as glazed over as yours were.
His hips thrusted in and out, fingers fumbling around your chest as he searched for your nipples. You brought your hands to your mouth, despite most of your moans and whines getting caught in your throat every time his hips pushed back in, the chance of being caught bringing an overwhelming sense of excitement.
“Baby, fuuck…baby.” Mike moaned, splaying one hand on your stomach and bringing the other to his mouth. 
He was holding on by a thread, orgasm threatening to spill all over your insides with every thrust, he’d been waiting for this all day and now that it was finally here he couldn’t even hold on. 
“I need to cum..” He whined, leaning over so your knees were against your chest and his mouth was by your ear.
“Inside..” You managed to choke out, keeping one hand on your mouth and digging the other into the skin of his bicep, small moon shaped indents appearing.
After you finished your one word sentence he painted your insides with a low groan, sweaty forehead laying itself in the crook of your neck as he continued to thrust in and out. The over-stimulation was too much but he was determined to get you off, he slithered a hand between your bodies. He drew figure eights over your clit as he continued his thrusting, sucking and licking at the skin of your neck.
“Mikey…Mikey..” Your words were breathy and almost inaudible, all you could think, hear, smell, taste was just Mike.
He was overwhelming your senses in the best way and all you wanted was to live in this blissful state forever, full of him. One more thrust had your mind reeling, body shaking, sharp white pleasure searing through your veins as your orgasm ripped through you. He slapped another hand over your mouth, continuing his thrusts to help work you through your orgasm.
“Mike? What are you doing to her?” Abby asked innocently, standing at the open door that didn’t latch when he thought he locked it.
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vixensbrainrotts · 1 year ago
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TR men reacting to little kids wooing you
Content: reactions
Tropes: established relationship
Warnings: none (lmk if im wrong)
Summary: A little boy, perhaps four or five of age comes waddling over to you two whilst you're out on a date together and offers you a flower, confessing his spontaneous love for you. How does your man react to that?
Vixen’s two cents: hi! This has been sitting in my drafts forever so i need to get it out cause it’s collecting cobwebs. It’s sort of a random idea but whatever, i found it entertaining. Also im editing this in the car and its giving me a stroke why is the road so fucking uneven? If you have any ideas for me to write please please please my requests ans messages are open! Yeah, let me know if there are any other characters that fit those types and enjoy!
(Takemichi, Chifuyu, Souya, Hakkai, Shinichiro, Sanzu (I don’t care what anyone says. Shy Sanzu is forever on my agenda), Inui)
Nearly deceased type, it took him so long to get you. How HOW is this little ass kid wooing you better than he could ever dream of? What the actual fuck was happening? He couldn’t believe his eyes when that actual toddler came up to you with a flower, the stem freshly plucked, and a glimmer in the kid‘s hopeful eyes. The boy had almost serenaded you the way he sang praises to you: „excuse me miss, you’re really pretty! Would you accept my flower please?“. And what was even more unbelievable, was when you giggled and accepted the flower giddily. Then the little boy crossed the line: „can I have a kiss in return Miss?“. And you did. You pecked the cheek of the boy meek two minutes after meeting him! Unbelievable! It took him 3 dates to even hold your hand. Outrizzed by a five year old.
(Nahoya, Mikey, Baji)
Ready to fight the kid. He's deadass about it too, rolling up his sleeves and cracking his knuckels and snapping the kinks in his neck, looking menacingly at that poor little boy. He doesn't care that this may be the kid's first crush, he'll crush him in return. You were his damnit and he was gonna prove it to anyone who tried him. Kids included. When you pull at his arm though, prompting him to calm down, he stops a little. What do you mean you dont want him to establish his dominance? He's genuinely stumped and just kinda stares at you for a second, watching you intensely as you lean down to the boy, whispering something in his little ear and taking the flower from him. The boy giggles at you, his former horror dissipated, instead replaced with a furious blush that spread all the way down his neck and up his ears. He blew you a kiss before skipping away, giddily going back to whatever he was doing beforehand. Your boyfriend turns you around by the shoulders immediately and gives you a harmless glare. “What the fuck was that about?” But he doesn’t get a response, as you just wrap your arms around him and laugh. “You’re so cute when you’re jealous!” Well… that wasnt the answer he was looking for but he’ll take it.
(Ran, Shion, Draken, Benkei, Wakasa)
Sitting back and watching the show. He finds the little kids advances hilarious and will gladly watch the little shrimp try to win you over whilst you’re trying your hardest not to burst out laughing. “So sweets, how old are you anyway?” The boy asks you with a smirk on his face. “Too old for you.” You answer incredulously, just about ready to cry from laughter. “No no no baby, no one has to know! It can just be between the two of us and that’s fineeee!” He draws out the syllables and leans one elbow on table you and your boyfriend are sitting at. Your boyfriend all the while has probably pulled out a phone, discreetly filming the whole thing whilst leaning back and hiding his tears. You shoot both boys an amused look and then answer the awaiting kid. “Come back to me in a few years and maybe we can arrange something, yeah?” The little kids eyes widen as he looks at you with a determined smile. “Yes! You won’t regret it! And I’ll beat up your wannabe boyfie over here once I’m strong enough too!” He exclaims and runs off leaving you howling in laughter and your boyfriend, who is suddenly enraged by a child, fumes silently, sending daggers across the room. “Relax baby.” You reach a hand over the table to hold his, wiping the tears from your eyes. “Don’t touch me.” He hisses and puts the phone down, crossing his arms in fake offense.
(Hanma, Kokonoi, Izana, Rindou)
The false hope typa guy. In this case, the boy made the mistake of coming up to HIM and innocently asking for your name. “Why, you like what you see?” Your boyfriend uses language much too mature for the little kid, but he gets a timid response of “yeah, she’s real pretty..” nevertheless. Your boyfriend chuckles and pats him on the shoulder. “I say go for it, I’m sure you’ve got a chance with her!” The little boy has wide eyes and an open mouth “Really? You sure she doesn’t have some super big ‘n scary boyfriend?” He has to suppress laughter when he answers. “I’m sure she doesn’t, go talk to her, ask her for her name and tell her that I said hi too.” And with that, he’s sent the kid on his way. Your boyfriend watches him shyly go up to you and pat your leg slightly to get your attention. He watches you smile down at the little boy and talk to him, your eyes widening and laughing when you exchange a few words with the kid. When he sees fit, he comes stalking over to the two of you and wraps his arm around your waist and smirks at the kid. “Hey there.” You greet your boyfriend and turn to look at him. “Have you met—“ he guesses that you’re about to introduce him to the little boy but he doesn’t care to listen, and leans down to shush your lips with a long, over-the-top kiss, even going as far as to cracking one eye open to look at the little boys horrified face before finally pulling away. You’re a little dazed and very confused when you look down and find your little admirer gone. You throw your boyfriend an accusing look but he only raises his hands in surrender, claiming innocent with a smug smile on his face.
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ironinkpen · 2 years ago
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The dynamic in Rise between the rest of the team and Leo is. so fucking funny. Because like you've got these three extremely talented individuals who all seem like perfectly reasonable people at first glance, right, but then if you squint hard enough you realize they're actually all batshit insane (affectionate) and the clown boy standing behind them is secretly their common sense.
Clown boy will occasionally put himself and the others in danger to Prove Himself or Prove Someone Wrong (see Minotaur Maze and the movie) but like otherwise... i think people forget Leo's overwhelmingly the voice of reason in most situations?
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Raph, Mikey, and Donnie are all incredibly powerful boys with very specific skill sets. They are also, as a direct result of this, the WORST decision-makers on god's green earth lmao. When presented with a problem, Raph will smash, Donnie will blow shit up, and Mikey will razzmatazz. They will all run straight toward death with the same oblivious enthusiasm of a dog about to run straight into a screen door. None of them realize this and all of them think they are Extremely Good At Problem-Solving.
And the guy cursed with the common sense to realize this is literally the LAST person anyone would expect.
When you look closely, the entirety of Rise is actually a chronicle of Leo trying to find new and creative ways to keep this team of superpowered fools alive while simultaneously white-knuckling his Cool Fun Guy persona so the others don't realize he's secretly the Boring Responsible One. Haha, you know what would be Cool and Fun, guys? Not going after the Spine Breaking Bandit lol. Getting home before the sun goes up lol. Evacuating that civilian lol. Not telling the guy dangling me off a roof "you won't, no balls" lol.
The sacred struggle of every iteration of Leonardo is thanklessly wrangling the most trigger-happy siblings in the world, and Rise Leo has not escaped it. He just does an occasional shenanigan to avoid detection and his brothers fall for it every time.
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starreo · 1 year ago
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multi-character drabble.
includes bad bf, cheating, adult themes so, mdni.
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he doesn't understand why you're dating his best friend. he's so much better than him. he picks up your calls immediately on nights when you're feeling lonely, he sticks to you in parties while his best friend is chatting up some girls at the bar, he brings you your favourite cravings randomly to make you happy.
when he's out shopping with his best friend, he sees something you'd like, "hey, y/n might like that, no?" and he just laughs, he says it's been months since the two of you started dating, and yet he has no idea what you like. however, he picks it up. and gifts it to you, "thought you might like this."
when he's playing video games with his best friend and you ask which outfit would look better on you, he is the one that looks up while his best friend still has his eyes concentrated on the screen. "you'd look stunning in both." he says, eyes refusing to look away from yours, observing your hurt stare at your boyfriend.
when he's with the two of you and it's a cold night, he asks you if you're feeling warm enough. when you shiver as a response, he takes his jacket off and places it on your shoulders. unlike your boyfriend who says, "should've just worn something else, babe ".
when you're crying about the lack of attention and love from the other side of your relationship, he is comforting you. telling you, "you deserve the best man, and if your boyfriend can't be one then, you should leave him." oh he whispers so much of that sweet stuff that by the end of your third drink, you blurt out how your boyfriend hasn't been able to make you cum even once. and that's when he can't take it anymore. he grabs you by your head and smashes his lips against yours.
when you're whimpering in his ear, gripping his shoulders tightly while creaming all over his cock, he promises you that you'll never have to fake an orgasm again. "i'll fuck you so good, you'll cum even if you don't want to ."
nagi, rin, isagi, reo, mikey, chifuyu, gojo, geto, hiori, eren, jean, suna rintaro, atsumu miya + any of your favs <3
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© starreo 2023. do not copy, translate or repost .
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p0orbaby · 6 months ago
Text
Mission Impossible
summary: you’re an agent at the top of your game, until a certain footballer distracts you
warnings: SMUT 18+, semi public (car), fingering, top!leah, dirty talk?
a/n: thanks for the request ! this was super fun to write
word count: 2.2k
-
“Remember to mute yourself if you go to the toilet, yeah?” your new technician's voice crackles through the earpiece you’d pay your life’s savings not to have to wear.
“You do know who you’re talking to, right?”
“Of course! The female version of double oh seven, duh. This is like, super cool that I’ve been assigned to you, by the way”
You roll your eyes and tap your fingers impatiently against the steering wheel of your car. “It’s my pleasure”
“But seriously, not to tell you what to do or anything but, please mute if you need to go potty. It’s just that I’ve got PTSD from the last agent because they-“
“Can you reroute me? This traffic is starting to piss me off and I’ve got a finite amount of time to, you know, do my job”
“Right, right,” he stammers. You hear the rapid clicking of keys over the comms. “Okay, take the next left and then a right at the lights. Should get you there faster”
“Thanks.” You sigh, flicking on your turn signal. The city lights blur past as you navigate the winding roads, every rev of your engine a reminder of the ticking clock. Or was that your indicator? Who knows, who cares?
“You nervous?” the technician, Mikey? asks, trying to make small talk. “I mean, it’s a big deal, right? Going undercover at something like this?”
“Nervous? No. Anxious to get out of this car? Absolutely,” you reply. The GPS recalculates, leading you into a quieter, more upscale part of the city. The kind of place where people hide secrets behind perfectly manicured lawns and pristine facades.
“Just remember,” he continues, his tone growing serious, “we’re here if you need anything. But you’ve got this. You always do”
“Thanks for the pep talk, Coach,” you say dryly, but there’s a hint of a smile on your lips at his compliment. “I’m pulling up now. Keep the channel clear unless it’s an emergency”
“Roger that. Good luck”
-
You hated places like this. Sure it’s probably the attendees' tax contributions who pay the bulk of your wages, but still. Everything is always so uptight, stiff, dry as hell.
“Tell me again why I had to wear a fucking dress” you say to yourself really, but you get a response because of you damn earpiece.
“Because as progressive as the world has become, a woman in a suit doesn’t really slide in environments like this”
You scoff, readjusting the strap of your gown. “I might put in a formal complaint. Undue distress in the workplace,” you mutter, weaving through the crowd. The air is thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the low hum of forced laughter.
“Just focus on the task at hand,” Mark? reminds you. “You’re looking for a woman in a blue dress, diamond necklace. Shouldn’t be hard to miss”
“Got it,” you reply, scanning the room. You catch glimpses of the high-profile guests, all engaged in their own worlds, oblivious to the undercurrents of deception that flow just beneath the surface.
You make your way to the bar, figuring it’s as good a place as any to start. You signal the bartender for a drink, something that will keep your hands busy without dulling your senses. As you wait, you let your eyes roam, taking in every detail, every potential threat.
“Remember,” Martins’? voice buzzes in your ear, “you’re just here to observe and gather intel. No heroics”
“Yeah, yeah,” you murmur, taking a sip of your drink. “Not my first rodeo, Champ”
What was with this kid?
A flash of blue catches your eye from across the room. You spot her, the woman you’re supposed to meet, gliding through the crowd with a grace that seems almost practiced. She pauses, scanning the room much like you did, and for a moment, her eyes meet yours.
You offer a slight nod, the briefest acknowledgment, before turning your attention back to your drink. No need to rush things. Timing is everything when it comes to these types of things.
“You look as bored as I feel”
A voice, smooth and unexpectedly unpretentious, cuts through your thoughts. You turn to find someone standing next to you, not in a dress, but in a sharp, tailored gray suit that makes her stand out in the sea of gowns and black tuxedos.
You muster a wry smile. “Is it that obvious?”
The blonde laughs softly, the sound genuine and easy. “Maybe just a little”. It’s her turn to gesture to the bartender. What gets placed in front of her is a tumbler of whiskey, dark and golden and a stark contrast to the champagne all the other women seem to be sipping on. “I’m Leah, by the way”
“Olivia,” you reply, shaking the confident hand she has extended for you. “First time at one of these?”
Leah shrugs, a casual gesture that is not encouraged at finishing school. She doesn’t belong here, you deduce. “Not quite. They get less and less interesting every time. You?”
“I’ve been to a few here and there,” you say, taking a sip of your drink. “But really it’s a bit of a social experiment for me”
Leah grins, leaning against the bar. “A social experiment, huh? Sounds like you’re a people-watcher”
“You could say that,” you reply, glancing over the room again. Your blue woman is nowhere to be seen. “You can learn a lot about someone by how they navigate a room like this”
“True enough,” Leah says, her eyes raking over the crowd. “But mostly, you just learn who’s got the best bullshit and who can fake a smile the longest”
You laugh over the rim of your own glass. You’ve gone for vodka on the rocks. Clear liquids are recommended. “You’ve got a point there”
“I’m not just a pretty face”
Maybe she wasn’t, but she did in fact have a pretty face, that much was obvious. Those blue eyes. No, green eyes? Wait, was she talking to you? No, but she is smirking. Smirking at you like she knew all your deepest darkest secrets. Perhaps she did. Perhaps she can see right through you as you stand here staring at her like she’s the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen.
“Y/N, focus”. Your conscience is talking to you again. “You haven’t got all night, remember”
You clear your throat, down your drink and ask for another.
“So, what does Leah do other than being a frequent goer of boring events, and a smart ass?”
She laughs and you feel it fizz through your body. “Oh, you know, a bit of this, a bit of that. Mostly kick a ball across some grass and hope it hits the target”
“Football?”
She nods. “Looks like you’re not just a pretty face either”
You’re about to respond, unsure of what you’re actually going to say as your brain has shortcurited, when a butter knife is tapped against the side of a glass.
“Looks like dinner’s ready” Leah whispers in your ear. “Where are you sitting?”
“Table four” you respond as you watch everyone start to move around the room.
“Well, unfortunately for you you can’t be rid of me just yet”
-
This doesn’t happen.
You don’t do this.
You’re a professional, the best in the field, so why are you half naked in the back of your car?
“Look at you, look at how wet you are” Leah sighs as she cocks her head, looking at how you’ve exposed yourself to her.
Your mind is gone. Off into the stratosphere never to return. Partly because you broke your very stringent rule of not drinking too much on the job, and partly because you need her to touch you. Now. Which she is not granting you the pleasure of doing.
You whimper pathetically when her palms splay on the inners of your thighs. Warm and large and calloused. She’s not a keeper, you've found out, so you only suspect the coarseness of her skin if from when she grips around weights in the gym.
If her forearms are anything to go by, your suspicions would be correct.
“Leah, please”
“What do you want, hm?” She asks, cocky in a way that heats your skin. “Tell me what you want and I might just give it to you”
She leans forward and presses tortured kisses against your jaw. Bruising you, no doubt. But that is a problem you will deal with later.
“You” you say, strained and desperate as her breath tickles you and forces goosebumps to ripple over your skin.
“You can do better than that” she teases.
Sighing, you muster the strength to speak more than one word at a time. “I want your fingers”
“Fuck, sweetheart” is all she says before she’s peeling herself off of you, rolling her sleeves up further past her elbows, and to your shock, sticking her fingers in her mouth.
The first touch almost has you combusting on the spot. She knows what she’s fucking doing. The suit should’ve been a giveaway. The whiskey a second chance for you to catch on. But you had a job to do, your mind was elsewhere, until it wasn’t.
You did in fact get your intel, and now you’re getting your reward.
Leah works painfully slow. Her experienced fingers rubbing lazy circles against your clit. She’s testing you, or she is making the most of your time together. Whatever she’s doing it’s making you that impatient that your hips buck involuntarily in response.
“You like that? You like it when I touch you?”
“Leah, for the love of god, hurry up”
She laughs then. Soft and sweet as if she’s not got your dress tucked up under your chin, or that a film of her saliva is covering the most intimate parts of you.
“You ready, baby?”
So fucking ready.
You nod, and she smirks again. Smug cow.
Her left hand finds your leg once more, but this time she wraps her fingers around the underside of your knee and pushes. Opening you up and keeping you where she wants you. It’s her right hand that gets to work between your thighs.
She pushes a solitary index finger in first. With little resistance with your own doing and her spit making the job easy enough.
“Oh fuck” you whine. “Jesus fucking Christ”
“Saying the lord's name in vain? I must be doing a good job” she snickers.
“Shut up. Shut the fuck up and make me cum already”
To Leah’s credit, she is very good at fulfilling instructions. At least after a time. You think she’s had enough of toying with you and is actually looking forward to having her way with you now. Which you couldn’t be happier about if you tried.
Her finger slips in and out of you at a pace that has you teetering on the edge. Not quite enough to push you off. Which she must realise by the way your nails dig into the skin of those amazing forearms of hers. She is quick to change tactics.
Two fingers now, and you feel deliciously full. She has perfect fingers, you think behind the haze of your lust. Just the right length to hit that spot within you that has you reeling.
“Keep going” you beg, rolling your hips to meet each thrust. “I’m close”
“Yeah? You gonna cum for me, pretty girl?”
“Uh huh” you breathe, nodding as you feel your insides tense up, the line ready to snap.
Which it does when her thumb finds your neglected clit. And the rest is history.
Your whole body goes up in flames. Seeing stars as your legs shake and the coil in your belly snaps at last.
“You’re so pretty,” Leah says. You think. The sound of blood rushing past your ears makes it hard to distinguish your moans from anything else. “Look at you, does that feel good?”
You can’t nod, you can’t speak. But fuck yes it does. And she knows it because even as you start to come down from the highest of highs, she leans down to capture your cries with her mouth. Keeping them for herself and her fingers curl gently inside you to ease you back to reality.
“You’re amazing,” she whispers, her voice a calming balm in the aftermath of everything. She shifts slightly, withdrawing her fingers carefully and wipes them on the leg of her suit trousers. Just breathe,” she murmurs, her breath tickling your ear. “I’ve got you”
You close your eyes, letting the remnants of your climax pulse through your body as you try to regain your composure. Something that you don’t misplace often.
“That was-“
“Better than the cheese boards they were going to force down our necks? I agree” she finishes for you as she leans back, finds her discarded shout jacket, and uses it to wipe you clean.
“Something like that” you say, your voice rough around the edges.
Leah straightens up, her eyes twinkling with something you can’t quite place. “So, do I get your number, or do I have to crash another shitty event to see you again?”
You chuckle, stretching over to the glovebox. You pull out a sleek, plain business card with just a number printed on it and hand it to her. “Here. Use it wisely”
Leah takes the card, a satisfied grin spreading across her face. She leans in, pressing a dirty, lingering kiss against your lips. “Until next time, Olivia,” she murmurs against your mouth before pulling away and stepping out of the car.
As you watch her walk away, a crackle sounds through straight into your brain, followed by Mitch’s! disgusted voice. “Oh my God, I told you to turn off your fucking earpiece!”
719 notes · View notes
queers-gambit · 24 days ago
Text
History of Clocks
prompt: Carmy asks you out, Carmy thinks it's platonic. Carmy and Claire go on a date, Carmy forgets to cancel. how strong - or brittle - is your friendship?
pairing: Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto x female!bestie!reader
fandom masterlist: FX's The Bear
collection masterlist: Nights Like This
word count: 10.8k+
note: strap in, this is a doozy. a masterpiece, but i digress.
warnings: humiliation / being stood up in public, i guess miscommunication trope, Carmy's a dumb fucking boy (and a lil bit of a dick), emotions are hard, angst, this Barbie copes through writing, girls being girls over fashion, love confessions, unrequited love, drawing boundaries, depiction of anxiety, nicknamed!reader has a dog, Cicero's niece reader 'cause why not! alcohol consumption (reader's a wine girlie)! and brief depiction of smoking! use of literary devices*, hurt no comfort!
*literary device warnings: a lot of repetition and too many idioms - some flow, others are kinda forced. please roll with it.
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If someone asked Carmen Berzatto who his best friend was, he'd have zero hesitation to list your name. If someone asked who understood him the best, he'd say you did. If someone asked who supports him most outside his family, he'd shout your name first, declare your love as unconditional. If someone asked who or what inspired him, he'd insist it was you. But if you asked Carmy who he took romantic interest in, he'd answer Claire.
If anyone asked you ANY of the aforementioned questions, each response would be the same: Carmen Anthony Berzatto.
The two of you had been friends well over a decade by now, enduring his tenancy in Copenhagen and his residency in New York; plus anywhere in between. Sure, of course, it was frustrating having him gone, you missed him in abundance - but your pride outweighed everything. To see him chase and achieve such dreams brought you unparalleled joy; so much so, it didn't matter your pain of missing him. In turn, Carmy genuinely contributed much of his success to you, claiming your friendship is the central pillar that kept him upright; your blind encouragement what propelled him forward; and how a single phone call, hearing your voice, was like audible Xanax that quelled anxiety and self-doubt.
You had a tailored way of speaking to him; a way that never pressured him, but tried to show a different perspective to soothe his overactive thoughts. He describes you as optimistic, which, in his mind, was refreshing because of his violent pessimism. So, he attributed you as someone who kept him in balance.
A partner in crime. Another pea in his pod. Each other's missing half. A best friend.
For a while, this was enough.
You knew Claire was back around, but didn't put much stock in it because Carmy never did. Foolishly, you thought it was because of you - that maybe he harbored some feelings for you as you did him, and that's why he was uninterested in Claire. Through his transition being back home, Carmy had relied on you heavily, especially in the wake of Mikey; sharing intimate moments of emotional turmoil, doubts, fears, hopes, worries, dreams. Something in you both shifted; thinking perhaps you had aged past petty, fleeting flings and could focus on farming meaningful, real, lasting, supportive relationships. You foolishly thought you and Carmy were seeing one another through rose tinted glasses at the same time; that his were finally on.
You had been in the back office, wrapping up necessary paperwork for The Bear's operation when Carmy suddenly appeared in the doorway. "Hey, Honey, you got a sec?" He asked, wiping his hands on a dish towel; broad shoulder supporting his weight on the doorframe.
"Sure, whatcha need, Bear?" You glanced away from your paperwork to smile at him.
"What're you doing Friday night?"
"Uh, probably laundry? Why?"
Carmy chuckled and asked, "Wanna go out with me to this new marketplace? They have this place that does a fusion menu I've been wanting to try."
"Oh, I don't know, babes, I'm kinda out of clean underwear," you joked, both snorting identically.
"C'mon, pretty girl, go out with me. I'll even pay."
Apparently, in Carmy's mind, the phrasing 'go out with me' was purely platonic whereas to your ears, it was being asked out on an actual date. A miscommunication - or misunderstanding - that would position you both towards pain and difficulties.
"Oh, then I guess I can make it work. Where and what time do you wanna meet, Bear?"
"There's my girl," he smiled so prettily.
Carmy set the time. Carmy set the location. Carmy sought you out. Carmy asked you to go out with him. So, you didn't think to specifically clarify this meant Carmy was seriously committing because it sounded like a secure plan.
You should have.
Apparently, after parting ways with you, Claire contacted Carmy later in the night and made arrangements for their own date - on the same night, at the same time as his date with you. Carmy was so over the moon about going out with Claire, though, that he completely "forgot" to cancel on you, let alone tell you. Which felt very deliberate, considering the pair of you were so close, you were in the room post his appendix surgery - and if you've ever been there when someone's coming out of anesthesia, you know it can get kinda... intimate. So the fact that he never "thought" to tell you about Claire was a malicious blow - even if he did it unknowingly by being hyperfocused on where he'd take his lifelong crush, what he'd wear, even practicing certain topics of interest that would help him keep conversations flowing. The determination to make this date with Claire prove himself worthy of being loved, of being a priority in someone's life, mirrored your own desire - but specifically with Carmy.
You're not even sure how long you've harbored these feelings. Was it since high school? Maybe after? Was it before he left Chicago? Or when he was in Copenhagen, calling you when he got off work to chat on his walk 'home'? Maybe it was after he came back stateside and gifted you a leather-bound parchment journal where each page had a different dried, pressed, preserved floral. He labeled each bloom, dated the pages, and detailed where he was when he found each flower in silky ink from a fountain pen. The script truly looked poetic on the 'aged' pages.
"Oh, my God, Carmy - oh, wow! Look at this!" You gasped when presented the gift, gingerly leafing through the journal. "This is so - who thinks of something like this, wow, oh, look! Carm, I-I-I don't have the words, babes, this is just so beautiful, I'm blown away right now."
He shrugged sheepishly, hands in his pockets, "I picked any flower that reminded me of you." You'd come to read later that each page had an inked explanation of why these flowers made him think of you.
You beamed, clutching the journal to your chest, "Thank you so much, Carmy, I-I love it. No, really, I do!" You insisted when you saw his expression morph, "It's honestly the most thoughtful gift I've ever gotten, thank you so much."
"It's nothing," he eased, but the tips of his ears and apples of his cheeks were glowing bright. "I just didn't want to bring you home some novelty bullshit, like a 'I heart Copenhagen' mug; you deserved something better, more personal. You're a huge part of why I even went... Even bigger reason why I came back."
It was arduous to keep a level, pessimistic attitude; to gaslight yourself into believing your best friend didn't have feelings for you, that he was just being nice. Soon, it felt like wherever you turned, you had reason to suspect his feelings had changed; so upon being asked out, you abandoned logic and allowed yourself to flood with optimistic euphoria.
On Friday, you showed up at the agreed upon location; excited to take your taste buds on a culinary world tour without ever leaving Chicago with a real worldly chef. You thought you looked nice; carefully selected fashionable clothes (that ensured didn't look like you tried 'too hard') with chunky heels; your hair styled, make-up so perfect it could've been the featured look of a YouTube tutorial. Not wanting to wait on the sidewalk for safety reasons, you stepped into the fusion restaurant. After checking in with the hostess and earning a compliment from her on your fit, you were lead to a two-person table draped in navy linen with a contemporary floating candle centerpiece.
"Are you expecting company this evening?" She asked kindly, handing you a menu.
"Yeah, I'm just a little early. We're - yeah, no, I guess it's a date? He, um, he should be here soon," you rushed, flushing when you mentally scolded yourself that she didn't care and you needed to stop oversharing.
"Oh, no wonder you look so stylish!" She gushed. "He's gonna love it, you look beautiful - but not as much as I love your purse. I've always wanted one like it, but maybe in burgundy." You told her the store you got yours at, explaining it was a discount-department store buy, but the designer was sold at other easily accessible stores. It was nice to have a friendly, normal conversation; just two girlies, exchanging fashion tips which helped you feel all the calmer. The hostess who's badge read Laura nodded with a smile, "Is it okay to leave his menu here, then? I can take it back with me, if you wanna share?"
"No, no, you can leave it - I didn't bring my reading glasses," you tried to joke, wincing at the awkwardness.
"No problem," she set it down. "Can I get you anything in the meantime, honey?"
You almost laughed, instead smiling, "Oh, uh, water would be great, thank you."
The dining hall was relatively moderately full; several tables empty, waitstaff in matching navy uniforms dotted around, the lighting low to create a warm (or romantic) ambiance. You nervously checked the gold bracelet-watch inherited from your grandmother, clocking the time as 6:24.
There was no need to stress yet, so you studied the menu and made mental notes of what sounded good, what dish paired with what. A person could only look over menu options so many times, however, so you answered a few emails and texts before mindlessly scrolling through social medias to kill awkward time.
Around 7:05, your chest felt warm with something that made your intuition catch flame.
You texted Carmy: hey are you running late? you haven't texted me you're on the way yet 🤨
While to some, saying 'you haven't texted me yet' might sound a little overbearing, crazy, or pushy - maybe even spoiled - you did so because you knew how scatter brained Carmy was. He had an incredibly unpredictable, stressful, and chaotic job, which meant he sometimes lost track of time and needed reminders of other responsibilities / obligations outside The Beef, soon-to-be The Bear. You two had a friendship built on trust, fully able (and encouraged) to be yourselves and send borderline crazy messages to each other. You said it in person, why not over text?
The sweating glass of water was refilled, invisible timer ticking inconspicuously in the background, bread basket missing several sticks, the dining room now about 75% full.
Glancing around, you felt nauseated when you noted several couples enjoying romantic dinners; others with easy smiles and jovial laughter, happy to partake in the good tidings of loved ones. All around you, there was a smorgasbord of buzzing conversation you couldn't decipher. You had nothing else to do but focus on random moments of clarity, deducing some patrons were meeting for business; others were on dates, one table was celebrating their friend's new promotion, another, a birthday.
Yet here you sat, alone in the middle of a popular, high-trafficked restaurant; silent, isolated, feeling as if you were some zoo exhibit. Your plaque would read: Behold! The Stood-Up Single Woman!
While irrational, you felt other patron's beady eyes glazing over you - as if everyone could just tell what was happening. Their eyes made you sweat, feeling perceptive and heated, heavy and hateful. They watched you in your exhibit as if to affirm their situations could never be so bad because at least they weren't like you: stood-up, outcast, and humiliated. Their pity reeked. Their muttered words of prediction filled the stuffy space.
The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.
Tapping your phone screen set on the table, the time now glared as 7:33. So, you sent another text: uh, hello? Carmen! i thought we agreed to meet at 6:30? what's wrong?
Your message delivered, but there was no response.
Anxiety filled your heart, mind, and soul; being pumped through your veins to absorb in your bones - which created a sort of ripple effect within your chest and abdomen. Hair stood on the back of your neck. Stomach torqued in fear. Lungs deflated. Esophagus twisted. Chest hollowed and sunk. Right leg bounced at Olympic speed. Fingers twitched nervously, picking at cuticle, teeth chewing the skin off raw lips; eyes drawn to the entrance just in case Carmy showed up... In case anyone showed up. Skin burned and sizzled under the long, pitiful stares of patrons and employees alike. Heat flushed your body with embarrassment as if under Broadway stage lights; making you feel clammy and uncomfortable.
At 7:36, you double texted: Carmy?
Why wouldn't he answer you? Why wasn't his location updating? You worried something happened, he always messaged you when running late - so why not this time? Was something wrong? Did something happen? Wouldn't Sugar or Richie or one of the nine fucking Faks have called you?
The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.
At 7:45, Laura returned to your table, asking, "Would you like to see our drinks menu again?"
"Oh, uh, no, thank you, it's not necessary. Could I do another glass of Moscato, please?"
"Of course. Could I interest you in the bottle, you think?"
"At this point, yes ma'am," you chuckled at yourself.
"Any appetizers? Or more bread?" Laura asked sweetly.
You ordered multiple somethings to keep appearances, feeling bad you had sat there without ordering for so long; but also figuring if you were here, might as well enjoy trying something new, right? As the pretty young thing with a slicked back bun walked away, you were left to stare at the other undisturbed menu across from you, the candle wax dribbling into the water it floated on. Snatching your phone in hand, you glared at your message thread with Carmy, sending another: what the FUCK, Carm? answer your phone!
The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.
By 8:24, you had called him a total of 15 times.
The dining room was packed and poppin' by now, making shame cloud your shoulders from taking up precious optimal space on a popular date night. In truth, you didn't notice just how busy the dining room had gotten, but you know what they say? "Time flies when you're having fun," but it fucking trudges by in a mocking, lazy taunt when being actively humiliated.
At 8:32, your bottle of wine was polished off and you finally texted Richie: hey Cousin, is Carmy with you?
He answered within a fucking minute: no he left over a while ago for a date with Claire Bear
A record scratched in your brain, rapidly typing: what??? what does that mean???
Richie replied: damn, Cuzzo, you should know what a date is or has it been that long? 😂
Your throat swelled shut, nodding sadly and locking your phone; rolling your lips between your teeth to prevent yourself from having a very public, very emotional breakdown.
The invisible timer ticked slower, quieter.
With a sharp sniffle, you flagged Laura down, pointed at the menu, asking for your meal to-go and the check. She could hear the warble in your voice, so when she returned with your to-go order and check, Laura had snuck a couple extra things in your bag without charging you. And she only charged you for a glass of wine, not the bottle.
Laura earned herself a generous gratuitous tip as well as all the cash in your wallet, being a little over $150.
Returning home around 9:03, you could identify the dreadful feelings of rejection; how forgotten, taken for granted, disappointed, abandoned, replaced you felt. Unloading the food on the counter, you made yourself a plate and looked at your phone one last time. There was still nothing from Carmy, but Richie had texted you again: you good, Cuzzo? what you need Carmy for?
Changed into a set of cozy clothes, you curled up on the couch with your food and another glass of wine; faithful, loyal, loving dog(go) hopping up beside you. Switching something on the TV, you answered Richie with one hand while fending off the pup: nothing important anymore, Cuzzo. we can talk tomorrow!
It was a strange sensation; that blatant sting of betrayal and rejection from someone who was never supposed to hurt you. If Carmy didn't return your affection, that was okay! That was perfectly fine! That was ideal, even, because you never wanted to jeopardize losing him from your life so even if you couldn't be with him, you'd rather be his friend than nothing at all. But what isn't okay, is standing you up. Forgetting you. Neglecting you. Unjustly shaming you. Publicly humiliate you. Disrespecting you. After over a decade of friendship, didn't you deserve better than that? Of course, you did - so why did Carmy subject you to such degradation? Was Claire so hypnotizing, enchanting, bewitching, she successfully managed to block all your Carmy sensors? Or were you just that forgettable?
There were too many overwhelming emotions pinballing around your heart, mind, and soul to even begin processing. So, you cuddle your most loyal companion who would never betray or abandon you, ate what you could, polished off any wine, set several alarms on your phone, and laid down on your couch to be lulled into restlessness by the sounds of whatever comfort show was left on.
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After getting up early to shower off the previous night, you got ready for work and made the trek through the city. While your couch was comfortable, you didn't sleep well; eyes heavy from their sting, second cup of coffee already in your travel mug, movements sluggish. You would've called out, but today was one of those days you had to go over some legal and logistical shit with your Uncle Cicero.
So here you were.
"Yo, Cuzzo! Hey-hey, good mornin', sweetheart!"
With a tired sigh, you spied Richie outside The Beef, smoking, watching you with a smirk. "Mornin', Richie-Rich," you tried to sound as if you hadn't been awake all night.
"Well, don't you look fuckin' peachy?"
"Fuck off, I'm not in the mood."
He held a hand out to prevent you from passing him, asking, "Yo... Hold on, what's good with you? And don't feed me no bullshit, I know something's wrong. You look like shit - but I mean that in concern, Cuzzo."
You decided not to comment, answering instead, "I just didn't sleep last night."
"Uh-huh... And?"
"And what?"
"That's it?"
You shrugged, "Nothing else worth dwelling over."
Richie cocked his head, "The fuck does that mean? Here," he offered his cigarette, which you accepted.
"Nothing's wrong, can we just - "
"Fuck all the way off," he scoffed, "you know the sooner you tell me, the sooner I stop askin'."
"It's... It's really stupid, Cousin."
"Don't make no difference to me; if it's bothering you, tell me."
You dropped the butt of the cigarette to the sidewalk, squashing it under your heel before leaning back into the wall with a long sigh. "I should preface this all by admitting, I might have feelings for Carmy - "
"Yeah, no fucking shit," Richie laughed, seeing your deadpanned expression. "Dude, holy shit, everyone can see it except you two idiots, it was high time someone admitted it. Tina and Mikey used to have a bet going about y'all ending up together."
Your frown deepened. "Right, well, glad everyone's so entertained and well-versed on my doomed love life," your eyes rolled.
"'Doomed'?" Richie chuckled, stopping when your expression turned crestfallen, rushing, "Woah, hey, I'm just teasin' you. C'mon, Honey, tell me how you're doomed?"
You were quiet, staring at your sneakers as you tried to build the courage to verbalize the situation. See, once you said it out loud (and to anyone), it becomes tangible, public, and undeniably real. You didn't want this to be real.
Just as Richie was opening his mouth to question (or nag) you, you admitted, "Carmy and I had plans to go to dinner last night..."
Richie paused, then asked, "But he was with Claire?"
"Exactly."
"I... Don't think I follow, Cuzzo?"
You huffed, "Cousin, Carm asked me to dinner, right?" Richie nodded. "He picked the time and place, then apparently, made plans with Claire but didn't tell the other. So, I got there last night, right? I waited for two hours, Cousin, but Carmy never showed, never answered my messages. He stood me up. He chose Claire."
"Are you fucking serious?"
"Unfortunately."
"Wait, lemme get this straight. So, he asked you out?"
"Yes."
"And made a legit plan? To link up? Time, place, whole thing?"
"Yeah."
Richie readjusted his stance, his anger flaring - reminding you of the diagram Lilo drew for Stitch to show how full of 'bad' he was. "And you're saying, you got there, waited for him for hours - fuckin' plural - and he didn't show up? No text, no call, no nothing?"
"Correct. I called and texted plenty, though. No answer."
"Right, but he didn't cancel your date when Claire came in the picture? Or vice versa, what-the-fuck-ever?"
"Nah."
"Just left you there? Alone?"
"Yep."
"Hold up, hold up. Homie made a date with Claire Bear before or after he made one with you?"
"Now that, I don't know. But does it matter which date came first, he still stood me up for someone else."
Richie blinked a few times, nodding silently with pursed lips. Then he snarled and tried to surge past you for the door, "Oh, I'll fuckin' kill him - "
"Yo, yo, yo, hang on! Wait, hold up! Leave it be, Cousin, it's not worth the hassle - "
"Nah, nah, nah! He doesn't get off scot-free! Nobody puts Baby in a corner and nobody fucks with Honey!" The two of you tussled on the sidewalk, you refusing to let him pass but him being stronger. It was quite the sight.
"No more Dirty Dancing references!"
"Hater! Lemme go, Honey!"
"Listen to me! Please, for fuck's sake! I don't want this to be anything bigger than it already is! Listen to me, I just want to get some work done with Cicero and go home. Okay? Okay? Goddamnit, Richie! It's not the time for this! Leave it alone for today! I just want peace!"
Richie eventually calmed down enough to let you push him back a couple feet. It took two more cigarettes, but you managed to pacify Richie enough for you to enter The-under-construction-Beef together, discovering most employees already present. Yet, in a rare and odd occurrence, Carmy wasn't; which would've normally confused or worried you, but now, only relieved you. As project manager, you worked intimately with Carmy on a daily basis - which poses as an obstacle if you were trying to avoid him - but without him, you could focus on getting work done and not dodging him.
"Behave," you reminded Richie in a lower register. He swatted at you, picking at a donut Marcus created.
"Mornin', Miss Mamas," Tina greeted, glancing over her shoulder to flash you a warm smile - requiring a double take. "Oh, baby, you look exhausted."
"I feel exhausted," you cleared your throat, greeting her with a quick peck to her cheek.
"Oh! So she can say it and it's fine? But when I do it, it's an issue? This is hypocrisy! Double standard bullshit!" Richie barked with laughter, shuffling past with a swift peck to your temple. Tina pushed at his belly as he passed, making him grunt and flinch dramatically.
You asked Tina, "Is Cicero here yet?"
"In the back with Sugar, baby."
"Thank you, Chef."
Richie watched you walk away from Tina only for Marcus to stop you, then Ibrahim needed something and it looked like everyone was gearing up to bring some kind of problem to your plate. Like a good cousin, Richie swooped in to place a donut in your hand, "All right, all right, back off, you jagoffs, let the lady breathe." He shooed you onward, feeling protective enough to intercept anyone to give you the space you needed after last night. You told him you wanted to work and go home, so he was going to do what he could to give that to you. The moment you disappeared into the office, Richie hissed to any surrounding employees, "Get the fuck over here!"
"The fuck, Richie?" Tina snipped, "We got work t'do, baby."
"I know," he rushed, glancing over his shoulder, then back at the others, "but I want everyone to go. Fuckin'. Easy. On Y/N today. Okay? Got it? She's got some shit to do with Cicero and then she's gonna go home - so, let's make sure that happens, no exceptions."
"What happened? What's wrong? Is she okay?" Marcus asked in concern, his frown deep enough to lower his brows.
"Yeah, Richie, you can't say that and then not explain," Syd tacked on. "I'll talk to her. -"
With grit teeth, Richie scooted in front of Syd and warned, "Hey. She's my fuckin' family, right? I'll protect her from anything - including you jagoffs, so leave her alone today. Okay? That's all I'm asking - Leave. Her. Alone." He glanced around and lowered his voice as the others all dipped inward to hear him, "Fuckin' Carmy asked her onna date last night then stood her up and went out with Claire instead."
This caused an angry ripple to emit from the huddle. You were none the wiser; in the office, sat at the desk to go over what Sugar had prepared for your review. Cicero leaned on the desk beside your chair, arms crossed, just watching you as if a bug under a magnifying glass. He pushed his glasses up by one finger to the noseband, glancing at Sugar and asking, "You all right, doll?" There was a pause, then a hand nudged your shoulder, "Honey? You hear me?"
"Hmm?" You looked up, "Oh, wait, sorry, were you talkin' to me, Unc?"
"Yeah, darling. I mean, you look pretty tired, just asking if you're all right?"
"Wow, I come into work as my most beautiful, natural self and all anyone can say is I look tired?" You laughed, trying to lighten the mood, "Maybe I do need make-up."
"You're also in joggers."
"I didn't feel like putting jeans on this morning, sue me."
"And you're quiet as hell."
"So? Usually you're telling me to shut up."
"You have a college degree in yapping," Cicero chuckled, "so when you go silent, I know something's wrong."
"I'd have multiple PhD's if yapping was a real major," you joked. "But I promise, Unc, I'm all right. I didn't sleep last night, so, after we get this shit done, I'm gonna head out."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive, Unc. Tell you what, you can even drive me home when we're done."
Cicero nodded, "Good deal. Then, let's get crackin'."
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It was the worst timing in the History of Clocks.
Pete called Sugar several times, so she finally answered when Cicero needed to run to the restroom; leaving you alone and defenseless in the office as Richie was out back for a smoke break. Carmen apparently arrived just in time, all but bolting into the office when he didn't immediately clock you in the kitchen.
The invisible timer began to tick.
"There you are!" Carmy gasped, startling you enough for your knees to bang up into the desk. "Ohhh, shit," he blinked when you grunted and rubbed your legs, "I'm so sorry, Honey, that was my fault, I should've called or something as I came in."
"It's fine, Carmen. Look, uh," you gestured to the paperwork before you, "we're almost done here, do you need something or can it wait? Kinda your restaurant on the clock..."
"I mean, it can wait, but are you busy, like, right now-right now? 'Cause, lookit, I gotta tell you, I had the best fucking night. I'm so serious, Honey. I went out with Claire - you remember Claire, right? - and it was, wow, just wow - I mean, this girl is the whole package, you know?" You bristled when he took a seat on the edge of your workspace and realized he was carefully avoiding usual pet names. He continued to ramble on about his incredible date with the incredible Claire, missing your lips pursed in patient annoyance as you listened to him without reaction; staring emotionlessly at the laptop screen. "Hey," Carmy waved a hand in front of you, causing you to flinch and automatically look towards him - albeit in annoyance. "Where are you right now? You're not here, in the present with me. You all right?"
You couldn't help but bite, "Mhm. Where's your phone?"
The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.
"What?"
"Your phone, Carmy, the thing you pay a monthly bill for so people can get in touch with you, or you with them. Ring any bells? Where's your phone, it'll play bells for you."
"Woah, hey," his hands went up in defense, "what's with the hostility? I left my phone somewhere here last night, Honey."
"Oh, sure. How convenient - "
"No, look, I'm serious - look, look around the fuckin' desk!"
You glared at him before shuffling the few papers and files, ready to snarl at him when you found his phone. "Why's it here?" You asked stiffly, handing over the shut-off device.
"I forgot it, I was in a bit of a rush."
"There a reason for your rushing?"
"Yeah, to get to my date with Claire - see, you weren't even listening to me, were you?" He let a twinge of frustration taint his tone, "You wanna bite my fuckin' head off about my fuckin' phone that I forgot at work, fine; but you're so mad about it that you didn't even listen to me? Jesus, fuck, who are you, my mother?"
You swear you heard 'oooohs' coming from outside the office.
"Oh, fuck you, Carmen! How about you check your messages before trying to come at me, you fuckin' bitch," you snapped, slapping your laptop closed and starting to pack up the desk.
"What the fuck are you so pissed off for? 'Cause I didn't text you 'goodnight' or 'good morning'? Grow the fuck up - "
"Hey!" Cicero charged into the office, interrupting the argument. "I don't know what the fuck is happening, but we're busy in here, Carmy - "
"No, actually... Actually, we're done for the day, Unc, I can do everything else at home."
"No, Honey, hang on - "
You stood abruptly to gather the last files from the desk, "No, it's fine, I'm exhausted anyway. I got stood up last night waiting for this jackass, so as you can imagine, I just want to go home, away from any and all others right now."
"Woah, hang on," Carmy pleaded, checking his repeatedly dinging phone he managed to turn on, "wait, what the fuck is this? Why did you call me - holy shit, seventeen times?!"
"Could you drop me at home, Uncle?" You pleaded softly.
"Of course, princess, but what the fuck is going on?"
You could only manage a fake, sad smile, "Carmy's the jackass who stood me up last night."
"No fuckin' shit!" Cicero gasped, looking between you. "Uh, yeah, yeah, Honey, sure, I can take you home, c'mon, let's go."
"I left these for Sugar, they're all filled out if she can just file them - the rest I can do from home," you tapped the files left behind, leading the way out of the office; Carmy stood to the side in shock as he caught up on his messages. "Think we could grab something to eat on the way?" You asked, desperate for distraction.
"Whatever you want, doll, of course," Cicero agreed easily, following you at a close range. The others scattered like roaches, pretending they weren't listening, but... C'mon... You know?
The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.
"Wait! Wait, Honey! Please, hang on," Carmy called after you, repeatedly shouting your name. "Wait, please, wait, wait, wait, hang on!" He pleaded in a race against time to clear the kitchen and reach you before you could walk away from him for good. His hand wrapped around your upper arm in a desperate attempt to stop you, but it only made you flinch.
"Carmen," Cicero spat in warning.
"It's okay, Unc. It's okay, we should probably hash this out, you know? I can - I'll meet you out front," you promised softly, patting his arm raised to protect you from Carmy's grab.
The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.
Cicero gave a 'harrumph' and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, glaring at Carm before taking his leave. You huffed and crossed your arms, turning to face your best friend, sneering, "What could you possibly have to say to me? You said enough last night."
"The fuck does that mean, we didn't even talk!"
You snapped, "Your silence was really fucking informative, Carmen!"
"That's what you're not fucking explaining to me! I don't even know what you're mad about!"
There was satirical amusement donning your expression as you gave a gruff chortle of disbelief. So, you broke it down, "By you not canceling the second you and Claire made plans or remembered you made plans with her first, by not answering me all night and humiliating me, leaving me there, alone, so you could go out with Claire said all I needed to hear. It was all you had to say. You were so fucking loud, it's a miracle I haven't burst an eardrum!"
"Honey," he sighed like you were a child throwing a tantrum, "it was an honest mistake. I don't get why you're blowing this up? We've literally forgotten about plans before, just help me understand why this one is so different? I want to fix this, tell me what the fuck is going on!"
Speaking of bursting an eardrum, the invisible timer ticked louder, faster.
Tears broke your waterline, "You've always been my best friend, Carm."
"You're mine, too - "
"But at some point, things changed for me. I get it's a personal problem, so I kept quiet because I loved being your friend, being in your life - I tried not to be greedy, but now I see we were just racing this inevitable clock. When you and I went through everything with Mikey, I thought it made us closer, stronger - "
"It did!"
" - but I also thought that maybe you weren't seeing me as before, as some kid, but as I am now - a woman."
"Honey..."
"Let me finish," you bit off, tears dripping down both your cheeks. "I still never said anything, I never wanted to pressure you, and truthfully, I always knew you had a thing for Claire, I knew one day someone would come around and replace me, but I still loved you. Despite everything with my family, with yours, I loved you. Despite any of my own reservations, my own fear about ruining what we have because it's better than losing you completely, I loved you. Despite the physical distance and all of your emotional distance, I loved you. And then, you come up to me, out of nowhere, and you asked me to go out with you. Twice, you phrased it that way, Carm."
"Honey, baby, please - "
"You asked me to go out with you, you set the time and place, I agreed. I showed up... I sat there as people came and went through the night, Carmen. It was humiliating an-and degrading and mortifying. Only to find out within seconds from Richie that you had left for a date with Claire - when there I was, alone, waiting for you, too. Like I said, I always knew you had a thing for her, and I knew one day someone would replace me, but holy fucking shit, Carm, I thought you had a little more decency, more respect than that after years of friendship - "
"How could you say that to me?" Carmy snapped with tears racing down both your cheeks, mindful of the distance as to not crowd you. "Knowing you're my best friend, the only person - "
"How could you leave me there, Carmen!?" You cried, making him freeze. "That was downright cruel and so fucking hurtful. So much so, in fact... I-It makes me feel we shouldn't talk for a while."
"What?"
"I'm so sorry, Carm, but I just - I don't think it's fair to anyone involved, nor those around us, to remain friends right now. So, we just... Need a break, or something. Being your friend is too fucking hard and so exhausting, it's been at my expense... We just need a break."
"No, hey, h-h-hang on a second, baby, wait, please," he halted you from turning away. "Listen to me, please, I'm so sorry. I really am, sweetheart, I'm so fucking sorry. Okay? I-I'm so sorry I forgot my phone and didn't see your calls or texts - "
You let your hand wave as if to physically pause the conversation, breathing, "That's what you think I'm upset about?"
"Well, yeah, and I'm sorry I couldn't call you, but you saw, you found it - I forgot my phone!"
"No... No, you didn't forget your phone, Carmen. Jesus Christ, you forgot me," you whispered, taking two steps back so he couldn't touch you even if he tried. "I really don't think we should talk anymore, okay? What you did was really fucked up, what you made me feel was even worse. I'll still help with the restaurant, I promised I would, and unlike you, I can be taken for my word because it means something. But I don't think you and I should work together, you make me so fucking uncomfortable - "
"No, hey, wait, baby, please, listen, listen, listen - I made one mistake," he pleaded, trying to step towards you but you reared back another three. "W-Why're you punishing me - punishing us - for one mistake? Please, Honey, I know I fucked up, but let me fix this!"
"Well, a stitch in time saves nine."
"The fuck?" Carmy chided, eyes narrowed.
"It means by doing proper the first time, you avoid problem later - but you don't have a lick of accountability, do you? No forethought, no comprehension to how your actions will affect others! It's not just 'one mistake', it's not just you standing me up, Carmy! Jesus, fuck, it's everything! I just poured my fucking heart out and you can't even say you love me back, can you?" You gave no time to answer, "No, of course not, because it's Claire - it's always gonna be Claire! It's always gonna be someone! So, I-I can't play second fiddle anymore, I won't - I can't be in love with you while you're in love with someone else, Carm. You've kept me on your back burner for too long, you forgot me, so you're not allowed to be surprised the kettle still whistles. I just can't do this, Carm, it's complicated and it hurts, it's not fair to either of us. So, I'll remove myself, no problem and work from home, but if I have to be here, please, limit our interactions best you can. For my sake, I'm begging you, give me fucking space."
"You're just gonna throw us away? I fuck up once, and that's it? Just like that?" Carmy begged, sounding earnestly confused. He looked like a kicked puppy. It broke your heart in a way last night couldn't. "I made one mistake, Honey, okay, yes, I take full responsibility! Please, let me try to fix this, okay? Please? I'm so sorry, I know that doesn't cover it, but lemme try to make all of this up to you. C'mon, baby, please, don't let me be the reason we both lose - just - okay, just let me fix this, please!"
"No, you know what? I'm not throwing anything away, I never did, Carm, you did when you chose Claire over me," you shrugged, tears strangling you once more. "Now, I need space... Can you give that to me or is that too much to ask for?"
"Why're you talkin' t'me like that? I-I'll give you whatever you ask for, Honey, you know that," Carmen sniffled, eyes reddening by the minute; hands going from hips to hair to forehead and back, unsure what to do.
You managed to get out, "I don't even know you anymore, it seems," before fleeing the kitchen, lungs choking on nothing. You couldn't get air in. You couldn't push any out, it was all so choppy and violent. With a hollow chest, you escaped out the front door; hating that you had to ignore Sugar and Richie calling after you, stumbling on the sidewalk and into Cicero's idling car.
"All right, let it out, you're all right, Honey. You're safe with Uncle Cicero," he soothed, rubbing your back as he pulled into traffic. "I know, I know... We all know, I'm so sorry this happened. What a fuckin' jagoff - you want me to pull my money from this restaurant? I'll do it - I'll do whatever - "
"No, no, no," you whimpered, sniffling and wiping your cheeks. "While I appreciate your ready and willingness to defend me, I don't want it at Carm's expense. I'll just work from home, it's not a big deal, and then... Maybe if I have to come in, I know Richie will be there to be a buffer, but maybe you could - "
"I'll be there whenever you ask, princess, you know that."
"Thank you," you squeaked as he drove past your usual street. "Oh, uh, I'm down South - "
"I thought we could make a run to the store, make sure you have all your comfort snacks so you don't have to go back out. Or do you wanna go straight home? You tell me, princess."
You gave a watery smile, a new wave of emotion choking your words, "Snacks would be really nice, thank you."
"You have dinner?"
"I don't know - "
"We'll get you some," he comforted, patting your knee as you just needed a safe space to cry. And for now, that was the front seat of your Uncle Cicero's 6-figure car.
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You knew it was a formal invitation the moment you caught sight of it at your doorstep, indicating it was hand-delivered and not sent through the mail. It sent a flurry of unknown emotion through your veins; angry by its arrival, yet excited by what it meant. With a glance up and down the hall of your apartment landing, you found yourself alone; bending to pluck up the envelope and enter your home. Keys to the bowl, shoes left at the door in the foyer, coat hung up, purse deposited to the available end table; phone being pocketed as you turned for the kitchen to drop all mail on the counter.
You didn't open anything.
Instead, you got on with your evening after working your usual 9-5. After a steaming-hot shower, you smeared on a facemask to hydrate your tired skin; then shimmied into soft loungewear and fixed your hair for the night. In the living room, you turned on Netflix for background noise before scouring your kitchen for an appropriate dinner that would hopefully nourish you after such a busy day. You debated a glass of wine, thinking you didn't need it, but then pouring one as the glittering envelope taunted you from where you left it. You drank, glaring at the little piece of stationary as you cooked a simple stir fry concoction. Carmy taught you to clean while you cook, so, once your meal was dished up and whatever could've been stored in the dishwasher was, you poured yet another glass of wine, snatched the invitation, then nestled in the living room with your meal.
You still didn't open it.
The coffee table was larger than others; big enough to double as a work desk; the perfect height for you to still access while lounged back on the sofa. You had all kinds of documents spread, most pertaining to The Bear - which was finally set to open in about a week. It would've been an exhilarating time of celebration... Should you have been able to feel anything other than outright heartache.
For weeks now, you hadn't spoken to Carmy, the longest you've gone in your lives. You simply weren't ready to face the other side of rejection; spending this time building yourself up as an independent woman who didn't need no man, even if that man was your best friend. The idea that there was no place for you in Carmy's life or room for him in yours felt farfetched and illegal in some manner, as if it were taboo. You had a lot of navigating to do, and much farther to go, but for now, you were still in the adjustment phase. Never had you been without each other, it was weird to think this was it, there wasn't any going back; at least, not from you, yet, after such a putrid display of disrespect.
While you were stood up in just one restaurant, you avoided the entire marketplace as a whole out of sheer embarrassment. Granted, it wasn't a place you frequented, but it was still a hotspot some other friends had discovered and wanted to meet at for your weekly hang-outs. You couldn't tell them how triggered you felt because you didn't want to limit places to go, so, you figured bailing on them was the better option. It's not like you lied when you said you couldn't see them because of work - which was typically really crazy - but you could still make time if you wanted to; you had before. That's how much Carmy's hurt debilitated you, though.
Your plate was left to the side, dog sniffing around in the hopes of licking up whatever scraps you might've dropped; one hand holding the glass of wine, the other pinching the envelope by the corner. Deciding it was now or never, you ripped open the seal and retrieved the contents with delicate fingers, as if it would burn you.
The invisible timer started to tick.
You ignored the use of parchment paper. You ignored the perfume slightly wafting from it. You ignored the familiar script in silky ink. You ignored the certain choices you remember picking out, now used officially on the friends and family opening night invite.
You smiled sadly, letting the parchment card fall to the envelope left on the coffee table's corner. You took a long breath in, jaw wriggling; tears slowly forming, but not falling. For weeks, you had avoided any direct reminder of what happened; knowing you still worked as project manager, but able to sort of schedule your emotions around deadlines and necessary interactions. This particular piece of mail was impending, but unexpected today; where being invited to see the completed restaurant you helped design and erect was all but expected - just not today, per se. While every fiber of your being wanted to attend, nothing felt right about accepting when you knew you'd more than likely run into Claire and would have to interact with the others.
It felt too soon.
You had no right to go around any of them anymore.
What would you say?
Sniffling your emotion with a deep sigh, you leaned back to your back couch cushion with the last of your wine tipping to your mouth. While petting your pooch fondly, you wrestled mentally pros and cons, different logistics, like: who did you message your rejection or acceptance to? Did you bring a date? Did you go with Cicero? Were you supposed to wait after the crowd cleared to mingle with your friends? Were they still your friends? What did you wear? Should you make legit plans with other people so you had plenty of distraction that evening? So you had a solid alibi? Would anyone even question your absence?
Your dog whined when your phone vibrated violently in a phone call from another cushion. With a sigh, you leaned forward to set your wine glass down and snatch the offending object, answering, "Hey, Unc."
"Hey, princess. You busy? This a bad time?"
"No, no, I just finished dinner and am trying to will myself to finish the dishes. What're you up to?"
"Gettin' ready for bed - just wanted to check in on you..."
"Ohhh, I get it - so, you got a pretty little invite in the mail, too, huh?"
"I got something, yeah. I think it looks pretty nice, don't you think? Definitely Sugar's design."
You held back your sarcastic quip about how you had all but designed the invites, so, you answered instead, "Yeah, real nice, Unc, yeah, she's got real talent. You goin'?"
"Uh-huh, no beating 'round the bush with you, is there?" He sighed, making you smirk broadly, "I am, I'm goin', gotta visit my money, you know? Well, I was wonderin' if you wanted to go with me?"
"Oh, Unc - "
"I know, I know, but it could be nice. Just us! Or we could double date? My treat - I'm paying - "
"I don't know if I can go yet, I haven't checked my schedule. I got home, made dinner, ate, answered your call."
"Oh, shit," he laughed. "Well, you think about it and let me know, Honey, okay? Okay, seriously, it'll be nice, we can go together, or separate - you know, don't let me cramp your style."
You laughed, "Nah, you kinda up my game."
"As I should. All right, pumpkin, well, I should run - but you think about it, let me know what you think, okay?"
"Okay, Unc, sounds good. We'll talk soon, I love you. Goodnight."
"Love you, too, doll, goodnight."
The invisible timer ticked louder.
The invitation was the only thing clipped to the front of your fridge. It taunted you at every passing moment. For days, it demanded your attention - succeeding only because you knew you had to RSVP to someone. Friday loomed closer and closer, Cicero had sent you two reminder texts, and try as you might, the fracture to your heart wasn't easily plastered.
There was nothing but heavy pain each time you thought about attending, so, on Wednesday night, you texted Sugar: hey babe! love that F&F is happening! sadly i have some work shit to do so i can't be there ☹️💔 but the invites are gorgeous! congrats on everything, i can't wait to see it! thanks for thinking of me for the guest list! good luck on Friday! 😘
Then you texted Cicero you couldn't make it, and while he understood, Sugar replied: Thank you, my love. Fak was so proud to show us how to work Canva for those invites 😂 Sure there isn't anything I can do to change your mind? We'd all love to see you there!
You answered: no way, this looks like real handwriting! technology's going too far. and yeah babes, i'm sure, i got work shit so unless you yell at my boss, i'm kinda stuck 😂
Curiously, Sugar requested a photo of your invite; but without curiosity, she also requested your boss' phone number. After you sent the image, she replied: Oh wow! I guess Carmy went rogue and gave you a fancy handwritten invite. What a jerk. Is he still a jerk? I can't remember, we haven't talked about what happened! 🥲
You promised: nothing to talk about now, Sugar Mama. all good! i gotta run but i love you congrats again, gooooooooodnight! ❤️
You hated avoidance; the dejection, festering unworthiness, self-imposed punishment and isolation. Yet it was all you had now, rationalizing you were protecting yourself and this was a necessary defense for your newly instated peace. Sometimes, you had to do things like miss events because you're healing - and that should always take precedence because you were nobody's priority but your own.
You put a red line on your calendar through the words 'THE BEAR', nodding as if in assurance of your decision, then yanked the invitation from your fridge. Yet you hovered over the trash can, fingering the lettering and remembering Sugar's text: Carmy went rogue and gave you a fancy handwritten invite.
The trash can lid slammed shut.
The invisible timer ticked slower, quieter.
In your bedroom, you pulled a handheld trunk from your closet and knelt to the floor. Inside the trunk, you had placed all triggering Carmy centric mementos and memorabilia; dropping the invite to the towering piles. You carefully pushed some letters out of the way to pick up the journal he gifted from Denmark; flipping it open to any random page for study. Then you compared it to your invite and let a small, fond smile tug on yours lips; confirming it was Carmy's script, that he had, indeed, gone rogue.
When the trunk shut, so did the lid of your feelings.
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Opening night had been something of a disaster, but the staff was ready to handle whatever obstacle. Granted, the head chef getting locked in the walk-in freezer wasn't on anyone's bingo card, Sydney was still a fucking superstar and commanded the kitchen in a gorgeously fluid and respectful manner. Richie stepped up and proved he was a newly-appointed expert in hospitality. Fak could take... some... direction. All in all, while not ideal or what was expected, it was an incredibly successful opening night! The staff was all rightfully proud of themselves, riding euphoric adrenaline highs.
The invisible timer began ticking.
Despite knowing Carmy had been freed from the freezer, nobody could locate him. Some theorized he went home to blow off steam, others teased maybe he went home with Claire - missing the way she left in tears earlier. However, when Tina, Fak, Syd, and Richie left the kitchen, they paused and let their proud smiles drop upon discovery of Carmy sitting, alone, in a back booth of his restaurant.
A dim, yet unmistakable comparison to what he did to you months ago.
There was temptation to leave him there; the entirety of the staff pissed off to the point they were giving Carm the cold shoulder for what he did to you. They credited you with damn near everything "The Bear" was, because while not your idea, not your dream, you gave it life and brought this place into fruition. Not to mention, you had taken on work as project manager for free - paid in the value of knowing you were helping such a good cause. A good family. It was a repeating fact; your everlasting endearment and compulsive support for anything and everything 'Berzatto'.
Yet despite their own simpering feelings, it was all dwarfed on examination of Carmy's decidedly pathetic statue. Syd felt a level of guilt the entire night, feeling it increase on sight of her technical boss; but to Fak, Richie, and Tina, who took Carm's slight against you personally, this was a heart-melting sight. There was a strange, mutual desire where the group went from wanting to kick Carmy's ass to just wanting to give him a hug and help the poor emotionally-inept dumbass.
"Go," Tina snarled quietly, pinching Richie's under arm.
"Me!?" He spat in shock, "Man, hell nah, fuck that guy!"
"Fuck you, too, Richie, c'mon," Sydney chided, pushing past them to lead the way up to Carmy. "Uh... Heeey, Chef?" She greeted in an unsure, sing-song voice.
"Chefs," he nodded meekly, immediately looking back to his anxiously twiddling fingers.
"Hey, Carm," Fak smiled warmly. "Whatcha doin' here, bud? Why're you all alone? In the dark? That's kinda creepy, dude."
"Nah, nothin'. Just, uh... Just waitin'."
"For what?" Fak asked, Richie smacking his arm. The tattooed man with a mustache flinched and cried, "What!? Now I can't ask my friends questions!? He's the one sitting in the dark like the Undertaker! Jesus!"
"Dude, just pause, be quiet," Richie scolded, shaking his head to silence the confused Fak. At Carmy, Richie directed, "Yo, Cousin, c'mon, let's just - let's all go home. C'mon, man, let's go. It's closing time."
"Yeah, yeah, uh," Carmy sniffled, "you guys go 'head, I'm gonna wait up for a bit."
"Carmy, it's late," Syd tried, "we aren't just gonna leave you here. So, come with us."
"Yeah, baby, c'mon," Tina tacked on in sympathy, "it's been a helluva night, we should all get some rest."
Fak and Syd and Tina all tried to encourage him with them, but Richie remained silent; just surveying the Chef. When a natural lull came after Carmy insisted again they go on without him, Richie scoffed, "Dude, c'mon... You know she's not comin'."
The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.
"Richie," Tina hissed.
"What?" He barked with his hand raised, glaring at Carm. "C'mon, man, it's late, she knew what time this was - and she told Sugar she couldn't make it 'cause of work. That's pretty definite. So... So, c'mon, let's go, dude, she's not comin'."
Before anyone could intervene again, Carmy snapped, "You don't know her like I do, Cousin."
"Know what? Fine," Richie laughed sardonically, "fucking fine, rot here for all I care, man - "
"No, c'mon, Richie! Hey! Don't be like that!" Tina called after him, sighing in defeat. "Sorry, Chef, I gotta run - " She leaned into the booth to peck Carmy's cheek before rushing her farewells to the others, then running out the door, calling, "Richie! Wait, baby, hold on!"
Sydney and Fak awkwardly stood around, not knowing what to do or say, so Carmy insisted they go home, too; he was gonna wait just a little longer for you then head out. They believed him, or at least, enough to listen to their bodies and go home for some form of rest. Carmy twisted the locks on all doors after them, leaving only the front undone with his seat facing directly forward.
The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.
He waited with his elbows on bouncing knees. He waited and devised his nonnegotiable list. He waited with his feet in the booth. He waited while rearranging his ideal table setting. He waited and redid the tape in the walk-in. He waited on the sidewalk, chain smoking. He waited while scrubbing the kitchen, top-to-bottom. He waited and took liquor inventory.
He waited, replaying the events of your fight in his mind. He hated what he said, how he behaved, the expression on your face; praying you'd accept his olive branch - thinking a handwritten invitation was enough. Carmy just assumed you'd remember he was better at talking rather than writing or texting - hoping his script was enough for you to know he wanted to see you in person, not just send messages of apology. He wanted you to have space, he thought a couple of months was enough; so, hopefully you were still fluent in the words he never spoke or wrote.
This inspired Carmy to call Richie's phone to leave a voicemail of apology and love after reminiscing their own fight. It also made him want to call you, too - but this urge was resisted when the image of your heartbroken expression shot to mind.
The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.
Eventually, Carmy settled in the corner booth; arms crossed, feet up, still watching the door. He noted the sun was rising and the city waking up; cars buzzing by, commuters starting to crowd the sidewalk. His eyes burned with the yearn for sleep, yet his mind would not quell; unable to forget your tears, the devastation you showed, how he was the sole cause of it all.
Carmy repeated he was a failure, he let you down and betrayed any and all trust the pair of you had in one another. He should've told you the truth; that he could see himself loving you romantically, he just never thought it was an option, so it purely wasn't on his radar. In Carmy's mind, even trying to cross such an important friendzone could make you feel unsafe if you didn't feel the same way; so it was something he wrote off long ago. It was part of why Claire was so tempting to him, but he needed you - like a fish needed water.
He was able to comprehend (now) that his actions weighed on more than himself, but you, too; that given proximity, you were forever doomed - or destined - to be his collateral damage. Carmy also understood this wasn't a lease you could continue to cosign for any longer when he desecrated the house and home your friendship lived in. So, it was his job to prove he could be the man you fell in love with, that he could deserve you; all he needed was a chance, and it was better late than never.
Understandably, Carmy felt pitiful, purely ridiculous that this is what it took for him to realize nobody mattered to him more than you; nobody could ever compare, there would never be a competition. That he didn't care for Claire's thoughts, opinions, nor ideas like yours; how he found himself wanting to impress you, not her; hating when his phone rang with her ID and not yours. You had given Carmen exactly what he wanted, and yet, it was everything he hated and nothing he needed. Carmy prayed to an unspecified deity that your decade+ friendship was strong enough to withstand - or recover from - his insolence.
Yet when the front door opened, it revealed only Richie; a delight unto itself, but not the ray of sunshine the mournful Chef desired.
The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.
Carmy deflated with definitive defeat into the booth, tears falling in rapid finality. His lips parted just a fraction to let his breath escape in easier huffs, a buzzing whine filling his ears as icy realization washed over him: your friendship was truly well and over.
"Cooked," as the kids say. Your friendship was cooked.
Richie paused in the walkway, sighing deeply before slowly moseying over. He silently placed a twin cup of coffee to the table and dropped to the booth across from Carmy, both silent and stewing. Richie peaked up first, finding Carmen's attention locked on the door like a golden retriever; but the flooding tears halted any derisive comment he instinctively wanted to hurl. Richie asked before taking a sip of coffee, "She didn't show, did she?"
The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.
"Nah, she didn't," Carmy whispered, the tears flowing faster, "'cause I really fucked up this time, Cousin. She's really fuckin' done with me. Not that I blame her, but... But holy shit..." Carmy dissolved into lung-stuttering tears, bowing his head in shame as he obviously attempted to get a handle on his emotions; only ever used to having them freely around you.
Richie sighed and leaned over the table to clap his hand to Carm's shoulder, muttering, "Hey, hey... For what it's worth, I'm really fuckin' sorry, Carmen... I am, I know you love her." His lips rolled between his teeth, letting Carm have his (several, long) moments before trying to sound lighter, "Look, of course, Honey didn't show up to open, but she doesn't have a malicious bone in her body. You haven't shown her you're sorry! She's still pissed off and worse, she's hurt, Cousin! Know what I mean?
"I know," Carmy whispered in despair.
The invisible timer ticked louder, faster.
"So, cut the fuckin' shit, man, time is of the essence! Maybe if you, like, stopped fuckin' cryin' and actually try fuckin' apologizin', Honey'll soften up - you know, like, feel safe enough to come around sometimes. Maybe be a li'l more receptive to you not being so much of a dickhead?"
This made Carmen perk up slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose, questioning, "The fuck are you talkin' 'bout?"
"The fuck did I just say? Get off your ass and apologize to that girl who's so sweet, she's literally called Honey. She's human, she just wants your remorse, dude, you owe it to her; so apologize and leave her be, and when she's ready, she'll let us know, maybe even come back 'round."
The invisible timer ticked slower, quieter.
After a pause, Carmy asked, "Think she'll come back?"
"Only time will tell. Apologize first, you inconsiderate jagoff."
"Way to kick a man."
"We're in this 'cause of you, you fuckin' pussy!"
"Oh, real nice, fuckin' jackass," Carm scoffed, wiping his cheeks and finally accepting the coffee.
"Now you sound like her," Richie smirked, sharing a secret snicker. The pair fell into contented silence, just mulling over each other's nights; either displaying signs of anxiety; where Richie bounced his leg, Carm picked at his fingers wrapped around the cup of coffee.
The invisible timer ticked slower, quieter.
After several too-long minutes, Richie started snickering.
"What're you laughing at?" Carm mumbled.
Richie had to control his giggles, wiping a finger in the corner of his eye, "Something that can only be explained later."
"What's that?"
"...Mikey would've owed Tina about $6k right now."
"The fuck - ?"
"I said later!"
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requesting rules and masterlist
The Bear masterlist
-> no part two planned!
288 notes · View notes
eff4freddie · 7 months ago
Text
Privates
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Joel Miller AU x Javier Pena x AFAB Reader/You
Word count: 9k
Joel takes a second job at the local strip club, hoping to cover Sarah's fees for her fancy new private school. He just has to make sure no one's gettin' too rowdy, and watch out for the girls. It would be really simple. If it weren't for you.
Warnings: porn with plot, this is a Joel Miller story but it's about a strip club so obviously Javi is there, reader is a stripper, no shame get your dollars ladies, MMF, Oral (f receiving), slow burn then smut, also a couple of other cameos, reader has limited physical descriptions other than in reference to her lady parts, this is really filthy even for me, pining while Joel really trying to hang on to some semblance of morals, Javi says maybe two words? Explicit. Minors DNI.
He thought his hearing was bad before he took the job, that years of construction work; drilling, hammering, screaming at Tommy for fucking up the A-frame, would be the thing that robbed him of one of his more essential senses. But it turned out it wasn’t that, it was the incessant bass, the thrum of the sub-woofer reverberating around his skull. The way he felt it jolt his spine, Mikey the DJ hell-bent on obliterating the patron’s ability to think straight with sound alone, as if the watered down booze wasn’t toxic enough to cloud their judgement.
But Sarah needed to go to the fancy school, the one with the uniforms and the shiny brochures, and he hadn’t figured it would be all that mentally taxing. He could do without the late nights at his age, but he got paid after-hours rates to basically walk around and look menacing, and only once or twice a night did he have to actually step in and boot a guy. Sarah had just joined the debate team. Like she needed any help with arguin’.
He'd only told a handful of friends, Tommy so that he knew if he was late to a job it wasn’t because he was on a bender but just because he was working late, a couple of the guys at poker night because he thought they might get a kick out of it. They had, immediately asking him to get them in without the cover charge. He’d refused, but in a good-natured way, and so far they’d steered clear of the place.
He wasn’t sure why he was shy about it, if that’s what it was. Giving the air of authority, trying to be respectful while the girls did their work. He mostly ignored the stage, felt his cheeks burn if he happened to look up to see a girl bent over, thong waving in a guy’s face. He scanned the floor, walked the halls outside the privates, kept his eye on the clock and the bar, waited for his break so he could take a load off and get away from the kick drum assaulting his temples.
The guys kept telling him he’d won the lottery, lucked out on a dream job. And he would agree, except for you.
He’d met you on his third shift, right when he was allowed to walk the floor without a supervisor. He was already learning how to read the floor, how to pick up on cues from the girls that a guy was trouble, was figuring out that just standing with a scowl on his face and his black shirt on in a darkened room was often times enough to keep a blowhard in line. He was getting used to the girls tipping him at the end of a shift, although it felt weird to take their money when he’d just seen how they made it. He was getting used to the dull ache in his knees, in the soles of his feet, reminding himself not to complain when he saw the six-inch plastic heels the girls traded in.
He was learning that each girl picked their music, that often times the songs they chose reflected their dance personas, the girls dancing to pop songs going for the cutesy vibe, the girls dancing to heavy guitar riffs and shouty lyrics dressed up in black and red lace, dangerous and menacing. He was getting used to the way the room shifted in response to whatever was going on stage, was noticing he needed to pay more attention when the younger-looking girls, the blondes in pigtails, took to the stage.
He felt the room go quiet, a kind of hush when your name was called. The shift was enough to make him pause, mid-stride, moving his gaze from a man trying to buy a drink for a girl he suspected was under 21, to the stage. The heavy bass hit him in the chest, the stage lights purple and red, when you emerged, thigh first, from behind the tatty little red curtain. You were all hips and cleavage, all gentle curves and smooth lines, skin glowing and buttery soft under the stage lights. You moved slowly, your hands ghosting over your breasts, as you made eye contact with every patron in the room, your red painted lips curling into a knowing smile as you regarded them, as you took purchase of them, as you measured them and found them all wanting. You were selecting your prey, he could see it in your eyes, and he was fully prepared for your gaze to skip over him, to see his outfit of black and his number around his neck and know that he was a non-starter, except that as soon as your eyes landed on him they stared there, and he could swear you added an extra little wiggle in your hips for him, an exaggerated dip as you held the pole to you and swivelled around it, as you winked at him, fucking winked right there in public like it wasn’t the most obscene thing you could have done in this environment, and he felt it then, that the two of you were in it together, that you had let him in on the grift, that if you were his Bonnie he would do everything he could to be your Clyde.
He turned as you got busy, gave you the privacy he felt you deserved as you shimmied your skirt down, and he found he had no idea where to look now, had forgotten his rotation, had been thrown completely from his rounds. He wanted a shot of hard whiskey, the proper shit that they kept for the high-rollers, he wanted to go out the back to the employee bathroom and dunk his head into the sink. He wanted to march up that stage and pull you off it, bundle you into his car and disappear with you into the night, his fingers nestled in your wet, wanting cunt as he drove, claiming it back from all the men you’d ever shown it to.
He balled up his fist, wondering what exactly had just fuckin’ happened to him, lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck. Out of the corner of his eye he could see you revolving around the pole, your legs curling into the air in front of you so that, if he were to look, he would get a perfect view of Eden between your thighs.
He figured he should check the back room. It had probably been a while since anyone had.
--
You weren’t there every night. From askin’ around, none too subtly he suspected, he’d learned you were studying your master’s degree, taking classes in the daytime then coming by to work some shifts. You’d been there for a while, degrees are long and hard to get, and you mostly kept to yourself. Sometimes on slow nights you read your textbook in the dressing room until someone dropping cash came by. He felt his pulse quicken at this, at the earnestness of it, the innocence in it, and he resolved then that it would go no further. He would stop. He wouldn’t check the roster to see which nights you were working, wouldn’t watch the back door until he saw you appear, bundled up in a winter jacket and a heavy bag over your shoulder, in sneakers and jeans and somehow all the sexier for it, wouldn’t make shitty mistakes on the job site because he was distracted, waiting for your next shift to roll around, wouldn’t stalk the floor sullen and moody on the nights you weren’t in. He would do none of that, because he was too old for a schoolboy crush, because you were both working professionals, colleagues even, because it could never go anywhere without some sort of destruction, because Sarah was doing so damn well in her new school.
He watched out for you. That was his job, to watch out for all the girls. He watched out for you when you started to approach a guy who was already four drinks deep and threatening to get handsy, stepping in before you got to him to redirect him to a glass of water, then the door. He watched out for you when another girl got too drunk or too high and started causing a scene right beside where you were standing at the bar, pulling her away gently by the biceps before she could shatter a bottle and ricochet any glass into your general direction. He watched your back when you were in the privates, kept a respectable distance outside the open doorway, the little U-shaped couches meaning often times all he could see were the guy’s legs, sometimes the cream of your thighs as they dangled over his, the curve of your calf easing into the point of your heel. He watched out for you as you retreated to the dressing room for a break, kept an eye on the door to make sure no patrons tried to slip in while you were resting. He steered clear of the dressing room itself. That was your private space, you and all the girls. He had a little office back there, but he would just make sure to take everything he needed with him at the start of his shift, take his breaks in the back room amongst the toilet rolls and broken sound equipment.
He watched out for you when he wouldn’t let you tip him, figuring you needed it for school, gently pushing your hand away when you tried to pass him a twenty at the end of every shift.
--
Sunday nights were dead.  Most of the girls never worked it, preferring instead the busier nights, the bucks’ parties and the bigger crowds. There was only a small subset of girls who worked the Sundays, the ones who tended to have regulars come in to visit them, the ones who liked the chilled-out vibe a little more, who used the downtime to practice new tricks on the pole or discuss hair removal and boob jobs right there on the floor. Those were the nights when he felt everyone was a little more themselves, that the grift was a little lesser, when the patrons were generally more well behaved so the girls could let their guards down. No one felt like getting up to all that much bullshit on a Sunday.
But his feet didn’t know any of that, protesting all the same despite the more relaxed vibes, and he was hovering behind one of the booths on the floor resting his hip on it to ease the pressure off one foot for a moment, before shifting his weight to the other. This little method meant he could stay standing, more or less in the same position, for sometimes up to an hour. But on the quiet nights, with so many empty booths around, it was all the harder to resist just sinking down into the cushions and stopping the blood pooling in his shoes.
Candy Jane was on stage, shifting her hips without much conviction, a couple of regulars already with their girls. He could see you, propped up in a corner booth, your eyes on the stage but unmoving. He thought you looked tired, wondered if your feet were hurting as much as his were, and he thought long and hard about sliding in beside you, pulling you into his lap and nudging your head onto his shoulder.
You looked up, then, swivelling your eyes to him and he felt his stomach drop. He was about to start another round of the privates just for something to do but you were getting up on your feet, strolling over to him, the singles and twenties strapped to your thigh by your garter.
‘Joel,’ you said, grabbing his hand and pushing him into a booth behind him. ‘Come sit by me, I’m bored.’
He had seen you flirt with the patrons, a kind of hyper-sexualised bunny thing that promised them every sexual desire they could ask for without ever actually delivering, the art of the tease so acute in you that none of them seemed to even realise they’d been played. He marvelled at that, always kind of admired it, at the street smarts of the girls extracting money from the men who thought they had any power in the situation. He looked at you now, sitting an arm’s length away from him, and felt almost entirely under your spell.
‘Not s’posed to sit on the floor when I’m workin,’ he said, almost apologetic, and you shrugged your shoulders at him.
‘It’s dead, Joel-y,’ you said, and you weren’t flirting with him now, you were just yourself, and he liked you all the better this way, all the more for the earnestness of you, for this version of you none of the other men ever got to see.
‘Just don’t be offended if I have’ta get up and leave quick,’ he said, and you smiled at him.
‘I don’t think you could ever do anything offensive,’ you said, and you were kind of teasing him but also really meant it, and you watched him blush, shifting his body in his chair to face a little further from the stage. ‘Why don’t you watch?’ you asked, rolling your ankles and feeling the tendons stretch. You were hoping your regular would show up soon so you could finally earn something, the house fee already putting you in the red.
‘S’not right to watch, not here for my…jollies,’ he finished, and you grinned at him.
‘Your jollies?’ you teased. He huffed out a shy laugh, looking down at his lap.
‘Y’know what I mean,’ he went on. ‘M��workin’, we’re all workin’.
‘You aren’t curious to take a peek?’ you asked, leaning closer to him. If he was a better man, he would have been able to resist the urge to peak down the top of your dress, the silly little spandex straps barely holding you in, your tits heaving with your breath and with how heavily you were teasing him.
‘Course I am,’ he confessed, almost hissing it out over the bass thumping through his body.
‘A man of principles,’ you appraised, moving back to give him a little break, wondering if he was hard yet. You knew he watched you closely, knew that he lingered outside the doorway for you more than any other girl when you were in a private, knew that he was going out of his way not to look at you when you danced on stage, and the innocence of it, the thrill of it when you had everyone else’s attention except his, it fascinated and annoyed and scolded you, tickled you around the collarbone. You watched as he scratched at the salt and pepper patches dotting his jaw, at how he swallowed so hard his muscle ticked and strained under the force of it.
‘Why don’t you take my tips?’ you asked. Candy’s dance slot was nearly over, and you were waiting to see Destiny. She’d promised to show you one of her new pole tricks hanging inverted, and even after all this time you still hadn’t worked up the courage to do that.
‘You need to save ‘em up, get your degree,’ he answered, without thinking, finding it so hard to think through the want for you, for the proximity of you, now that he could smell your perfume and feel your body heat along his side.
‘You know about that?’ you asked, surprised.
Oh shit, he thought. Just like that he’d fucked it.
‘One of the other guards, he mentioned it. Said he saw you reading a textbook one time,’ he covered, as quickly as he could given the circumstances. You nodded at him, as if this satisfied you, but he wasn’t sure if he’d actually pulled it off. His throat was dry, and it was so hot in the club, was it always this hot in the damn club? First chance he got he was gonna call his HVAC guy.
‘What are you studying?’ he asked, but you were smiling then, eyes bright and over his shoulder.
‘Hey, Javi!’ you squealed, giggling and rising from the booth, pushing your chest out and wiggling towards the man Joel had come to recognise as your regular. The lucky bastard always wore aviators, his jeans so tight Joel was surprised he didn’t burst a button when he got a hard on, his moustache quirking up in greeting to you. Joel wondered if you would ever squeal and rush towards him like that, not caring for one second that it was just part of the grift. 
--
You’re not on shift, haven’t been on shift for a week, and his bones itch under his skin, his feet pacing up and down the carpet outside the privates, patrolling the floor like it insulted him. He hates that he checks the roster at the start of every shift and doesn’t see your name listed, hates that he’s worried about you; that you’re sick, that you’re hurt, that you’ve fucking left. He’s useless at his real job, nearly degloving his entire hand with a band saw he was so distracted wondering if he’d see you that night. This can’t go on, and he knows that, but he just needs to know what happened to you, just needs to know that you’re OK, and then he can get back to being dead inside.
Because that’s what you’ve done to him, he realises. You’ve made him feel alive. He can’t resent you for it, you didn’t know it was what you’d done, but it sets his teeth on edge and it unnerves him in a way that makes him consider quitting, finding another club, maybe not a titty-bar, maybe something he can actually put on his resume. He considers it while simultaneously knowing he won’t do it, would never do it, that he’s too far gone even while he can’t go any further.
He stops checking the roster. It hurts in a way he can’t quite get his head around, a pain he doesn’t have any room to accommodate sitting tight and hot in his chest. He keeps his eyes on the patrons and the clock. He takes his breaks in the back room. He feels tired down to the bone.
--
Two weeks after he’d last seen you, he starts his shift the way he always does, going into the back before too many girls arrive to put his bag in his locker and fill his pockets with whatever he’ll need for the rest of the night. He’s busy trying to put a protein bar in his pocket in such a way that it doesn’t look like he has a hard on when he hears footsteps behind him.
‘Joel-y’, you say, and he swings his head towards the sound so hard he thinks he hears something snap. You’re smiling at him, dressed in your jeans and a Fleetwood Mac tee, and he has to consciously remind his heart to keep beating. You’re holding one of your enormous heels in your hand.
‘Where have you been?’ he blurts out, not caring that he sounds needy. You blink at him, surprised.
‘You missed me?’ you ask, and you’re teasing him but he doesn’t care, because he’s glad all over that you’re back and he’ll take all the sass in the world from you if you just stay there.
‘You didn’t…’ Didn’t what, he thinks. Didn’t check in with me? Say goodbye? There’s no reason why you would have. Didn’t promise you weren’t grossed out by him, that he’d made you so uncomfortable you’d gone to work at another club? ‘You didn’t mention you were taking a break,’ he said, eventually.
‘Oh, I had mid-terms,’ you say, breezily. He’s stepping out of his little office now, trying to put space between you before he says something else blatantly insane and stupid, hoping to go back to just looking at you from dark corners while he furtively hopes you don’t see.
‘Wait,’ you say to him, grabbing him by the arm. You hold your shoe up, and he can see where the strap has come away from the base. He takes it from you, feels the brush of your fingertips as he does it, tries to ignore the little flip in his tummy.  
‘Leave it with me,’ he says, stepping towards the backroom where he knows there’s superglue. ‘You got another pair?’
‘Yeah, but those are my favourites,’ you say, looking up at him carefully, watching his face for something. You haven’t got your heavy stage make-up on yet, haven’t curled your hair into gentle waves, and you’re so beautiful like this, he thinks, when he can see the actual colour of your lips, your cheeks.
‘Twenty minutes,’ he says. You smile at him. He wonders if you’ll put your hand on his arm again. You turn away.
--
In the backroom he sits on an upturned milk crate, holding the strap to the base so the superglue will affix to it. If he had his tools he would try and nail it down, but there’s a chance he could shatter the base and these heels seem expensive for something that makes all you girls look so darn cheap.
Your shoes are so small in his hands, and he imagines just for a second its your foot he’s cradling in his lap. He has the presence of mind just enough to wonder what fucked up version of Cinderella he’s trying to live.
He checks the strap, pulls hard on it three times, before he’s satisfied enough to give it back to you.
--
He realises his error, but it’s too late to do anything about it now. He had mentioned to the guys at poker that Sundays were the quiet ones, that the music was just low enough to be able to think, that the girls mostly entertained themselves while their regulars paid them to chat, sometimes to dance. Where you could always get a seat at the tipping rail, could even swing a three song dance out of a twenty if the girl was bored enough.
He feels the drop in his stomach when he sees them, approaching the bar en masse. He can’t remember where you are, he’d lost sight of you between the booths on the floor and the privates, and he tries to remember what time your stage slot was, having checked the roster again despite swearing black and blue he wouldn’t. They haven’t seen him yet, and he wonders if he can just slip out the back and make a break for it, tell them he was sick so he wasn’t working, and they need to fucking call him first. He knows them, knows that they’re not bad guys, that they’re here to keep him company and maybe see some butt while they’re at it. But it stirs in him a deep panic, that they will see you, that they’ll get their eyes on you before he’s really even let himself have a chance to, before he can make you all his own.
A silly little delirious part of him, right at the back of his skull, whispers that it’ll make your wedding really awkward. He shoos it away like an errant mosquito.
Benny sees him, then, is waving him over.
‘Joel, we made it!’ he yells over the music, the guys turning to him to welcome him into the circle. Tommy is already at the bar ordering the beers, but he nods to his big brother. Joel worries for a second that you’ll like his brother better, before he remembers you don’t even like him at all.
He stalks over to him, his jaw aching from the strain, while he looks through the darkness to try and find you. He’ll just have to run interference for a while, keep them busy while you work the floor, try and bundle them back out into the cold before your stage slot.
‘Gentlemen,’ he says, laced with irony, and they’re slapping him on the back, welcoming him in. He reminds himself these guys are mostly Tommy’s friends. Wouldn’t be that sad if he never saw them again.
Frankie tries to hand him a beer but he pushes it away. ‘Workin’.’ He says, simply.
‘More f’me,’ Frankie grins from under his cap.
‘So where’s the best place to sit?’ Benny asks, surveying the room. There are a couple of girls walking the floor, Amber on the stage twisting her hips to the music while staring out over all of their heads.
‘You gotta tip if you sit on the rail,’ Joel says, simply, and Benny nods.
‘I got singles!’ Pope says, ever the responsible one, always the one planning. ‘Sorry, hermano, not enough for you.’ Joel grins at him. Pope can stay, he thinks. Pope will keep his mouth shut.
‘Look, you sit in that booth there,’ Joel says, pointing them to the centre of the room, ‘you can see the stage perfect. You wanna tip a girl though, you gotta get up onta the rail, make sure they know about it.’ He leans in a little, like he’s sharing a secret. ‘These girls work real hard. Make sure you treat ‘em right, ok? They’re good girls. Smart girls. You don’t come here just to look and not sling ‘em some hard earned.’
‘Yes sir,’ Pope says, making a salute that Joel considers might actually be real. He can’t be sure. Tommy was the one who spent a few years in the army with them, not him.
‘Vamos!’ Pope calls, rounding them up and shoving them down onto the cushions. Now Joel just needs to figure out where you are.
--
You keep fuckin’ evading him. One minute you’re in a private, the next you’re at the bar chatting to a patron, trying to get him to buy off the top shelf. Electra is on the stage, and Tommy is entranced by her, the bills practically falling out of his hands while she bends to pick them up with her teeth. It’s distracting Joel, trying to keep an eye on them while also trying to keep distance between you, and the boys are inviting girls over to them, beckoning to them from the stage to come sit by them, and he knows it’s not long before your dance slot is up, knows that as soon as they see you they’ll want you, that they’ll beckon you over, that you’ll fuckin’ go.
He can’t be everywhere, can’t keep doing his job while also trying to manage this situation, has to keep pacing the privates to keep the other patrons in line. He never thought there’d be a time that he wished that fuckin’ Javi guy would show up just to keep you out of sight for a while.
They keep calling to him, too, trying to get him to come over and sit down no matter how many times he explains to them he’s working, that the girls need him to keep an eye on things. Will’s trying to keep a straight face but he’s snickering up at him, and Joel wonders what’s so damn funny.
‘Bet you do keep an eye on things,’ he grins, a little shit-eating thing that makes Joel’s hand curl into a fist. He shakes it loose, the music making it so hard to think, jarring his nervous system. He’s about to say something, about to find a reason to throw the lot of them out, when your name gets called over the loudspeaker. You’re being called to the stage. You’re up next. On the stage.
He has approximately thirty seconds to do something. He is completely rooted to the spot. At the tipping rail his little brother is waiting, dollars in hand. He thinks he might pass out or puke, possibly both and not in that order. His head is swimming. ‘Not like this,’ he thinks. He just doesn’t want you to meet his friends like this.
‘Holy shit,’ he hears Pope say, and he turns to the stage. Your thigh is appearing around the curtain, the shoe he fixed for you running up and down its raggedy edge. You’re all swagger and tits tonight, your hair swept over one eye, and he’s transfixed for a second, completely unable to move, as you shimmy up to the centre of the stage, take the pole in your hand and swivel, kicking your legs out behind you so that you corkscrew down to your knees. Pope is moving to the tipping rail, Benny following close behind. Tommy is leaning forward on his elbows, pulled in by you almost on instinct, and you’ve clocked him now, crawling on your hands and knees towards him.
For a second, Joel sees you pause, studying Tommy’s face, before you search for him in the crowd. You’ve noticed the family connection, and he freezes, terrified of your reaction. Are you going to be angry? Feel betrayed? Hurt that he’s brought his friends here to ogle you, to watch your hips shimmy and your tits bounce? Has he broken some kind of professional code, could he get fuckin’ fired for this, will you never speak to him again? He tries to communicate to you with his eyes that he didn’t bring them here, that he doesn’t want this, that whatever the fuck’s going on with these guys he wants no part in it. He wants you to know he sees you, you in jeans and a tee shirt, that it’s that you he wants.
For a long moment you stare at each other, Joel’s pulse heavy and thick in his ears. You lean back, rear up so that all your weight is on your knees. You run your hand up your side and into your mouth where you bite down on your index finger. You keep your eyes fixed right on his. You wink.
--
So, this is what its like to have a heart attack, Joel thinks. It’s slower than he expected. It’s been hours, and the guys are still here, and by some stroke of divinity or possible the opposite, so is he.
The number of times he’s reminded the guys they have work in the morning. How he’s complained that the music is giving him a headache, and man that pounding base makes it hard to think, and wouldn’t it be fun if they all went to a sports bar, see if the replay of the Knicks game is on? But they can’t leave yet, won’t leave, because they want to see you on stage again, want one last look at your creamy thighs and your bucking hips before they go home and jerk off thinking of their tongues in your cunt. He’s going to have an aneurysm right here on the goddamn floor of this fuckin’ strip club. Sarah’s gonna find out where he’s been workin’ all this time.
The one thing his brother has done for him, the one thing Tommy has done right in his life, is to lay down a rule before they got there that they can’t get any private dances.
‘Didn’t come out here to see ya’ll with hard-ons’, he reminds them, and they snicker but begrudgingly agree, and Joel won’t lie that he feels a surge of pride in his fuckin’ idiot baby brother and his one good idea.
Joel knows the girls are on a roughly two-hour rotation, that by the end of the night all of them will have been on stage about three times. The only problem is that if a girl’s in a private she gets skipped until she’s ready, so sometimes some girls might even need to do more. It seems especially cruel to him that if a girl’s having a bad night, not reeling anything in, not making any money on her own that she gets paraded out even more to the baying crowds of disinterested patrons. He’s seen a few girls with tears in their eyes on the way to the dressing room, complaining of an off night. He’s been around long enough to know that these happen, that there’s no rhyme or reason to them really, just that sometimes that particular girl just isn’t flavour of the night. He’s never seen it with you, though. Never seen you fail to take a man by the hand and lead him down the dark corridor to the u-shaped couches if you deem him worthy. It burns him up with jealousy and also he’s proud of you for it. His good girl taking no prisoners.
He wonders if he can tell the DJ to take you off the rotation, if you’ll notice if you just don’t get called again, but he also knows it would be messing with your money, that Pope and Benny and Will are making good on their promise to tip well. That you’ve got bills and a college degree to earn, that the fact that he’s sick in the guts with a jealous want doesn’t matter, should never be part of the equation when it comes to you.
He does another round, still hoping to see you, still hoping to find you in a private somewhere, but you’ve made yourself scarce and he wonders if it’s because of him, because of his friends being here, worries that he’s embarrassed you. There’s only one other place you could be, tucked away in the dressing room hiding out, unless you’ve just got dressed and left completely, not even bothering with the attempt to tip him tonight.
He shouldn’t but also he needs to, knocks hard on the door and calls out that it’s him before he pushes it open. With all the lights on around the mirrors the place has a warm glow, and he scans quickly to make sure he’s alone before he pushes himself into the room. You’re not here, either, which means he doesn’t know where you are, and he feels a little flare of panic in his sternum. He rests his hand on it, trying to steady his catching breath. He should check the roster. Maybe you had an early finish.
He nearly steps on you when he rounds the corner into his little office. You’re lying flat on your back on the floor, headphones over your ears. For a terrible second he thinks you’ve passed out in here before he realises you’re tapping your feet, your head swaying back and forth to the music only you can hear. He leans down and pushes, gentle, at your shoulder. Your eyes snap open and you startle, pulling the headphones free.
‘Jesus,’ you say, and he steps back again, hangs around the door.
‘Sorry,’ he says, hands up in appeasement. ‘Didn’t mean to scare ya.’
‘No, no, I’m sorry,’ you say, scrambling to stand. Your heels are catching on the carpet and you waver, Joel coming forward to steady you. ‘Sometimes I come by here and stretch out my back a little, the heels are…hard work,’ you say, and he realises you’re blushing, that you think he’s mad. He shakes his head at you, brows saddled.
‘S’ok,’ he says, not letting go of your arm.
‘You’re just not normally in here,’ you say, and you look up at him then, fixing your eyes on his.
‘You can come here any time you like,’ he says. Wants to add that everything you ever wanted he will get for you, that anything you ever asked he would do.
‘-nks,’ you say, feeling shy all of a sudden, realising the size of his hands for the first time.
‘I didn’t know they were comin’,’ he says, trying to keep his voice steady, and you blink for a second, trying to understand. ‘I didn’t invite ‘em, they just showed up.’
‘So, he is your brother,’ you say, smiling now. Joel nods his head at you, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.
‘He’s cute,’ you say. ‘Runs in the family.’
Joel grunts at this, can’t quite believe he’s heard it, tries really hard to think straight. You’re wearing practically nothing in his little office on a quiet Sunday night while his brother and four of his friends throw dollars at random half-naked women. It’s a lot to take in.
‘They’re not getting dances,’ you observe, and Joel shakes his head.
‘Their decision, outta respect or somethin’, I guess.’
‘Respect for you?’ you clarify.
‘Each other, I think.’
‘Oh, that’s silly,’ you say. He feels the heat up his neck, a bloom of something worrisome in his tummy. ‘That’s like going to Disneyland and not getting on any of the rides.’
‘I’m gonna have to beg you to rephrase that,’ Joel says, and you grin at him. He can see that flirty sex bunny emerging in you again, can see that you’re up to somethin’, his brain too addled with the smell of you in his office to figure what.
You’re so fuckin’ pretty when you smile, your little dimple on your right cheek popping up when you’re thinking of something sneaky. He wants to kiss it every morning in the warm light of dawn. Wants you wrapped up in his sheets, hair stretched over his pillow, his hands on your tummy and your breast while he eases his fingers between your thighs.
‘Breaks over then, I guess,’ you say, and you’re practically bouncing out of the room now, his brain working just enough to remind him to follow you. He’s three or four paces behind, alarmed at how fast you can go with those heels on, and he sees it now, that you’re making a beeline for them, that you’re a woman on a mission to finally tip him over the edge, to send him right to his grave.
He can only watch, helplessly, trying to figure which one you’ll reach for. Prays it’s not Tommy. Or Will. Or Benny. Or fuckin’ Frankie. For some reason he thinks Pope might be OK. He watches, his pulse hard and racing in his throat, as you approach, six paces from them, then four, then three. Tommy’s noticed you, is pushing back his chair.
And right before you get to them, right before you’re within grasping reach of his brother, you turn, pivot on your heel to the bar, where fuckin’ Javi is waiting for you, cigarette hanging out of his mouth and beer in hand, one knee cocked to the side. You melt into his arms, resting your head on his shoulder, and somehow Joel is relieved and also it’s so much fucking worse then he could ever imagine, burns him brighter than if you had chosen one of his friends, knows that it’s both a lifeline and a spool of barbed wire you’ve thrown him, knows that he’s latched onto it anyway, can feel the tug and tear of his skin.
--
He's hovering outside the privates. His friends have finally packed it in, it’s nearing 1 AM, and in all the commotion he’d forgotten that his feet are killing him, and they’re really crying for his attention now. But he ain’t leavin’ you alone with that Javi guy, doesn’t trust the way his shirts never fuckin’ fit.
He’s so tired, the adrenaline of the night leaking out of him just to leave him wavering and empty, and he feels like he’s on his last nerve, the stress of the evening, the strangeness of it, wearing him down to the stub. But your little shoe sat right in the palm of his hand, but you went to this office to relax when you thought he wouldn’t know about it, but you fuckin’ winked at him like the rest of the room wasn’t even goddamn there, and he ain’t leavin’ you now.
And if he leans on the wall a little, takes the weight off one foot and transfers it up into his shoulder, if he cocks his head to the side, he can just peek you, see Javi’s tight jeans and the plush of you bottom as you grind it on him, your arms up over your head to make your sweet little tits sway in his face.
He shouldn’t be hard at work. Shouldn’t be leaning like this, crowding himself into the corner to get a better look. He knows there are camera in the hallways, as much to keep an eye on the staff as to keep a watch on the patrons, and he knows that somewhere footage is being collected of him right now peeping in on you. He doesn’t fuckin’ care. He can see the way your stockings are banding too tight across your thighs, and he wants to sooth the skin with his tongue, pull the nylon off you and kiss his way around the angry red rings in your flesh. He can see your hips rocking to the music, your hair swaying down your back. Your hands moving to grasp behind you, pushing your chest up and out into Javi’s face.
And he sees it then, the way Javi’s hands are hovering, lifting off the couch and threatening to come down on your skin. The club has a strict no-touchin’ policy, it was drilled into him on his first day. That’s an infraction worthy enough to get him booted out of here, never allowed to set foot in this fine establishment of dirty tomfoolery ever again. Joel swallows, his eyes now fixed on Javi’s hands, waiting for the moment they brush against your soft, glittering skin, takes a step forward towards the doorway, doesn’t even notice that you’ve pivoted, your hands on Javi’s knees as you grind your bottom down, leaning back to rest your head on Javi’s shoulder. Locking eyes with Joel.
His cock is throbbing in time to the music. The bass thrums in his chest. You hook your knees over Javi’s, first the left then the right, and push them open just enough to give Joel a tease. You’re still in your thong but it’s enough for Joel to see the sheen of the fabric, that you’re wet down there in the valley between your thighs. He licks his lips, a hand coming to rest on his chest, as he gazes at you with the kind of want that sets your nervous system on fire.
You’re swivelling your hips on Javi, can feel that he’s hard underneath you, but you want it to be Joel, want more than his eyes on you now that you’ve got them, want his hands and his tongue and his cock. You whimper, and you hear Javi groan behind you, as if any of this is for him. Javi pulls his knees further apart, unknowingly opens you up for Joel, and there’s a moment where you feel more naked then when you’re topless in front of fifty strange men. Joel has stripped you bare, to the quick. You can see how fast he’s breathing by the way his hand rises and falls on his chest. You time your movements to it, jerk your hips as if he’s breathing his touch into you from across the room.
Except he’s mad, now, you can see the way his brows have furrowed, the way his jaw has set, and you’re too hot and too overwhelmed to realise until the last moment that Javi has his hands on you, is cupping your breasts from behind, trying to reach from behind to tweak your nipples, pulling you further down into his chest to rub more fully on his cock.
Joel’s with you in four strides and you reach for him, both arms lifting up to his as he wrenches you free, screams at Javi to back off, pulls you behind him and shields you with his body while he threatens to beat Javi to a pulp before throwing him out onto the street, then beating him to death where the cameras don’t point.
‘You don’t fuckin’ touch her,’ he’s yelling, and he can feel that his throat is raw, dry, but he can’t fuckin’ think over the crushing beat in his ears, realises after a couple of stilted moments that it’s not the music that’s deafening him but that it’s his heart, that he’s vibrating with fury and want, that Javi has backed up a bit on the couch and lifted his hands in the air but hasn’t scurried away, that he’s not scared or worried at all, that he got to put his hands on heaven and will do nothing to apologise for it, and something snaps in Joel, something feral and needy and primal, something that has been chewing at the bars of its cage for months.
He pulls you to him and you gasp, can feel Joel’s pulse through your back as he manoeuvres you to rest on his chest, lifts one foot up onto the couch while he strips your thong from you, spreads you open for Javi, your body weight leaning on his as he holds you with just one arm around you.
‘This is how you fuckin’ touch her,’ Joel seethes, pushing his hand down over your belly and onto your waiting cunt, cupping your slit and teasing the slick gathering there up and over your clit. You gasp, the leg you have planted on the floor shaking as he strums, gently but somehow so firm, and you can feel yourself opening up to him, your cunt wet and aching, trying to draw him in.
‘You seein’ this, see how wet she gets for me?’ he’s saying, and you glance down to see that Javi is indeed watching, shock on his face and locked in a kind of paralysis, his eyes flicking between your cunt and Joel’s furious face. ‘You couldn’t get this from her,’ Joel is saying, and you’re leaning back into him because your knees are definitely going to buckle, but he holds you firm and steady, and you lift your face up to the ceiling and gasp.
Joel isn’t thinking, just listening to you, just letting his fingers finally touch what he’s dreamt about for months. Your sopping cunt is probably dribbling onto his pants and he doesn’t care, wants it there, wants you deep down in the fibres of the fabric where he’ll never scrub you free. You gasp again when he pushes two fingers in, feels your walls expand to accommodate him, raises the heel of his palm to ease the stretch by rubbing quick little circles on your clit.
‘Slide right in,’ he says, his unhinged commentary gritting out over the music, loud enough for just you and Javi to hear. ‘S’what happens when you’ve got her achin’ for ya,’ he says matter-of-factly.
You’re rolling your hips now, unable to help yourself as you arch your back, wanting to twist in his arms and sink your teeth into his neck, lick and lave at his collarbone, keen into his skin until the sound of it attaches itself to his bones.
‘Look at that pretty cunt,’ Joel is still saying, almost frantic now, the heat on his skin making it impossible to think of anything else, anything so complex as consequences. He’s lost in the touch of it, in the way Javi is looking at him imploringly, the way he can see that this pompous fuckin’ arsehole is getting a schoolin’ on pleasuring a woman, in the way you’re gasping and whimpering just for him. ‘S’mine,’ he says, twisting his fingers up to the knuckle in you, hooking into the spongey spot he knows will make you see stars.
He wants Javi to beg him to stop. Wants him to get down on his knees and apologise, wants him to swear he’ll never come back. But he’s distracted, because you’re calling to him now, the sound of your sweet cries of his name echoing through the vacant halls of his brain.
‘Joel-y’, you’re whimpering, babbling. ‘Joel-y, please,’ and you’re not even sure what you’re asking for, just that he’s torturing you, setting you on fire right here in the privates, that the pleasure he’s wringing from you is too much, too overwhelming, that you want to collapse into him but you’re still trying to bear some of your weight, that your thighs are wobbling and your body is screaming at you to let go but you can’t, not in this position, no matter how good it is, because you can’t get purchase, you can’t grind, the heel of his hand is too blunt on your clit.
He can sense it, that he’s trapped you right where it’s too much and not enough, and a part of him wants to leave you there, wants to make you feel what he’s felt all those weeks he spent waitin’ for ya, checkin’ that fucking roster like a goddamn fuckin’ dog, causin’ all those little fuck ups at the job site thinkin’ about this little cunt wrapped so tight around his knuckles.
But he’s not cruel.
‘Lick it,’ he barks out, gesturing down your body to Javi while he pushes you forward, shifts your weight more fully to the couch. You instinctually hook your knee over Javi’s shoulder, the extra leverage finally giving you purchase enough to properly move. ‘Suck her little clit ‘til she fuckin’ soaks me,’ Joel says, and there’s no arguing with him, not that you would, not that Javi would by the look on his face.
He's looking uncertain, like this might be a trap, and you reach down and grab his hair in your hand. ‘Please, Javi,’ you say, and he’s on you then, without further hesitation, his lips catching your little bud and grasping it between his teeth. You scream, feel Joel jostle you until your head is twisted around to bury in his neck, and you can feel more than hear the little rasps of encouragement as he talks you through it.
‘Such a good girl f’me,’ he’s saying, and you’re barely registering it, but your cunt is listening, clamping down hard on his fingers as Javi grips you with his mouth. ‘Teachin’ us both a thing or two, ain’t ya, baby? Showin’ us just how to treat a sexy little cunt like yours.’
You’re going to die. You’re going to burst into flames. There’s just no question in your mind that this is how you go, but you just fucking hope that you’ll get to come before it happens. It’s like every single nerve ending is now in your pussy, like you are only breathing Joel and Javi, your body sandwiched between them as you grip Javi’s head to you and twist in joyous agony against Joel’s chest.
‘Wanna hear you, baby,’ Joel’s whispering again. ‘Wanna hear it when ya come f’me.’
You open your eyes, look down your body to Javi, where he’s watching you, his eyes travelling up your body to rest on your face. He’s palming his cock, you can see the way his arm is moving up and down slowly, and you can feel Joel throbbing behind you.
‘Don’t look at him,’ Joel admonishes, and you slam your eyes shut, turn again to bury your head in his neck. ‘He can’t help ya,’ Joel goes on. ‘S’just there to make you come, baby.’
God it’s fucking debauched, is what it is. It’s filthy and sweaty and you’re so wet, and you feel sexier than you ever have, feel the power in your body and in your desire, feel the way you have finally, finally brought something feral out in Joel. You’re going to come, because Joel has determined that you are going to, and you just know without him even telling you so that he won’t let you go until you have, until he is satisfied that he has wrung out every last whimper from you, until you are sated and he is confident his job is done.
Javi’s licking hard at your clit now, sometimes sucking on it, and you slam your hips down onto Joel’s hand when he does it, rock your knee to bring Javi closer to you, try to swallow him with your cunt and your hands in his hair.
You can’t get enough breath to warn them. It’s just going to happen, they’re just going to throw you over the edge and into the abyss and you can’t even tell them they’re about to do it. Joel sees it though, feels the way your cunt is gripping him.
‘Do it, baby,’ he’s gritting into your ear, catching every roll of your hips so you won’t fall. ‘Show him what it’s like when I wreck you.’
And you do, then. Harder than you ever have in your life, your lungs pillowing out in your chest to suck in all the air available to them, your wails lost to the music as streams of your slick press into Javi’s face, where you soak him and Joel behind you, shivering and convulsing as you topple over the peak, dimly aware of Joel’s words in your ear as you go, calling you his pretty girl, his beautiful, perfect girl. His girl, his girl, his.
--
There are too many broken workplace safety rules to count, so Joel doesn’t bother. He knows he’s lost his job, that the cameras will have picked up all of that, that as he drops his ID badge and set of keys on the desk in his little office that it was worth it, that you were worth it. He’ll get another job, find a bar open just as late as this one even if it’s further out of town, will travel and will keep Sarah in school and will keep the memory of your sweet little cunt fluttering around his fingers locked up tight in the back of his brain for when the nights are cold and lonely.
When he drives you home, bundles you up in his car and puts the heater on full blast to keep you warm, you tell him that you finished your degree weeks ago, that you were lying about the mid-terms, that you had actually been down in Florida helping your mother move your grandpa into care. It hadn’t seemed necessary to talk about them in that environment, you said, and he rests his hand on your knee because he understands, and also because he likes you.
He doesn’t ask for your number. Knows you probably wouldn’t give it to him, is too afraid that you’d regret everything that you did together, that you were humouring him with even letting him drop you home, that this isn’t even your house.
He only found it later, written in your neat writing, your number and your real name, when he was stripping his pants off himself and dumping them into the hamper, his come collected on the inside where he exploded as he rutted against you, as he listened to your desperate, whimpering cries for him.
He tacks the little piece of paper to the mirror, memorising the digits in case one day it falls. He isn’t gonna call it. He just wants it there, a reminder of you and what you’ve made him feel, how you’ve lifted him, freed something in him. He just wants it there. Proof that you were real.
454 notes · View notes
kazutora-kurokawa · 10 months ago
Note
Poly mikaelson mikey x reader x draken 😻 nsfw and sfw ist please
Poly Relationship w/ Mikey and Draken
♡ SFW and NSFW, fluff, oral->fem and male receiving, biting + hickeys, double penetration, himbo!Mikey ♡
note: mikaelson had me laughing hard as hell for some reason 😭
❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀
SFW
💞 Draken is the most responsible one in the relationship, he makes sure you and Mikey don't do stupid shit all the time
💞 Mikey doesn't understand personal space, he's super clingy and is always one step behind you
💞 All three of you ride on Draken's motorcycle (and get pulled over for it lmao)
💞 Kisses, kisses, and more kisses
💞 Mikey loves kissing your hand and neck, Draken likes kissing your lips and forehead
💞 Draken likes to hold you while cuddling and Mikey likes laying on your chest, so you end up halfway across Draken's chest with Mikey on top of you
💞 Draken stays in one spot while he's sleep but Mikey is all over the place and ends up kicking you and Draken multiple times
💞 You and Draken take turns cooking, Mikey isn't allowed in the kitchen because he almost burned it down last time (he was literally just making a bag of popcorn)
💞 You help Draken brush Mikey's hair in the morning because it's always a mess for some reason
NSFW
💞 Mikey loves to eat you out, he thinks the little noises you make when his tongue circles your clit are adorable
💞 Draken prefers receiving, he's always praising you for how tight your throat is
💞 Mikey loves laying on your chest and biting on your tits, he'll leave hickeys too
💞 Draken fucking you while Mikey's shoving his dick down your throat 😮‍💨
💞 Mikey will sit you in his lap and hold your legs back so Draken can fuck you
💞 They love overstimulating you and making you cum back to back
"You're doing so good angel, think you can give us one more?"
"C'mon doll baby, I know you got one more in you ♡"
❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀
Taglist
@arlerts-angel @i-literally-cant-with-this @trevengersprincess @giugiette @katshimizuu @happy-trenchcoated-impala @rindousbarbie @drunkcheesecake @darkstarlight82 @reiners-milkbiddies @livefromnc
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lara-cairncross · 27 days ago
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Saw the rottmnt Separated AU with Leo and Mikey and instantly fell in love. Are there any headcanons that ya have avout the AU that ya wouldnt mind sharing with us??
Love ya drawnings! Hopa ya having an wonderfull day/night!!!♡
i'm glad you're enjoying it! :D and uhhhhhhh yeah i have a few ideas i can share that i think are cute, this whole thing is literally just vibes anyway lmao:
Leo still loves magic in this au! his favorite place in the Hidden City is witch town, and a ton of the witches living there absolutely adore him and Mikey
Mikey's stuffed rabbit is named Usagi (which may or may not be plot relevant)
when it’s too cold/dangerous for them to stay outside or in their usual hideout, Leo will take Mikey to the Mystic Library and they’ll stay in the kids’ section, since it’s somewhere warm they can nap without having to worry about being bothered by cops or whatever. they’re technically not supposed to do that, but the Bat Librarian has a soft spot for them and turns a blind eye to it lmao
the Bat Librarian “accidentally” leaves a Japanese sign language guide laying around in the kid’s section after she learns that Mikey is partially mute, which Leo finds and uses to teach them both :>
the only people Mikey feels comfortable enough to talk to are Leo (duh) and Hueso (eventually)
Leo and Mikey picked each other's names :)
whenever Leo and Mikey turn up at Run of the Mill Pizza (usually just to say hello or hide from the police lmao), Hueso will pretend that he made too much food or that a customer didn't pick up their order and give it to the boys so it "doesn't go to waste"
Leo gets sick really easily and it scares the fuck out of Mikey every single time-- especially since Leo is usually the one going scavenging for the both of them, so Mikey has to take over that responsibility to find food/medicine and he's way more likely to get caught (and he won't be able to talk his way out of trouble)
no matter what, Leo always manages to find Mikey more art supplies whenever he runs out of it :)
you have a good day too! 🩵
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ageingfangirl2 · 2 months ago
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A Hell Of A Promotion - Manjiro 'Mikey' Sano (Tokyo Revengers)
When you bump into the big boss, his attitude annoys you. Until he offers you a promotion, you can't turn it down. What exactly did you sign up for? Manjiro 'Mikey' Sano x Female Reader (SMUT) Bonten timeline.
*SMUT, Fingering, Oral, Blow Jobs, Degrading Names, Office Sex*
Word Count: 4603
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It had been a long day and it was only 1 pm. You were walking down the sidewalk not looking where you were going, annoyed that your lunch break had been cut short. When you didn’t notice the dislodged slab until it was too late and you tripped. The coffee in your hand flies out in front of you, and your eyes widen in shock as it spills down the suit of the man directly in front of you.
This wasn’t any ordinary man, no, you recognised the white hair and menacing black eyes anywhere.
‘What. The. Fuck!,’ he growls, his voice deep.
You had just spilt coffee on the dangerous boss of Bonten Manjiro Sano.
‘I’m…so…sorry…’ you stutter, knowing your fate was sealed.
He looks at you with a glare that could cut through steel. His eyes narrow as he takes in your appearance, from your now dishevelled hair to your slightly coffee-stained blouse. He steps closer, invading your personal space as he towers over you.
‘You clumsy little fool. Do you have any idea how much this suit cost? It's worth more than anything you own, I bet. And now its ruined because of your carelessness,’ he grabs your chin roughly, forcing you to look up at him, ‘what are you going to do about it, hmmm?’
His grip tightens slightly as he waits for your response, clearly expecting more than a simple apology. There’s a dangerous glint in his eyes, a predatory gleam that sends shivers down your spine, even as your heart pounds in your chest.
‘Err let me get it cleaned for you,’ you offer, voice shaking.
He scoffs, releasing your chin and steps back. His haze rakes over you dismissively, ‘cleaned? Are you kidding me? This suit is beyond repair. The stain is too deep and the fabric is delicate. No amount of ‘cleaning’ will fix it.’
He reaches into his suit pocket and the breath catches in your throat thinking he’d pull out a gun and shoot you, but instead, he pulls out a business card and extends it towards you with a knowing smirk.
‘Here. Take this. It’s the number of my tailor. But don’t expect any favours, you owe me big for this.’
Mikey turns on his heel. Over his shoulder he adds, ‘And maybe next time, watch where you’re going before you ruin someone else's day.’
‘You don’t have to be such a jerk,’ you mutter.
He stops abruptly, whirling around to face you once more. His expression darkens as he stalks towards you, all the colour leaving your face realising you’d fucked up royally. He leans in close, his breath hot against your ear as he speaks in a low menacing growl.
‘A jerk? Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea. I’ve been called worse things than that,’ his hand shoots out, gripping your wrist tightly as he yanks you flush against his body. You can feel the hard planes of his muscles through his shirt, the heat radiating off him in waves when you expect him to be cold.
‘But let me tell you something. When someone spills their drink on me, they damn well better show some respect. And right now, you’re not nearly showing me enough.’
You can’t help but look away from his intense eyes, not aware of your thighs clenching involuntarily. But Mikey notices your reaction and smirks wider, pleased by your obvious attraction despite your attitude.
‘Looks like someone is enjoying the view,’ he chuckles darkly, the sound sending another shiver down your spine, ‘well go ahead and indulge. I won’t judge…much…’
He leans in again, his warm breath ghosting your ear as he murmurs, ‘In fact, why don’t we take this somewhere more private? My office isn’t too far away, we can discuss repayment options for my suit…and perhaps explore other ways you could make amends.’
He tilts his head to the side waiting for a response. You usually weren’t this daring, but the air crackles with tension, heavy with unspoken possibilities.
You bite your lip, ‘I know where the office is, do you not bother to learn the faces and names of those beneath you? I’m the secretary at the main desk.’
He raises an eyebrow. A slow, wicked grin spreads across his face as understanding dawns, ‘The secretary, huh? Well, well, well. How delightfully...convenient.’
He takes a step closer, backing you up against the nearest wall. His hands come to rest on either side of your head, caging you in as he looms over you.
‘I must admit, I hadn't pegged you for the type to play hard to get. But I suppose that's part of your charm,’ his lips grazing the shell of your ear as he whispers, ‘Tell me, little secretary...are you going to make me work extra hard to get what I want from you? Or will you give in easily, like the good little toy you seem to be?’
You shuffle nervously on the spot, knowing there is no way out of your current situation other than to comply, ‘I guess I did ruin your suit, and technically you are my boss and I do like my job…’
His eyes light up with a predatory gleam at your words, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmurs in a low, seductive tone, ‘Is that so? Well then, I think we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement,’ One hand slides down your side, coming to rest on your hip possessively, ‘You'll help me out of this predicament...and I'll ensure your position remains secure. Everyone wins.’
He nips at your earlobe teasingly before pulling back slightly, his gaze boring into yours with an intensity that steals your breath, ‘So what do you say, my dear secretary? Ready to seal the deal?’
You nod your head and utter a single word, ‘Yes.’
A triumphant grin splits his face as he hears your agreement. Without wasting another second, he grabs your hand and starts leading you swiftly down the street towards the towering skyscraper housing his company headquarters.
‘Excellent choice. You won't regret it, I promise.’ His voice drips with sensual promise as he guides you inside the lobby and towards the elevator bank. Once the doors slide closed behind you, trapping you alone together in the small space, he pins you against the wall with his body, one hand sliding up to cup your cheek while the other grips your hip firmly.
‘Now then, where were we? Ah yes...discussing terms,’ He leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that leaves you breathless and wanting more. As the elevator pings its arrival at the top floor, he breaks away with a smirk.
You pout, ‘how have you not noticed me? My desk is the first thing you see when you walk out of the elevator.’
Mikey chuckles low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips as he holds you close, ‘Perhaps I've been too focused on running the empire to pay attention to every little detail...like the woman who's been sitting right under my nose all along.’
He presses a lingering kiss to your forehead, his hand trailing down to weave into your hair as he gazes into your eyes with a newfound appreciation, ‘But now that I have, I intend to make the most of it.’
The elevator doors open, revealing the sleek, modern interior of his office. With a final squeeze, Kenny releases you and steps back, gesturing grandly for you to precede him inside, ‘After you, my dear secretary. Let's discuss those...repayment terms in private.’
You notice that his assistant isn’t at her desk and frown, ‘Where’s Mia, she likes good gossip.’
He laughs, a rich, velvety sound that sends a shiver down your spine, ‘Ah, poor Mia. She's been transferred. Thought it would be good for her to spread her wings, so to speak,’ he winks suggestively, though you weren’t sure if she was dead or alive.
‘Besides, I prefer my interactions with you to be...unfiltered,’ he steps closer, his presence dominating the space between you, ‘Now, about that repayment…’
He closes the distance, claiming your mouth in a hungry kiss that leaves you gasping for air. When he finally pulls back, his eyes burn with a fierce, carnal hunger, ‘I believe a demonstration of your dedication would be in order. On my desk. Now.’
He takes your hand, guiding it to the bulge straining against his trousers, ‘Feel that, sweetheart? That's what happens when a man gets excited. And trust me, you're the cause of it,’ he grins wickedly, ‘Now, are you going to continue stalling, or are you ready to prove your worth?’
Without waiting for a response, he spins you around and pushes you onto his desk, the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat of his body as he looms over you, ‘Let's start with a little exploration, shall we?’ His hands roam over your curves, mapping out the contours of your body with a possessive touch.
You gasp against each touch, ‘How exactly is this repayment?’
Mikey leans in, his hot breath fanning over your ear as he speaks in a low, husky tone, ‘This, my dear, is merely the beginning. A taste of what's to come,’ His hands slide lower, deftly unbuttoning your blouse and slipping inside to caress the soft skin beneath,
‘Consider this an investment in your future. By satisfying my desires, you're securing your place here...and maybe even earning a promotion,’ he laughs, nipping at your earlobe, ‘Of course, there may be certain...tasks assigned to you in exchange for your loyalty.’
He pushes your blouse off your shoulders, letting it pool on the floor. His fingers dance across the lace of your bra, toying with the delicate fabric, ‘Now, let's see what other secrets you're hiding under that prim and proper exterior.’
‘What kind of promotion, I’m not complaining sir, I’m just a little confused,’ you say honestly.
He smiles, a cold, calculating expression that belies the heat simmering in his eyes, ‘Oh, but you should be proud. Proud to serve such a powerful man as myself,’ he trails a finger down your cleavage, tracing the curve of your breasts, ‘As for your promotion...let's just say you'll have access to more...exclusive areas of the company. Areas where only a select few are privy to the inner workings,’ his hand slips beneath your bra, palming your breast with a firm grasp, ‘You'll be handling sensitive information, making crucial decisions that could shape the future of our empire,’ he
leans in, his lips brushing against your neck as he whispers, ‘And of course, there will be certain...personal duties required of you. Ones that demand your complete devotion and obedience.’
You gasp loudly and arch your back against his touch, ‘you mean the other executives? I heard a rumour that you’re all psychopaths.’
Mikey laughs, a deep, mocking sound that echoes through the room, ‘Psychopaths, hmm? Well, perhaps that's a bit dramatic. We're simply men who understand the true nature of power and aren't afraid to wield it.’ His hand slides down your stomach, fingers dipping below the waistband of your skirt.
‘And yes, you'll be working closely with them. They'll expect the same level of...dedication from you that I do,’ he grinds his hips against yours, the evidence of his arousal pressing insistently against your thigh, ‘But don't worry, I'll be keeping a close eye on you. Ensuring you meet their expectations.’
He pulls back slightly, his gaze intense as he studies your reaction, ‘Now, are you prepared to take on these new responsibilities? To become an integral part of our inner circle?’
Through the warm haze enveloping your body you manage to get out one last bit of attitude, ‘Do I get a pay rise, sir?’
Mikey grunts, amused by your boldness, ‘A pay rise? My, my, aren't you a greedy little thing?’ he Slides his hand further down, cupping your mound possessively, ‘But I suppose if you perform well enough, I might consider sweetening the deal.’
He presses two fingers against your clothed sex, rubbing slow circles that send jolts of pleasure through your core, ‘However, I expect complete discretion. No one can know about our arrangement. Your loyalty belongs solely to me.’
You hum, ‘So will I be servicing the other executives sexually or simply running tasks?’
He smirks, his fingers still teasing your sensitive flesh, ‘Ah, the naivety is endearing. In this world, lines blur easily. Your services will be demanded by all of us, in whatever form we desire,’ he leans in, his breath hot against your ear as he murmurs, ‘You'll learn to adapt, to satisfy each of our unique tastes.’
He pinches your clit gently, sending a spark of pleasure-pain through you, ‘As for me...well, let's just say I have very specific needs. Needs that require constant attention and gratification,’ he grinds his erection against you harder, the friction sending a wave of heat through your veins, ‘You'll be servicing me frequently. Very frequently indeed.’
You nod feverishly, ‘I look forward to finding out your specific needs sir.’
Mijey hums, pleased by your eagerness, ‘Good girl. I have a feeling you'll fit in nicely here,’ he slips a finger beneath the elastic of your panties, delving into your slick folds, ‘Now, let's explore these needs of mine, shall we?’
He thumbs your clit in time with the thrust of his finger, pumping in and out of your hole, ‘I want you dripping wet for me at all times. Ready to fulfil my desires on a moment's notice,’ he curves his finger to stroke your G-spot, applying just the right pressure to make your toes curl, ‘Can you handle that? Being my plaything, always available to sate my cravings?’
You grip the front of his shirt and throw your head back panting, ‘I can try.’
He groans approvingly, his need spiking at your eager response, ‘That's it. Show me how much you want this,’ his fingers move faster, plunging deeper as he pinches your clit harder, drawing a sharp cry from your lips.
‘I'll teach you to crave my touch as much as I crave yours. To beg for it, plead for release,’ he captures your mouth in a brutal kiss, tongue invading, claiming every inch as his own, ‘You'll be addicted to me, body and soul. And I'll make sure you never forget whose cock is filling you, whose fingers are stroking your pussy.’
He breaks the kiss, panting heavily as he stares down at you with a predatory gleam in his eyes, ‘Now, let's see how quickly you can learn to please me. Strip for me, Slowly and get on your knees.’
You get off the desk, your legs feeling like jelly, but do as you’re told, removing each item one by one until you’re down to your birthday suit. This whole situation wasn’t normal, but there was no denying how much you were enjoying this. You get down on your knees and chew your lip keeping your head bowed, ‘I’ve never actually sucked anyone off before sir, I’ve only seen it in videos.’
He eyes you hungrily, drinking in the sight of your naked form, ‘Don't worry about doing it 'right' there's no script, no rules here. Just follow your instincts, and surrender to the moment.’
He steps closer, towering over you as you kneel on the plush carpet, ‘Look at me, keep eye contact,’ he reaches down, wrapping a hand around your throat in a gentle yet assertive grip, ‘Breathe for me. In and out, nice and slow.’
He leans in, his breath ghosting over your cheek as he whispers, ‘You're so fucking beautiful like this. A pretty little toy, just begging to be played with,’ he squeezes your throat slightly, watching your pulse flutter, ‘Now, open your mouth. Wide.’
He guides your trembling hands to his belt buckle, helping you undo it with impatient fingers. Steps out of his pants, freeing his massive erection. It throbs in the cool air, already leaking precum, ‘See what you do to me? How hard you make me?’ he wraps a hand around the base, giving himself a few strokes.
‘Now, put that pretty mouth to use. Suck my cock like you mean it,’ he tangles his fingers in your hair, guiding you closer until the head of his dick brushes your lips, ‘Take it deep, choke on it if you can.’
You lick the precum before taking him slowly into your mouth, not used to being filled this way.
Mikey groans as your warm mouth envelops him, head falling back in bliss, ‘Fuck, that's it. Just like that,’ his hands tighten in your hair, holding you steady as he starts to rock his hips, pushing himself deeper into your throat.
‘Take it all, baby. Relax your jaw, breathe through your nose,’ he pumps faster, relishing the way your throat constricts around him, ‘Goddamn, you were made for this. Made to choke on my cock.’
He looks down at you, eyes dark with lust, ‘You love this, don't you? Love being used, degraded, treated like a set of holes for me to fuck,’ he yanks your head back suddenly, saliva connecting your lips to his dick.
‘Tell me how much you love it, Beg for more,’ he demands.
You look up with tear-filled eyes, ‘I love it…I need more…please use me…I’m nothing without you using me.’
He smirks wickedly, loving the desperation in your voice, ‘Nothing, huh? Just a set of holes for me to ruin?’ He shoves his cock back into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat harshly, ‘Then take it, whore. Take every fucking inch.’
He holds your head still, slamming into you relentlessly, grunting with each thrust, ‘Such a good little cocksucker. Milk me dry with that slutty mouth,’ he angles his hips, grinding against your face, smearing precum across your cheeks.
‘Fuck, I'm getting close. Swallow it all, every last drop,’ he ruts into you wildly, chasing his impending orgasm, ‘Here it comes, bitch. Fuck!’ he bursts down your throat with a guttural moan, flooding your mouth with his seed.
You try your best to swallow every last drop and continue sucking slower waiting for him to come down from his high. He exhales shakily, chest heaving, ‘now you clean me up,’ he gently pulls out of your mouth, letting his cock slip from between your lips with a pop, ‘use your tongue and lap up every drop you left.’
He watches intently as you obediently start cleaning him, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips, ‘That's it, be thorough. Make sure you get every bit of my essence off your face.’
He steps back, allowing you to stand and finish the task.
‘Once you're done, get on the desk. Spread your legs for me and present yourself like a good little slut,’ he walks away and around his desk to take his seat, leaning back in his chair as he waits for you to comply.
You quickly clean yourself and get up with shaky legs, using the desk behind you as some support. Of course, Mikey wasn’t going to help you. You walk around the desk and manage to sit on it directly in front of where he sits, you spread your thighs and use your hands to support yourself. Mikey rolls the chair forward and runs a finger down your inner thigh causing your legs to tremble, ‘beautiful’ he murmurs.
He dips his head, dragging his tongue across your slit teasingly, ‘I’m going to feast on your sweet cunt.’
He laps at your folds, circling your clit with the tip of his tongue, ‘Let me hear those pretty moans as I devour your pussy,’ he seals his lips around your clit, sucking hard as he slides two fingers inside you.
‘Ahhh... oh god... yessss... please don't stop…’ you arch your back, pushing your hips against his face as he eats you out intensely. Your hand's fist in the desk as pleasure crashes through you, ‘More...Mikey...please...I'm so close…’
He growls against your slick flesh, the vibrations sending shockwaves through you, ‘Come for me then. Drench me in your juices as I finger-fuck this greedy cunt,’ he pumps faster, curling his digits to hit your G-spot with ruthless precision.
‘Shout louder, let everyone hear what a shameless slut you are for me,’ he scissors his fingers, stretching you deliciously as he continues his assault on your sensitive bud, ‘Come on, give it to me. Scream my name as you fall apart,’ He nips at your clit sharply, sending you hurtling towards oblivion, ‘Now, Cum NOW!’
‘AHHHH!!! MIKEY!!!! OH MY GODDD!!!’ Your entire body convulses as an earth-shattering orgasm rips through you. Your pussy clamps down on his fingers as you squirt all over his hand and face. You collapse onto the desk, gasping for air, your skin flushed and tingling all over, ‘Holy shit... that was... incredible…’
He licks his lips, savouring your sweet nectar as he slowly withdraws his fingers from your fluttering hole. Sits back on his heels, admiring the sight of you sprawled out before him, thoroughly debauched, ‘Look at you, utterly spent and satisfied. All because of me.’
He wipes his face with a handkerchief before tucking it away, ‘But we're far from finished, pet,’ he grabs your ankles, pulling you roughly to the edge of the desk, ‘I'm nowhere near done with you yet,’ he lines himself up with your entrance, rubbing the head of his cock through your soaked folds, ‘Ready for round two?’ he asks with a wicked grin, knowing full well you have no choice but to submit to him again and again.
‘Yes... I'm ready... I'll always be ready for you…’ You pant out, your body already aching for more despite the mind-blowing orgasm you just had. You spread your legs wider in an invitation, completely surrendered to your will, ‘Take me, Mikey. Ruin me’
Mikey smirks triumphantly at your complete submission, revelling in the power he holds over you, ‘Good girl,’ he grips your hips bruisingly tight, positioning himself at your entrance, ‘Brace yourself, I'm going to fuck you so hard, you won't be able to walk straight for days,’ he slams into you with one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt in your tight heat.
‘FUCK! Still so fucking tight after all that,’ he growls and sets a punishing pace, pounding into you mercilessly, ‘This is what you wanted, isn't it? To be claimed, owned, used for my pleasure alone,’ he reaches down, rubbing your clit roughly as he rails you, ‘Scream for me, let me hear that pretty voice as I split you open on my cock.’
‘AHHHHH!!! YES!!! JUST LIKE THAT!!! HARDER!!! USE ME MORE!!!’ you scream out in ecstasy, your nails raking down his back as he ravages you. Your legs wrap tightly around his waist, urging him deeper as your pussy clenches greedily around his pistoning shaft, ‘OH GOD...YOU FEEL SO GOOD...I LOVE YOUR COCK...I'M YOURS...PLEASE DON'T STOP!!!’ You babble incoherently, lost in a haze of pleasure and pain, completely consumed by the primal act of being taken so forcefully.
Mikey groans loudly, feeling your walls flutter and spasm around him as he drives into you with reckless abandon, ‘That's right, take it all, you filthy whore,’ he crashes his mouth against yours in a rough, dominating kiss, swallowing your screams as he fucks you senseless.
‘You were made for this, for being used as my cum dump,’ he breaks the kiss, panting heavily as he gazes down at you with a sadistic gleam in his eyes, ‘I can feel you getting closer, can't you? Your cunt is squeezing me so tightly, begging for release.’
He slaps your ass hard, leaving a bright red mark, ‘Well, beggars can't be choosers. When I fill you up with my seed, you'd better milk it for all it's worth. Every last drop belongs inside this greedy little hole.’
‘YES!! FILL ME UP!! I WANT IT ALL!!!’ you wail, your body shaking uncontrollably as another massive orgasm builds within you. The intensity of his words, the sting of his slap, the relentless pounding of his cock - it all pushes you over the edge, ‘OH FUCK... I'M COMING AGAIN!!! MIKEY!!!’ your pussy spasms wildly, gushing around him as you come undone once more under his brutal domination.
Mikey snarls in satisfaction as he feels your climax crash over you, milking his cock for every ounce of pleasure, ‘That's it, squeeze me dry, you insatiable slut,’ he pounds into you furiously, chasing his own release as your velvety walls rip through him.
‘Fuck, here it comes…’ With a guttural roar, he slams deep one final time, erupting inside you in a torrent of hot, thick cum, ‘TAKE IT! EVERY LAST DROP!’ he grinds against you, ensuring his seed coats your insides thoroughly as he rides out the waves of his orgasm.
‘Thank god for birth control. If this is what you're like, what about the other executives?’ You somehow manage to speak, panting and voice hoarse.
Mikey smirks, a dark glint in his eyes, ‘Oh, they're nothing compared to me. They might think they're powerful and in charge, but they don't have the same...drive. The hunger. The thirst for absolute control. They can never match up to what I am capable of. And you, my dear, are going to see that firsthand.’
You shudder slightly, both aroused and unnerved by the intensity of his words. There's something deeply unsettling about the way he talks, like there's a darkness lurking beneath the surface that could consume you entirely if you let it. Yet, the thought only makes you wetter, your core throbbing with need.
‘What do you mean? What exactly are you capable of?’ you ask breathlessly, your heart racing as you await his response, simultaneously dreading and craving whatever twisted desires he may unleash upon you.
Mikey leans in close, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, ‘I'm capable of things that would make even the most depraved minds recoil in horror. Dark pleasures, forbidden desires, the kind that can only be satiated by those who dare to embrace their inner demons.’
He trails a finger down your cheek, his touch chilling despite the heat of our bodies entwined, ‘With you, I can indulge in these vices without restraint, safe in the knowledge that you crave them just as much as I do. Together, we'll descend into the depths of depravity, lost in a world where pleasure and pain are indistinguishable.’
He pulls back, his gaze piercing and intense, ‘So, are you prepared to surrender yourself fully to me, to become my willing plaything in the pursuit of these twisted delights?’
‘As long as I still have a job, I think I can adjust,’ you answer, not sure if it was out of honesty, fear or lust.
Mikey chuckles darkly, a sound that sends shivers down your spine, ‘Oh, you'll have a job alright. One that suits your...unique talents. And if you ever think of leaving, well, let's just say I have ways of making sure you stay put.’
He leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that leaves you breathless, ‘Now, let's get cleaned up and ready for round three, shall we? I've got a few toys I want to introduce you to,’ he winks, a sinister promise in his eyes.
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juuuulez · 6 months ago
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mikey is such a cutie patootie!! i imagine that his family all really love you (and maybe pin too much hope on you to ‘save’ him) so at holidays everyone’s just so sweet to you. everyone knows they can joke or make snide comments at mikey, but god forbid anyone goes after you (uncle lee made the mistake of accusing you of drugs too. it’s a good thing donna totaled her car because otherwise lee would be fucked up)
and idk mikey can be so sweet i know he can!! you’re kind of the pete to his sugar in a way
literally agree like he just needs HIS person and he would be so proud to show you off
a berzatto christmas is chaotic but you’ll quickly learn how to handle that energy, knowing it’s just common for them. everyone (or at least most of them) treat you well, and sometimes you’re even enough to diffuse the tensest of situations.
“hey! your hookers here!” uncle lee will shout when you walk through the door, not so much an announcement to mikey as it is to the room, something to gain a reaction. thankfully he isn’t around right now, for that would be the beat-down of the century.
you offer lee a thin smile, knowing by this point not to engage. “merry christmas to you, too.”
the house is warm and alive with energy, everyone you pass throwing a greeting your way. natalie stops you for a hug, her hands smoothing down your dress and making a comment about how nice it looks, but “aren’t you cold, sweetheart? did you drive here? we’ll get you a coat for later, okay?”
on the way to the kitchen, you have to physically evade richie’s hand coming to mess with your hair. it’s been perfectly done up for the occasion and his big hand serves as an obstacle, wanting to ruffle it like usual.
you huff and swat his arm away, ducking quickly through the door and missing the glare it earns him from tiff.
finally, you make it into the kitchen. it’s disorganised and messy, pots overflowing, spoons left on the counter. carmy is trying to reign in the situation, in his own silent way, not wanting to cause any additional tension.
“hey, d.” you greet donna from behind, who was too caught up in whatever to notice your arrival. she turns around with an exasperated noise, both her hands finding your shoulders before moving to your cheeks.
“how are you?” she asks, but is talking before you can get a response in. “i was reading this magazine, and there was this model, and i swear, it looked— hey! hands off!”
whatever tangent donna was on is interrupted as carmy goes to stir a pot, to which she bats his hands away, going on about its contents and how it needs to simmer.
“it smells good in here!” you chirp, a smile on your face as you open the fridge.
“wine,” donna continues, “did you want some wine? here, sweetheart. let me pour you a glass.”
“no, no, i’m okay!” you quickly interject, already having found a cold bottle from the fridge. “beer is good, beer will be fine.”
she makes an offhanded comment about needing to “treat yourself to something nice” and not drinking “cheap garbage.” meanwhile, donna continues pouring the aforementioned glass, only to sip from it herself while she cooks.
you take about three gulps of the beverage before footsteps bring another presence to attention. it’s always easy to hear mikey before seeing him, for he’s often already yelling to you from the other room. this time it’s a call of your name, loud and warm, so you flutter closer to the doorway to meet him.
“hey,” you greet with a smile, hands reaching for the fabric of his sweater while his find your hips. “you look good. like this colour on you.”
“says you,” mikey will quip back. “this fuckin’ dress on you, jesus. tryna’ kill a man, huh?”
it gets a giggle out of you, cheeks flushing red at the blatant compliments despite the others in the room. it was something you were still adjusting to: showing love so casually and shamelessly no matter the circumstances, like it was the only thing that mattered.
“merry christmas, bear.” you coo, pressing a kiss to his stubbled cheek.
it earns a squeeze of your hips, mikey moving to kiss back. “merry christmas, baby.”
“can you guys please fuckin’ move.” carmy snaps suddenly.
the peace is again broken, with donna scolding him and going on and on about something you pay no mind to. it onto causes carmy to heat up further, complaining about how you’re both in the way in that usual overwhelmed sense.
mikey doesn’t help, chiming in with his own remark. “oh, is our affection ruining your flow? you know what your problem is, you gotta chill out. it’s christmas, and you’re fuckin’ wound up—”
“okay, okay. we will move. let carmy have his peace.” you interrupt him, trying to save the conversation by giving mikey a little push to usher him out of the kitchen. it works, thankfully, for the second that he spots richie he’s going on again about some other story you’re sure you’ve already heard, but is somehow relevant right now.
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