#the character asking for that and receiving it but not realizing that | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bi-writes · 3 months ago

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anatomy of us (3) | alpha!ghost x f!omega!reader

type: limited series, part 3 (9.8k), AO3 in an attempt to tame an unruly alpha, you are given. he did not come with warning labels. but neither did you.

series cw: reader described as plus-sized/curvier, alpha/beta/omega dynamics + universe, dark!simon, mature language and content, suggestive language and content, graphic depictions of murder + violence (this part contains graphic depictions of gore + murder + minor character death), military criticism, protective!simon, dubcon (but reader does consent), possessiveness, dom/sub dynamics, size kink, praise kink, unprotected piv, cumplay, oral (fem!receiving) 18+

PART 1 ⏤ PART 2

The mirror betrays you. There’s someone staring back, but it isn’t you. You don’t recognize her. Whoever is there, she’s a traitor. A liar. She stole what used to be your body, and now you can only stare back as she lifts her hands to your face and touches your skin.

It’s warm. Your cheeks are warm to the touch, skin bouncy and firm. When you pull on the apples of your cheeks, they bounce right back, elastic almost. You’re glowing, too. Your skin has never looked so soft, so smooth.

Something’s different.

You bring your hands up and cup your own breasts. When you squeeze, you shudder, realizing how sensitive you are. They ache a little, feel heavier than normal. Your bra feels a little tight, too. Your hands drop and grip the sink firm, and you swallow hard before turning to face the door.

Your body is telling you something. It’s trying to talk to you. It’s natural, you know it is, and it is inevitable, and you shouldn’t hate your omega for it because she can’t help it, but you do. It’s what’s happening to you because you’re off your meds. Your hormones are firing like they never have before, and the voice in your head is starting to talk to you in a way that sounds way too appealing. She’s starting to sound right. You like the way she’s talking to you, especially after…

You haven’t spoken to him yet. You haven’t talked about it. It’s only been a few days, but you don’t think you can sleep next to him for one more night and pretend like you don’t know what it’s like for him to be dick-deep inside of you and satiating the shrill insanity that lives under your skin.

So big. So capable. Isn’t he so strong? I bet he tastes good. Let’s find out.

You open the bathroom door slowly. Simon is sitting there on the bed, phone in his hand. He’s typing, eyes narrowed in thought, and you make the door creak so he knows you’ve come out.

“Everythin’ olright in there?” Simon asks. He doesn’t look up from his phone. You decide to be mean, because you can be. You want to be.

Fuck off, you tell her, try to. All she wants to do is get Simon on his back on that bed.

Can we just suck his dick already? It’s right there.

“What do you care?” You mumble. You go to the closet to pick out something to wear. It’s a Sunday, which means there won’t be much to do today besides relax and eat. Johnny invited you to Mass, which you promptly declined, and you didn’t much feel like spending time with Captain Price or finding out which beta would be underneath Gaz tonight (more than one, would be your guess, but it could’ve been another alpha, too, he doesn’t seem to care as long as he can devour something whole).

You don’t turn around to see Simon’s reaction. Maybe he doesn’t react at all. You grab a pair of jeans and drop your sleep shorts. Ever since Simon had taken you on a roof, you decided it was no use trying to change in the bathroom anymore–he’d seen everything, anyways. You step into the jeans and pull them up, jumping a little to get them over your hips, and just as you’re about to adjust the waist, you feel him come up behind you.

Simon grips both sides of your jeans and hikes them up around your middle. You suck in a breath as he slides his hands around, zipping them up, deft fingers finding the button and fastening them. You huff as he keeps walking, forcing your front flat against the closet doors until he can press his chest up against you from behind.

Remember how good he felt? Let’s do it again. Take them off.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You hiss. Your omega purrs. She softens your insides. You grip the closet, irritated, but you can’t help the way you bend at the hip and push back into him. He snarls as he puts his hands on your hips, holding you there. You can feel her, pushing against you. It’s getting harder every day to shove her backwards–there’s a part of you that doesn’t want to.

Is that part me? Or are we drifting together?

“Wot does it look like?” Simon murmurs. “I smell you.”

Yes, yes, yes, let him. Take it off. Take them off. Let him have it.

“What did I say before?” You let your arms fall, and you smack his hands off of you. You turn around to glare up at him, grinding your teeth. “Boundaries, Simon. You need to ask for permission.”

“I don’t have to do anythin’,” Simon bites back. “I said some things before, too, didn’t I? Y’r mine.”

Oh, that’s how he wants it to be. You can see it in his eyes, the way his alpha is feeding him lies. Feeding into his ego. He’s got tendrils that are choking him from the inside-out, trying to tell him to be the bigger species, the more dominant figure. Your omega wants to let him, but that isn’t you. Fuck submission–it’s just not your style. You’re a taker, not a giver, and your omega will need to learn that the hard way.

You lean up on your toes, pressing your forehead to his. You meet his alpha in the middle, not backing down. You can be nasty, too. You can be dangerous. You might not have his build nor his strength, but omegas have teeth, and they are sharp.

“Then you better sleep with one fucking eye open, Simon. Cause I’ll kill you if you put your hands on me without asking.”

You make sure you hit him on your way around him. You open the drawers of the dresser angrily, ripping a shirt out. You slip your pajama shirt off, tossing it onto the floor, and you fit your bra straps over your shoulder before turning around. Simon is still staring like a dog–eyes watery and intense, staring right at your tits, and you grab a pillow off the bed and throw it at him.

“Oh my god!” You cry, and he sucks on his teeth under the mask.

“Mmm…” He puts a hand over his chest, rubbing there. If he didn’t have it on, you have a feeling he’d a smug grin on his stupid face. “My mate is fuckin’ naked, wot you want me to do, look away?”

“Yes, exactly, you pig,” you mumble, clasping your bra and fixing it to cover yourself before slipping your t-shirt on. You frown as you pick up a clip to tie up your hair. “And we’re not mates.”

“Tha’ right?”

“That’s right,” you say curtly. You turn to give him a hard stare as you slip your boots on. “As far as anyone else can tell, I’m not claimed.” You run a few fingers over your scent gland. Soft. Unmarked. Pulsing.

It’s like you’re taunting him. He snarls a little at that, something low and territorial under the mask.

“Tha’ wot you want? Me to claim you?”

“No,” you stand on your toes, faces barely touching. The air in the room is humid and thick, curling, competing scents making you a little dizzy. “I want you to drop dead.”

It’s half of a lie. It would be funny, you think, to see Simon eat a bullet or catch on fire and perish in a frenzy of equal pain and misery, but you know Kate would just do it all over again to you. There are no shortage of alphas at her disposal. With a swipe of her signature, she can have you moved halfway across the world again, and you’d like to not end up on the CIA’s bad side because you keep spending all their money on flights and bribes to get you some kind of mate that will tolerate an indifferent omega such as yourself.

An unruly one. A terrible one. A decisive one.

You don’t really want Simon dead. Better the beast you know than the one you don’t, and from the time you’ve spent with Simon, he is all bark, no bite.

For now.

Meals are always awkward. You feel like all you and Simon do is snap at each other lately. Call each other names. Spit nasty insults. Maybe it isn’t fair to be angry with Simon; you have a feeling he didn’t have much of a choice, same as you, but it doesn’t matter, because nothing really changes in his life the way it changes in yours.

Simon isn’t the one that loses himself. Simon isn’t the one that has to wear a brand on himself, a permanent reminder of his submission. Simon isn’t the one that has to succumb to things he can’t control about himself–the heats that last for days, the ones that will burn you from the inside out until it gets that nasty fill that your omega was born for.

Ruts just aren’t the same, you don’t believe it. They can swallow them down. Save them for later. It isn’t a comfortable thing to do, but if an alpha is missing their omega, they can satiate themselves with a lazy hand or a soft mouth until they get what they’re searching for.

Omegas aren’t offered the same luxury. If you don’t get what your omega feeds off of, she might kill you–and you don’t need to be reminded that you and your omega aren’t exactly on great terms.

The boys are quiet at breakfast. John has secluded himself in his office for the day, but Simon’s sergeants are pretty quiet for how much they usually babble. They are, however, shoving their faces in with food in a matter that makes you scowl.

They’re dogs, really. Johnny looks positively famished. He’s got his cheeks pillowed with eggs and toast, and you look away from Gaz as he tips his head back to wash down a mouthful of ham with coffee.

You jump when you feel a fist hit the table. It rattles the trays, and Johnny’s orange juice splatters a little outside of the cup. Simon is back from the kitchen, sliding your own tray in front of you. Your mouth waters a little at the smell of the freshly baked croissant and moka pot of coffee that waits for you, and the sergeants grumble a little as they look up at their lieutenant.

“Would you both fuckin’ eat with y’r fuckin’ mouths closed?” Simon snaps. “Bloody rats eat more proper than you lot.”

“What’s the matter, LT?” Johnny gulps down his food, wiping his mouth with a wet thumb. He smiles at you with teeth, and you pick up your fork to busy yourself. You can see feel his crazy eyes on you, trained on your face. He licks over his teeth as he does. “Want us to be proper gentlemen around yer bonnie girl?” He wiggles his tongue at you. “What’s proper about knotting a pretty little omega like tha’, aye? Can smell ‘er from ‘ere…Smell like taffy.”

Simon takes a seat on the bench next to Johnny. You stare wide-eyed as Simon cocks his head to the side. Your eyes water a little as you see Simon slide a big hand up Johnny’s neck. He leans into it, clearly comfortable (you’re going to try and forget this observation), but his face contorts from contentment to sheer pain as Simon wraps his gloved fingers into the curls of his mohawk and pulls. Johnny’s neck snaps back at a hard angle, making him hiss and kick his legs out. They bang against the table, shaking it, and Gaz looks down at his plate as Simon tugs Johnny close to him.

“You listen ‘ere, Sergeant. I’ll say this once, and I won’t repeat it,” Simon growls. “If I hear you say one more word about my mate’s cunt, I’ll rip your throat out with my own teeth. Don’t care ‘ow many times you’ve covered me or saved my arse on the field. My rank is her rank, so from now on, I want you to drop y’r eyes when she looks at you, and I want you to say, yes, ma’am, and nothin’ else, you ‘ear that?” Johnny grits his teeth as Simon shakes his head violently, holding him firm. “And if I hear about it when I’m not around, I’ll let her cut y’r dick off, yeah? Or maybe I’ll let her shoot you in the head again. And trust me, mate, she won’t miss–”

“Simon,” you interrupt gently. Simon’s face turns, and you meet his eyes. You shake your head a little. “It’s…it’s okay. Johnny’s just a huge flirt, and it came out wrong. Didn’t it, Johnny?”

Simon closes his fist, letting out a sharp breath. His eyes are a little darker than you’re used to. You’re not sure he’ll listen to you, but when you see his fingers start to loosen, you relax a little. You don’t understand why he’s defending you, anyways, but maybe Simon has some twisted moral code when it comes to insulting his mate.

That only he gets to, and no one else.

“Yeah–” Johnny spits, and when Simon lets him go roughly, Johnny just laughs a little. His cheeks are rosy, and he tries to shake it off, but you can tell by the way he averts his eyes and the smell that wafts from him–Johnny is terrified of his lieutenant.

Simon stands, making the table rattle again. Johnny’s cup spills over the edge, and your cutlery falls to the floor as he makes his way out of the mess hall, throwing the doors open and letting them slam shut behind him. You scoff, rolling your eyes, and you swipe Gaz’s fork from his tray before continuing to eat.

“What the fuck is his problem?” You stab your sausage with the fork, cutting it angrily, and Johnny clears his throat. His rubs the back of his neck, rolling it out carefully.

“Yer serious?” Johnny scoffs. “Fuckin’ big man is in love with ye.”

Not me. He’s in love with…her.

“He’s just mad because he thinks he’s the only one entitled to say anything derogatory to me,” you explain. “He’s such an asshole, I swear. So are you, Johnny, by the way–I’m not gonna wet your dick for you, go flirt with someone else.”

Gaz snorts, shaking his head, and you pour him a little more coffee from the pot Simon left for you and some for yourself.

“Kind of sweet, innit?” Gaz murmurs. “He cares about you, you know.”

“Yeah?” You raise a brow. “Has a real funny way of showing it. You don’t see him when we’re alone. He’s mean. I don’t know what goes on in your heads, but your kind jump to conclusions. And you assume. And you’re too aggressive.”

“Well, what did you expect?” Gaz asks. He turns to look at you, shrugging. “That’s how we’re made.”

“I try everyday to be anything but how I’m made,” you say lowly.

It’s a lousy excuse, especially for an operative like him. Kyle and Johnny are no strangers to aversion or high-stakes. There is combat, and then there is what this team does. You’ve peeked at the papers on Simon’s desk. You’ve read the files you have no clearance to read. For the air-headedness that Simon radiates, he’s excellent at writing post-op reports, with fine detail. He doesn’t miss anything. This team isn’t something like SWAT–they don’t carry big guns for show and break down suburban houses. They hit foreign targets without a trace and eliminate threats before they blink. They are in and out of a building in thirty minutes, and they leave no man behind and no target alive. Each of them are experts in their own subject, and even with Johnny’s big, disgusting mouth, you cannot deny what makes him special.

He could make an explosive out of regular kitchen supplies; maybe even out of the toiletries you keep in a go-bag. His affection for chemistry is as equal to that of a good, protein-rich meal. Kyle is no different–you’ve seen him just for fun program an auto-correct feature into John’s laptop that replaced every word that he typed that started with a vowel to shitfucker. You saw him do it remotely. Over Bluetooth. With a Blackberry.

These aren’t just operators. These aren’t just idiot, self-engorged, misogynistic and animalistic men that panted and waited for orders like lovesick puppies, they are much too intelligent and way too self-aware. You won’t take that’s how we’re made as an excuse–it’s beneath them, if you’re being honest, and it’s infuriating. They aren’t a normal pack, and they never will be, and so you need them to stop using stereotypical excuses as reason for them being just like the rest.

It is conscious. It’s disgusting. It’s exactly as you thought it would be.

“Well maybe if ye tried that less, tried just being what ye are…things would be easier for ye,” Johnny mutters, picking up his overturned cup and sighing sharply through his nose. You drop your fork and lean forward on your elbows.

Oh, alright. If Johnny wants to play rank, then you can play rank.

“You know, you both have a lot of nerve,” you say lowly. “I would start being very fucking nice to me from now on. Simon and I may not get along, and maybe we never will. But he sure as shit won’t stand aside if tuck my tail between my legs and blame one of you for something you didn’t do.”

“Thought you said he hated you?” Gaz mocks. “Thought you said he was mean?”

You stand up and shove your tray towards them, starting to walk. You lean over to murmur in Gaz’s ear.

“He is,” you threaten. “But he’s still an alpha, my alpha, and pussy talks, Gaz. You’d know. You’ve been drooling for it since I sat down. I can smell you, too.”

You pat Gaz’s cheek a bit too roughly, and he snarls a little. You smile to yourself as you make your way out, and down the hall, you see a familiar shadow disappear around the corner into the darkness. You cross your arms over your chest, sighing, and then you start towards it.

When you round the corner, he’s standing right there. Leaned against the wall, big arms crossed over his chest. His face twitches under the mask. You move to stand in front of him so you can get his eyes.

“You know, for someone who doesn’t want to babysit me, you can’t seem to leave me alone.”

“I have others to answer to if something happens to you.”

“Don’t act like you care what other people think. Especially your superiors.” You roll your eyes. You don’t have much more time to talk to him. Or berate him, you were still deciding. A shadow comes up next to you, and when you turn, Captain Price is staring at you both, nodding his head behind him.

“I need to have a word. With both of you.”

You give Simon a look, but he doesn’t give one back. He merely slips a hand down your back and puts you in front of him, ushering you to walk. You’ve never been reprimanded by a superior, not because of a mission or anything of stake, so you can’t help the feeling that overcomes you–something of failure.

Had you done something wrong? Surely you had.

John’s office is bigger than Simon’s, but just as messy. Messier. There’s a pretty beta secretary out in front of it, and she smiles at you and waves. She’s too cute–too sweet. She probably puts sugar in John’s tea to make him smile or draws little smiley faces on messages from missed calls. You pity her and wish you were her all the same. When she notices your solemn face, she shrinks and dips her head, picking up her pen and continuing to fill out some forms.

John waits for both you and Simon to sit before shutting his office door behind him. He sucks on his teeth before tossing his hat onto his desk, nodding towards the two creaky seats in front of him.

“Sit.”

“Rather stand,” Simon counters, but one hard look from his captain, and Simon is begrudgingly taking a seat. The metal creaks under his weight, and you take a seat next to him. John sits on his desk in front of you both, and he looks at Simon before ending on you.

The scents in the air are driving you insane. You take a breath to try and keep your eyes from watering, but it’s difficult.

“You know, Kit, our team isn’t known for…following the rules,” John begins. “But I was assured that…if anything went wrong, that my lieutenant here would be responsible. He vouched for you.”

You fold your hands in your lap. You prepare yourself for the beratement. You sit up a little straighter, squaring your shoulders. The neutral expression your face falls into seems to irk your captain. He scrunches his nose a bit, smoothing a palm over the papers in front of him. He’s trying to establish his air of dominance, but it’s increasingly easy to stare him back down when your alpha sits right beside you.

There’s comfort in his presence, and your omega feeds on it.

“I saw you shoot. Got a good eye for those kinds of things, I’ll admit,” John nods. “And you did well in training. Followed Simon. His orders. Saw you clearin’ rooms like you’ve been on this team for years.” He grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Blue, but empty. “He was right. Fast learner. You know your place.” You narrow your eyes at that, and he hums. “But it doesn’t change what this is. What you are.”

You’re surprised at the way your omega curls in your gut. Angry. There’s an alpha insulting you, but this one isn’t yours. She warms your hands, and you dig your nails into your chair to keep her calm. She wants to bite, and she’s confident with Simon at her side.

“An asset?” You try talking instead.

“A liability.” John leans forward. “You put my men in danger. Going into heat like that.”

Your heart drops into your stomach. It’s alienation. You are an outsider. Not part of his pack. John draws a circle around himself, and you are not included in it, and the sentiment leaks into his words like a flood, and it hits you through the chest. Your lip trembles just slightly, but you swallow down the rejection, keeping it close. Your omega whimpers–an alpha, though it is not your own, is isolating you, and it hurts her.

“She didn’t–” Simon is interrupted by John’s laughter.

“You were off comms for 15 minutes and 37 seconds, an amount of time that during an op is fucking critical and could’ve blown the entire operation!” John snaps. “I told you to be fucking careful, I told you both to take precautions, and you failed me. I can understand you–” He points at you, and omega lingers unsaid, “but you, Simon? You–”

“It wasn’t his fault, it was mine,” you interrupt. “I should’ve known.”

“He’s your alpha, it’s his fuckin’ job,” John clarifies. “But Simon has more than one job, and on that day, it was keeping the target in his sight and waiting for my fuckin’ say.”

“Don’t reprimand him for making the call,” you tell him. “I’m the one who misread what I was feeling. I’m the one who distracted him from what he was doing. I’m the one who was projecting so badly, he had to help. It’s me. I screwed up. I’m just as much of your team as they are, so hold me accountable, not Simon.”

“You are not on my team, you are my problem.”

She wails. She grips your heart in both hands and hangs on, crying, wailing, begging you to say something to make him approve of you. She so desperately wants to be included in Simon’s pack, and it aches inside to be pushed away. You dig your nails in further, and you don’t realize how much your scent is flaring. Simon gets one whiff of it and snarls. His hands close into fists.

You goin’ to let tha’ wanker talk to your mate tha’ way? You goin’ to let another alpha walk all over her? He’s challenging you, tha’s wot this is, innit?

“Choose y’r next words wisely, Captain.” Simon finally speaks, and his tone rattles you. His voice dips low, and you can hear his alpha soaking into his words, and the bitterness in the air has to be him deciding whether or not today would be a good day to stand up to his captain.

“Tha’ right, Simon?” John murmurs. “Is that an order?”

Simon stands. Immediately, the humidity in the room expands, and you nearly choke from the sting of their scents in the air. Simon is much larger than John. He’s so much bigger, so much wider. You stand, too, and when Simon feels your hand along his bicep, his shoulders loosen just an inch.

Your omega may beg for approval and inclusion, but even she stands down when you remind her of the importance of pack bonds. You are not mated, and Simon has his own to keep, so you must appease. It hurts to do it, but you know you will thank yourself later.

“I’m sorry, Captain,” you say softly. “I-It won’t happen again. I swear…I promise.” Your eyes water, and you try to hold in the cough you’re holding. “First time…and the last time.”

Simon’s task force is a unique group. Four alphas–a lot of ego and fighting dominance in one bunch. It’s normally not done. They like to have a nice mix of betas and alphas to keep groups balanced, but Kate needed an exceptional group, so she built one. Four alphas in one pack is not common, but it works–and she has the stats to prove it.

You wonder if she knew what would happen when she threw you into the mix. How each of them might react when an omega tried to slip in between them. If Kyle would try to sink his teeth in. If Johnny would pass out from panting so fucking hard. If John would let his resolve slip for just long enough to blur the lines between a commanding officer and his subordinate.

Maybe Simon reacted just as she expected. That he would see what was meant just for him and pull her apart so he could slip under her ribs and stay right there. You have not been claimed, and yet–it is truth. They know it, Simon knows it, you know it, and so does your omega.

Simon paces in his room. A slow pace, but paces, and you observe him from your place on the bed as he breathes deeply. His alpha is leaking through the cracks, and you can smell his anger. It fumes, makes your nose curl. It’s a bitter scent. Your omega purrs in your chest–she wants to soothe him.

We will do no such thing. Shut the fuck up.

“You need to let me handle things when we get cornered like tha’.”

“I’m a big girl, Simon,” you say softly. “And it was my mistake.”

“It doesn’t fuckin’ matter,” Simon explains. “I’m your alpha.”

“I don’t care,” you shake your head. “You don’t speak for me.”

“No, I speak for us both,” Simon points a finger at you, coming closer. “For you and for me, and you need to understand tha’.”

You glare up at him. In all the time you’ve spent with him, he’s still letting his alpha bleed when he’s angry. You need to understand nothing–Simon needs to learn. He needs to learn that the omega they write about in textbooks isn’t reality. You fight your omega tooth and nail for control, and you are still on top for now. Simon needs to learn this. He needs to learn that you are not easily influenced by command. You may smell like an omega. You may keen like an omega.

But it’ll be a cold day in hell before I submit like an omega.

“Fuck you.”

Don’t talk like that…you know you want to.

“Ya already ‘ave, kitty,” Simon spits. “Would you like to go again?”

“I know this is hard for you to get through your thick head,” you whisper. “But just because I fucked you doesn’t mean anything. What happened between us was clinical. Your dick is medicine, and there was nothing I could do, and that is where this ends. You can tell yourself over and over again that you are my mate…that you’re my hero, that you saved me, but maybe next time, I’ll just let my omega kill me. The thought of you inside of me ever again makes me physically fucking sick.”

You’re a bad liar.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say lowly. He leans closer, until his face is nearly against yours. “You’re a pathetic, insecure, waste of space. I will never be your mate, and I pity every omega that might come after me, that has the unfortunate mistake of thinking you could claim them with any sense at all. You use and you abuse, and you have your head so far up your ass, I don’t think you know what’s real and what isn’t.”

Simon stares. You stare back. Your chest heaves, and so does his, and you keep your eyes on each other as you stare back and forth. His eyes are so dark. Beautiful, but so dark, it’s difficult to tell what he’s thinking. It’s not long that you notice his lashes fade to blonde at the end of them. His skin, where it bleeds from the eye-black he wears to the pale color of his face, has freckles scattered around the eyes. You can see the raised, white line of a scar that is just peeking from under the mask.

Isn’t he so pretty?

“On your knees,” Simon murmurs.

It’s whiplash. One moment, your entire body is buzzing. Angry, fiery–you can feel it shaking you. You hate him with ever fiber, want to smack the smug look you know he wears under that mask. You hate the power that he has over you and how much he relishes in it. The next moment, in a few slow words, it vanishes.

Like it was never even there at all.

“Excuse me?” You breathe.

“On your knees. Lose the pants. ‘n y’r knickers.”

“What makes you–”

“Won’t ask again.”

We need this. We need this. We need this.

It’s just that easy. For all the resolve that it feels like you have, maybe you really have none. You blink, but then he hears the sound of you toeing off your boots. They hit the floor, and then your cargos are falling on top of them, and then you’re turning over, sliding along the warm sheets of his bed until you’re lying on your tummy, ass up, and you’re closing your eyes as his gloved hands push your panties down your thighs until they’re around your knees.

You don’t really know who’s doing it. You’re afraid to think about it too hard, because you know that it just might be you.

He eats nasty. All tongue. He spreads your ass with big palms, and you gurgle when he kisses your folds with tongue. Your brain starts to fog, and you relax easily. He kisses soft and slow, but wet. You fist the blankets, pushing back, and he slides a thumb down to smooth over your puffy clit very gently. He hisses when he sees your hole flex in response, a drop of slick falling onto his palm.

“Kitty, why didn’t ya just say so?” Simon asks, stupid and fascinated by you. “Why didn’t you just say you wanted y’r pretty pussy kissed, hmm?”

“Because I hate you–” You whine, and Simon slips his tongue inside of you. You babble, your mouth dropping open, and he hums as he gets a taste of you before pulling back, smacking his lips. The taste of you spreads across his tongue, and his alpha howls. He’s never spoken to him this way, not really. The only time his alpha has ever really come to the forefront like this was the times he thought he was close to death; but Simon’s never been this close to life, either.

“I know,” he coos. “I know ya do. But this isn’t personal, is it?” He uses his thumbs to open you up, growling when he sees your hole pucker a little. A dribble of slick falls, and he catches it with his tongue, swallowing it down. “How’d ya put it, luv? ‘s medicine?”

“Your dick is medicine.”

“My mouth, too, I reckon.”

“Shut the fuck up, and eat me, baby,” you whimper, and he opens his mouth wide and licks with a thick tongue. He presses his mouth to your cunt and eats, bobbing his head as he alternates between slobbering licks and eager sucking. His tongue slides between your folds occasionally before slipping into you, and you curl your toes every time he brushes against your clit. His thumb will sometimes circle it, or his tongue will suck softly, but he never stays there too long. Simon likes to tease. He likes to make you a little desperate, likes to get you soft and drippy and dizzy, and then he gives in a little. He gives you two fingers, gloved still, and you push back against his face with gentle grinds as he fucks you softly with his hand. It’s agony and relief all at once.

“Like tha’?” He asks. He sounds amused. You hope his hard cock gets pinched by his zipper.

“Mmm–” You try. You arch your back, getting up onto your elbows, and Simon uses his free hand to give one side of your ass a nice smack, jiggling it gently before kissing where he hit. You giggle at that, soft and airy.

“Answer me, omega.”

“Fucking love it,” you gasp. “Big fingers–”

Simon laughs at that. You can smell his ego, but you don’t have it in you to say something smart. It’s true. Even with his hand, he fucks good, hitting deep. His mouth did wonders, and you’re dripping along his hand. His glove is soaked, and his forearm is wet, and when you glance down at the sheets, they are damp and dark with the mess you made. Simon doesn’t seem to mind. He leans in to eat more, pulling his fingers out so he can use his mouth again, tongue deep as he sucks and hinges that big jaw to get a mouthful of you and groan. You taste good–nice and sweet, thick juices wetting his chin, and he squeezes your ass in appreciation when you throw it back and smother him. He likes this. Likes the lack of air, the wet pussy, the soft whines. He’s content here, and he doesn’t seem like he wants to move anytime soon, and he doesn’t complain. He just opens his mouth and swirls and tongue and fuck–your clit is in his mouth, and you’re crying.

It’s too kind. An alpha kneeling for their mate. Taking pleasure in their pleasure. It’s not unheard of, but it’s…unorthodox. It confuses you. Your omega cries with happiness, but she’s confused, too. She doesn’t expect pleasure just for pleasure–but she wants it, she wants more of it, she’s digging her nails into your skin to try and get you to convince Simon to give you more, more, more.

“Give it to me,” Simon murmurs. “‘s olright. Give it to me.”

“Simon–”

“Mhm,” he nods, cocking his head and taking your clit into his mouth again. “Give it ‘ere.”

Your orgasm hits hard, but it’s nice and slow. Your thighs shake, but Simon sinks into you, breathing out through his nose as he delicately laps at your clit. He doesn’t stop, swallowing as you come into his mouth, keeping the pace to make sure your orgasm fizzles just as good as it hit you.

You sink to your tummy when he pulls away. Your knees give out, and he slips your panties completely off, and you flop onto the dry side of the bed. You start to cry. Not tears of relief, but tears of pain. Of what is inevitable. Of the hard truth that you loathe more than anything.

Simon can never force you. You will always want him, you think. There will always be something in the back of your mind that aches for him, and you try and you try and you try to fight it off, but you want him so viscerally, it cuts you deep where you’ll never notice it.

“Say wotever you want about me,” Simon mutters. “Tell yourself wotever you want that helps you sleep at night, hate me oll you want. But I take care of wot’s mine.” He strokes your hair out of your eyes, leaning down, and you cry harder. You clutch a pillow, hug it tight, and your eyes flutter open as you look at him. His mask is still hiked up just under his nose, and you can see half his face. Scars that cut across him like paintbrush strokes, adding texture and depth where there shouldn’t be.

“You have no idea what it’s like,” you whisper. “You have no idea what it’s like for every single part of yourself to betray what you want. You don’t get it. Y-You don’t understand, you never will. You will always have the upper hand, and y-you will never know what it’s like to not have a choice.”

Simon continues to brush through your hair with his fingers. Soothing you gently, coaxing you into a headspace that feels like white noise. You whine, and Simon comes closer. He presses his mouth to your forehead, soft, gentle, his scent close enough that your beating heart slows down considerably just in response.

“No, I won’t,” Simon agrees. “But that’s what you are. You’re an omega.”

He says it like it’s so simple. Like it explains everything in the entire world. Being an omega is the simplest answer he could ever give, and it explains every variable, every nuance, every quirk that makes you you. It explains every time you sink to your knees for him. It explains how easily you let him fuck you on a rooftop in a foreign country. It explains how even though you hate him with every fiber of your being, there is somehow no one else you want standing over you now.

“I’m still me.”

“No,” Simon shakes his head. “You cannot change wot you are. You’re fighting her, and you will lose.”

You wonder, for just a second, if Simon is speaking from experience. Have there been times when his alpha takes over? Does it take control? Are there times when he looks in the mirror, too, and doesn’t know who is staring back?

“I hate her, too,” you spit. “I hate her, and I hate you.”

There’s a hint of a smile on his terrible face. The first one you’ve ever seen. You hate the urge you have to lean forward and kiss it.

“She is you.”

“Then I hate me. I hate myself.”

Simon changes the sheets silently. He picks you up and moves you when he has to–two big, burly arms picking you up like you’re a feather. You cling to his neck, studying him, and you find yourself not being able to look away. He’s so capable. He’s so independent. He’s so reactive to your needs, it infuriates you, how could one man be so in tune with you, more than yourself?

He drapes all new blankets over you. He turns out most of the lights, except for the low glow of the yellow lamp on his desk. He tucks you in, making sure you’re warm, and then he bends down to say something to you, in your ear.

“Dunno wot you think,” he tells you, “but there will be no omega after you.” His voice drops low, and when you close your eyes, you hear his alpha. Threatening, affirmative, exact. “You are mine. I’ll not ‘ave another. The sooner you accept tha’, the easier things’ll be for you.”

Mine, mine, mine–

“Eat a dick.”

Mine, mine, mine–

“Much prefer y’r cunt, kitty.”

Simon’s protection is instinctual. It’s not really a choice, it’s subconscious. He watches you braid your hair in your room, observes as you tuck it behind your ears and tie it off your face. He hovers as you gear up. Watches you buckle your belt, strap your tact vest, adjust your helmet. He comes over after you’ve laced your boots, tugging on your vest to make sure it’s secure and fastening your helmet for you. You let him as you clip your watch on, closing your eyes as he smooths a thumb across your cheek and turns you towards the door.

It’s a long flight. You fall asleep, your face smushed against his arm, and when you wake up, Simon is still sitting there, hands on his knees, staring straight ahead. John smokes, Gaz has a folded up little book in his hand with what seems like sudoku pages, and Johnny is twirling what looks like a fidget spinner in one hand. You blink awake, but it’s dark out, pitch-black.

That’s the job. Dark, where you can use night as cover. Stealth. You and Simon have been tasked with clearing out one building on your own. Several stories, possible targets inside, presumed armed and dangerous. You were given the clear to eliminate any threats on sight–the op is capture or kill, and John made that very clear in a small room that reeked of his authority.

The bird drops you a few kilometers from where your target building lies. You flip the night-vision down, flicking it on, and you stick to Simon like glue as you follow him silently through empty streets. You’re somewhere in Eastern Europe, somewhere cold and unfeeling and just on the border of Russia. You aren’t privy to any more details; all you know is that your mission is to be Simon’s cover, and you have the face of your target memorized and burned into the back of your eyes.

You spot your target building at the end of the block. The streetlight flickers, and it looks like a low-income apartment building. It’s very small, dilapidated, with a peeling entrance door that has the window broken, hastily patched up with duct tape. It’s no trouble for Simon to stick the scope of his rifle through the duct table and shred the remaining glass to pieces, putting his hand through the window and unlocking the door easily.

The first few floors are clear. Simon always enters a room first, with you in quick succession. You are silent, touch and go, soft taps on shoulders that the both of you can read immediately. You’re in tune with him. When he steps left, so do you. When he turns, you cover, when he sweeps up, you sweep down. It’s a dance, a very well coordinated one, and it lets Simon breathe easier when he realizes how well you’ve adapted to each other over a short period of time.

Just a few weeks, and you are two sides of each other.

Simon swallows down the prideful purr in his chest. Now isn’t the time to get distracted.

When you make your way to the top floor, just below the roof, your chest starts to feel warm. You pause at the top of the stairs as Simon keeps his rifle trained at the first door in front of him. You swallow hard, widening your stance to keep yourself upright. You shake your head, trying to toss the jitters off of you. Your throat hurts as the saliva goes down.

Simon clears the room with you shuffling close behind. You blink rapidly when you see two of Simon, and he whips around suddenly. You can see him through your night vision stiffening in front of you. Shoulders tensing, fingers gripping his rifle tighter. You pause as he comes close to you, and your eyes water when he lifts one hand from his gun to cup your face gently.

You know what he’s asking. You nod shakily, and he taps his wrist with two fingers.

Give me two minutes, is what he’s saying to you.

You don’t get two minutes.

The door behind you slams open. Two men breach inside, and they come at you with a force too strong, and you go flying towards the far wall. Your back hits it hard, and you collapse onto the ground. Your whole body aches, and you know there will an array of nasty bruises under the skin. Your helmet took the brunt of the hit, but you still feel dizzy as it falls off your head, clattering to the ground. You cough, scrambling for your rifle that is a few feet away from you now, and Simon drops one of them with a few easy bullets, but the second man uses his dead companion as cover, throwing the body at Simon until he can lunge at him.

Simon swipes the blade out of his boot and goes for his weak spots. He manages to get him under the arm, across his thigh, but Simon is wearing a lot of gear, and with the weight of a dead alpha getting tossed at him again, he gets moved backwards enough to lose his footing, and then it happens.

The man’s gun fires, and it goes straight for Simon’s head. A flash of light that seals some sick sort of fate that you know can’t be yours. It’s not you that screams in response.

It is your omega.

You launch yourself at him. In your daze, your omega finds clarity, and she seizes her moment. You slip the blade out of its place in your thigh holster, and you toss a nearby chair at him to incapacitate his gun. It gets trapped underneath it, enough time for you to jump and land on him from behind.

He’s an alpha. Physically, you should be no match for him given your size differences, but something else is taking over. Your nails don’t just grab, they pierce his skin. Digging it, shredding flesh, and you bring your blade down over and over again against his chest. He screams in pain, trying to wriggle you off. You lock your ankles around his middle, keeping your hand coming, tearing with your nails and slicing with your knife, but he manages to get an arm underneath you and throw you off.

You hit the ground again roughly, but it doesn’t stop your omega. She gets right back up, but he tackles you. He uses his weight to pin you down, and the knife rings as it slides across the room, but your omega doesn’t let it stop her. He got too close, and she will make sure he regrets it.

He went for your mate, and she cannot have that. She won’t survive without him. Unclaimed, but she doesn’t care–Simon is hers, and she won’t let him go without something all-encompassing and violent. He’ll have to pry Simon out of her dead hands. You feel like you’re watching from the sidelines. You’re not yourself. It’s the first time that you don’t really care.

You scream, leaning up, and he doesn’t get a moment to think before you sink your teeth into the plush of his scent gland and rip it clean out.

Fuck. There’s blood gushing everywhere, spurting from where you’ve severed the gland. The gland is precious, anatomically–it provides most of the oxygen to the brain, and it’s what seals the bond. While it can’t be marked the same way an omega’s can, an alpha can’t survive without it. You’re finding out just how precious it is as you watch an alpha cough and sputter once he realizes what’s happening to him.

He crawls off of you, trying to use his hand to put pressure to his neck, but it’s no use. He leans against the wall and chokes, blood filling his mouth, and you spit out the flesh from between your teeth as you watch him gurgle and kick his feet out. He reaches out for you, pleading in his eyes, but you feel no mercy. There’s tears coming down his face now, and you watch with a scowl as the blood spills between his fingers instead of bringing his brain precious life.

Good fucking riddance.

You turn over once you’re satisfied he won’t get up. You see Simon still sprawled on his back behind you, and you scramble to get to him. You grab his helmet and throw it off, and you start to cry, feeling around and realizing there’s something sticky oozing and pooling onto your fingers. You can’t see very well in the dark, but you put pressure anyways, unsure of what you’re dealing with. Your heartbeat is loud, and it echoes in your ears.

“No–No!” You gasp. You grab Simon’s radio, hands shaking as you press down onto the button.

“Bravo-6, d-do you c-copy?” You cry. “Bravo-6, answer–please–”

“Kit?” John’s voice comes out surprised, low. “What happened?”

“Si–Ghost–” You sob, “W-We need a medevac! Medevac–top floor–”

Your hands continue to shake as you reach for the bottom of his mask and rip it off. It’s the first time you’ve seen him without the mask, but you need to know. You need to know.

His face–it is a little ugly. The eye-black is smeared across his freckles, bleeding across his face from the sweat. He has scars everywhere; they criss-cross along his cheek, cut his lips, but you ignore that as you lean down and put your ear to his mouth.

His breaths come shallow and slow.

You cry with relief, feeling around with your fingers. When all you feel is blood, you pick up his helmet and cry harder when you notice the side of the helmet has been grazed, and the bullet casing lies near his head.

He had missed.

He missed.

You cup his face, tapping his cheeks gently, trying to wake him up.

“Simon?” You whisper, sniffling. “Simon, wake up. Please wake up. Please–”

You can’t carry him. Even if you tried to get your omega to help you, you aren’t physically strong enough to pick him up and carry him out. He’s too big and too heavy, and you wouldn’t be useful anyways; you’d be without cover trying to haul his ass to a bird that’s just too far away.

“Simon–”

He coughs. You gasp, wrapping an arm under him and trying to sit him up. He’s so much heavier with all of his gear on, but you do it anyways, lifting him up and laying his head in your lap. You lean down, pressing your forehead to his, and you cup the back of his neck.

“I thought he killed you–” You sob. Simon hums, his eyes opening and closing, and you smooth a few fingers down his cheek, relieved to hear him breathe. In and out, in and out, low and slow as he blinks away the spots in his vision.

Your eyes meet. It’s not a look you were expecting. You expected him to be angry, but he’s not. He’s looking at you like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. You must look a sight, you think. There must be blood on your face, staining your teeth, but all of your senses are dulled as you try and read him.

Your hands shake as you brush a bit of dust off his face. Your fingers are trembling, but it’s grounding to touch him and see him blink those dark eyes up at you. God, he’s not ugly, no, he’s gorgeous. He’s so beautiful. He’ll never be prettier than the way he is now. Raw and vulnerable–Simon is most himself here, you think, stuck in the in-between of an operation. This is where he must feel everything the most. You open your mouth to say something else, to ask him if he’s okay, but then his face scrunches when he finally realizes where you are.

“On the door,” Simon mutters. “Get y’r gun on the fuckin’ door.”

“Simon–”

“Now!”

You scramble to reach for the handgun in your thigh holster, turning to get up on your knees and cover the door. You will your hands to stop shaking, gripping the handle of the gun tight to keep them steady. You can hear Simon getting himself together behind you. Shuffling onto his feet, picking up his rifle and his helmet. When you look over your shoulder for just a second, you notice his mask is back on.

“Bravo-7 to Bravo-6, east building clear,” Simon rasps. He shoves his way past you, rattling you a little, and you stare at his back, defeated, as he clears the rest of the floor before making his way up the last flight of stairs. You hear your captain responding on comms, but you’re not paying enough attention. Simon slams the roof door shut once its behind you, and you wipe your eyes as Simon gets situated for overwatch as you cover the door.

“Simon, are you–”

“I don’t want to hear another word outta you unless we got contact on this fuckin’ roof,” Simon interrupts.

“I saved your ass!” You cry. “I did that! He would’ve killed you, you fucking asshole, so for once in your life, can you just look at me and say a fucking thank you?!”

Maybe Simon’s right. If you fight your omega, maybe you will lose. She might just kill you. You know she can. You’ve seen it happen before. Omegas that didn’t listen, losing themselves to the insanity of their inner struggle. It’s a violent end. It’s like they electrocute from the inside-out. Their minds betray them, and they let it take over, and with no alpha to soothe them, they’re just gone. If they drift too far, you can’t get yourself back.

Use me. I know what to do. I can get him back.

You do the only other thing you can try; you let your omega do the talking. The sweet, syrupy voice. The soft lilt. The edge that glides, doesn’t cut, the one that will hit his ear just right and hopefully get his alpha tick-tick-ticking inside of his head. The one that didn’t work on Kate–but Kate was not your mate. Kate never responded to you at all, not the way Simon does, and Kate has never tasted your cunt. Her alpha doesn’t know what she’s missing.

I can do it. Let me in.

“Please, Simon,” you beg. You see his fingers twitch as he adjusts the scope on his rifle. They falter, adjusting it just a few degrees too far. Simon doesn’t make mistakes, but then again he’s never had his omega purring in his ear like that. “Please.”

You make your way to him, curling a hand around his bicep. You tug him closer, trying to get him to look at you. He resists, but it’s a pathetic kind of resistance. The kind that you can overpower with just another firm tug. You can sense it, his hesitance, and your omega giggles in your head.

I have him. I can do it. Don’t worry.

“John was right,” Simon breathes. “You’re a problem. A liability.”

A liability because he doesn’t belong to anyone but you, maybe. He’s John’s liability. Not yours. Simon may be a part of their pack, but they should’ve picked up a fucking book when they knew you were coming. Submissiveness might be an inherent “trait” of your kind, but you realize now that is just a lie that alphas tell omegas to keep them quiet.

To keep them soft. To keep them begging. It’s probably something that your kind have learned over time, so distinct that you inherit it from someone that came before you, but you’re convinced that this kind of obedience and docility can be unlearned. It can be used.

If an omega cries, it would be stupid for an alpha to ignore it. It’s in their DNA–with just a soft whine, you can make Simon drop that rifle and bend you over any surface. They say it is for your sake. They say it is because omegas must be serviced or else they will succumb to themselves, but that isn’t what this is, and that’s not why omegas aren’t allowed in the field.

They’re not allowed because you can make Simon defy orders; because John can tell Simon something, and you can tell him something else, and you’re almost certain you know which way Simon will lean.

“Please just look at me, Simon,” you whisper. “Please.”

You cradle his face when he finally does. Your palms touch his wet mask, likely soaked with his own blood. You stand on your toes and draw his face closer to yours.

Fuck them for making you feel small. Fuck them for making you feel less than. Fuck anyone that ever made you feel like you were anything but in control, including her. If she just explained what she could do, this could’ve been a lot easier. If she just told you what she was capable of, you could’ve worked together. You could’ve given her what she wanted, and she could’ve given you what you wanted, and it could’ve been so much simpler.

“Gonna get me fuckin’ killed,” Simon growls. You start to cry again. Not because what he’s saying hurts you, but because he’s still bleeding, and all you can see when you close your eyes is that gun firing right at his head.

This is your ticket. This is your way out. Fuck Kate for making you believe that all you were meant for was being in his bed. You’re so close–aren’t you? You didn’t realize how close you were, but now you do, and you know exactly what to do.

You’re going to make them very, very sorry. You’re going to make them regret ever letting you inside. Your divisive, spitfire nature was not your line of defense. It was the indication of the future you always dreamed of, the future that is one bite-mark away from being tangible. You can taste it, like you taste what Simon wants in the air.

I can do it. I can help you. Let me in.

There was never a reason to be afraid. If anything, they should’ve been afraid of you.

You kiss him. It’s not a proper kiss, because his face is still covered, but you kiss Simon anyways. His cheeks warm, and his lips part, and you kiss him softly over and over as you take his face into your hands. When his arm slides around your waist, your omega is comfortable letting your knees buckle.

She knows already that Simon will catch you.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #dark!ghost #dark!simon

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morthstaar · 3 months ago

Note

Please, PLEASE Tulpar crew x a very shy/introverted reader who is like crushing on the crew really hard but way too shy and embarrassed to tell them but like the crew starts to slowly catch on to them and the way they act different around them. Also I don't mean the crew as a whole I mean the separate characters 😭🙏🏽

ask and u shall receive 😈

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

OH GOD, YOU CAN TELL?

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

Captain Curly

-oh.. curly knew from the moment you laid eyes on him that you had the biggest crush on him.

-there is no slow realization.

-not at all oblivious to it.

-everytime your eyes would seemingly uncontrollably and totally unconsciously drift to him he would try to meet your gaze with a friendly, boyish smirk.

-does that happen? HELL NAH. you are much too shy to even look the captain in the eye.

-your little heart almost beats out of your chest at any interaction. little or big.

-"Hey, just the person I needed to see. I have a little favor to ask you."

-oh god. suddenly words seem hard to pronounce and the entirety of the english language is no where to be seen.

-after a few weeks, curly would definitely find this endearing.

-i feel like since curly is so outgoing, he would be very intrigued by someone who is the complete opposite.

-curly wouldn't act much different when it comes to you, due to maintaining professionalism as his role as captain.

-he may due small acts like making a cake simply to indulge in your sweet-tooth that he somehow knew about you.

-"oh, we just had extra packets of sugar. i just thought id bake something. you like cake right?"

-cheeky motherfucker.

Intern Daisuke

-dude is so so so oblivious even though you make it perfectly clear...

-you could be making like.. making out with the guy and he'd be like,

-"yoo, we are literally besties right?"

-deadass, he prolly had no idea you liked him for weeks.

-you could be laughing extra loud at his jokes then realize ur laughing too loud, look at him while he isn't looking at you, sneak an extra sweetener packet on his bed when he isn't around,,,,

-his ass still is clueless.

-it takes either curly or swansea's help to realize that you had a massive crush on him but were just to shy to say something.

-once he realizes, he is now all over you and following you around like a lost puppy. not nonchalant at ALL.

-literally tries to pick up the polle statue to show his 'guns' but the statue moves only an inch..

-now he is hyper aware of your actions and reactions, he finds your shyness just SO CUTE WTFFF.

-compliments you to see what you would do.

-"man, have you always been this hot or is it just the sweetener talking?"

-runs away.....

-would steal sweetener packets just for you two to share :)

Nurse Anya

-i feel like she notices how different you act around her, but she just thinks its because you two are good friends.

-she never assumes anything, just her friend being friendly.

-even though you sometimes make it unintentionally obvious..

-like this one time you recommend her a book from your quarters library and her fingers lightly grazed yours reaching for it.

-oh shit. her soft hands touched yours. oh god what does a normal person do in this situation??

-"thank you for the-oh... book."

-well, they don't smile awkwardly, sweat pouring down their face and leave in a hurry with the book still in their hand.

-anya isn't stupid or completely oblivious by any means. she definitely knew from this encounter of your little crush on her.

-she is quite flattered honestly. someone so similar to her truly likes her?

-when she fully processes this information, she is very subtle with how she shows her affection back.

-during check-ups, she sometimes gives you a treat from one of her desk drawers for being a good patient.

-other times she lets you join her late at night in the lounge to just look at the pretty night time screen.

-"this makes me miss home. it's so beautiful."

-you'd look over at her and her eyes are not on the screen, far from it actually.

-her eyes are on you.

-so this is what a heart attack feels like..

Mechanic Swansea

-unpopular hot-take, swansea is actually a dilf and he often has younger men/women confess their feelings to him.

-so because of that headcanon, swansea definitely knows how you feel from the first time y'all met.

-your eyes would subconsciously peek at his open shirt revealing his chest. suspiciously, whenever he would look back, you quickly turn away shyly...

-he immediately thinks he is way to old for this shit. he just got out of a divorce and prolly never wanted to try again. especially with someone younger.

-"what is with this damn younger generation with old people.."

-he tries to avoid you even though you two are co-workers and.. work together. on the same ship.

-as weeks go by, your shyness starts to grow on this grumpy man. he... he thinks it's endearing in a sense..

-he rather likes how reserved you are, and how are aren't as loudmouthed as daisuke.

-he won't act much different to you, but according to the rest of the crew it is obvious.

-swansea leaves little sticky notes reminding you to eat or sleep because lets be honest.. you are quite neglectful, and the sticky note quotes,,

-"..the crew doesn't need you passin' out while doin' your job. so eat or i will make you."

-swansea is also much more soft-spoken with you than anyone else.

-he has never raised his voice or spoken down on you. his usual brashness and snarky remarks are now toned down (but not entirely) around you.

-"hey. i didn't say you had to leave, did i? stop puttin' words in my damn mouth and sit."

Co-captain Jimmy

-jimmy prolly doesn't even acknowledge you at first.

-you could be looking at him, thinking he doesn't know that your eyes are skimming over his face and body.

-oh but jimmy.. he does know,,, but he never shows that he does.

-he likes the attention on him. your eyes looking him over when she doesn't even know that he is soaking it up.

-im sorry but he definitely gets off to the fact that you are shy and get flustered easily.

-he loves how malleable and submissive you are due to your shyness. and he uses it to his advantage.

-he shows his affection strongly after he knows your crush.like sometimes he would purposefully follow you places and when you turn around he'd be like..

-"do you mind? you're in my way.."

-i feel like he wouldn't know how to properly express his feelings so he would be kind of unnecessarily mean and cruel.

-and after he would be mean he would be nice and extra affectionate so you would still like him.

-like you could be working on something and is critical about your work.

-"are you serious? tsk.. move, since you clearly cannot perform a basic task."

-then later he's like..

-"im glad someone on this ship is helpful, like you."

-basically, he purposefully plays with your feelings to get you to confess bc i feel like he likes when women come to him.....

#mouthwashing #mouthwashing x reader #swansea x reader #swansea mouthwashing #daisuke x reader #daisuke mouthwashing #anya x reader #anya mouthwashing #curly x reader #curly mouthwashing #jimmy x reader #jimmy mouthwashing

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sleepyhoon · 19 days ago

Text

i see you (always, forever). - l.hs

synopsis. following your ex boyfriend’s sudden disappearance, lee heeseung seemingly enters your life at the perfect time.

pairing. stalker bf!heeseung x fem reader

genre. dark romance, smut, light humor.

word count. 6.1k+

warnings. swearing, obsessive behavior, stalking, brief mention of drink spiking (doesn’t actually happen), mention of alcohol consumption, person held in captivity, mention of past infidelity, extremely brief mention of childbirth, smut [ consensual somno, oral (fem receiving), p in v, sex toy usage ]. this fic contains dark content and is not at all how i view these idols. minors and ageless blogs dni. 18+ content read at your own discretion.

featuring. hwang yeji & shin ryujin (itzy)

a/n. happy valentine’s day babies!! wanted to do something cute and light but i fear it just wasn’t working out … so this right here is for my dark romance girlies hehe enjoy! drew inspo from the television show “you”! shoutout to bae @yangkkomi for beta reading

Lee Heeseung has the worst case of separation anxiety when it comes to you.

The mere thought of being away from you for too long is enough to send him into a spiral, and you barely even realize the effect you had on him. His naturally clingy nature raised no concerns to you; in fact, you relish in his borderline unhealthy infatuation with you — seeing as your previous boyfriend of ten months disappeared on a random Tuesday afternoon, leaving nothing behind but a note claiming he needed to start a new life.

The week of Park Jongseong’s sudden disappearance was agonizing. Yes, he assured everyone he was okay and simply was moving onto a new chapter in his life, and that no one drove him to make such a rash decision, but something about the situation didn’t sit well with you.

Jongseong wasn’t impulsive in the slightest, and you would argue he was one of, if not the most, mature, level headed men you’ve dated. He was distant at times which often felt unsettling, but had his reasonings and assured you he couldn’t have been happier in the relationship. That was one of your favorite things about Jongseong, how he always knew just what to say to calm your nerves, and how he always had a rational explanation for everything.

Running away so suddenly was out of character for him, and a part of you feared that, despite the note left behind, there was something malicious going on that led to his disappearance.

Your older sister, Yeji, had just given birth and was in the midst of planning her wedding, while your parents deemed themselves as “too busy to deal with your issues”, leaving you to become a shell of yourself without having anyone to confide in. Days turned into weeks of you locking yourself in your apartment, typing your ex boyfriend’s name into the search bar over and over, hoping something new would pop up; but nothing ever did.

After a long, tiring day of Zoom meetings and doing more research on Jongseong, your eyes had begun to flutter shut when a knock on your front door wakes you. Expecting it to be your Doordash driver dropping off a greasy, million calorie cheeseburger and a can of soda, you yell out to leave it at the front door. The knocking persisted, and with a sigh, you dragged your feet all the way to the front door, certainly shocked at the man that stood before you.

You don’t even give him the chance to explain himself before you’re asking, “Why do you look familiar?”

He grins at you, absentmindedly drumming his fingers against the cardboard box in his hands. “Unless you’re a book lover we probably don’t know each other; I’m a manager of a bookstore downtown, I’m there all the time.”

“Is it… Brookhaven? You guys have K-pop albums too, right?”

“Book-haven,” he corrects you with a polite nod, “and, yeah, we have albums. Have you been to the shop?”

“A few times.” You mumble, suddenly feeling very self conscious of your outfit choice. With the option to have your camera off during the Zoom meetings, you felt no desire to get dressed for the day, opting to work in your oversized sweatshirt and sleep shorts.

The unnamed man wore casual clothing — a grey North Face jacket atop a black t-shirt and white cargos — yet, you felt completely underdressed in comparison to him. His gaze was piercing yet gentle, like he carried a certain confidence about himself in a way that didn’t come off as cocky or arrogant. Though, you really couldn’t blame him if he were the conceited type; he was definitely an attractive man.

The silver chain on his neck had been paired perfectly with matching earrings, including a silver hoop on his helix. His hair, though likely not his natural color, suited him perfectly; the subtle curls and waves giving him a classic, boyish look with bangs that fell just beneath his eyebrows.

You clear your throat, gesturing towards the package in his hands, “Are you dropping this off?”

“Yes! Uh, FedEx dropped off some packages at my store yesterday and it looks like this must’ve gotten mixed in,” he explains, extending the package towards you, “I tried calling the number on the label yesterday but no one answered, so I’m just swinging by to drop it off.”

You accept the package, rolling your eyes at the mixup. “FedEx is always doing bullshit.”

He lets out a dry chuckle, “Trust, I’m fully aware. The driver for our block is this old-ass man; I once caught him asleep in his truck.”

You laugh a little too loud at this, inwardly cringing at yourself afterwards as you tuck the package beneath your arm. “Well, thanks for bringing my package…?” You trail off, hoping he’ll complete your sentence by offering you his name.

“Heeseung, Lee Heeseung.”

“Thank you, Heeseung, Lee Heeseung.” You repeat, earning a grin from him.

“No worries,” he responds, fishing something out of his pocket, “and feel free to stop by the store sometime, especially now that you have a coupon.” He says, offering you the small slip of paper from his pocket.

You accept it, eyes widening at the “BOGO FREE KPOP ALBUM” staring back at you. “I…is this real? You really don’t have to.”

Heeseung shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets, “It’s no big deal, I keep coupons on me to hand out, anyway. Plus, we’re trying to make room for more stock.” He says, slowly walking backwards down the hall as he inches away from your door. Like a magnet, your body automatically angles towards him, hoping he’ll say something else.

“You’ll just have to request a manager when you’re ready to use it, regular associates can’t process certain coupons under their employee number.”

You nod, free-hand gripping the doorframe as your eyes follow Heeseung, “What days do you work?”

He shrugs again, “Doesn’t have to be me, I have two assistant managers that are there pretty often.”

“Right, but, when are you there?”

He pauses, titling his head at you before responding, “Monday through Friday, eleven-to-eight. Sometimes I stop by once or twice on the weekends to check in.”

“Will you be there tomorrow?”

“All day, eleven-to-eight.”

The following morning, you had the sudden urge to buy a K-pop album and get another one for free.

Heeseung had spent a good portion of that morning conversing with you from behind the counter, listening intently when you got on the topic of your previous boyfriend’s disappearance. It’s still a touchy subject for you, and probably not the best thing to talk about while getting to know a guy you’re interested in, but Heeseung’s question on how “such a pretty girl” like you was single required a truthful answer. Initially, you feared your response of “my boyfriend went missing” would be enough to scare him off, but Heeseung didn’t seem phased in the slightest.

In fact, in the two-and-a-half months you’d been dating Heeseung there was almost nothing you could say or do that would phase him to the point of genuine concern. Not how it took an insane amount of motivation for you in order to clean your apartment (he was fine cleaning it himself), or how often you’d forget to take your very much needed medication (he was more than happy to remind you every morning and night, and even went as far as requesting a refill when the bottle was nearly empty and picking it up for you). Catering to your every need was just another simple task for him, and you’re more than grateful that the universe seemingly dropped him right in your lap when you needed it most.

Heeseung was patient, understanding, and was absolutely devoted to your relationship. In his eyes, you deserved nothing but the best, and was keen on making sure to provide for you.

Cooking for you was probably his favorite task. He wasn’t the best at it per se, but improved with every attempt, and you seemed to enjoy his meals despite them not being to his liking.

He’d woken up early this morning to prepare a Valentine’s day breakfast for you, planting a gentle kiss on your forehead as he slipped out of bed and into your kitchen. The original plan was to go all out and cook a ridiculous breakfast feast he’d seen on TikTok that featured cinnamon rolls, sausage, and fluffy pancakes.

He burnt the first batch of cinnamon rolls and decided it best to simplify your feast down to eggs, bacon, and french toast sticks. Slightly disappointed that his original plan didn’t work out, your boyfriend sighs at himself as he pours a glass of cranberry juice before setting it on a wooden tray table. How he made it to your bedroom without dropping everything was beyond him, considering how he was still weak from sleep and could hardly keep his eyes open.

Heeseung pushed the door open with his foot, peeking his head in slightly and furrowing his brows at your sleeping figure. If not from the noise of clattering dishes, he was almost certain the smell of food would be enough to wake you up. He knew you were a heavy sleeper, but never realized how heavy.

“How are you still asleep?” He mumbles to himself with a sigh, setting the tray of food on your desk before retreating to your bed. He digs his knee into the edge of the mattress, gently shaking your leg in an attempt to wake you. You don’t budge, your slumber remaining unaffected as the sounds of your light snoring continue to fill the room. His fingers trail down your leg until they reach the sole of your foot, his fingernails softly tickling the sensitive area until you’re jerking your leg away in discomfort.

“Weirdo.” You say through a yawn, angling your body until you’re laying on your side.

Heeseung rolls his eyes at your insult, grabbing ahold of your leg as he responds, “A true weirdo would’ve put their mouth on it, you’re lucky it’s just me. Now get up, I made breakfast.”

Waking you up was no easy task, whether it was seven in the morning or half past noon. Heeseung suspects you’re still recovering from sleep debt after all the nights you’d spent lying awake researching Jongseong’s disappearance. The nights you could sleep didn’t typically didn’t last long; it’d either take hours until you finally drifted off, or you’d wake up in the middle of the night from a nightmare; leaving you unable to go back to sleep.

Your sleep schedule hadn’t gotten back on track until you met Heeseung, who made sure you were taking melatonin, iron pills, and just about anything that would help you sleep soundly and feel less tired during the day. And while the extra supplements may be working, there was still a lot of sleep debt you were recovering from; an almost concerning amount that made it difficult for you to get up most days.

You groan into your pillow when the smell of Heeseung’s freshly made breakfast hits your nose, your mouth nearly salivating from the scent alone. As much as you wanted to sit up and start eating, your limbs were still heavy with exhaustion. “Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be up,” you plead, “I promise.”

Heeseung shakes his head. “Y/N,” he whines, “just get up, I wanna spend time with you before work. You can go back to sleep after I leave.”

Today was the release day of author, Shin Ryujin’s, newest sapphic romance novel that Heeseung could not remember the title of; just that it featured a lot of smut, has over twenty-four chapters, and was highly anticipated. Her team had reached out to Bookhaven not too long ago, inquiring about hosting a Q+A session and book signing event on the day of its release. Initially, Heeseung had planned to reject the offer since it fell on Valentine’s day and that type of event required his presence, and he’d originally planned on spending the entire day with you. The payout of said event, however, was more than enough to get him on board.

He’d be leaving the shop and heading over to you around five, and have Sunoo or Jungwon close up, leaving him with just seven hours with you that he’d planned to make the most of. All he needed now was for you to wake the hell up before he has to leave.

You still don’t budge, mumbling something incoherent before the snores resume and you’ve drifted back to sleep.

“Babe,” he says flatly, shaking your leg. “Y/N. Baby. Dude, get up.”

Still nothing, and Heeseung’s on the verge of kissing your forehead and calling it a day, but there is one thing that could get you up.

Slowly, he peels the thick comforter off of your body, relishing in the fact that you chose to sleep in one of his shirts. Allowing himself further onto the mattress, Heeseung’s hand reahes for the hem of your shirt, pushing it up just enough to reveal your lavender colored panties. He pauses, glancing up at you momentarily before lowering his head and nestling it between your thighs.

He starts off slow, placing a light kiss on your inner thigh before trailing his lips upwards. Pausing right at your hip bone, Heeseung’s fingertips move to the core of your underwear, lightly scratching at your cunt through the soft material. Frustrated, he whines your name once more before slowly trailing your panties down and off your legs, discarding of them on the other side of the mattress.

Fingernails digging into your flesh, he grips your thighs as he repositions himself at eye level with your cunt, inching forward slowly until he’s pressing his lips right against yours. It’s gentle at first, much like how he’d kiss you any other time, a few gentle pecks until he was desperate for more.

Heeseung tilts his head slightly, and finally has his tongue fall flat against your entrance. The groan that escapes his mouth from the contact comes from deep in his chest, his fingernails leaving crescent-shaped indents on your thighs from how hard he’s gripping them.

He licks a long, slow strip along your cunt upwards towards your clit, licking and sucking at the bud as if savoring the feeling of your taste on his tongue. He repeats his movements a few more times, growing desperate as the seconds pass by, each moan and whine from him becoming more desperate and whiny than the last. You shift around slightly, furrowing your brows a bit, but still not fully awake.

Another minute passes by and you’re still asleep. Your body automatically responding to Heeseung’s touches, but they’re still not enough to wake you. He’s not bored in the slightest, though, and would argue that he could probably go on for hours if that’s what it took; but he has to leave soon, and needs you awake as soon as possible.

With a sigh, he kisses your thigh once before twisting his body and reaching over to your nightstand, opening the bottom drawer and digging around slightly until his fingers brush against the rubber vibrator he’d been searching for. It’s an air pulsing one you’d bought before you’d met Heeseung, and when he’d discovered it in your room for the first time, he’d insisted on implementing it into your sex lives as much as possible.

He turns it on, choosing to keep it on the first setting before pressing it directly on your clit. A sharp gasp escapes your lips at the contact, with Heeseung keeping his gaze fixed on your face. Gently massaging the toy against your cunt, your eyes slowly began to flutter open, a loud moan echoing through the room as Heeseung turned the toy up to a medium setting.

You grab a fistful of Heeseung’s hair, yanking him forward until his mouth is on your cunt again. The sudden roughness takes him by surprise, but he doesn’t seem to mind it in the slightest; in fact, he can feel himself stiffening in his boxers from you gripping his hair alone.

Moaning into your cunt, Heeseung does his best to keep the vibrator pressed against you while he eats you out. His desperation was astonishing, his moans nearly being as loud and whiny as yours as he continued.

When you’re finally close, which doesn’t take very long; Heeseung discards the vibrator completely; mindlessly tossing it on the floor to lap at your cunt with his tongue. He presses it flat against you, dragging your wetness up to your clit before sucking the swollen bud between his lips.

You orgasm almost instantly at that, trapping Heeseung's head between your thighs as you come on his face with your back arching off the bed and swears pouring from your lips.

You’re panting as you come down from your high, breath rigged as you drape your arm against your forehead, “Wow.”

“You okay?” Heeseung asks, voice muffled as you finally release his head was still trapped between your thighs.

“Shit,” you loosen the grip, “sorry, Hee.”

“Don’t apologize. Oh my God, I could’ve died like that and would’ve been okay with it.”

Weirdly enough, you don’t think he’s joking.

“Anyways,” he continues, “you okay?”

You nod, pressing your lips into a thin line, “I’m definitely up.”

“Yeah, me too,” He responds, tapping on his painfully hard erection. “Can I…?”

“If you do all the work, sure.”

Heeseung scoffs, already moving to tug his pajama pants down, “As if I ever let you do any of it.”

It’s not a complaint, Heeseung was more than happy being the more assertive one when it came to your sex life. He didn’t mind doing most of the work as long as it meant you were getting off.

When he turns you to lay on your side you let him, resting your back against his chest as he teases his tip at your entrance. You bite down on your bottom lip, hand gripping the bed sheets when he finally does slide himself in. Heeseung grunts into your ear, placing a gentle hand on your hip, “ ‘m gonna go a little bit fast, okay? We don’t have a lot of time.”

He wasn’t exaggerating, either.

At your confirmation, Heeseung pulled out of you entirely before pushing himself back in; his thrusts overwhelmingly fast but not painful or rough. You yelp when he bites down on your neck, though, a habit he picked up upon finding out you enjoy being marked up.

He was certain that neither of you will last long like this, so it doesn’t surprise him that after a few minutes you’re already creeping up on your orgasm. Heeseung takes this as a sign to speed up his already quick thrusts, his nails digging into your hip as he presses his head onto your shoulder.

You finish first with Heeseung just a few seconds behind you, squeezing your eyes shut at the feeling of him filling you up with his cum. As always, he keeps his dick buried in you for another minute longer, only pulling out when he’s reminded of how little time he has.

Sitting up, Heeseung moves a few stray strands of hair out of the way to plant kisses on your face, but you stop him with the excuse of not having brushed your teeth yet before he’s able to properly kiss you on the lips.

He scoffs, “You just came on my face, do you think I care if you have morning breath? Don’t insult me.”

“At least let me eat first so I can get this weird taste out of my mouth,” you counter, reaching over your shoulder to pat Heeseung on the cheek. “Can I do that?”

Heeseung lets out a loud, dramatic sigh, “If you insist. Let me clean you up first, though.”

He stands from the bed, awkwardly pulling his boxers and pajama pants back up before excusing himself to your bathroom. He takes care of himself first before running a rag under the sink faucet and returning to your bedroom.

After cleaning you up with practiced ease, Heeseung discards of the rag in your bathroom hamper and slips back into your bedroom, finally delivering you the breakfast in bed he’d been anticipating all week, a wide grin on his face as he sets the wooden tray down on your lap. “All your favorites: french toast sticks, bacon, scrambled eggs with cheese, and a glass of cranberry juice. Bone apple teeth.”

You chuckle at his joke, admiring the feast laying in your lap as you grab a strip of bacon, “Where’s your food?” You ask, noticing there was only enough servings for one person.

Heeseung shakes his head, resting the palm of his hand on your bare knee as he sits across from you, “I’ll pick up something on the way to work, didn’t have time to make enough for both of us.”

With a pout, you take a bite of the bacon strip, “Now I feel bad.”

Heeseung grins, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, “Don’t, consider this part one of your Valentine’s gift.”

You’ve finished the first strip by now, moving onto the second one as you use your free hand to retrieve your phone from the nightstand. “Well, at least let me pay for your breakfast then.”

He shakes his head at you, reaching for your phone that you manage to pull out of reach. “Babe, you seriously don’t have to.”

“I want to,” you respond, halfway through Venmo-ing him fifteen dollars, “that should be enough.”

“Y/N…”

“Done! And don’t send it back or else I’ll be really sad, you know gift-giving is my love language.”

He chuckles, using the fork and knife on the tray table to cut a piece of the french toast stick, “Thank you, baby. You spoil me.” He dips the fork into the container of maple syrup before bringing it up to your parted lips, cupping his hand underneath to prevent the syrup from dripping onto the bed sheets.

You hum, cupping Heeseung’s face as you chew, “Anything for my princess. Also, you said this was part one of my gift?”

Heeseung nods, cutting another square off the french toast, “Part two is still later tonight, once I’m off work.”

“Can you tell me what it is now, please?” You plead, clasping your hands together as you jutt out your bottom lip, staring up at him with a pout. For the past week, Heeseung had been teasing about this big Valentine’s day surprise he had planned for you, claiming it would be the “surprise of a lifetime”.

He hums, feeding you another forkful. “I’ll tell you this, when you have the time, you’re gonna have to pack an overnight bag.” Your eyes light up, waiting patiently before speaking as Heeseung continues, “And, you’re gonna have to be dressed up once I pick you up after work. Nothing crazy fancy, just… something nice.”

Heeseung can tell you want to bombard him with more questions, and brings another forkful of food to your lips before you have the chance. “I’ll be picking you up around five-forty-five, ‘m sorry I’ll have to be at the shop most of the day.”

You shake your head, picking up the glass of cranberry juice, “Don’t be, I hope the event goes well. If you have extras, can you bring me a copy of the book?”

“For sure, and I’ll see if I can leave any sooner so we have some extra time together.”

“You seriously don’t have to,” you assure him, taking a sip of your drink, “besides, I have some errands to run in the meantime.”

Heeseung raises a brow at you, “Oh? You’re going out today?”

You nod excitedly, setting the cup on your nightstand, “Yeji and I are taking the baby to a Mommy-and-Me yoga class then doing some shopping.”

Heeseung rolls his eyes at the mention of your sister, setting the fork and knife back onto the tray table. You frown at him, shoulders slouching as you tilt your head, “Why do you hate my sister so much?”

“I never said I hated Yeji.”

“You didn’t have to, it’s pretty obvious. You never wanna talk to her when she’s around and you roll your eyes whenever I mention her.”

Heeseung shrugs, “She’s just not my cup of tea, is all. Our personalities clash.”

Of course there’s more to it than clashing personalities, but you’re not quite ready for the full truth just yet, so he decides to leave it at that. “Anyways, how are Jake and Jihan?”

Your eyes light up at the mention of your future brother-in-law and nephew, “I talked to Yeji yesterday and she said things are good! Jihan is starting to roll over and Jake plans on asking his friend, Sunghoon, to be his best man. Oh, and Yeji says the baby is finally starting to look like Jake.”

“Really?”

You nod, “Mmhm, Jake is so happy.”

“Good for him,” Heeseung mumbles, watching as you take a bite of the eggs. “Gonna have to head out now, but I loaded my card onto your Apple Wallet, ‘kay? Use that while you shop.”

You blink at him, “When’d you do that?”

“Last night, consider it part one-and-a-half of your gift.”

“You spoil me.”

Heeseung grins, “Anything for you.”

The drive to Bookhaven is quiet, with Keshi playing from the stereo as Heeseung made his way to the shop and parked by the employee entrance.

Stepping right into a pile of snow, he shuts the car door behind him before making his way across the street and stopping by his favorite breakfast cafe, Heaven’s Treats. He ordered his usual: two bacon, egg and cheese sandwiches on croissants and two bottles of water; using your fifteen-dollar Venmo gift to pay and tipping the staff with a few dollars cash.

He heads back over to his shop afterwards, unlocking and entering through the employee entrance. Once inside, he unlocks his office door first, setting the bag of food down on his desk before heading into the main area of the shop. Taking a few minutes to wipe down tables and put away loose books, Heeseung hums to himself as he enjoys how quiet and peaceful the shop is. Shin Ryujin was sure to bring in a crowd later today, and he can already tell he’d be leaving the shop with a headache.

Once finished, Heeseung retreats back to his office and shuts the door behind him, grabbing the bag of food from the desk before walking over to the closet door. With a sigh, he opens it up, pushing the file cabinet to the side to reveal the door to the hidden basement. His eyes jot down to the keypad under the doorknob, where he quickly types in your anniversary before twisting the knob and pushing the door open.

Staring down at the wooden staircase, Heeseung sighs once again, “Let’s get this over with.”

Carefully, he retreats down the steps and into the basement, looking over into the glass chamber and finding Jongseong, your ex boyfriend, sound asleep on his mattress. Heeseung chuckles once he’s made it down the stairs, walking over to the pass-through attached to the glass chamber and opening it, sliding in the breakfast sandwich and bottle of water before shutting it with a loud click!

Heeseung retreats over to his desk and computer monitors that sat opposite of the glass chamber, sitting on his office chair before grabbing and turning on the intercom microphone. “Sleeping in?”

His voice comes out ten times louder in the glass chamber’s speaker, jolting Jongseong out of his sleep as he presses the palms of his hands onto his ears. “Jesus fuckin’… is the intercom necessary?! You’re right there! I can hear you through the glass!”

Heeseung shrugs nonchalantly, setting the microphone back on the desk, “You’re a heavy sleeper.” Jongseong sighs in response, rubbing his eyes as Heeseung continues, “Brought you breakfast, it’s in the pass-through. Eat before it gets cold.”

“How do I know you didn’t do something to it? Sick fuck.” Jongseong spits, arms folded across his chest as he stares at Heeseung through the glass.

“Do something like what?”

“I don’t know, spike my drink like last time?”

Heeseung lets out an agitated groan as he slumps in his chair, retrieving his own food from the takeout bag as he responds, “How many times do I have to tell you I didn’t fucking drug you that night? You actually made everything a lot easier by getting blackout drunk at a fucking nightclub.”

“Yeah, and if I didn’t blackout? Then what?”

“Who cares? It doesn’t matter, what matters is that you’re away from Y/N.”

Jongseong shivers at the mention of your name, immediately looking away from Heeseung and focusing his attention on the food in the pass-through.

Around six months ago, you’d showed up to Bookhaven hand-in-hand with Jongseong, and Heeseung had been enthralled with you ever since. He spent is every waking moment doing his research on you, which included doing a deep dive on the people closest to you: your immediate family, close friends, and stupid fucking boyfriend.

Heeseung knew the moment he laid eyes on Jongseong that he was no good for you, and was clearly putting up a facade when the two of you were together. Heeseung saw right through it, how quickly he’d pull out his phone to snap a text when you were looking, how he’d roll his eyes whenever you got too excited about something, how he almost never responded to your PDA — he was the fucking worst, and you deserved so much better. You deserved Lee Heeseung.

Days leading up to Jongseong’s disappearance, Heeseung had been watching him like a hawk; cyber-stalking him as closely as possible without being caught, until, finally, Jongseong decided to go clubbing one night.

Heeseung’s original plan was to wait until Jongseong was slightly drunk and knock him out, but Jongseong getting blackout drunk on his own accord made things way easier for Heeseung — all he had to do was pretend to be a friend to Jongseong and convince everyone else he’d be getting him home safely.

Dumbasses, all of them.

Jongseong stands, scratching the back of his neck as he walks over to the pass-through.

“Anyways, it’s Valentine’s day,” Heeseung says after biting into his own sandwich, “you have any plans? Oh wait.”

Jongseong rolls his eyes again, mumbling “Fuck you” under his breath as he retrieves his food and drink. He inspects the sandwich thoroughly before taking a bite, chewing slowly as if trying to taste each and every spice and flavor.

“Wait,” Heeseung speaks, suddenly realizing something, “if you just woke up, that means you missed the show.”

Jongseong rolls his eyes a third time, already knowing what Heeseung was getting at. “I’m sure I didn't miss much.”

Heeseung swivels around in his office chair to face the three monitors, each one surveilling different areas in your apartment. You were blissfully unaware of the hidden cameras he’d set up in your home that have been recording your every move for months on end. He’s doing it for your own safety, really; keeping an eye on you at all times.

You’re in the kitchen now, loading up the dishwasher with music playing from your phone, stopping every few seconds to belt out the lyrics or make an attempt at doing the choreography. Heeseung enjoys watching you like this, when you truly get to be yourself because you think no one is around.

He grins, switching over to the center monitor and hitting the rewind button until he sees himself entering your bedroom, “There we go.” Heeseung monitors himself closely, watching as he sets the tray of food down on your desk before walking over to your mattress.

He moves out of the way so Jongseong has a better view of the screen, a smug expression on his face as he watches the scene unfold in front of him. The monitors were on at all hours, meaning the only entertainment Jongseong had was watching you stroll around your house. Weirdly enough, it pleases him to keep an eye on you like this, making sure you’re still okay after all this time.

He can do without watching you and Heeseung have sex, though.

Jongseong turns his head away the moment Heeseung removes the blanket from your body, groaning in disgust as he takes another bite from his sandwich. “I don’t need to see this.”

Heeseung shrugs, mumbling, “Your loss” as he speeds up the replay. He prefers to focus on the key moments anyway, like the face you make right before you come on his, or how your entire body tensed when he leaned down to bite on the nape of your neck.

As arousing as it was to play back all those moments, he primarily used it as a personal study guide on what you liked the most, so he’d be better at pleasing you going forward. This behavior had started before the two of you even got together, if he’s being completely honest. One simple, playful retweet from you about preferring to receive oral rather than give it had him ordering a pocket pussy the very next day to practice on.

The first time the two of you hooked up, Heeseung had spent approximately twenty-four minutes going down on you, only stopping when you expressed concerns about his jaw locking up — not that he cared.

“Wait a second,” Jongseong pauses, crumbling the empty food wrapper into a ball before tossing it to the floor, “what happened to that big breakfast feast you kept talking about, huh? With the, uh, the pancakes and cinnamon rolls?”

When Heeseung doesn’t respond, Jongseong continues taunting, “What, realized you couldn’t do it? That you can do something as simple as prepare a meal? Wow, are you—”

“Shut up, dumbass.” Heeseung interrupts him with a shake of his head, swiveling around in his office chair until he’s facing Jongseong, “You think you’re better than me because you know how to cook? Go on then, cook something. Go to the stove and prove you’re better at me than cooking.”

Silence falls between the two, with Jongseong glaring daggers at Heeseung as he tightens his fists.

“Oh, wait,” Heeseung continues, tapping his chin, “you can’t cook; you’re trapped in my basement while I fuck your girlfriend.“

“Whatever.”

“Oh, now it’s whatever, but just a second ago you were so much better than me for knowing how to cook — you also know how to lie and cheat.”

“Whatever, Heeseung, just drop it.”

“How do you think Y/N would feel if she found out you were cheating on her with her own sister? How old do you think Jihan will be before Jake realizes why they look nothing alike?” Heeseung questions, tilting his chin at Jongseong, as if expecting a legitimate answer.

The mere thought of Jongseong and your own sister getting together behind your back is enough to make Heeseung gag; he couldn’t fucking believe two of the closest people in your life would deceive you like that. It was beyond disgusting, and he had a strong distaste for Yeji the moment he found out.

Ashamed, Jongseong turn away from Heeseung’s gaze. “That’s none of your fucking business.”

Heeseung rolls his eyes, turning around in his seat until he’s facing the monitors, “Anything involving Y/N is my business, fuck-face, including you and anyone else that bothers her.”

He navigates the surveillance controls until he’s back to watching you in real time, the corners of his lips quirking up into a smile when he sees you facetiming someone. He shushes Jongseong, who hadn’t even been speaking, as he turns the volume up in order to hear you better.

“…and I think he looks just like you, seriously…Jake?…I mean, I don’t know…I’m not really seeing the resemblance yet…”

Realizing who you were talking to and what the topic of conversation was, Heeseung clicks his tongue, “They may even find out sooner than you think.”

The sound of Yeji’s voice through the speaker has him rolling his eyes as he turns down the volume, not that it mattered, considering you disappeared into the bathroom a few moments later.

“Hey,” Jongseong taps on the glass, “let me ask you something.”

“No.”

“Why do you have a camera in every room except the bathroom?”

It’s a genuine question, but it comes out more perverted than Jongseong had intended it to.

As if the answer was obvious, Heeseung raises a brow as he responds, “I’m giving her privacy, pervert.”

#enhypen smut #enhypen imagine #enhypen scenario #lee heeseung #heeseung smut #heeseung imagine #heeseung scenarios #heeseung x reader #enhypen x reader #kpop imagine #kpop scenario #kpop smut #sleepyhoon

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ttjisung · 2 months ago

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POISON p. jisung

idol!park jisung x fan!reader

in which you were convinced ndas were simply a made up concept for fangirls to get off to, that was until you you were asked to go backstage at jisung's request.

cw: mdni! smut, fem!reader, fingering, oral (f receiving), spit, p in v, protected sex :3, slight angst, jisung is down bad, overstimulation, everything is consented to!!! ^_^ i think that's all... for now. wc: (3.4k)

You were in a lucid dream. You were sure that was it – a very realistic dream in which the concert staff approached you with a request to wait until after the encore, and then follow them backstage.

Being honest, you weren’t even aware that NDA’s truly existed, labeling them as a made-up fangirl fantasy; yet here you were, in your light green and quite revealing outfit, waiting for further instruction from the two security guards that found you when you took a small bathroom break between the group’s wardrobe changes.

Had it not been for the way your hands slightly trembled, you might’ve been able to appear confident. You wanted to look brave, because a small part of your brain told you that if you showed any anxiety, you’d be denied. The thought faded as your heartbeat quickened, recognizing Poison playing in the background. Strangely enough, NCT Dream decided to end their concert with that song, although they had already performed it once before already. Any other time, you’d be grateful considering Poison was your favorite, yet observing the members dance sensually in the black and red outfits only worsened your state, as the reality kicked in that one of them requested for you to join them backstage to do only God knows what.

Several questions ran through your mind, the main one being who? Who of the seven had spotted you jumping along in your floor seat and decided they wanted to see you after they finished up. Truthfully – and maybe embarrassingly – you wouldn’t mind any of them. Had it been any other band, you’re sure you would’ve only desired your favorite member, yet that was what made Dream so unique: all of them were perfect. That being said, your mind immediately jumped to members like Jaemin and Haechan, who were known for being flirts. It would only make sense that the more extroverted ones would be the type to do such a thing.

Lost in your thoughts, you hadn’t realized the concert had ended until the venue’s lights turned on and the loud buzz of the fans slowly faded out. You flinched as someone tapped your shoulder, looking around and coming face to face with one of the security guards you had met earlier, who nodded his head in the direction of the stage. “They’re back there. Let’s go.” Although your eyes were wide with shock and your skin had goosebumps, you simply followed closely behind. It wasn’t until you were led to a changing room door that the reality kicked in – you were about to meet one of your idols, and by the sound of the guards’ words, meeting wouldn’t be all you’d be doing.

“Alright, I’ll leave now. Just knock when you’re ready, he’s already in there.” Your curiosity mixed with your anxiety at the mention of a certain ‘him’, and once the guard was gone and your nerves calmed down, you lifted your hand to knock.

Not even three seconds later, the door opened, revealing the member who you had never expected. “Um… Hi… Come on in.” Jisung’s voice stumbled, awkwardly stepping aside to make space for you. This was weird – he truly never even crossed your mind. It’s not like you thought any of the members were innocent, they were all attractive, famous grown men. You weren’t delusional enough to believe they were inexperienced, but for some reason this seemed completely out of character for the tall male who nervously observed you as you stepped inside the room.

“I’m not sure if they told you why I asked for you.” You shook your head, too dazed by the shock of meeting one of your favorite celebrities, alongside the reveal that Park Jisung of all people was sending NDAs to lucky fans – the realization that you were one of said fans hadn’t even kicked in yet.

“I-I assume it’s because of… you know.” Hearing your voice grounded Jisung, who was relieved that you were nervous as well, and it wasn’t just him. Although not public knowledge, his fellow members were notorious for sleeping with fans, making him the only one who hadn’t yet. He didn’t think it was his style, too awkward to bravely invite someone like that, yet his mind changed when he saw you.

You looked so pretty, singing along to his parts, dancing like no one else was there but you and him. You were alone, not accompanied by any friend or relative, making it even easier to avoid suspicion when the guards would approach you. There were doubts in his mind up until mid-concert, yet they faded quickly when he saw you recording him and him only during the first performance of Poison. That had to mean something, right? Surely you wouldn’t mind meeting him after, if you were so focused on him during one of the most inappropriate songs on the setlist.

Jisung snapped out of it as you shifted tensely, looking away from him with a red face as you waited for him to answer. He found it endearing – you were so shy, even shier than him. He was glad, not wanting to embarrass himself in front of you had you been bold and initiated contact immediately.

“We don’t have to, if you don’t want- I just… You’re really, ummm…” He cursed himself mentally for stumbling, shaking his head and breathing heavily before looking you straight in your eyes with a renowned confidence. If you weren’t, then he’d have to take control of the situation. Picking himself back up, he took a step closer to you, “You’re so pretty, and I couldn’t let you leave.”

You were shocked to hear his change of tone, looking up at him as you processed the words he let out. He thought you were pretty. Your manual breathing now matched the slight tremble of your hands, and you still felt like you were dreaming. Naturally, him inviting you back here was more than enough of an implication to his attraction, yet to hear it up front and coming out of Jisung’s mouth felt different – it felt good.

“Thank you… I’m a really big fan.” Jisung smiled at your words; obviously you were or you wouldn’t be here, but he chose not to tease you, just nodding and looking at your eyes. “What’s your name?” “It’s Y/n.” He hummed in acknowledgement, moving slightly closer once more, furthering the height difference between you two as he looked down at you in admiration.

You’re not sure if you missed when he was being shy or not. On one hand, he probably wouldn’t make many moves if he stayed reserved, yet with his new self-assured act, you felt immensely overwhelmed by every action of his.

It wasn’t until Jisung’s hand lightly grazed against yours that you let out a small gasp, shocked by the physical contact, his skin on yours making it all too real. “I…” His words stumbled like before, yet he shook his head, regathering his thoughts and restating what he had said before. “If you don’t want to, we don’t have to do anything– I like meeting fans regardless… But I really want you.” The whispered confession at the end that slipped from his mouth was enough motivation for you to finally make your first move, shocking both him and yourself as you moved closer, leaning in and placing your lips on his.

Not leaving any time for doubt or hesitance, Jisung quickly reciprocated, placing a large hand of his on the back of your neck to push you even closer if possible. The kiss grew heavy as his other hand slipped behind your back and slightly up your mesh shirt, holding your bare waist. If there was a word to describe the scene, it’d be desperate, as his breathing became winded.

You moved your arms that laid limp on your side awkwardly to rest on his shoulders. One of your hands threaded through his hair, pulling it experimentally, and the light groan he let out at the feeling had your arousal growing, encouraging you to pull harder. The kiss became sloppy as he moved his tongue against yours, a small mix of spit falling down your lower lip, towards your chin.

You pulled away first to catch your breath, yet Jisung chased after you, not wanting to stop. Choosing not to land his lips on yours this time, he opened his mouth, tongue coming out to lick the saliva from your face instead. The gasp that came out of you was interrupted as he moved North, once again engulfing your lips with his. The arm that was placed behind you gripped your waist, moving you alongside him as he moved both your bodies closer to a stray couch that laid in a corner of the small room.

Jisung pulled his arms away from you for a second, sitting down first before pulling you on top of him. The new position had a heat pooling inside of you as you felt how hard he was, only growing harder as he shifted you so you’d be directly on top of his clothed dick.

His knuckles were a harsh red color, raw from the strength he placed on your hips once he held you again. This time, instead of simply laying there, he put his hands to use, moving you against him. The friction made both of you release a soft moan, the sounds increasing from you as Jisung grew eager once more, this time leaning into your neck and sucking harshly.

Out of instinct, your hands moved towards his hair, once again pulling it. Jisung faltered, letting out a sound that vibrated against your neck. His hands stilled for a second before continuing his actions. “Need you so bad, baby. ‘Been looking at you since the show started.” His desperate words clung to your mind, rambling as he grinded you against him, one particular tug against his covered erection causing you to shut your eyes closed in pleasure and anticipation.

He felt and looked big, the fact that his dick was contained meaning it could only get bigger. Matching his desire, the image of it made you restless, needing to feel it in you. Your whines shifted slightly, sounding more needy, and Jisung took it upon himself to lift you off of him. He held your body with ease before placing you on the couch next to him.

He was standing in front of your sitting figure now, appearing taller than ever, and the image slightly intimidated you, yet excited you as you saw him take his jacket off, throwing it on the floor. Your green skirt was next, tossed somewhere irrelevant as he kneeled in front of you, each hand on one of your thighs. He looked up at your face, admiring how pretty you looked – lips swollen, your hair a bit messy, and your cheeks flushed red. Returning his attention to your thighs, he looked back down, spreading them and moving closer.

Jisung’s face matched your red one as he breathed over your clothed core, feeling as though he was in heaven. Feeling restless with desire, he finally moved his mouth over your panties. It was sloppier than the kiss, the arousal that soaked through the fabric meeting his spit, surely leaving a wet spot. Although his actions were eager, they were calculated, soon enough having you whimper as he attached himself to your clothed clit, moving his hands softly up and down your inner thighs – a contrast to his hips that were harshly bucking against the bottom of the couch, desperate for release. You tasted so good, the thought of how you’d taste with no barrier overwhelming Jisung’s mind until he finally pulled your panties down, being met with the view of your pussy.

Almost in awe, he leaned in until both his nose and mouth were against you. The feeling of his direct touch caused you to move, instinctively shifting away from him, yet you weren’t able to get far before Jisung’s grip on your thighs grew, pulling you even closer back into him than you were originally.

He was right – you did taste better. Feeling you twitch in his hold encouraged him, and he dove in, finding your clit almost immediately once again. One of his hands let go, yet moved back to hold you as you tried to wriggle away, overwhelmed with the pleasure.

Jisung looked up at you, staring with an anguished expression until you maintained his eye contact. “Please… Don’t move, please.” You honestly weren’t trying to, you just weren’t used to the attention you were receiving; nonetheless, you nodded. Taking that as a signal to continue, he moved his head down, grazing his tongue against your folds as he attempted to move his hand away again, this time met with your compliance.

The stray hand moved towards your core, using two of his long fingers to spread you open, gaining more access before moving against your hole. The wince that you released didn’t go unheard by Jisung, as he put more pressure on your clit to distract you from the slightly painful stretch of one of his fingers moving inside you, reaching knuckle-deep as he began to thrust in and out.

Blinded by all of the stimulation, you didn’t notice him adding a second finger until he began to stretch you out even further, mirroring a scissoring-motion. Jisung felt like he could cum simply from the feeling of your walls clenching around him.

The feeling was overwhelming, and you could tell you were close. “W-Wait… Jisung… I’m gonna…” Your words were ragged, slightly panicked as you tried to move away once more. He moved his arm from your thigh to your stomach, pressing you down into the couch as he continued. “Ji… I’m gonna-” “It’s okay, baby. You can give me more than one, right?” His words sparked something in you, and before you knew it, you released. He kept thrusting his fingers inside of you, helping you ride out your high before you finally came down. Your breathing was uneven, and you looked at him through half-lidded eyes, basking in the feeling until he interrupted, standing up and taking his shirt off. His pants were unbuckled, pushed off of his legs with haste as he moved to hold you again.

Apparently self-conscious about the fact that you had come and Jisung hadn’t, you looked at his discarded pants before speaking up. “I can do the same… If you want.” He quickly shook his head, placing you on his lap again. “I just want to feel you, please.” You nodded, moving your hand down towards the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head – the tank top you had worn instead of a bra getting stuck with the mesh fabric and coming off as well.

A whimper escaped Jisung as you revealed yourself to him, your tits right in front of his face, so full and inviting once you straddled him again. Not even bothering to hesitate, he quickly attached his mouth to your nipple, both hands stroking your lower back in soothing movements. You were growing needier and needier as he continued, desperately needing to feel him. You bucked against him, and his mouth released you to let out a whimper at the sensation.

One hand let go of your back, pulling off his boxers until he was finally bare against you. You could feel him against your stomach, standing tall. A part of you was too nervous to look down and perceive it, yet the other, stronger part took over. His dick was prettier than any other you had seen, the tip slightly red from the blood rushing.

The hand that remained on your back squeezed you in place as Jisung leaned over to grab a stray condom, probably one that fell out of the pocket of his pants. He moved the package up to your mouth, eyes intently looking at your lips, and you took the signal to bite the plastic, ripping it open for him. His fingers lingered on your lips for a bit, dazed and turned on by the sight, yet he quickly snapped out of it, moving the condom down and rolling it on himself.

Once his hand became free of the rubber, Jisung’s arms lifted you up until you were hovering on top of him. Although you were on top, he felt a need to be in control, so he took it upon himself to move you, sinking you onto his dick which pulsed inside of you. The stretch was too much, and your mouth opened as a choked gasp came out, feeling every vein that ran up his shaft. You fell forward onto him, face landing on the crevice of his neck. It was clear you were a bit unprepared, shaking at the feeling of him, and Jisung grew concerned. He didn’t want this to end already, so he racked through his brain for another solution before finding one. “Go ahead, baby. Bite me.” One of his arms moved up to wrap around your neck like he did earlier, pushing you even further into his.

You were scared you’d hurt him, clearly showing your hesitance, yet he continued to push you into him, so you caved. Your teeth grazed his neck until you were fully biting into him. Expecting Jisung to groan in pain or move away, you were shocked to hear the unholy moan that came from his mouth. He thrusted up into you unconsciously, unable to hold himself back any longer as you clenched around him, biting down on his neck harder every time his dick hit deeper. Reluctantly, you moved your mouth away from his neck, now blinded by the shifting pleasure as your stomach flipped. Both your moans echoed through the room as he bounced you on top of him.

His hand moved down from your neck to your clit, rolling circles to push you further over – succeeding as you came for the second time, collapsing onto him. Your head fell on his chest, and he held you there gently as he continued chasing his high, cumming with one last dragged out whine.

You’re not sure if it was post-nut clarity, but after a minute of catching both of your breaths while he cradled your body you began to overthink. Jisung was a celebrity – no matter how good the sex might’ve been (and by the looks of him, it was good) he was on tour, leaving your city the day after.

Shaking your head, you ignored all the thoughts running through your head, choosing to enjoy the little time you had left with him instead of worrying. After another minute of weirdly romantic ‘cuddling’, Jisung lifted you up, placing you on the couch. He left for a bit, returning semi-clothed with a shirt of his in his hand. You recognized it as the shirt he was wearing at the encore when they said their goodbyes to the crowd. His other hand held a towel which he used to clean you up, movements exceptionally soft as you winced when he dipped the cloth lower. Once he finished, Jisung put the shirt on you. It was baggy, covering you until mid thigh.

“That was… It was really nice.” His timid voice came back as he stared at you, sitting on the floor next to the couch. You nodded, sitting up on the couch and facing him as well. “I’m sorry I can’t walk you out. The guards said I’m not allowed, but you can borrow my jacket if it’s cold.”

You fought the disappointment rattling in your head as you nodded again, taking it from him as well as your own bundled up clothes, and thanking him. Your skirt was quickly slipped on, the protective shorts that came attached hopefully being enough to cover you. Jisung led you to the door, walking with you until you reached the exit of the building. He looked sad, and somehow the expression calmed you down – it wasn’t just you who appeared upset with the anti-climatic situation.

He waved goodbye, and you waved back quickly before stepping out. He was right, it was cold so you slipped his jacket on, fitting you big as well. It wasn’t until you walked towards your car in the venue’s parking lot that you realized an article of yours was missing - your panties to be specific. You scoffed, imagining Jisung sneaking them away before giving his clothes to you.

Once you got home, you warmed up quickly with your AC, deciding to take his jacket off. As you shook the fabric off, a small note fell out of the pocket, and you swore once again that you were in a dream as you read the words written on it.

‘I think I’m going to miss you so here’s my number. Please message me when you see this. - Ji.'

a/n: i'm seeing jisung live again at smtown soon so my brain is running... thinking thoughts... he was so fine irl i can't wait to see my man again i'm going to run on stage and you will NOT be able to drag me off of him. anyway here are some of the thoughts i'm thinking ^_^ i hope you guys like

#nct x reader #nct #nct dream #nct dream x reader #park jisung #park jisung x reader #jisung x reader #park jisung smut #jisung smut #nct smut #nct dream smut

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nicksolemnlyswears · 1 year ago

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THE BEAR AND THE BEE HIVE

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

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

word count: 14.4k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Deal."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you sure?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you going far?"

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

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

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

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

"You really don't have to…"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Late night?"

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

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

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

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

Carmy smiles and softly chuckles, "Fair enough."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sorry for assuming," he raises his palms.

"You're forgiven," you chirp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So, rebellion or something else?"

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

"Did it work?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Only a couple of blocks away. Why?"

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

"Thanks," you respond with a small smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Night," he whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You sure?" He asks once more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, chef!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Chef, your girl is here."

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

"Here you go."

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

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

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

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

"Yes, Chef!"

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

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

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

"You too, Neil!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What about your famous pizza?"

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

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

"Lead the way, Mr. Berzatto."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That rough," you grimace.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What good does he have to offer you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then don't."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's been so fuckin' long.

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

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

"Look at me," you sweetly say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Carmen, please."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You like when I fuck you like this?"

"Yes, yes, yes, keep going."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fuckin' amazing," he adds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Exactly! Someone gets it!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you think?" You ask expectantly.

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

The End?

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

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

thank you! bye xx

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

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cl-0v3r · 4 months ago

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Mel is alive, but at what cost

Mel was nearly killed TWICE, her mother began being a struggle, she'd been thrown aside and trying her best to stop her, her boyfriend is not doing well, neither is anyone else (can't blame them) and the fact that she hadn't cried or spoke much about this situation to anyone a single time?? She IS upset about every single thing, yet she stays strong and enduring every bit of torture. The most she did was tell Jayce that Ambessa put her palm on the table, and let him know that she is going to push for hextech. That's it, nothing remotely related to her feelings.

The fact that she was constantly looking at Caitlyn, being able to understand her grief and knew she was in pain?? Mel knows this feeling. She'd went through it.

And in the end SHE has to pay the price of her mothers incompetence.

The intro is very much foreshadowing, we know the hands represent black rose/LeBlanc.

This is what happens in act one, she gets kidnapped by them. The lyrics do correspond to the characters as well (not just Mel, everyone.)

"Tell you you're the greatest" plays as a petal of the black rose floats down the screen, I think it adds significance to the power this organization holds, possibly the Medardas greatest foe.

"But once you turn, they hate us" both Ambessa and Mel were present in this line, I think its foreshadowing for when Ambessa switches up for whatever reason and goes against both Piltover AND Zaun. And Mel WILL go through change as well, a change that could hurt her relationship with others, and receive interest from others too.

"They hate us" could be read individually too, I feel like its a sort of "realization" ?? Perhaps Ambessa WASN'T the one that switched up, maybe Piltover switched up on them, and maybe Mel JUST got out of wherever she's taken to, and saw the mess Ambessa had done to her city??

I think this represents ACT TWO.

The hands pull away and it sort of looks like Mel is fighting back, a "get away from me" type of scream. you know what this reminds me of??

Don't mind me just pushing my Jinx/powder-Mel parallel agenda

Here is when i think Mel truly learns about LeBlanc/BR, she curiously and slowly goes to grab the rose, she learns about the history between her Mother and them, Kinos death, and most of all, learns about HERSELF. The lyrics speak otherwise.

"Pray away, I swear

I'll never be a saint, no way"

This feels like a parallel to caitlyn of sorts if that makes sense. Caitlyn had done everything to try and stop the council from attacking the Undercity, she kept her mouth shut when Jayce asked about Jinxs grenade, she was willing to protect Vi and the undercity, but how many times has she been tossed around? She'd been burned, exploded, kidnapped (god knows what happened during that time) and hit in the face by the same person, her MOTHER died because of the same person. She has every right to go insane. And she is hunting ONE person, which is Jinx. Although she is harming the people around her along the way.

What if Mel goes through a similar situation? Her mother pushed for war in her city, she dragged the enemy along with her even if she didn't mean to, she manipulated everyone around her INCLUDING Jayce, she LITERALLY got Mel hurt from the chembarons attack and killed so many people during a MEMORIAL to get her hextech weapons, Elora is most likely DEAD, not to mention whatever happened in the past between them. And the thing is, this will NEVER end throughout the entire season.

And what if she learns what she is? That she's 'blessed' by Kindred? The fact that the wolf is quite literally in her blood?

I feel like the "ill never be a saint, no way" also sort of indicates Mel will realize she'll never be able to push for peace and mercy like she always hoped for no matter what, and she comes to accept that as much as it hurts. But not like how ambessa accepted the wolf, but she sort of realizes she needs to push a little violence, towards nobody but the one and only, Ambessa "fine, if you want me to be like you, I guess I'll be like you towards YOU." Type of acceptance.

I think its also related to Mels new outfit too, she's dressed like her mother, in red and all of that. I will still stand by the idea that she has plans to decieve, but she will do something she doesn't want to do.

Mel was left with no choice, that lyric sounds like realization, acceptance, but also like a plea at the same time, an "I'll never be who I wanted to be" because in the end, she's still a Medarda, she's still her mothers daughter, she still has violence in her veins, she will never not suffer from the weight her name holds, and she will never escape it either, its like a shadow.

The Characters won't be themselves at their core this season. And those vital parts of their characters that represent them are no longer there in the intro, they all have given up what makes them, THEM design wise. (e.g.) Vi without her tattoo, Viktor hiding his identity with the mask. And the thing is, they did that to themselves because they do self-harm, they're changing themselves because THEY want to, they're forcing themselves to do that, they think they're undeserving and they're erasing their past selves.

But Mel? Mel doesn't have her gold accessories, Jewelry, or her Armor, she'd been stripped bare and hidden away because of the brutality of her name. She pays the price her mother brought to HER city. She's forced to change herself against her will, because nobody is giving her a chance to push for her ideals.

This entire theory never ends, and with all of this? I kinda do see Mel actually committing Matricide, it lifts the "Ambessa will die" theory further.

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starryjake · 4 months ago

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late nights | hyung line

in which your boyfriend gets horny in the middle of the night. *assume that the characters have given consent to sleep play in previous conversations.*

pairing: hyung line x fem!reader

includes: consensual sleep play, f receiving oral sex, unprotected sex, fingering, squirting, handjob, thigh riding, dry humping (lmk if i missed anything).

heeseung ೃ࿐

his heart basically broke when he trudged into your shared bedroom in the middle of the night, finding you fast asleep in bed. he’d said he was almost done on his computer 3 hours ago. you wanted to wait up for him so you could go to bed together, but the time just kept passing and you were eventually too tired to even try.

heeseung sighed and pulled his shirt over his head before softly crawling into bed next to you, immediately pressing himself against your backside.

the minute he pressed himself against your warm, slack body, he got hard. he hadn’t realized how pent up he was, how badly he needed to fuck you until really feeling your body against his own.

he took a deep, shaky breath, wrapping his arm around your waist and sliding his hand under your shirt to feel your warm, smooth skin. feeling you bare made heeseung only that much harder, twitching against the fabric of his pajama pants.

he slid his hand down lower into your pajama bottoms, biting back a moan as he immediately started rubbing your clit, feeling the heat of your pussy around his fingers.

he needed you to get just as worked up as he was. he needed you to wake up and take care of his problem.

as he was rubbing your clit, he started pushing his hips into your ass, needing some kind of friction to help ease the ache just a little bit.

by that point, with heeseung practically dry humping you and fingering you at the same time, it was impossible to stay asleep.

“hee?” you mumbled out, turning your neck back to look at him.

“can i put it in, baby?” he asked you, placing his hand on your neck and kissing the corner of your lips. “be a good girl and let me fuck you back to sleep.”

you blinked up at him with wide, confused eyes that only made him want to fuck you even more.

“okay,” you agreed sleepily, turning your head back the other way comfortably on your pillow.

heeseung didn’t waste a second, hurriedly tugging your pants down, followed by his. he didn’t even bother taking them all the way off, just enough to expose your hole and for his cock to come out.

he spread his pre-cum around his shaft, jerking himself off for a minute before lining himself up with your hole, which had gotten wet while you were sleeping.

he pushed in and groaned in relief at the sensation of your tight, warm walls wrapped around his needy cock. you closed your eyes, you head still hazy from sleep, but heeseung’s constant sharp thrusts were slowly beginning to wake you up fully.

“i tried to wait for you,” you sighed out, intertwining your fingers with his in front of your stomach. “i wanted you to fuck me before sleep, not during.”

��i know, angel,” he grunted, his hips moving rapidly in and out of you. “i’m so sorry, my baby. i’m here now.”

you moaned softly, tilting your head back against his chest. the sound of his pelvis hitting your lower back constantly filled the room, mixed with the sounds of both your heavy breathing.

both of your sensations were heightened from the late hours of the night so it took no time at all for you to be cumming at the same time. <3

jay ೃ༄

you were just too tired.

you were so excited to have a chill night in with your boyfriend. you guys had a nice dinner together and were gonna end the night cuddled on the couch watching a movie. but, about 10 minutes into the movie, you fell asleep.

in your defense, you had a busy day. you had an early morning lecture followed by a 7 hour shift. of course you were tired. jay knew this, and that was why he was not surprised in the slightest to have suddenly felt your body relax and go slack in his arms, signifying that you’d fallen asleep.

you were laying between his legs, your back and head resting against his chest. he was playing with your hair, but stopped once you’d fallen asleep.

“baby?” he spoke, but no answer came.

he sighed, pondering what to do.

and then he realized, feeling your warm body asleep on him, he’d sprung an erection. he felt guilty immediately for getting turned on when you were so tired, so stressed from school and work.

he wanted to help you, to take away your stress.

he snuck his arm around your waist, resting his hand on your pelvis. his mind was still racing, debating whether or not he should do what he really wanted to do with you right now.

fuck it, he thought.

he slid his hand down into your sweatpants, rubbing your pussy over your panties. he could feel your little clit and he could feel as your panties got damp the more he rubbed it.

“my poor thing,” he gushed, moving your panties to the side so he could rub you bare. “you just need to feel good.”

you were completely asleep still, having no idea that jay was gathering your slick from your hole and spreading it between your folds and up to your clit. as sound asleep as you were, jay was surprised that you were so wet, practically leaking fluid and dripping down your legs.

he rubbed your clit in circles for a few minutes before he decided he wanted you awake to feel it. so, he slid his middle finger into your eager hole, knowing that it would wake you, and it did.

your eyes opened, and you looked down at jay’s hand in your pants, his single finger massaging your walls.

“mmm,” you moaned, leaning your head back on his hard chest. “fuck, jay.”

“i know, baby,” he cooed. “put your legs on my thighs.”

you did as you were told, spreading your legs and putting your feet on either one of his thighs. he helped you get your pants and underwear off, leaving your lower half bare in his lap, and he kept fingering you.

your pussy made a wet squelching sound every time he thrusted his fingers in and out, but you were too tired to be embarrassed. plus, it felt too good, so good that your stomach was warm and you could tell you already going to cum.

“jay,” you whimpered, shutting your eyes tightly. “im gonna—”

you cut yourself as you began to cum, a little gush of fluid spurting around his fingers and splattering on his sweatpants. he fingered you through it, his cock harder than ever from how hard you’d cum.

“that’s it, baby,” he cooed. “keep squirting around my fingers.”

jake ੈ✩‧₊˚

jake cursed himself for still having the most vivid, dirty sex dreams at his grown age. he woke up in a cold sweat, finding that his room was pitch black dark and you were sleeping soundly beside him, which only made his problem worse.

you looked so pretty when you slept. your face was peaceful, your cheeks slightly pink, your shirt having risen up on its own, exposing a sliver of your stomach. that sliver was turning jake on a hell of a lot more than it should’ve been.

he tossed and turned for a few minutes, genuinely trying to fall back asleep while ignoring how hard he was, ignoring how tight his pants were and how a droplet of precum was trickling down the length of his cock.

he gave it five minutes before giving up and attaching himself to your body. he kissed your neck, hoping that alone would wake you up, but you truly were out like a light.

he laid on his stomach, softly gripping your calves to pull your legs apart. he tugged on the waistband of your sleep shorts and pulled them carefully down your legs, then spread your legs once more, revealing your pussy.

jake felt his cock pulsate just from looking at it, needing it in his mouth immediately or he might’ve just lost his mind.

he didn’t tease, didn’t take his time. he went straight in for it, firmly licking a stripe up from the bottom of your cunt up to your clit.

he moaned at the taste, desperately going back in for a second lick. you shifted a little, slowly beginning to wake up from the feeling of jake eagerly licking your pussy.

“jake,” you muttered, sitting up slightly to see what he was doing.

he barely could even comprehend that you’d woken up, now so entranced in eating your pussy and grinding his cock into the mattress.

you could’ve stopped him. you could’ve told him he could fuck you if that was what he needed, but it was too hot to watch. you were enjoying the sight of him between your legs, humping his cock into the bed, too much.

so you laid back down, shut your eyes, and enjoyed your boyfriend eating you out until you were cumming on his face and he was cumming in his pants.

sunghoon ༊*·˚

how? how were you fast asleep right now when the ac in your apartment was broken and your bedroom was a million degrees?

sunghoon stared at your sleeping form in dismay. he was sweating and unbelievably uncomfortable, stripped down to nothing but a pair of boxers, but even then he was still too hot.

you also weren’t wearing much to sleep: a pair of panties and a thin tank top. sunghoon couldn’t help but stare because looking at you and how sexy you looked in your minimal clothing was a distraction from how hot he was.

and as he stared at where your cunt was beneath your panties and your breast that was on the verge of slipping out of your tank top, he got hard. really hard.

an idea came to his head: that if he just jerked off really quick, he’d get tired enough to be able to fall asleep.

so, he pulled his cock out from his boxers and started to stroke himself while staring at you. you’d probably be startled if you were to wake up and see him watching you, but he didn’t care. he wished you were awake to suffer through the heat with him.

a few minutes of jerking his cock off and it wasn’t doing the trick. he needed you, it was as simple as that.

“baby,” he muttered, rubbing your arm. “wake up.”

you shifted slightly and he grabbed your wrist, positioning your hand over his cock.

“please,” he begged, twitching in your limp hand. you couldn’t even wrap your fingers around him, still half asleep. “wake up, y/n. i need you.”

you opened your eyes, frowning when you were met with your own hand wrapped around sunghoon’s cock.

“what are you—”

“please make me cum,” he urged, fucking his hips up into your hand. “i’m gonna go crazy, y/n, please.”

you started to glide your hand up and down his cock, to which sunghoon sighed out in pleasure and relief. it was already feeling 10 times better than when he’d done it.

“fuck,” he moaned. “come here.”

he patted his bare thigh, urging you to sit on it. you moved slowly, still sluggish from sleep, but you straddled his thigh and started humping your pussy against him as your hand worked his cock.

“oh my god,” he groaned, putting his arms behind his head and watching you. “you’re so perfect, baby. so fuckin’ hot.”

you whimpered slightly, your clit rubbing against his thigh just right.

you took a second to let a string of spit trickle out of your mouth and land on the pink tip of his cock, using it as lubrication to easily glide your hand up and down.

squeezing his cock and pushing your cunt against his leg, you were both set up to cum quickly.

sunghoon’s load was big and splattered in ropes all over his warm stomach, while you shook and clenched around his thigh, pussy coming undone on him.

ok so im twitching! 💗

thanks for reading :3

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esote-rika · 2 months ago

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Red is Your Color | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!bau!reader

Category: smut 18+ MDNI

Summary: You just committed perhaps the most atrocious wrongly sent message ever. By some trick of nature, your coworker is more than willing to play along. (This is from @imagining-in-the-margins Wrong Recipient prompt list. Character receives scandalous selfies from a coworker; check out her prompts, they're really fun!)

Content: softdom!spencer, fingering, multiple orgasms (female receiving), p in v, creampie, reader is on the pill, Spencer calls reader a naughty girl and pretty girl, tenderness and lots of checking in, vaguely Christmas themed.

Word count: 3.1k

A/N: I read something really poetic and profound yesterday and it inspired me to write, but my mind was in the gutter, so this happened. lmfao happy holidays. UNEDITED, I wrote this at 2 in the morning T.T

Do you think Santa would bend me over and punish me?

Spencer Reid was almost too scared to even open the following messages—he’d already made the mistake of opening this one. And there was a barrage of them, sent a few minutes after the very first one, in quick succession, one right after the other. His phone buzzed and buzzed, matching the distracting hum in his brain at the moment. He should probably read the next messages, because surely, surely those contain the explanation to this one.

Unfortunately, his eyes were glued on this first one—it seemed like it was the only one that contained a picture, after all, and what was that they said about a picture saying a thousand words?

What could it mean then, this picture his coworker had sent to him? What did it mean that he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from it? (What did it imply if he didn’t want to? That he liked the picture? That it made his pants uncomfortably tighter?)

He stared at the picture, his eyes greedily taking every inch of smooth skin exposed by the short, strapless sexy Santa dress his coworker was wearing. It wasn’t explicit—she was fully dressed, after all, but the caption, paired with the way she had been posed… Sitting on what he presumed was her bathroom counter, her legs artfully crossed, the fabric of the dress hiked up to reveal long, luscious thighs. With her pursed lips painted crimson, it was obvious what the message was meant to imply and Spencer felt his mouth grow dry. He shifted on his seat, both hands gripping his phone because he didn’t trust them not to wander down, to give himself relief.

No, he should not be jerking off to his coworker. He shouldn’t even be fucking looking at this photo. He should delete it, call Penelope and ask her to rewire his cloud or memory or data or whatever it was called. Just to get rid of it from his phone. That would be the decent thing to do, and Spencer had always prided himself on being a gentleman.

He knew that would be futile; knew his mind would be treacherous and have the image of her with those supple thighs, and red mouth in his dreams, his nightmares, in every fantasy—

His phone was ringing.

He stared at it, wondering how she was sending so many messages so quickly, before he realized that she wasn’t texting anymore.

She was calling.

His thumb found the answer button without his consent. The next thing he knew, her voice was pouring from his phone’s speaker. Soft. Contrite. Embarrassed. He frowned. What on earth was she embarrassed about, he wondered. She, who looked stunning, who looked good enough to be worshipped—

“—Please say something, Spence.” she was saying, pleading, and something in his gut clenched. That nickname, coming from her lips. That nickname, coming from her lips, while she was wearing that dress.

“Spence—”

“It’s all right,” his voice was strangled. He cleared his throat, “It’s all right. I’ve deleted it.” Lie, what a liar, she deserved better than hastily told lies.

“Okay,” she sighed, relief palpable even without seeing her face to face, “I just didn’t want to get in trouble with HR, on top of everything.”

HR. He almost laughed. They wouldn’t care (unless someone blabbed, like what happened with Derek and Penelope, but he would never do that to her, not in a million years.)

“You wouldn’t, I promise… it wasn’t even that explicit, if I’m being honest.” he heard himself say. He rubbed his eyes in frustration—why did he have to add that?

Her laughter floats from the phone, nervous and low. “I guess not. I wasn’t about to send a complete nude to my friends.”

He straightened up, confused. “Your friends?”

“Yeah,” she replied, her voice still wavering nervously, “Like I said in my texts, it was wrongly sent to you, I was talking to my friends.”

In other words, it wasn’t for him. He would have known that, had he opened her texts, had he not been too busy ogling the picture she had mistakenly sent, the picture that wasn’t even for him. Something unpleasant burned in his chest, but he ignored it in favor of the curiosity that lingered.

“You send explicit pictures to your friends?”

“I thought you said it wasn’t that explicit,” she chuckled, “But, uh, yeah I do… I dunno, maybe that’s weird, but we were joking around.”

That was something new he learned today. That friends could casually send sexually charged photos to each other. The words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them. “So you don’t actually want to be bent over and punished?”

Dear heavens, sometimes he understood why his teammates gave him weird looks. If he had a mirror, he would give himself a weird look. Still, he held his breath for her answer, surprised by the wave of disappointment at the thought of her saying no, it was just a silly text.

The pause grew between them, and Spencer was almost about to apologize, when she spoke again.

“I mean, if someone were willing to do it…”

He swallowed. His pants felt tight once again, and he had to force himself to take deep breaths. This was not an invitation, he thought, she had not asked him, she was not saying if you wanted to do it (which, he does, desperately so.)

“Right.” he managed to croak. Another pause, as if she was contemplating.

“Spencer,” she was whispering now, “Do you want to?”

“Yes.”

“How fast can you get here?”

“Give me fifteen minutes.”

You’re not sure what possessed you into inviting your coworker over, but you did. And now, you’re sitting in your living room, in that blasted sexy Santa dress, panic texting your friends about it. He had said fifteen minutes. Eight minutes had gone by, and you knew he would fulfill his promise. He would be here in seven minutes.

Perhaps you weren’t expecting him to agree. Your perception of Spencer Reid has always been of a sweet genius, wholly brilliant and too preoccupied with academics to even give a second thought to sex and romance. He was a germaphobe, for crying out loud, you had thought it would make him have some sort of aversion to the inevitable sticky, sweaty mess of two bodies coming together.

But you’d heard it in his voice. Strained, low, and riddled with desire.

So you had mustered enough courage to ask. And now—

Your doorbell cut through your thoughts. Taking a deep breath, you shoved your phone into a drawer, not wanting to see the offensive piece of technology for the rest of the night. You looked out through the peephole, and there he was, still in his office clothes. Tall, and slender, and dishevelled and yours for the night.

You pulled the door open, ignoring the heavy thump in your chest.

He smiled. “Hi.”

“You’re early.” You teased, standing aside to let him in. His eyes were glued to you, pupils dilating as he took you in.

“You’re still wearing the dress.”

Right. Once you had realized you sent the text to Spencer instead of your friends, you had spent the next several minutes in agonizing anxiety, sending text after text to Spencer in an effort to explain. In your utter mortification, you had forgotten to change out of it.

He seemed to like that. It gave you enough confidence to surge forward, blindly, recklessly.

“I am.” You said, red lips tugging into a smile you reserved for handsome strangers at a bar. You lowered your voice, just enough for the next words to come out breathless, “Honestly, it’s a little itchy.”

“Is it?” He stepped forward, crowding you into the door. It creaks as it moves with your weight, the knob clicking in place. He reached forward, and you held your breath, anticipating his hands on you, gently running over your skin, but instead they closed over the doorknob, locking it. He didn’t miss your reaction, though, his eyes a glittering night sky of sweet, utter want. “Maybe I can help you with it.”

You nodded, mouth parted in silence, whatever words you wanted to say have died in your throat.

He brought his hand up, caressing your jaw, and you marvelled at how large his hands are, long fingers reaching the nape of your neck. “Red is your color.” he murmured, before leaning in to capture your lips.

His lips were cold and chapped, and you returned his kiss eagerly in an attempt to warm them. Your mouth opens at one swipe of his tongue, moaning as he leans his whole body into you, pushing you harder against the door. Tonight, you learned that Spencer Reid, the sweet, unassuming genius, kisses like he wants to crawl into you. It’s a sloppy mess of tongue and teeth, and a whimper escaped your mouth as he bit your lower lip.

“Too much?” he asked, pulling away for a moment.

As an answer, you wrapped your hands around his neck, and returned the fervor of his kisses. You heard him chuckle, felt it on your own tongue as it happened and it made your knees buckle from sheer want.

His arms wrapped around your waist, hoisting you up into his embrace. You felt him move, stumbling across your apartment before setting you down again. The blunt edge of a drawer hit your lower back, just as he pulled away.

A whine left your lips. You didn’t know if it was from the pain, or the loss of his kiss.

“Turn around, darling.” he murmured, but your brain was so damn distracted you just stared at him blankly. He grinned, hands at your hips gently maneuvering you to face away from him. “You said you wanted to be bent over.”

Chills went down your spine as he pushed you forward, elbows landing on the smooth, wooden desk.

“Y-yeah, I did say that.” you managed to reply. This time, the breathless quality in your voice was not an affectation. You felt his nose on your neck, pushing away the stray locks of hair, before his mouth landed over the skin, open and wet, traversing the expanse of your flesh with reckless ardor. You moaned, craning your head back in a wordless plea for more.

You felt teeth, the sting of it clamping over your flesh. You didn’t even realize you’d yelped until he stopped.

“Sorry,” he whispered, soothing the bite with his kisses.

“It’s okay,” You replied, one hand reaching up, running through his hair. “Do it again.”

The rumble of his laughter made your stomach warm. He sunk his teeth into your neck again, sucked at the spot he bit, and you would have face planted into the desk had it not been for his hands holding you up.

“You’re a naughty girl,” he purred against your skin, “Aren’t you? Sending that picture to me, I bet it wasn’t even an accident.”

“It was,” you protested, but then he grinds his crotch into your ass and any indignation was stifled by the feeling of how damn hard he was. “It was - I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t mean to make me this hard?” he asked, rolling his hips against you, “I think you knew exactly what you were doing, naughty girl.” Before you could answer, you felt something digging into your ass. He was tugging at your panties. To the side, as if he couldn’t even be bothered to strip it off of you.

It was hot as all hell.

“My god, you’re absolutely soaked for me.” he groaned into your ear, and you gasped as the rough pads of his fingers ran through your cunt. Somehow, his fingers have remained cold, and the sensation sent a shudder down your spine.

“S-Spencer,” you whined, knuckles finding leverage at the edge of the desk you’ve been sprawled over.

“Mhm? What is it, darling?”

“M-more.”

His laughter filled the room once again, “And I thought I was being needy.” he said, but he obliged your request easily, slipping two fingers into your pussy. His breath fanned over the overheated skin of your neck as he buried his face against your shoulder, “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” you moved your hips against his hand, chasing the rhythm of his fingers. You’d never enjoyed this by yourself; your own fingers were thin, too short to cause any sort of pleasure when you touched yourself. But Spencer’s hands were large, his fingers long and elegant and perfect. They curled inside you, hitting a spot you’ve never been able to with your own hands, and you cried “Oh, fuck yes!”

It was everything. Quite literally. His arm was holding you against him, his body a solid, lean mass behind you, pressing into the slopes of your own, digging in wherever your softness yields to his hard angles. You moaned and moaned again, as his fingers quickened, as his thumb found your clit and rubbed fast circles until your arms gave out and your entire upper half was splayed on the desk.

He didn’t stop, cooing soft words into your ear, his tongue and lips and teeth a whole other dangerous territory of its own. You knew you would have hickeys tomorrow. You knew the team would ask questions. You didn’t particularly care.

“Can you take more?” he asked, and you nodded, eager to take whatever he was going to give. A third finger slid into your dripping cunt, stretching you in ways you haven’t felt in a long time and you groaned, head buried in your arms. He paused, his other hand rubbing circles on your hip, “Are you all right, darling?”

“Yes.” you sobbed, and you knew he wouldn’t believe you because you sounded sad, and everything that Spencer has done up until this point proved that, despite it all, he cared.

“You can tell me if it’s too much, you know.” he murmured. His lips laved featherlight kisses along your shoulder.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, bucking your hips. The idea of being slightly incoherent from the pleasure he’s been giving you was a little too enticing, and you were in no mood to stop, “Please.”

“Okay,” he resumed his ministrations, slower this time, dragging his fingers in and out of you with a precise rhythm, now that he’s figured out your weak spots. “You are so pretty like this, darling. Dress hiked up, your lipstick smudged.”

A mewl came out of your throat, and you would have been embarrassed if you still had the presence of mind to feel an ounce of shame. He coaxed a second orgasm from you, and you marveled at the fact that he could elicit responses like these with just his fingers. It seemed unfair, but a large part of you reveled in it.

“That’s it,” he whispered, slowly pulling his fingers out, “That’s my pretty girl.”

You lifted your head from your arms. The sight that welcomes you is a blurry one, impeded by the clumpy eyelashes and messy tears that had gathered in your eyes. You knew you looked a mess, far from the pretty girl he kept repeating, but you ate up the praise all the same.

As if by their own accord, your hips move back, grinding into his erection. You wanted more. You wanted him to be in the same daze you were in right now, wanted to be one. “Spencer,” you whined, and he laughed, and you wondered if it was possible to get drunk off of a sound.

“You’re insatiable, aren’t you?” he replied, playfully chastising, but the sound of his belt buckle reached your ears and you grinned.

“Just wanna make sure you get something too.” you mumbled.

“Is this a bad time to tell you that I had forgotten a condom?”

Now it was your turn to laugh, bracing yourself on your elbows again, and looking over his shoulder.

“Wow, isn’t your whole thing the complete opposite of forgetting?”

“I was a little distracted.” he said, his smile sheepish.

“I don’t mind,” you replied, “I’m on the pill.”

“You’re sure?”

“Mhm-hmm.” You nodded, one arm moving and blindly grasping for the zipper of your Santa dress. His hand gently encircled your wrist, placing it back on the desk.

“It stays on,” he said, as the blunt tip of his cock pushed past your pussy, “I told you, red is your color.”

Your mouth dropped open as he sheathed himself inside you in one thrust, and wordless expression of pleasure. He had spent a large chunk of time fucking you with his fingers, and the necessity of it dawned upon you now.

He was big.

The stretch made you groan, eyes squeezing shut as your pussy fluttered around him. He pressed his body over yours, pushing you into the desk as he began to rock, in and out of you. Involuntarily, you clenched around him, earning a sharp hiss.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, holding you tightly around the waist with one arm. The other went to the desk, steadying himself as he found a rhythm that made you writhe beneath him, “Oh god, yes.”

You couldn’t even respond, your body moving on autopilot, meeting his every thrust with your hips. The sounds your bodies made were obscene, wet, sloppy noises of flesh meeting flesh. It filled your head, made you dizzy with pleasure.

“Spencer,” at this point, you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve repeated his name. The world has anchored all meaning to that one sound, and you said it, over and over again, “Spencer.”

“Mhm,” he responded by snapping his hips, pushing his cock so deep into your toes curl, “That’s it, darling, say my name.”

“Spencer,” you said in your broken voice, every repetition turning higher and higher in pitch, and it seemed like the higher your voice went, the harder he fucked you. Your desk banged against the wall from his rough thrusts, joining the cacophony of sounds from your coupling.

His pace grew rougher, faster, his grip on you reaching the point of painful and bruising, but it made your head spin in the most delicious way possible. You clenched around him, squeezing his cock in an attempt to find your peak, and instead initiating his.

“Fuck—” he groaned, as his load exploded inside you, somehow filling you even more, and you dropped your head to the desk again as your own body shuddered with release.

Panting, and exhausted, you both stayed there, bent over the desk half upright, like a tower about to topple. He kissed the back of your neck as you fought to catch your breath. Looking over your shoulder, the sight of him fills your vision, hair tousled and sticking to his forehead, his lips smudged with your lipstick, and you couldn’t help but think that red is his color too.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fan fic #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid #matthew gray gubler smut #mgg

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alg3a · 2 months ago

Text

auspicious (pt. 2)

jayce x f!reader x viktor / jayvik x reader

3k, MDNI, no use of y/n

description: After confronting the boys and teasing them for long enough, you finally get what you want.

warnings: nsfw content, full complete total smut, MMF threesome, f!receiving oral, double penetration, all characters are sort of switches i suppose, double creampies! hooray!

a/n: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE LOVE ON PART ONE!!! it was entirely unexpected, but i loved hearing that all of you enjoyed it. it was my first ever tumblr fic, but there will be plenty more and my request box is VERY open.

Something in their eyes turns dark when you utter those words. Not utter, exactly, they were more of a proclamation. Maybe it was your confidence that threw them off so intensely, but how could you not be confident in a dress like that, after two glasses of wine, and knowing that the two most attractive men you’ve ever laid eyes on have been wanting you for months?

It made all the late nights and restless mornings worth it to be sprawled out on their cozy lab couch wearing practically just a strip of fabric, watching them eye you like dogs.

“What is it with you two? Do I need to write you a formal invitation?”

Surprisingly, Viktor moves first. When he gets to the couch he drops his cane as if it was a crumb off his coffeecake. Then Jayce follows, filling the spot behind you as you face Viktor on the other end of the couch. Jayce’s calloused hands wrap around your waist, feeling every inch of the delicate skin exposed by your low hanging dress. Viktor’s delicate hands cup your jaw.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting this,” Viktor says, his voice raspier than you’ve ever heard before.

“Hey–” Jayce squeezes your hips firmly and pulls you back into his chest. His fingers trace the long slit up the side of your leg and brush the fabric to the side, exposing your thighs. “How long we have been waiting for this.”

“Did you ever talk about me–about this–with each other?” You have a million dirty questions to ask them now that you have them at your disposal, and this seems like a good place to start.

“It’s hard not to,” Jayce says. “Every time you would come into the lab in that little skirt…”

“Things as small as lingering touches when passing tools…” Viktor added, his mouth dipping low to kiss your exposed collarbone.

“Anytime you did anything vaguely exciting… let’s just say the thought of sharing you is very familiar to us.” Jayce’s low, rough voice mutters against your neck. He punctuates his sentence with a nip at the soft skin as Viktor pulls away from your clavicle.

“Would you like that?” Viktor asks, his fingers delicately wrapping a strand of your hair around his long, slim finger. “For Jayce and I to share you?”

And suddenly they’ve monopolized this interaction. So much for all that confidence–thrown out the window as soon as they show a sliver of dominance.

“Speak up,” Jayce says, grasping your chin firmly and lifting it so that your face is flush with Viktor’s.

“Yes,” you finally utter. “I’d like that very very much.”

“Good,” Viktor says, his accent thicker and his voice raspy.

His thumb traces along your jaw until his hand seats itself on the back of your neck. His fingers slide into your hair. You’d never realized how big his hands were until then, as one wrapped around the back of your head, tugging softly at your hair as Jayce rubbed your bottom lip with his thumb, pulling gently downward to part your pretty lips. They really were fantastic partners, aiding each other in research. And there you were, their perfect little assistant, providing them with something to study.

You don’t realize how heavily your heart is thudding against your ribs until Viktor’s lips are exploring yours and your heart is the loudest thing in the room, second only to your little whimper as you realize Jayce is doing some exploring of his own. His calloused fingers brush your bare thigh beneath the slit of your dress and dip between your legs as his chest presses against your back. With the hand that once rested on your chin, he pulls the apex of the slit higher, so that your lacy black panties are exposed to the cold air of the lab.

“Fuck,” Jayce mutters at the sight of them. You feel as his hardening cock twitches against your back, eliciting a moan from your mouth that vibrates against Viktor’s lips.

You whine as he pulls away from the kiss to take a look at what Jayce has discovered.

“Don’t everyone look at once,” you joke, but your breathlessness and heaving chest don’t exactly contribute to the punchline.

Viktor smiles for a moment, but his eyes drift to your shoulder. More specifically, the fallen strap of the dress which leaves your shoulder exposed.

“You’ve been in this dress all night,” Viktor says, smiling as he looks at Jayce over your shoulder. “I can’t imagine it’s very comfortable…”

“Do you often imagine how uncomfortable my clothes are, Viktor?” You ask, returning his smirk as Jayce slips the remaining strap off of your other shoulder.

“All the time,” he says, taking the next step off of Jayce’s hands and sliding the bodice off your dress downward, then letting Viktor return to pushing down the remnants of the dress so that it pools around your ankles.

“And much more, it would seem…or sound, rather.” Jayce laughs in a low tone, the vibrations of his chest against the bare skin of your back causing your stomach to flutter. “Loudest housemate ever.”

“Oh really?” You ask, mouth agape as Viktor slides off the couch with a smirk on his face, bringing your legs with him. He pivots you so that you’re sitting with your back against the cushions now, and he’s kneeling between your parted legs. Only your cute little panties separate his face from your best kept secret.

“Hearsay,” Viktor rolls his eyes as he kisses up your thigh. “And from the man who doesn’t even close his door when he thinks of you…”

“I close it. The walls are just…thin.” Jayce replies, placing his hand on your chin once more to turn your face to his. “And I can’t help how much noise I make.” His voice lowers and his eyes flutter shut, preparing for his turn with your lips.

Jayce is a much rougher kisser than Viktor. Handsier, too. His hand slides up your waist, grazing your chest, before finally landing on the expanse of your tilted back neck. If he choked you to death right now, you could die happy. But he won’t. He just squeezes gently as his tongue explores your mouth, his grip a reminder that he’s been wanting you for three long months. You can imagine how it must have felt for both of the boys to have you within arms reach, pushed away only by their own semblances of professionality. Actually–you can taste it, too. And you can feel it as two fingers press against your clothed cunt and you let a moan echo into Jayce’s persistent mouth.

Viktor lifts a leg onto his shoulder, and you feel two of his calloused fingertips pulling aside the lace of your panties. With only the tip of Viktor’s tongue, you’re a whining mess against Jayce’s. Jayce pulls away from you with a condescending laugh, wanting to catch a glimpse of Viktor’s meal.

“Fuck,” he rasps. “I never thought my lab partner and I would have our tongues on the same girl at the same time.”

“Don’t lie,” Viktor looks up, a grin on his glistening lips. “I’ve heard my name through those thin walls, too.”

“Shut up,” Jayce groans, and guides Viktor’s head back to your cunt. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?”

“Y-yes,” you manage to utter, miraculously. You’d heard Jayce tease Viktor time after time about his inexperience with women. You’d be surprised that Viktor was this good at eating you out if you weren’t familiar with what a meticulous learner Viktor was. A true perfectionist.

As Viktor sucks on your clit, Jayce lowers his head and sucks marks onto your neck, one hand still on Viktor’s head, feeding you to him.

“Please…” you whimper, not sure exactly what you’re even asking for until you feel your impending release.

Viktor laughs against your core. “Please what, my love?”

“Please, I’m gonna… mmph! I–” The leg that rests on Viktor’s back bends so that he’s pulled closer.

“Don’t stop, Vik, she’s close.” Jayce’s grip on your jaw tightens and he pulls you ever so slightly downward to watch Viktor. “Is that right, sweetheart? Use your words.”

You nod emphatically, opening your lips but fuck it’s so incredibly difficult for you to form words when there isn’t an adjective on the planet that can describe how he’s making you feel. “I’m gonna…I’m gonna cum, please, please don’t stop.”

“Good girl,” Jayce says, his grip loosening as he goes in to kiss you again while your climax hits you like a tidal wave. Jayce feels the impact of it against his mouth in the form of your own, needy, whimpering moans.

Your legs begin to shake, but Viktor’s hands wrap around your thighs, holding you still as he shows no signs of stopping. He’s going to grant your begging wishes and ride this out with you, his tongue dancing along your clit, his fingers spreading you wide so it’s certain he won’t miss a spot.

Once you’ve settled, Viktor pulls away, wiping the arousal from his lips with the back of his hand. You’ve seen him exhausted, aching, and messy, but you’ve never seen him with such a powerful glint of desperation in his eyes.

“Did that feel good, sweetheart?” Jayce asks, his fingers combing through your hair.

Viktor seats himself on the couch again, drawn to your collarbone again, this time using his fingers to navigate the delicate clavicle.

You nod, but it takes every ounce of effort you have to lift your head up repeatedly.

“We’re not done with you just yet,” Jayce says, getting up off of the couch, “if that’s alright with you.”

The request is almost rhetorical. Of course it’s alright with you. He knows that. If the wanton, needy little noises you were still making in agreement were any sign of the pleasure you derived from this arrangement, you could go on until morning.

“Viktor, take your pants off,” Jayce demands, standing over the two of you.

“Who decided you’d be calling the shots for tonight?” Viktor asked, breathlessly, raising one eyebrow.

“If you don’t want to, I’ll gladly take your pla–”

Viktor rushed to take his pants off. You helped him with the belt buckle and in sliding them down his legs. As you do, Jayce fully removes your panties. It doesn’t make much of a difference, now that the two men have seen every inch of you.

As Viktor’s pants come off, you see the impressive imprint of his cock underneath his boxers.

“Can I?” You ask gently, lowering your hand to hover over his cock.

“We’re past that,” Viktor says, grinning as he takes your hand and guides it to his length. You dip your fingers under the waistband of his boxers and pull them downward so that they pool at his thighs.

Wow.

You’d always sort of assumed that since Viktor was so skinny that he couldn’t be hiding much. How wrong you were. Your lips part slightly, already salivating for him. You begin to stroke his cock, ready for him to push your head onto his shaft until you can’t breathe, but you hear a tongue clicking behind you.

“No need for that,” Jayce says. “I think we’ll save that treat for the workday. For now…”

Jayce’s strong hands find their grip on your waist on your right leg, pulling you to straddle Viktor’s lap.

“I don’t think either of us can wait any longer for this,” you look back at Jayce as he speaks, watching as he unbuckles his own belt and shed his pants along with his dress shirt.

Now this one, you expected. With the amount of female “advisors” you’ve seen watching Jayce in the forge, there’s no way he wasn’t packing.

“I’m inclined to agree,” Viktor says, his hands falling at either side of your waist and lining you up with the wet tip of his cock, already ruined with precum.

“I should start preparing you back here…” Jayce says as his large hands find purchase on the round of your ass.

“Are you ready, my love?” Viktor asks with a kiss to your wrist as he lines the tip of his cock up with your entrance, swiping it a few times to ensure you’re wet enough for his entry. You’re beyond wet enough. “It would seem you are…” He laughs as he pushes your hips down on him.

Even though you hadn’t taken your eyes off of Viktor’s cock since you took it out, the size still surprised you as he pressed into your wet cunt.

“Fuck…” Viktor groaned as his neck fell back against the couch cushions. “You feel…even better than I imagined.”

You can’t even form a sentence to reply. The stretch is so intense you’ve forgotten every word in the English language. You can’t even move, paralyzed on his length. Luckily, Viktor solves that problem for you, thrusting up into you suddenly, so that all you can do is let out a strained squeal. Your hands grip his shoulders but you can’t even worry about how your nails might be hurting him, although if his grin is any consolation, he might even be enjoying the pain.

Jayce trails a line of kisses down your spine and when you look back, he’s kneeling on the ground, spitting on two fingers. You barely have time to process what that might mean before those two fingers plunge into your unfilled hole.

“Fuck!” You exclaim, the first word that you can remember in these trying times. The pain lasts only a second before the feeling sends flutters into your stomach, and elsewhere. With renewed vigor, you begin to let yourself bounce on Viktor’s cock, eliciting a lovely little whine from him.

“Tell me how he feels, baby,” Jayce says, removing his two fingers.

“So…so good.”

“I know you can be more descriptive than that,” Jayce laughs as he gets up to stand, wiping some spit onto his plump tip and stroking it.

“I’ve wanted this for so long…” you say, the truest sentence in your head the first full one you can form. “So long… it’s so long…” Okay, back to putting the “senseless” in “fucked senseless.”

The boys laugh, but Viktor’s is a strained, breathless laugh.

“Please Jayce…” you beg, looking back at him over your arched back. “I want both of you…”

“Whatever you say,” Jayce says with a crooked grin as he wraps his hands around your waist, just above Viktor’s, who finds it in him to stop you from bouncing to allow Jayce his entry.

With a full, unexpected thrust, Jayce is completely in you. The stretch burns like Hell at first, but God you’ve never felt so full before.

Jayce lets out a desperate groan, not moving for a few more seconds. When Viktor thrusts into you, Jayce reacts with a moan.

“Fuck, I can…I can feel your cock, Vik,” Jayce says, letting out a breathy laugh.

“Lucky you,” Viktor laughs as he continues to lift his hips to meet your cervix.

With a dismissive scoff, Jayce finally finds the will to thrust again, even if it just results in more wanton, wasted little moans from his mouth: noises you didn’t even think he could make.

With both of them inside you at once, thrusts alternating and hitting spots within you that make you scream their names, it won’t be long until your second orgasm of the night.

Jayce’s hand reaches for your hair, taking a cluster of it and pulling you so that your back arches and your shoulders are flush with his. He cheeks your cheek with a contrasting delicateness and whispers in your ear, “Such a good girl for us. Isn’t she the best, Vik?”

“Better than our hands, absolutely,” Viktor jokes as his chest heaves and his forehead contorts. He’s close, you can tell.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Jayce says, releasing your hair and focusing all of his efforts onto your tight little hole, stretching you impossibly wide.

“I-I don’t think I can take much more,” Viktor utters.

“Me neither,” you whimper, pressing your head into the nook between Viktor’s head and shoulder. “Oh fuck…”

“Cum for us, baby,�� Jayce says, squeezing your ass cheeks as his last few thrusts are used up. It’s not long before you feel his cock twitching, sending spurts of hot cum into your bottom. “Gods! Fuck, baby!”

The sight of the two of you losing your composure above Viktor is enough to send him over, and as you fall onto the full length of his cock after riding out your own orgasm, he pumps you full of his seed as well, whimpering like a wounded puppy as he ruts into you helplessly one final time. You’re all a pile of spent, sweaty, fucked out messes.

Jayce reluctantly pulls out of you, leaving a splatter of cum falling from your hole onto Viktor’s lap.

“Sorry,” he laughs as he collides with the couch beside Viktor.

You try to pull off Viktor's cock to provide him some relaxation, but he holds you still. “Please, don’t…don’t move yet. I want this to last as long as possible.”

“Feeling sentimental, Vik?” Jayce teases, running a hand through his lab partner’s sweaty hair.

“Feeling…like I’d like to memorize this feeling before I go to bed tonight.”

You laugh and kiss the bridge of his nose before resting your head on Jayce’s neighboring shoulder. “I should’ve put ‘handling two cocks’ on my resume. Maybe then you two would have actually read it.”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to list us as references on future resumes,” Jayce laughs, rubbing your hand softly as the three of you come down from your shared highs. “I’m glad you decided to come tonight. To the gala, I mean.”

You and Viktor both laugh.

“Next time, you won’t have to deal with crude men asking you to dance,” Viktor says as he kisses the top of your head. “You’ll be busy at our side the whole night.”

“I’m never going to move past the pretty little lab assistant allegations, am I?” You smiled into Jayce’s sturdy, shuddering shoulder.

“Maybe not,” Viktor said. “But why should you? You are our beautiful little lab assistant.”

@jeromeslilhoe @justaproudslytherpuff @onyxistired @sseleniaa @clearlycaffeinated-blog @darknessbyme @shoyofroyoyoyo

(pretty much just tagged everyone that commented asking for part two)

#viktor x reader x jayce #viktor x reader #jayce x reader x viktor #jayce x reader #jayvik x reader #jayvik #viktor arcane #jayce talis #noooo jayce slander. i stand with my cancelled wife!!!#smut #arcane smut #oh yeah #fem reader

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