#the way this has been in my drafts [completed] for months | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

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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cregansdingdong · 3 months ago

Text

ꜱʟᴇᴇᴘʟᴇꜱꜱ.

Cregan Stark x fem!reader | no use of y/n | warnings: NSFW, p-in-v penetration, outdoor sex(does a tent still count as outdoor?), swearing, Cregan has a breeding kink, semi-public?, slight brat taming, classic doggy style, ass slapping, f!receiving oral, Cregan’s gonna eat her out from the back which is truly the highlight here; so. this has been festering in my drafts for well over two months. Good luck. poison ivy by hemi moore

Hot stuff under the cut. 18+ only. I'm not responsible for the content you choose to consume. ty.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

“Are you going to explain yourself or do I have to ask why you’re speaking to me that way in front of my men?”

“In what way?” She murmurs, snappily adjusting the furs beneath her, staring above at the roof of their tent. Cregan watched in partial disbelief—and partial irritation—at the sight of his wife going to bed despite their disagreement. It wasn’t often that they argued, and especially not on account of her publicly disrespecting him. The Hunt was meant to celebrate the unity of the North, among other things, and yet she’d been cold to him most of the late afternoon and early evening. They were meant to be setting an example. He couldn’t understand what he’d done to agitate her in the first place. “I’m not going to play this game with you.” Cregan huffs, setting down his cloak on the back of a chair. “Why have you been so cross with me today of all days?”

“I haven’t.” She counters smartly, tone filled with an attitude he wanted nothing more than to fuck out of her. “You’re being childish.” He grunts right back, earning a glare from his cross little wife. If he hadn’t been so ticked off, he might’ve actually laughed at the way her eyes narrowed in his direction—like a pup about to pounce. “I’m not a child.” She snaps, turning to adjust her pillow as he removes his boots. He snorts at that. “You’re behaving like one. Now are you going to resume your wifely duties and speak to me or must I tuck you in and read you a story?” He could’ve done without the mocking, but both their tempers had risen by that point, overspilling and soaking their marriage bed like a tempest.

She ignored him completely, reaching to blow out the candle at her bedside, rolling over to face the wall of the tent, linens and furs pulled up to her chin. As much as he was irritated with her refusal to communicate, he wasn’t going to sulk until she decided to give him the mercy of her words. Cregan continued to undress down to his small clothes, joining her under the covers despite their mutual fuming. It was an agreement they’d reached at the beginning of their marriage: angry or not, their bed was shared. Non-negotiable. He was especially thankful for that condition now—the ground did not look very comfortable if she’d decided to banish him like a hound. He faced her back, arm thrown haphazardly over her middle. Admittedly, he needed to feel her there to get a proper night’s rest. She allowed it.

The tension had seeped into their tent, clearly choosing to remain even with the terms of bedtime they’d set in place. She was still angry, he was still puzzled. Even with her back against him, Cregan could still sense her irritation. It hung in the air like a dark cloud, refusing to disperse. He’d never thought being married would sometimes feel like a storm in his own home. But the Wolf of the North was not a man to back down from a challenge. And it was becoming clear to him that his wife wouldn’t talk unless he spoke first. So he does. "You can’t keep behaving this way,” He starts, his voice gravelly but low. There's about a minute of tense silence between them before her attitude-filled reply breaks the quiet of their tent. “And why not?”

A frustrated sigh leaves his lips as he shifts in the bed, arm still loosely wrapped around her waist. “Firstly you’re my wife. Secondly, the hunt was meant to celebrate the North. And thirdly…” His voice trails off, his jaw clenching. He’d already said too much for his liking. Cregan was never one to give too much away, and giving an explanation for his emotions had never been a strength of his. But with her…there was a part that he couldn’t help but be honest with her. She wouldn't judge him even on his worst days. “Because I don’t like it when you’re angry with me.” His words were heavy with sincerity, which only irritated him more. The Wolf of the North was not supposed to feel so exposed to his little dragon wife’s moods.

For a moment, he thinks he's gotten through to his stubborn wife. "...we can discuss it tomorrow. I want to sleep." She grumbles into the dark. “You want to ignore it tomorrow, you mean,” He retorts, arm still refusing to remove itself from her waist despite the rejection. Cregan lets the argument drop for now, however. But only because he can tell for himself that she's not going to give way to his stubborn badgering that night. He grunts in annoyance, shifting so that his chin rests on her shoulder. “Unbelievable.” He mutters to himself. Angry or not, though, they were going to cuddle. It’s the smell of her hair that pulls him into a steady rest, his chest pressing against her back, his arm still slung over her middle like a claim. For some reason, even in his sleep, he still needs to feel her near him; a possession of the body and mind. The two of them adjust a little, the usual marital squirming in order to get comfortable. Peace even in the chaos of their argument.

On the other hand, his wife could not find sleep even if she had a map. With him snoring lightly behind her—something that always put her to sleep—both irritation and guilt chewed away at her reserve, leaving her restless. It persists. An hour passes, then two, and still, Lady Stark was wide awake, bothered and guilty. The snoring continues through the night, the Northern Lord blissfully unaware of her warring emotions. But even unconscious, he could sense the battle for sleep. The Wolf of the North stirred beside her, his arm now fully thrown over her torso, hand resting against her ribs. Cregan was in no way a light sleeper, but as her frustration grew, he seemed to be silently disturbed from his sleep. His eyes flutter open with a tired hum, his chin buried in the warmth of his wife still. He’s quiet for a few long moments before mumbling in a groggy voice, thick and raspy. “You’re still awake.”

“I can't sleep.” She mutters. It's clear that the heat of their argument had ceased to a smolder in the while she had reflected into the dark. "Probably because I'm still upset." She sighs. "And I'm a little cold...and..” As she speaks, his initial tiredness starts to clear. “And?” He prompts, shifting again to lift his head in the slightest. His hand rubs against her stomach, trying to share any semblance of his warmth with her. “...I feel…worked up. I'm annoyed but…roused.” It's laced with a begrudging admittance and Cregan opens his eyes in disbelief, suddenly more awake at her mumbled words. A rush of heat rolls through his body, his heart skipping a beat. It always does. The thought alone never failed to stop him in his tracks. His hand stills against her stomach for a moment, considering how to respond. “Well, my love, it sounds like you've had enough of keeping your anger a secret. You can tell me no matter what. Even if it's childish and silly. I'm your husband.”

"You didn't eat breakfast with me this morning." She blurts, finally revealing what had made her so irritated all day. "You gave me a kiss and then you just ran off to eat with Torrhen Manderly. Didn't even invite me.” He pauses in his caresses, a low hum leaving his chest. “That’s what caused your little temper tantrum?” He murmurs, tone still somewhat drowsy but now a bit exasperated. Affectionately, of course. He can’t fight the small smile that’s formed on his lips. A temper tantrum over him eating with the second son of the Lord of White Harbor and not inviting his sweet wife. It was such a small thing, but for some reason, it makes his chest feel tight. “I didn’t think you’d be interested in a morning meeting with House Manderly,” he mumbles in response, pulling her closer, his hand once again tracing patterns across her waist.

"I'm not, but I'm interested in sitting with you.”

The corners of his mouth twitch even more at that. A quiet huff of a chuckle leaves his lips, and he moves his chin to rest on her shoulder, warm breath lightly fanning on her jaw. “So I’m to invite you to every little meeting I have now?” He murmurs, teasing and still somehow half-drowsy. There's a very light dusting of indignation in her tone as she answers. "...not all of them, I'd be bored to death." She huffs. "But today was about unity. I didn't feel very unified with you.” He grumbles under his breath in mild disagreement. The Hunt wasn’t all about unity, it was about celebration. Of the North and of the Starks. Unity amongst the Northmen was an important facet of the feast, but it was not the entire point. But he didn’t want to argue about that, especially not when she was still so irritable with him. “You should’ve just come by and sat yourself down then. Torrhen would've liked your company, and of course I had no problems with having my beautiful wife beside me.”

"And intrude? That's embarrassing." He could hear her pout from a mile out, at least. Cregan’s chest vibrates against her back with a low laugh. “And throwing a little fit all day isn’t embarrassing?” He muses, nipping at her shoulder. "...it's more dignified than begging.” She grumbles. One of his hands suddenly moves from her stomach and up to her jaw. In almost an instant, his wife was putty in his grasp once more. He turns her head, pressing a kiss against the corner of her mouth, his tongue suddenly swiping over the skin—almost like he needed a taste of her. A low, gravelly murmur leaves his chest. “There’s no part of you that has to beg for my attention. But I’m not sure it’s dignified to pout all day over me having a morning meeting, my sweet Lady Wife.”

Before she could say something smart in return, Cregan dips his face into her neck, unable to stop himself from taking a greedy bite. She makes a small noise from the back of her throat—a mewl that sends the sleep far, far away from his thoughts. He smiles against her skin when he feels her tilt her head for more. “Sensitive little thing, aren’t you?” He teases, taking advantage of her movement to press another open-mouthed kiss against her neck. “Pouting all day for my attention, and here you are, melting at it now.” In the quiet of the tent, he can hear the low, shaky exhale release past her lips. “I'm sorry…for being impolite to you with your men present.”

“An apology?” His voice holds his amusement, and he continues his trail of kisses up her neck, until his lips are hovering right next to her ear. “Now that is a new one. I’m sure some snow from beyond the Wall will start falling within the hour if you’re apologizing to me. Not something you make a habit of doing, my sweet wife.” He felt her smile just a little, and he mentally counted down for whatever joke she was about to tell him. “At this rate, I'm sure Winter is fleeing.” His nose brushes up against the skin behind her ear, and he lets out a barely stifled laugh. “That’s blasphemous to say in the North…but funny.” He pushes himself up on his forearms above her, looking down, eyes suddenly filled with barely contained heat—as was his usual disposition. "Still annoyed and roused?”

"Not annoyed. Just worked up." She murmurs, tracing the outline of his shoulders in the dark. He hums in acknowledgment, stomach warming at her confirmation. “You want me to tire you out? Make up for this morning?” His voice is still thick and gravelly, a testament of his deep sleep and the hunger that now had him captivated. Her response came out in a quiet ‘mmhm’, reaching for him through the dark. In one swift movement, Cregan flips her onto her stomach, chuckling at the noise of surprise she releases. Furs and linens thrown back, his hands glide over the skin of her thighs, gently raising the hem of her delicate shift. It was a slow, deliberate action, and he didn’t need to see her face to know how much she was anticipating his touch. As her nightgown rose over the curve of her ass, he could feel the goosebumps forming beneath his palms. “Arse up, face down.”

She shivered at the command. Simple, yet drowning her in want. How could she ever deny her Wolf of the North? With a near-silent grunt of effort, she raises herself on her knees, lowering her upper-half down onto the pillows. The hem of her shift pools at her mid back, exposing herself to her husband just the way he loved it. “Perfect.” He murmurs, his hands gripping the flesh of her ass like he couldn’t wait to take a bite out of her. “Look at you. Fighting me all day, and yet here you are. All but begging for me to unspool you. I should make you beg, but you’re quite lucky I don’t have the patience, wife.” Just as she thinks she’s going to feel his hot tongue, a hand comes barreling down on her rear, a loud, searing spank that was probably heard from the next tent over. Her gasp was barely stifled into the pillow.

His tongue dipped slowly between her folds, a measured pace that nearly made her lose her breath. He always knew how she wanted it. Back and forth, savoring her like her juicy cunt was his last meal in the living world. With every languid stroke forward, the tip of his tongue nudged her twitching pearl in a toe-curling rhythm. Her noises only urged him on further. He slurped up her slick like a man starved, wordlessly encouraging her movements as she rocked back against his tongue. Eyes shut, face contorted in bliss, he could only picture what she looked like in his mind’s eye. He was too preoccupied with his meal to bother to light any candles. Not that he needed them, anyway. He knew her body as if they shared a soul. His wife was unable to piece together a single word, reduced to a puddle of whines and squirms.

“All day.” He reiterates. “Talking back to me. I accept your apology, but that does not mean you’re entirely free of the consequences, pup.” And then, another. Harder than the last, and most certainly stinging. Another. Another. He was merciful enough to distribute his spanks evenly, and with every bloom of hot pain, she felt herself grow more and more eager for a release. “Please–” She mewled, on the verge of patheticism. A sixth sear spreads over her left asscheek. The rest of her plea remains locked in her throat. “I’ve had enough of your pretty mouth speaking against me.” He murmurs into the dark, hands massaging the hot skin with an air of tenderness. “Understand?” Head spinning with lust, she can barely form a coherent word. “..Y-yes.” That seemed to moderately satisfy him, and Cregan finally leaned his face down, spreading her for his pleasure.

“I’ll never tire of your sweet taste.” He rumbled against her, fingers digging into the supple flesh of her ass like he was afraid she’d run off. Not that she ever would, but the feeling of her in his hands was grounding—a reminder of who he was and where he was between every dive of his tongue. He was drowning in the tang of her. Every lap of his tongue drove her an inch closer to her peak. “Cregan—Cregan, I can’t.” She cried, on the verge of desperation. If he’d had her sitting on his face instead, it would’ve been much easier to keep her from wiggling, but she couldn’t help herself not to writhe against his mouth and nose. And frankly, he was too hungry to separate himself from her for even a moment in order to change position. No. Not even a snippet of patience. He needed her to release.

“Yes, you can.” Cregan grunts against her soaked cunt, although it was less than coherent—something about the idea of getting caught made him eager to please. With all the pretty noises she was making for him, he couldn’t bring himself to attempt to quiet her. Not that it mattered. He doubted anyone would dare interrupt the Lord Paramount of the North and his Lady wife. And yet, someone walking by? Hearing the private way she cried out for her husband? Thrilling in every sense of the word. The thought alone made his blood pump, and his teeth lightly nip at her sweet pearl. More like a graze, really, but her reaction seemed otherwise. She squeals into her pillow, a throaty, rabid sound that nearly makes him peak. She was coming. And he had the absolute pleasure of lapping up all her delicious juices right from the source.

He couldn't make himself wait any longer after that. Cregan pawed at his small clothes until he was entirely bare behind her, feeling his beautiful wife tremble as he aligned his twitching cock. There was no other sensation in the living world that mattered to him more than the way her walls stretched to accommodate his size. Absolute perfection. Nothing but bliss. A noise of pleasure rumbled from his throat as he sunk into her soaked cunt. Inch by murderous inch, the Wolf of the North felt his sense of reality fade into the background. Much like an animal focused on dragging their kill home, Cregan was fixated on drowning himself inside her to the hilt. No matter how many times he'd experienced that exact sensation, he would never tire of his perfect Lady wife. Not even if she'd throw a tantrum every day for the duration of their marriage—so long as he got to kiss her goodmorning and fuck her goodnight.

“There we go…” He grunts, laying himself over her back as he eased his tip deep inside. Pulling out and back again was a torturous, toe-curling feeling, but the little mewls she whined into the pillows made it worth every teasing drag of his hips. “This is how it should be.” Cregan pants, his nose pressed against the back of her neck. “You, enjoying your fulfilled cravings, and me, balls-deep inside my woman. I hate fighting with you—but I love fucking that attitude right out.” Her thighs trembled as he rutted into her ass, an incessant, fervent type of rhythm that only came out when she truly frustrated him. And she certainly had; all day long, in fact. But his vixen of a wife couldn't bring herself to regret a thing. She knew what she was going to do in the next Great Hunt.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

#house of the dragon #hotd #cregan stark #cregan stark fanfic #cregan stark x female reader #cregan stark imagine #cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #cregan stark smut #hotd smut #hotd fic #cregan stark x you #cregan fanfiction #hotd cregan #fluffy smut

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yagrldariv · 1 month ago

Text

Little Black Dress

Aaron Pierre x Reader

A/N: I have posted in a minute but this has been sitting in my drafts for months. This is just a little Drabble, I’m trying to get back into posting more consistently. Minors DNI.

TW:Smut, semi-public, fingering, squirting, overstimulation.

Tonight Aaron was insatiable. All you could think was ‘fuck I’m going to be sore tomorrow’ but in the best way possible.

Your night out was now over, ended a lot sooner than you expected. But that was no thanks to the tight little dress you had on. You knew by the way he eyed you coming down the stairs in that short black dress it would get you trouble.

“We really have to go to this party?” He questioned as he raked his gaze over every inch of your delectable figure.

“Yes it’s not everyday your friend opens a club, it’ll be fun.”

Every chance he got he was staring you down through the lights of the club, not even trying to hide the hungry look in his eye. And that’s how you ended up here, flustered in the private bathroom of his friend’s office.

Aaron had your back pressed against his sold frame, his thick hands roaming your body. Your breath turned ragged as he began pulling at the thin fabric that was barely covering your skin. His fingers gripping every piece of soft brown flesh. Eventually, his hands parted ways, one stayed on your chest, toying with your now exposed nipple, the other was encroaching dangerously close to your panty line.

“Fucking look at you, so fucking sexy” His breath was warm on your neck as he continued to nip and kiss your exposed skin. You watched him through the mirror but his gaze remained on your body, taking it all in.

“You think you can just walk around looking this damn good and I’m not going to do anything?”

You were way too overwhelmed to respond with anything coherent. All that came out was a pathetic sigh, which he chuckled at.

His fingers slid against your inner thigh, drawing up the hem of your very short skirt.

From where you stood, you could see everything in the large mirror. Your eyes went to his wide pupils, then to the marks already showing on the side of your neck from his lips. But your gaze lingered on his hands. Those expert fingers lightly traced over the lilac lace fabric that was growing damper by the second. When he saw the flash of purple from under your dress his smile turned sinister.

“Shit baby, you wore this just for me, didn’t you?”

You nodded, still unable to form coherent words as his fingers worked over your hot skin. You heard him mumble “so sexy”.

The pads of his fingers slip under the fabric and you gasp at the sudden contact. “You like this baby? Hm?”

Those expert digits moved excruciatingly slow over your aching heat, touching you everywhere but where you needed him the most.

“Answer me,” he paused his movements.

“Yes, yes I love it”

“That’s my girl”

He took that as an invitation to explore more. He let his hands drop from their positions and he backed away. You took those few seconds to breathe and try and adjust your dress a little bit.

“Put your hands on that sink or I’m stopping” he spoke flatly as he leaned you forward, exposing your ass to him. His hands gripped your cheeks under the fabric of the dress and he squatted down. You arched just a bit more for him gripping the sink for leverage, and he smiled. You were putty in his hands at this point and he loved it.

He started placing kisses along the skin of your ass where your hem ended, adding a couple of bites here and there. Nothing to hurt you but just rough enough it caused your walls to flutter everytime his teeth grazed you.

When you least expected it, his fingers were again on your inner thigh, slidding up towards your covered hole that was now throbbing. His hands bypassed where you needed him most and snaked further to grip your waist, pulling the fabric of your dress with him until it pooled around your waist. Your ass was on complete display for him now as he continued leaving kissing on the newly exposed flesh.

“You gonna be a good girl and let me have a taste?”

You couldn’t say no even if your brain had the capacity to form a coherent thought.

“I need that answer if you want me to keep going mama”

“Fuck yes, Aaron, please just touch me already”

“Since we’re pressed for time, I’ll allow it” and with that he slid your panties down your legs.

At the same time you felt the cool air hit your sopping core, you heard him let out a breathy “fuck”. It was barely audible like it wasn’t even for you.

“You’re fucking drippin baby, this all for me?”

You nodded “always for you daddy”

He finished pulling the thong down your legs and brought his attention back to your core.

Before you even took a breath his tongue was flat against your slit, moving up and down. You jerked forward, not prepared for the sudden contact.

“You made me wait all night for this, you better stay still”, his strong hands pulled you back, bringing his face deeper.

You were cursing already as his tongue moved faster and faster. Before you knew he was eating you out like it was his last meal. You were trying to muffle the sounds of your moans but he did not give a fuck. The loud wet noises of his lips against your heat filled the room. He rotated between licking your clit and sucking it moaning against your heat. When he felt you were right on the edge, he slipped his toungue as deep as possible in your pussy, making you squirm under his hands.

His tongue slipped out of your now dripping hole and circled your clit. You bit down on your lip to silence a moan as your legs shook. All he had to do was wrap his lips around your sensitive bud and you were already on your first orgasm of the night.

His rough hands caressed your cheeks as he licked you clean, unfazed by your shaking legs. You were almost on the cusp of another orgasm when he pulled away, placing wet kisses up your thighs and ass until he was at your lower back.

“Don’t worry baby, I’ma take my time with you when I get you home,” His eyes were staring at yours through the mirror as he stood all the way up, moving back to his position behind you.

“But right now, i just want to have a little fun with pretty pussy.” He kissed your neck again as his left hand gripped your neck, turning your head until you were facing him. Your eyes fell on his plump lips, still glistening from his previous predicament.

“You don’t even know what you got yourself into huh?” He kissed you hard before you could respond. There was no struggle for control, he had all of it and you were just along for the ride. His right hand snakes it’s way up your waist, cupping your exposed tit. You moaned into his mouth, arching more into his broad chest. His expert fingers rolled your nipple back and forth and you pawed at his wrists, needing more. Right when you felt you were on the verge of running out of air, he pulls away. He placed one more chaste kiss on your swollen lips before releasing your nipple.

“Get these nice and wet for me babygirl”

Two fingers slip into yours open mouth and you greedily sucked them in, circling your tongue around each one, eyes locked on his. His thick dick, that was pressed against your ass, hardened even more at the sight. He loved you like this. Flustered, needy and eager to please him.

Once he felt you were ready, he removed his fingers from your mouth, saliva trailing on your lips. The hand around your neck slid down towards your chest, holding you up against him as he propped your leg up, giving him better access. His wet fingers wasted no time finding your hot core and he cursed under his breath again at how good you looked like this. He could never get enough of it. The way he was holding you, you were almost completely exposed to his in the mirror.

He could see your sticky wetness dripping down your thighs, “You’re always so fucking wet for me, I love that shit”.

He rubbed your clit applying just enough pressure to make you roll your head back onto his shoulders “Fuck daddy I’m gonna cum again”

You felt him chuckle “Already babygirl? I haven’t even started yet”. His pointer finger slipped in, and you moaned, louder than expected.

“Now you don’t want everyone to know how im sluttin you out in here, you gotta keep quiet.” He smirked.

You bit your lip as he continued his exploration, he wasn’t making it easy for you to keep it together. He wanted everyone to know how good he was making you feel, how good you were being for him, he did not give a shit about them hearing.

He picked a grueling pace, sliding his finger in and out. His hand on your chest resumed its assault on your nipples and you moaned again, this time a little too loud.

That one got his attention, “Alright you gotta keep quiet baby. You want someone to kick us out before I make you cum again hm?”. He did not like being interrupted, that was a given.

He pulled his hand away from your core and dug into his pocket, pulling out your lace panties. “Open”

You opened you mouth and he filled it with the purple fabric, sliding his hand back to his previous position.

“Now, you interrupt me one more time, you’re not cumming”.

His lips attached back on your neck and he slid two digits in this time. You bit down hard on the fabric as you came after a few more strokes, your loud moan thankfully muffled by the fabric.

You thought after that orgasm he’d let you go but boy were you wrong. He added a third digit and picked up pace. You gripped his forearm and your eyes rolled back, feeling an even stronger orgasm growing. Your legs became shaky and your pussy spasmed around his hand.

“That’s right baby, cum all over daddy’s fingers”. You were practically screaming, even with your underwear in the way. Any care of getting caught was long gone from your brain, you just wanted to make it out of there with your sanity.

“I know you got another one for me baby, cum for me”. You shook in his arms, cumming hard. His fingers slipped out, running fast circles over your clit “oh my god daddy I can’t I-“ you words were garbled as he worked you over into one more orgasm, your wetness dripping all over the floor as you squirted all over his hand. “Good fucking girl.” He praised

“Please..”you begged, completely overstimulated. He slowed his pace until he completely pulled away from your pussy, conceding for now. He returned you down to the ground, as you fought your breath.

Aaron pulled the panties from your mouth, placed a kiss on your lips, then another on your forehead “You look so pretty after I make you cum.”

You shoved him slightly in jest. He put his hands up in surrender. After another few minutes of him cleaning you up and fixing your dress, you two left the room.

He pulled you behind him, down the hall towards exit, hand clasped in his. “Let’s go home babygirl, so I can take care of you, properly”

#whew 🥵🥵🥵#d writes #aaron pierre #aaron pierre smut #aaron Pierre Drabble #black girl writes #black!fem!reader #black girl smut #terry richmond #rebel ridge smut #black girl reader #black reader

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pedrospatch · 10 months ago

Text

flutter

Jackson! Joel Miller x Pregnant! Female Reader

snapshots masterlist

summary: When you finally start to show, Joel has a tough time with it as the reality sinks in—he’s going to be a father again.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) PREGNANCY. established relationship. no mention of reader’s age, however in other works for this universe, it is implied she is younger than Joel, her specific age will never be stated so do with that what you will. brief descriptions of a pregnant woman’s changing body, brief mention of morning sickness, mention of breastfeeding (it only comes up in a conversation very briefly) these subjects can possibly be triggering, especially mentions of a changing body, so while i try to handle everything with the utmost care, i still ask that you proceed with caution. domesticity, reader enjoys taking care of her family, ellie is a little shit, grumpy joel, he’s sort of a dick at first? but only because he’s working through some feelings so let’s forgive him, okay?

word count: 3.5k

a/n: this is part of the snapshots universe, but it could absolutely be read as a standalone too. minimal editing, this has been sitting in my drafts and i did a quick edit during my lunch hour, so please excuse any mistakes.

“Shit.”

You almost can’t believe your own two eyes. Staring at your reflection in the large, oval shaped mirror hanging over the porcelain bathroom sink, your gaze widens in complete surprise. “Jesus Christ,” you mutter, turning to the side. It takes your brain about a good minute or two to process, really process, the way that your belly strains against the thin, white cotton of your camisole. It had seemingly swollen overnight—because it hadn’t been this prominent the day before, had it?

Over the last few months, there’d been changes.

Some subtle and some not so subtle.

“Ellie! Stop fucking staring at them,” you’d scolded the teenager late one evening during yours and hers weekly game night. For as hard as you tried focusing on what move you should make next, it was hard to concentrate on the chessboard in front of you when you could feel the way her eyes were fixed on your breasts. “I mean it! Quit staring at my boobs, you little shit.”

She held up her hands, her mouth full of popcorn.

“Hey, in my defense, they’re just fucking there, man. If anything, they’re fucking staring at me, okay?”

During your chess rematch the following week, you had accidentally knocked one of your pawn pieces off of the table. When you’d stood up and bent over to pick it up, she had made the observation that your butt seemed to have gotten a little bigger too.

“Bet Joel’s liking these changes,” Ellie had smirked. “It sure as hell explains why the headboard’s been banging against the wall more than usual lately.”

You threw the pawn at her, smiling in satisfaction when it bounced off her forehead and landed into her glass of lemonade.

One part of your body, however, hadn’t changed.

Not until now.

“Hon, trust me, you have nothing to be worried about,” Maria had assured you with confidence when you had brought up your concerns about your stomach. “Every woman, and every pregnancy, is different. I didn’t start showing until I was around six months, remember?”

“I guess you’re right.” You’d been around four months, then. “Doesn’t help that I haven’t felt the baby move.”

“You will,” Maria had promised. “Just be patient”

Biting your lip, you place a hand on your belly.

It’s always been one of the softer parts of you, but now, it’s firmed into a perfect, round bump.

“Maybe soon I’ll feel you move,” you murmur, giving it a gentle pat. You tug the lace hem of your camisole down as far as it can go and then pull at the elastic waistband of your blue, terry cloth shorts.

Shutting off the lights in the bathroom, you slip out into the bedroom where you find that Joel’s still tangled up in the sheets, fast asleep. He had been assigned to the afternoon patrol route today—normally an early riser, if he was still snoozing, it meant that he really needed the rest. Deciding it was best to let him keep sleeping for a little while longer, you quietly tiptoe out of your shared bedroom and head downstairs into the kitchen.

After making yourself a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice, and one for the kid as well, you prepare the coffee maker for Joel. You spoon dark roast grounds into the filter and set the timer for the coffee to start brewing in thirty minutes.

He should be up by then, you think, pulling a basket of eggs out of the refrigerator.

You’re starting to get used to this. Domesticity.

Despite your protests, Maria had made the decision to pull you off patrol that same afternoon you had shared the news of your pregnancy. “I’m putting you on leave,” she’d told you. “Effective immediately. I don’t want to see you outside of these walls. Got it?”

“That’s not fair, Maria. You were out on patrol until—”

One stern glare from her had shut you right up.

“Fine.”

Sure, you missed it and looked forward to the day when you’d be able to get back into the saddle with your rifle in hand, but this way of life had grown on you. Certainly a lot more than you thought it would.

You enjoyed taking care of the house. Packing Ellie her lunch for school and checking her homework. Having a nice a meal on the table for the three of you to enjoy in the comfort of your own home instead of having to go down to the crowded mess hall for supper because you and Joel were both always much, much too tired after a long day out on patrol to bother with cooking.

With the baby due to arrive in the winter, looking after your little family had become your purpose, and you did not mind it one bit.

As strips of bacon sizzle in one pan on the gas powered stove, you crack a couple of eggs into another, knowing the kid is already on her way downstairs. You can hear the sound of her old, tattered low top sneakers that you have been trying to throw away for almost a year now squeaking on the kitchen tiles just as you finish plating her breakfast.

“Morning!” Ellie pipes, the loud plop of her backpack into a chair prompting you to turn around. “What’s for brea—whoa! Holy shit!” Her brown eyes widen in shock when she sees you and her jaw drops. “Dude.”

“Ellie,” you say her name warningly as you walk over to the table. “Don’t.”

“You’re bigger!”

With a playful glare, you set her plate down, along with her glass of orange juice. “Thanks a lot, you little jerk.” You feign offense. “You’re making your own eggs from now on.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Ellie’s cheeks flush a shade of red and she squirms, sputtering apologetically, “I swear, I don’t mean it like that at all. It’s just, your stomach, it didn’t—you didn’t look like this last night, you know?”

She’s fucking lucky that your raging hormones decided to take the morning off duty.

“You look different. I mean, you look great—”

“Ellie?”

“Yeah?”

“Just shut up and eat.”

“Deal.”

She shoots you a sheepish grin and sits down, scarfing down her food in her usual manner.

“You get your fractions homework done?”

“Yeah.” Ellie huffs, rolling her eyes. “Took me forever. I was up until fucking midnight.”

Amused, you offer, “Want me to check your work?”

“Sure.”

As Ellie inhales the rest of her breakfast, you pull out a green, single subject notebook from her backpack and look over her homework for miscalculations.

“So, uh, how are you feeling?” she asks after a minute.

“I’m feeling alright. I think the morning sickness finally stopped, so can’t complain.” Shrugging, you close the notebook and stick it into her backpack. “You did good, kid. Only got two problems wrong.”

“Man, I really wish we knew whether it’s a boy or girl,” Ellie mumbles through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “What do you want to have, anyway?”

“It doesn’t matter to me, Ellie,” you answer, honestly. Clocking the skepticism on her face, you laugh and say, “It’s true. As long as the baby’s healthy, that’s all I care about.” And you mean it. As an expectant mother in the post outbreak world where medicine is scarce, supplies are limited, and the closest thing you have to a hospital is the town’s old clinic, the only thing you can hope for is the smooth, safe delivery of a healthy child.

Before she can say anything, you both catch the sound of Joel’s heavy boots as he descends the staircase.

She quirks an eyebrow. “Uh, has Joel seen you yet?”

Grimacing, you shake your head. “No.”

“Well, I don’t wanna be here for all that awkward,” Ellie says, chugging the rest of her orange juice. She stands up and snatches up her backpack, along with her lunch bag, which you’d packed for her earlier that morning. Just as she’s about to whirl around on the heel of her sneaker and make a run for the front door, she pauses, watching as you make your way back over to the stove to light another flame. “Unless you want me to be?”

“I’ll be fine, Ellie,” you assure her. “Go on, get to school. Maybe you’ll be on time to class for once.”

“If you say so.” She wishes you luck and then bolts out of the kitchen, throwing a quick goodbye at Joel on the way out. “See ya later, old man!”

Nervously, you turn around and start cracking another two eggs into the pan. There’s no telling how he’s going to react.

Joel’s been fairly supportive since you’d found out you were pregnant, considering how unplanned it was. But you know him like the back of your own hand, and you know, despite the numerous times he’s denied it, that it has been weighing heavily on him. Each time you’d try to sit down to talk to him about it, he would brush you off and insist he was fine. But he wasn’t fine.

And you wish he would spit it out and tell you why.

In your periphery, you notice the stained glass butterfly he had hung in front of the window above the sink, the ornament catching and refracting the sunlight. Flecks of color dance across the walls in captivating patterns, brightening the space. You think of the sweet little girl he’d hung it for, the little girl he rarely talks about, that he keeps tucked away safely in his memory.

You bite back a small sigh.

By now, you’ve learned not to push him. Especially not about what he was feeling. He would tell you when he was ready.

“Who the hell lit a fire under her ass this mornin’?” Joel asks gruffly as he walks into the kitchen. “She ain’t ever this fuckin’ eager to go to school.”

“Not sure,” you reply in the most nonchalant tone you can muster as you use a spatula to scramble the eggs. Transferring them onto a plate, you add three strips of bacon, and then pour his coffee. “I have your breakfast ready, Joel. Have a seat.”

You hear a chair scrape against the tile.

“I keep tellin’ you I can make my own breakfast, darlin’.”

“And I keep telling you I don’t mind making it for you,” you quip, and you hear him grumble something under his breath.

Inhaling a deep, calming breath through your nose, you take the plate of eggs and bacon in one hand, and his cup of coffee in the other. Your fingers grasp the handle of his ceramic, owl mug in a near death grip. You exhale slowly, and then turn around to face him.

He sees your swollen middle and stiffens in his chair.

The tension is instantaneous. Palpable.

Uncomfortable.

Awkwardly, you shift from one foot to the other.

“Your belly,” Joel murmurs, a visible tick in his jaw as his gaze drags over your midsection. “S’bigger.”

“Yeah. It is. Guess I’m going to have to start trading for maternity clothes soon,” you remark, shuffling over to the table. Setting down the plate and mug of coffee in front of him, you take a seat across the table. Your eyes try desperately to meet his, but they refuse. There’s no way for you to decipher what he’s thinking. You let out a small, nervous laugh. “Can you please say something?”

He lightly clears his throat. “I’ll take you to Main Street on Saturday,” he tells you, picking up his mug. “I’ve got the day off from patrol. I’ll, uh, pick through some of my own things and see what I don’t need so we can make a trade for some clothes.” He pauses, then offers quietly, “In the meantime, you can wear my shirts. They might be more comfortable for you.”

You flash him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Joel.”

Sipping his coffee, he continues to avoid your gaze.

“Mhm,” is all he says.

Your smile falters.

It’s the middle of August.

The afternoon heat is sweltering. Unforgiving.

“Jesus, it’s a fuckin’ scorcher,” Tommy sighs, glancing over towards the lake where his mare, Maxine, is taking a drink beside his brother’s stallion, Phoenix. His raven curls are damp with sweat, plastered to his forehead. “Hotter than the devil’s fuckin’ balls out here, ain’t it?”

He’s met with silence.

Looking over his shoulder, he sees Joel leaning against a tree, his rifle in hand as he stares at the Grand Tetons in the distance almost like he’s in a trance. “Joel?”

Blinking furiously, Joel shakes his head. “Sorry, you say somethin’ to me just now?” He asks in a daze, pushing away from the lodgepole pine. “We headin’ out?”

“You’ve been actin’ real strange all afternoon,” Tommy observes, walking towards him with his own gun slung over his shoulder. “Either the heat is startin’ to get to you, or you’ve got somethin’ on your mind, big brother.”

Joel hesitates. His dark eyes flit to the other side of the lake where the other members of their afternoon patrol group are refilling their canteens with water.

“S’alright,” his younger brother says. “Don’t worry ‘bout them. Can’t hear us.”

Joel’s chest heaves with a heavy sigh. “She popped.”

“Huh?”

“Her belly finally popped. She’s showin’ now.”

Amused, Tommy lightly shakes his head. “Y’shouldn’t be so surprised, Joel. Was ‘bout time,” he remarks with a shrug. “What is she—like six months along now?”

“She’ll be six months in a couple weeks.” Joel wipes the perspiration off his brow with the back of his hand and sighs once more. “Look, I ain’t stupid, Tommy. I knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, but it still caught me by surprise. When I saw her, it became real for me. She’s got my kid in there. I’m gonna be a dad again.”

“You’re scared.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

“Shitless,” Joel confesses, feeling his chest tighten.

“What are you afraid of?”

Joel almost laughs.

He doesn’t know where to start.

He’s afraid of everything.

“All of it, Tommy. I’m afraid for her, havin’ to give birth with no medicine,” he tells him, his voice breaking. “I’m afraid I won’t remember what to do with a newborn or that I won’t know how to help her durin’ those first few months—”

“This ain’t your first rodeo,” Tommy reminds him. “You did it once, and you did just fine, Joel.”

“That was over three fuckin’ decades ago. And it was a different world. If Sarah—” He stops, taking a second to catch his breath. The image of his daughter’s little face flashing in his mind feels like a violent punch to the gut. Even after all this time, it still knocks all of the wind out of his lungs. “When her mom had trouble breastfeedin’ her, I could head to the grocery store and buy her baby formula. If she got a real bad fever, I could load her up in the truck and drive her to the emergency room.” He glances down at his broken watch. “Besides, I was a lot younger, then. And I wasn’t half fuckin’ deaf like I am now. When Sarah would wake up cryin’ in the middle of the night because she needed a diaper change, I’d hear her. What if I can’t hear my own kid cryin’?”

“Joel—”

“I’m in my fifties. What if I can’t keep up because I’m too fuckin’ old?”

Tommy reaches out, clapping a hand onto his shoulder.

“Brother, I need you to take a fuckin’ breath,” he says, chuckling softly. “You’re puttin’ the weight of the world of your shoulders right now—you need to put some of it down. Look, we might not have everythin’ we used to before the world ended, but we make do with what we do have. Considerin’ just how many growin’ families we have and how many little ones we’ve got runnin’ around our town, I’d say it’s workin’ out pretty fuckin well.” He gives his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “And as far as your ability to be a good dad, you’ve still got it, Joel. You know what to do, and so does she. I’ve seen her in action with my little boy, and it seems like she’s already got those maternal instincts, y’know?”

“Yeah, she does,” Joels agrees quietly, thinking of how you had stepped up to help him care for Ellie.

“Trust me, between the two of you, it’ll be alright.”

He peers at him. “You really believe I still got it in me?”

“I do.” Tommy smiles. “You never stopped knowin’ how to be a father, Joel. You’re gonna be just fine.”

Their patrol shift extends into the evening, turning into a double, and it’s late when he gets home.

“What the hell are you still doin’ up?” Joel asks when he finds Ellie sitting at the kitchen table, cursing to herself as she flips through the stale, yellowing pages of an old life science text book.

“What does it fucking look like, man?”

“Shouldn’t have waited until the last minute, kiddo—”

Ellie holds up a hand and cuts him off.

“Save the lecture for another time, dude. I’m busy.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Finish up and get to bed. S’late.”

Without waiting for some smartass response, he turns on the heel of his boot and then heads upstairs to your shared bedroom. He flips on the lights only to find that you’re already in bed, fast asleep, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties. He toes off his boots and leaves them by the door, being as quiet as he possibly can as he rummages through his top drawer for some clean boxers to sleep in.

He slips into the bathroom where he takes a quick, hot shower, scrubbing off that day’s sweat, dirt, and grime. After he’s dressed and his sopping wet, salt and pepper curls are haphazardly towel dried, Joel walks back out into the bedroom where he switches off the lights and climbs into bed next to you.

He lays on his side and he’s just about to close his eyes when he feels a light shift beside him. You roll over and curl into him, your belly pressing up against his curve of his spine.

He stiffens, freezing as if someone had just placed the barrel of their pistol against his back, their finger over the trigger.

Christ, get a damn grip, he thinks silently to himself.

Joel thinks about that morning in the kitchen.

He knows his reaction had hurt you. Or rather, his lack of a reaction. His shitty ways of coping aren’t your fault, and his struggle to come to terms with your pregnancy sure as hell isn’t your fault, either. He owed it to you to try harder to be the man you needed.

The man you both needed.

Joel’s train of thought comes to a screeching halt when he feels a soft flutter against his middle of his back, the spot right where your tummy is nestled—did the baby just move?

He lies still, waiting to see if he feels it again, and when he doesn’t, he rolls over to face you, causing you to stir.

“Joel?” you mumble his name, sleepily. “What time—?”

“Shh,” Joel soothes, pulling you into his bare chest. He kisses your temple. “S’okay, baby. Go back to sleep.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice.

Within seconds, you’re asleep again, snuggled into him and snoring softly.

Lifting a hand, he hesitates, then rests it on your belly.

He waits.

And waits.

Until the minutes turn into hours.

Until dawn’s light filters in through the lace curtains.

Until he finally feels that little flutter again.

He feels it against the palm of his hand. Faint, nothing more than a brief whisper against his skin, but there is no mistaking it.

He’d just felt the baby’s movement.

There’s a sudden shift.

Tense muscles that had been painfully wound up since the moment you’d mentioned to him your period was a week late back in the spring loosen slightly—the breath he had been holding since he’d picked up that positive pregnancy test from the bathroom counter finally falls from his lips, fanning over yours.

His fears, his worries, his uncertainties about what lies ahead, they’re all still there, of course, but he finds they are now accompanied by a glimmer of hope, a sliver of optimism that maybe, just maybe, Joel doesn’t have to be as afraid as he is.

Joel’s eyes glaze over your face, warmth radiating in his chest when you breathe a little a sigh of content in your sleep as he gently rubs your stomach through his shirt.

With his hand still splayed over your belly, he closes his eyes and begins to drift off, falling into the most decent sleep he’s had in the last few months.

Maybe his brother’s right.

Maybe he will be just fine.

divider credit to @saradika 🤍

#tw pregnancy #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x pregnant reader #joel miller one shot #joel miller drabble #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #fic: snapshots

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honeyhotteoks · 1 month ago

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₊ ⊹ ⟡ in the act (정윤호 ♡ j.yh)

you and yunho are roommates. he never comes home early, except for the one time he does and catches you in the middle of touching yourself and moaning his name.

style: bullet drabble pairing: non idol!yunho x fem!reader word count: 1.2k tags/warnings: smut, pwp, masturbation, porn, fingering, oral f receiving, lots of dirty talk, degradation / use of slut *affectionate*, praise, guided orgasm notes: so enough people said they were interested in some bullet-style drabbles and smutty drafts for all the ideas i have but don’t turn into full fledged fics. this has been sitting on my computer since the start of me writing ateez fic… so you can think of this as a summer nights alternate version. please enjoy! more to come.

[masterlist]

You and Yunho have been roommates for almost a year, and he was a total stranger when you met him. He was looking for someone to take over his spare room after Yeosang moved out and in with his girlfriend, and you couldn’t afford rent on your own and begged him to take a chance on you.

Over the year you’ve become friends… slowly and steadily

But you’re not an idiot, he’s gorgeous and funny and charming and if you’re not careful you might get a crush on him (or have a crush already)

You’re also completely oblivious to the way he watches you. His eyes tracking you when you cross a room, lingering a little too long on the curve of your ass, the flash of cleavage when you bend over, even the soft cushion of your stomach when you wear tight clothes. He’s frankly trying to not be hard whenever you’re in the room.

It didn’t start out like that, it started out like normal roommates and despite how attractive you were, he wasn’t looking for anything. But then you were funny and clever and infuriating in all the right ways and he just…. can’t stop thinking about what you would look like riding his cock.

And then there was that one time he walked in on you in the shower.

But you had laughed that off, he had laughed that off, truly there was nothing to even talk about because he didn’t see anything it was just a funny accident.

Only he did see a little - and the image of your pert, dark nipples dripping with suds has been his tried and true mastubatory moment for months now.

So when he gets home from work a full three hours early and the apartment is suspiciously quiet, he thinks you probably just went out for a mid-day coffee or ran an errand.

What he doesn’t expect is to walk past your bedroom, with the door wide open, and see you spread out in the center of your perfectly made bed with hand under your panties and your t-shirt pushed up high enough to expose one breast, your head thrown back and your eyes shut tight as you rub yourself, hips jerking into your hand.

You have headphones on, that’s the second thing he realizes, you have no idea he’s here.

And then you say it, a murmured pant of his name.

His cock stiffens up instantly and he jumps back from the doorway. He really didn’t mean to see so much or frankly wait so long to move away, but with the way you were panting, moaning softly, a blush over your chest…. the way he knows you’re thinking about him…. his brain admittedly stopped working for a second.

So he fakes coming home again, shutting the door harder than before and calling out into the apartment, trying to be loud enough that noise-cancelling headphones wouldn’t be enough to completely block out the announcement of his unexpected homecoming.

He drops his boots heavily, keeps talking into the apartment like he’s narrating his day, and then finally he hears the frantic sound of sheets and covers and your laptop snapping shut.

You sound so breathless when you respond, trying to make him believe you woke up from a nap but you can’t get up, you’re half naked and a mess and your door is open

And for a split second Yunho thinks of just giving you your space and letting this little incident pass by without notice, but he can’t because now he’s heard what his name on your lips sounds like and he needs to hear it again

So he shows up in your doorway and for a second he just teases - “How was your nap? Were you having a dream? You look flushed,”

But finally after stuttered attempts at recovery and clenching your thighs together under the covers he just says it - “So, you’re going to stick with the lie? Or are you ready to admit you were masturbating and moaning my name in the middle of the day?”

For a few moments it’s like a stand off… you don’t know how much he saw or what to admit to or if it’s better to laugh it off and tell him he’s hearing things….

But then - “You could have just asked me for help,” he says, a teasing smile on his lips, “but I’m here now,”

And it starts off tentative, Yunho peeling back the covers to get a good look at your body once you tell him you want him, and he doesn’t hide how hard this is getting him at all.

He’s vocal, verbal, and telling you every little thing he’s going to do to you, all the while teasing you for holding out on him so long.

“You must really want my cock if you’re crying out for it while you rub your slutty little clit, huh?”

“How long were you touching yourself? An hour? And you still couldn’t cum, but thirty seconds of my fingers and you’re squirming in the sheets? Oh, you are down bad,”

“Ride my fingers, pretty girl, show me what you like,”

And when you go dazed, dizzy and eyes rolling back at the feeling of his fingers rubbing you, pumping inside you, he snaps his fingers with his free hand - “Focus up, slut, you want to cum don’t you?”

Clenching on his fingers, slicking all over his hand

And he talks you through it when it hits you hard

“You gonna come for me? Yeah you are, that’s it, come on slut, come for me, so wet and messy knowing I caught you, so dirty, so pretty for me, there we go, come on,”

And you’re whining, begging him to get you there, so dizzy and aching

But the minute you start to cum he softens, praising how good you look, sounding so pleased and proud of you in a way that scratches your desperate subby brain just right

You need him to carry you through it, something you’d do yourself with ease, but he picks up on it immediately, watching your desperate, teary facial expression

“Oh, I got you,” He pumps his fingers deep, soothing you with his tone, “let go, I’ve got you, I’ve got you, good girl, that’s my girl,”

By the time you come out of it, it’s to Yunho’s kisses across your thighs, his hands spreading you open wide, “Gonna make you cum again, baby, you sound so good for me, so gorgeous for me,”

Your fingers laced in his hair

His hot tongue

Your aching, pulsing pussy brought to the absolute brink

And Yunho babbling into you as he eats at you, sucks you, kisses and caresses you -

“Wanted to do this for months,”

“Dying to touch you, baby,”

“Want you wrapped around my cock”

He takes you through two more heady orgasms before he kisses you on the mouth for the first time, before you find yourself both naked and rocking your bodies together

Need and pent up desire just taking you both under

Until you’re trembling in the afterglow, no more teasing now, only quiet confessions of how long you’ve both dreamt of this.

After that, you sleep in his bed every night.

#honeyhotteoks drabbles #ateez drabbles #ateez fic #ateez #yunho #jeong yunho #yunho x reader #yunho smut #yunho fic #yunho drabble #yunho hard thoughts

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mviswidow · 2 months ago

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in the cards

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: slight suggestiveness

Summary: After going on dates for a month and a half, Nat finds out that R has a daughter.

Prompt: r and natasha are starting to see each other r let’s natasha into her life and natasha finds out r has a young daughter. natasha pushes r away bc she’s afraid of how she may fuck up the kid if she gets too close or smth

A/N: this req is from a while ago. and i j found it in my drafts i didn’t include the nat pushing r away part sorry about that

“It’s still early,” You murmured against Natasha’s lips, a hint of something more in your voice. When you pulled away to look at her, a smirk grew on her face as she raised an eyebrow in question.

“Do you want to come inside?” You asked, looking up at her through your lashes. Her smirk turned into a smile and she nodded before kissing you again.

Natasha promptly locked her car that the two of you were standing outside of and followed you into the lobby of your apartment building. Your hand reached for hers and you pulled her up the stairs to your apartment.

As you found your key and started to unlock the door, Natasha began pressing gentle kisses to your neck, making you blush. Once the lock clicked to disengage, your hand dropped and you turned to face her.

The crease in your brows made Natasha insecure when you looked at her intently, seeming to be making a decision. The two of you had been going on dates consistently for just about a month and a half and you’d already been inside her home. Anxiety grew in her chest when you seemed hesitant to let her inside of yours.

“There’s something I haven’t told you about me and I’m worried you won't like it,” You swallowed, nervously biting your bottom lip.

Hearing this alleviated some of Natasha’s concerns. Her hands found their way to your waist and a reassuring look spread across her features, “Well, I like everything I do know about you, so I wouldn’t worry too much. What is it?”

You pressed your lips together and took a breath, tilting your head up to avoid her gaze for a moment before you began speaking, “I have a daughter.”

Natasha’s mouth fell open and closed as she blinked several times, trying to process the new information.

“I didn’t really know how to tell you when we first started going out and then I felt like I waited too long to tell you,” You ran your fingers through your hair as you spoke. “I don’t even know how you feel about kids so I had no idea if this would be a dealbreaker and I got more nervous for you to find out the longer I waited because I really like you.”

Natasha heard the uneasiness in your voice and shook her head, “It’s not a dealbreaker for me. I do wish you’d told me a little earlier, but I understand why you didn’t.”

You nodded and sighed in relief, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” She tucked a hair behind your ear and kissed your cheek. “I still like you.”

“Good,” You chuckled in response before concern flooded your features once more. “Do you still want to come inside? She’s probably still awake and I know I’ve just sprung this on you, so if you want to meet her another time I completely understand.”

Natasha seemed to contemplate her options for a couple of seconds before nodding, “I’ll come in.”

You grinned and pressed a kiss to her lips, “Perfect.”

Finally, you opened up the door to your apartment to see your daughter playing Barbies with her babysitter in the living room.

“Mama!” Your toddler exclaimed, running as fast as her small legs could carry her before jumping into your arms. You held her on your hip and peppered her face with kisses. Bubbly laughter erupted from your daughter.

“Hi, baby,” You grinned. “You have fun with Bailey?”

“Yes!”

She went on to tell you about the events of her afternoon as her babysitter collected her things before saying goodbye to your daughter.

Natasha lingered near the door and watched you silently. The way your smile met your eyes every time your baby spoke told her all that she needed to know. You looked beautiful.

Once the babysitter had left, you turned and made your way toward Natasha, “This is Natasha, honey. Nat, this is Daisy.”

“Hi Daisy, it’s nice to meet you, sweetheart,” Natasha smiled at the young girl in your arms.

“Nice to meet you,” she replied quietly. She tended to get a little shy when meeting new people for the first time, but you knew she would warm up to Natasha in no time.

“Are you dating my Mommy?”

Your face turned as red as it possibly could as Natasha chuckled, a light blush visible on her cheeks.

“I am,” she responded. “And I promise I’m being good to her.”

Daisy smiled at that, seeming satisfied for the moment as she leaned her head on your chest.

“You sleepy, Dais’?” You questioned, kissing the top of her head.

She nodded, and you hummed, “Alright, baby, let’s get you to bed. Say goodnight to Natasha.”

“Night, ‘Tasha,” Daisy mumbled.

“Goodnight, Daisy.”

“I’ll be back in a couple of minutes,” You said, looking over your shoulder to Natasha.

Natasha took the liberty to look around at the photos in your living room and kitchen while you were gone. Most of the photos were of you and Daisy. There were a couple of a dog she assumed you’d owned at some point in time. You had a grin on your face in every photo. It warmed her heart to see.

She picked up a photo resting on the coffee table of you and Daisy as she sat back on the couch. Daisy was sitting in your lap, her hair in small pigtails as she attempted to blow out her 2nd birthday candle. The resemblance between the two of you was uncanny.

Natasha set the photo back down as she heard you singing a lullaby and couldn’t help the smile that grew on her face.

A couple of minutes later, you closed the door to your daughter’s room as quietly as you could and reentered the living room to find Natasha seated on the couch.

Upon seeing you, a smile reappeared on Natasha’s face. “Hey, you,” she murmured.

The corners of your lips curled upwards as you made your way over to her, “Hi.”

The redhead pulled your legs across her lap when you sat beside her and put her arm on top of the couch cushion, her fingers now dancing up and down your spine.

“She seems like a sweet kid.”

“She is,” You replied, a fond look on your face as you put your arm around her neck. “Daisy is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I don’t know what I would do without her.”

“I can imagine,” She nodded.

“Thanks for taking this so well. I’m an idiot for not telling you sooner.”

Natasha shook her head, “That’s alright, I get it. Not everyone likes kids.”

“But you do?”

She smiled softly, “Yes, I do…”

It’s clear to you that she had something going on in her head by the crease between her eyebrows. You played with the ends of her hair, not wanting to interrupt whatever she was thinking about.

“I could never have kids,” she finally spoke.

You barely heard her say it. “I’m infertile”

Natasha’s eyes watered as her lips pursed together. “But I always wanted to be a mother.”

Your heart broke for her. “You would be a wonderful mother. I know it.”

She shrugged as a tear fell, “Not in the cards for me.”

Your hand was quick to brush it away and you offer a sad smile as you shake your head, “I don’t know about that. There are other ways to be a mother than giving birth, you know?”

Natasha’s heart raced at the subtle implication. It was early for the two of you, and she knew that’s why you were choosing your words carefully, but she was grateful for the sentiment nevertheless. She’d known that adoption was always an option and that she could always find someone with children but for some reason, she’d never imagined herself in those scenarios. The latter had always felt like an imposition of sorts and it didn’t feel fair to adopt a child who could have a greater family than she could ever give them.

Maybe you were right though. She nodded, “I guess so. I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for this to upset you. I really should have told you beforehand. I feel terrible for springing this on you.”

“I liked meeting her. She’s very sweet. I don’t regret a thing,” She reassured you. “But you must like me a lot to let me meet your daughter.”

You rolled your eyes playfully at her teasing, “I’m just lucky that you didn’t run screaming when I told you.”

“I’m not the one who’s going to be screaming,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to your jaw.

“Nat-” You gasped, not expecting the turn in conversation.

She was quick to nip at your ear, sending shivers down your spine, “You better hope you can keep quiet.”

#natasha romanoff x reader #marvel #mcu #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fluff #black widow #black widow x female reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff x female reader #scarlett johansson #wlw #sapphic #natasha romanoff x fem!reader

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claymoresword · 2 months ago

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I Choose Her | Stand Alone Series: Chapter 3

Hermione Granger x Slytherin Fem!Reader

Summary: A few years post 'Battle Of Hogwarts', y/n decides to buy her and Hermione a home that they can move into as newlyweds.

Pairing: Hermione x Reader

Wordcount: 2.8k

Warnings: smut, jealous hermione, g!p reader, dom hermione (in theory), penis in vagina sex, cunnilingus, possesive hermione is hot, porn very little plot

Note: hello! so i've had this drafted for months but just never had the motivation to finish it but i finally forced myself to write since i was missing hermione, so here it is :) this isn't an original idea (loosely inspired by a scene in a film) and i'm embarrassed to admit which movie gave me the idea so i won't say it but iykyk. anyway, enjoy!

Taglist: @aweidlich @xxsekhmet @poppyflower-22 @cocoyeehaw @blackbirdv98 @arcturusseer @cherryflavoredcoke @js-a-writer @baylegend6 @t-wylia @raven-ss @unexpected-character @brocoliisscared @aki-ham @theheartwants-what-itwants

"Make a left here." You say as you point to the turn coming ahead. Hermione merely scoffs, begrudgingly turning the steering wheel.

"Will you just tell me where you're taking us?" She asks, your wife's brows are furrowed the same way it has been the entire drive, but still, you don't give in.

Shaking your head, you respond. "Have patience, darling.. you'll see soon enough."

Although that does nothing to soothe Hermione's curiosity; her scowl only deepens.

She takes her eyes off the road for a moment to glare at you. "You know that I hate surprises."

"Oh you'll like this one, I'm sure of it." You declare with a certain conviction, soon leaning in to place a chaste kiss on Hermione's cheek.

As you almost earn a smile, you continue to kiss along Hermione's jaw before reaching up to part her hair away and doing the same on the shell of her ear.

You nip at it, and this time Hermione doesn't fight back her giggle as she squirms, shrugging you off. “Stop it, you rogue– I'm driving.” Your wife warns, and you eventually relent, leaning back in your seat as you travel further into the outskirts of London.

Gone is the bustling city, now there is only a long winding road, shaded with tall oak trees.

For a while it seems as though the journey may never end, but soon enough, a large property comes into view.

Ten acres of wood and stone, the house sits perfectly at the end of the road. It remains still and empty, abandoned for nearly a century, but it is a glorious sight nonetheless.

“Why have you brought me here?” Hermione questions as she slows the car, before it eventually comes to a complete halt.

You don't respond just yet, your bottom lip is set in between your lips in excitement as you unbuckle your seatbelt before climbing out of the vehicle.

Hermione follows suit, eager for an explanation.

You step in front of the car before speaking.

“You once told me.. when we were looking for places to stay in London, that you liked the look of this house. So I bought it.” You explain with a growing smile, glancing at the home once more.

As you take in the sight of the house and the surrounding scenery, Hermione stares at you as though you had gone mad, but inevitably, a smile also graces her delicate features.

“You are a complete imbecile.” Your wife remarks, although there is no bite to her words. It is cushioned even further with the way she practically jumps into your arms.

You chuckle as your hand rests on the small of Hermione's back. She clings to you, enthusiastically peppering kisses all over your face.

You wince at the contact, but a grin tugs on the corners of your mouth all the same. “I've made a good decision then?”

“Yes, it's- I love it. Reminds me of the lakehouse my parents owned.” Hermione admits.

She takes a step back, keeping her hands on your shoulders as she marvels at the large house with an almost childlike wonder.

Your chest brims with pride at her expression, and you proceed to intertwine your hands with Hermione's so you may walk together.

“Come, let's go see inside.” You urge, giving your wife's arm a tug, but she doesn't budge.

Instead Hermione pulls you back towards her, capturing your lips with her own for a searing kiss, her grip remains firm on your collar.

As your fingers get lost in her hair, you move to deepen the kiss, however you are abruptly interrupted by the sound of another car pulling into the driveway.

“Ah, that must be the muggle architect I hired.” You state watching as the silver car parked next to your own.

“Look, we don't have to change a thing if you don't want to.. but I figured it would be good to have a second opinion.” You express and Hermione swiftly nods, her hand remains on the nape of your neck as you both turn your attention to the curly haired brunette that emerges from the car.

The woman smiles at you as she approaches.

“Mrs Y/N, it is a pleasure to finally meet you.” The architect greets, surprising you by pulling you into a hug.

After the initial shock subsided, you stiffly embrace her in return, before shifting your gaze towards Hermione.

“This is my wife, Hermione.” You introduce, and the architect finally releases you from her hold.

“Hermione, I am Emilia.” The woman says, only regarding your wife with a firm handshake in contrast.

“This location is excellent, I am going to build you a fabulous house.” Emilia avows, her hand somehow finds your shoulder this time. Her touch lingers uncomfortably, and you catch the way Hermione is staring daggers at the other woman.

You clear your throat, deliberately taking your wife's hand in your own. “I'd like to show Hermione inside.”

“Ofcourse.” Emilia beams, but her smile doesn't reach her eyes. “This way.”

═══════════════════════════════════════════

On the inside, the house appears somehow worse for wear. The walls are caked in dust, the wallpaper and paint cracking, but it is expected, and the interior remains gorgeous nonetheless.

More importantly, you know that Hermione prefers houses like this, one with a rich history.

“This is beautiful.” Your wife gaped as you all stepped into the spacious kitchen.

“Really, you like it?” You inquire, making the mental note of keeping the kitchen as it is.

“Yes, it's perfect Y/n.” Hermione utters as she walks around the room, inspecting the aged furnishings.

“Good.” You mutter with a relieved sigh as you take off your blazer to hang it over the barstool.

“It's hot in here, isn't it?” Emilia's voice is sudden as she enters the kitchen with a roll of blueprints in hand.

“That's why I think it would be best to get rid of this old brick and instead replace it with some temperature resistant concrete.” The architect suggests, but as you open your mouth to respond you are distracted by the way Hermione falls in next to you.

She drapes her arm around your shoulder in an almost possessive fashion, her body is flush against your own, as though to eliminate any chance of space in between you.

You wrap your own arm around her waist as a way to reciprocate.

Emilia proceeds to roll out the blueprint onto the kitchen island so the three of you may look at it. “So, this is what I have in mind.”

“A state of the art, self-sufficient smart home. Marine steel with self-cleaning glass, a guest wing and an entertaining area to the west.” She continues, and you notice the way Hermione tilts her head as the architect speaks.

You know your wife well enough to understand that she only does so when she disapproves of something.

“and this, infinity pool” Emilia says as she points to the top half of the blueprint. “It will overlook a gorgeous view of the lake.” She finishes, unnecessarily reaching across the island to touch your arm.

You clench your jaw, now starting to grow agitated with the architect’s incessant attempts to flirt with you right in front of Hermione.

You feel the way your wife's hold on you tightens, she clears her throat before addressing Emilia directly.

“So you plan to tear the entire house down?” Your wife challenges and Emilia flashes an insincere smile once more.

“Why not? It is incredibly dated.” The architect remarks, glancing at you for a reaction.

“I like it, it adds character.” Hermione interjects, she threads her fingers through your hair, now demanding your attention.

You hear Emilia scoff, she continues to address your wife in a condescending tone. “Well, a new house would be a statement. Ecologically efficient– truthfully these older homes are very impractical.”

“Eitherway, it's up to you.” Emilia speaks to you directly, her fingers brushing your forearm once more.

The architect's lack of subtlety makes your brows knit together in annoyance, you look to Hermione to find her wearing a similar look on her face. Although you also notice the way her sharp gaze is now brimming with anger.

“Actually it is up to my wife. What Hermione says goes.” You declare, squeezing Hermione's waist reassuringly before removing yourself so you may look at the pool table in the study.

As you explore further, you somewhat manage to overhear the things Hermione is saying to the architect.

“Please stop speaking to my wife as if I weren't here.” Even in a hushed tone, your wife's frustration is palpable.

You can hear Emilia's chuckle, laced with condescension, no doubt, although as she tries to respond, Hermione interrupts. “This is not your prestige project, this is going to be my home.”

“If you want this job, I suggest you stop making eyes at my wife and keep your hands to yourself.” Your wife concludes firmly and only silence follows afterwards.

As you wait for a response from Emilia, you reach out for the eight ball atop the pool table, fiddling with it.

The architect soon speaks, and you listen closely in added intrigue.

“That is ridiculous, Hermione I would never–” Emilia attempts to continue the farce, but Hermione refuses to tolerate the disrespect any longer.

Your wife sighs. “I have decided this is not going to work, my wife and I don't require your services after all.”

“What? I–” Emilia stutters in evident shock, but Hermione's patience has been stretched thin.

“Do shut the door on your way out– drive safe.” Hermione instructs curtly, and more stunned silence follows before you finally hear the rustling of papers followed by the echo of footsteps heading towards the front door.

As you hear the door shut, the noise is swiftly followed by more footsteps, Hermione's heels against the hardwood flooring as she enters the room you are currently standing in.

You observe the way your wife is looking at you; she appears almost like a predator, staking her claim.

“She's gone?” You ask the obvious and Hermione nods, she gets close enough to wrap her arms around your neck.

“I think you should hire someone else.” She states in a lighthearted tone and you let out a huff in amusement, your hands find Hermione's waist as you reply. “Alright, darling, I will.”

Hermione hums in satisfaction before leaning in, her lips meet your own for a heated kiss.

You only break away once your chest is heaving.

“I've been in the presence of actual Death Eaters, and you are more intimidating than most of them.” You quip and Hermione smirks at your statement, but otherwise, she continues to look at you in a way that suggests she wasn't exactly in the mood for conversation.

“Shall we see the rest of the house?” You attempt, and your wife shakes her head in disagreement.

“Not yet.” Hermione contends and your breath hitches in your throat as her hand finds your rear, harshly holding you in place.

“You're mine.” She asserts and this time you smile, matching her intense gaze.

“Yes. All yours, my sweet.” You seal your promise by kissing the column of Hermione's throat. Your wife's hand shifts to the back of your head in approval as she bares her neck to you.

You continue to kiss her, earning a breathy moan as you sucked on her tender flesh, Hermione proceeds to tug on your hair so she may guide your mouth towards her own once more.

She kisses you passionately, open mouthed and wanting, Hermione's tongue clashes against your own repeatedly as her hands roamed your frame.

Eventually, her palm settles on your groin over your slacks, and you aren't able to fully comprehend what was happening before you can feel Hermione's enchantment working.

The shaft begins to form within your underwear, and the familiar sensation causes you to groan, it is only heightened as Hermione boldly palms your cock.

“Hermione–” You barely manage as your lips separate for an instant; your wife doesn't speak, but the gleam in her stare still manages to send a thrill through your body.

“My love, please–” You find yourself muttering pathetically, as you ground yourself into her touch.

Hermione gives your shaft one last squeeze before pulling her hand away. “I know, baby” Your wife coos, and you watch as she lifts her dress up to her thighs before languidly removing her black laced underwear.

“I want to feel your mouth first.” She admits as she settles her rear atop the edge of the pool table.

As Hermione parts her legs, you don't need to be told what to do next.

You kneel before her eagerly, trailing a path of wet kisses along her inner thigh before your tongue inevitably makes contact with her hot, weeping core.

Hermione gasps aloud at the sensation of your tongue on her heat. Her fist clenches in your hair once more as you begin to pleasure her with your mouth.

“Yes..” Hermione moans and you slide your tongue skillfully in between her folds. You repeat the motion a few times before settling your mouth over her sensitive clit so you can suck on it.

Hermione is already trembling once you slip your tongue inside of her. You revel in the way your wife moans aloud.

You soon break away to lap at her folds, and as your tongue makes contact with her clit again, Hermione finally comes undone.

Your wife throws her head back as her climax rips through her. You hold onto her thighs as she writhes, her hold on the back of your head is painful, in truth, but you don't care.

“Y/n,” Hermione utters breathlessly, as you place one last peck upon her swollen folds before standing up to meet her in an urgent kiss.

Your wife does not waste anymore time, matching your eagerness as her hands find your belt. She unclasps it with trembling hands, and you moan as she slips one hand inside of your slacks to grip the base of your shaft.

Her thumb then traces the tip of your cock before assisting you in pulling off your pants completely. As you kick them off, Hermione doesn't let go of your length, leaning back onto the pool table.

You swiftly follow her lead, as though in a trance, climbing on top of your wife.

Hermione hastily pulls down the top of her dress until they fall to reveal her breasts. You then eagerly take them in your mouth, licking and sucking on her hard nipples. Your lover rewards you with more gasps of pleasure.

Hermione tugs on your hair habitually, and once your face is hovering over her own, your wife kisses you again, stroking your length simultaneously.

You feel her leg settle around your waist as she lines up the tip of your cock to her entrance.

Meeting her halfway, you move in a fluid motion, and soon you are sheathed inside of her to the hilt. The moan that rips out of Hermione afterwards causes your cock to twitch desperately inside of her.

"Fuck–” You groan, retracting your hips slightly before pushing deep inside of her once more.

Your wife's nails begin to dig into your back through your blouse, you can feel the way she is desperately trying to pull you closer.

You oblige her, your mouth eventually finds the base of Hermione's jaw as you continue to pump in and out of her at an urgent pace.

Hermione is incoherent, she is mewling and whimpering with every movement of your hips as your cock never fails to reach just the right spots within her after each thrust.

“Y/n– don't stop” Your wife eventually manages through her heavy pants, and you can already sense her second orgasm approaching.

You don't stop, instead, bracing your hands on either side of her head, you lift yourself up before rutting into her wildly. The lewd noises of your joining fills the vast room, and Hermione's whimpers soon morph into a loud moan as she reaches her peak on your cock.

The way the walls of her cunt flutters around your shaft was maddening, and the sudden gush of arousal that coats your girth instigates your own release.

Your entire body tenses as you orgasm, mere seconds after your wife.

Your heavy breathing matches Hermione's as you collapse on top of her, for awhile all you can feel is her arms and legs draped around you, along with her soft lips against your ear.

“Perhaps I should make you jealous more often.” You mutter in a playful tone once you regain your bearings.

Your joke earns a firm slap from Hermione, one that lands directly on your bare rear.

“Don't get any ideas.” Your wife warns sternly.

#hermione granger imagine #hermione x reader #slytherin au #hermione granger #hermione granger x reader #g!p #hermione granger smut #hermione smut #g!p reader

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harryssyndrome · 4 months ago

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Best Brother Ever | h.s

Pairing: Husband!Dad!Harry x Wife!Mom!Reader

summary: a sweet Sunday afternoon with the styles family and Alex being the best big brother.

Word count: 2.6k || MASTERLIST 𓇼🌊⋆🐚🫧

Posted On: November 7th, 2024

I got really inspired by a cute reel I saw on Facebook and since then this sweet fluff has been sitting in my drafts for months and I’m really happy with how it turned out! I hope you enjoy it as much as I do ♡ let me know your thoughts in comments! Like & reblog are truly appreciated 🥰 REQUEST ARE OPEN.

It was a peaceful Sunday morning in the Styles household, and the cozy, familiar sounds of home filled the air. In the kitchen, YN moved around with practiced ease, stirring a pot, chopping vegetables, and tasting spices with a focused concentration. She’d been at it for a while now, determined to make Harry’s mom, Anne, feel right at home with her favorite dish. In the background, 18 by One Direction played softly, and YN found herself humming along, her voice a gentle echo to the lyrics.

Though the band had gone on indefinite hiatus years ago, and each of the boys had branched off into their own solo careers, YN hadn’t stopped listening. She was a Directioner through and through, and she knew in her heart she’d never let go of those songs—they were part of her story, her history with Harry, and her dreams.

Meanwhile, in the living room, their six-year-old son, Alex, was lying on the mat with Berry, their playful family dog, gently scratching behind Berry’s ears. Berry’s tail thumped in delight, and Alex giggled as the dog rolled over, waiting for belly rubs. The two were inseparable, each one the other’s partner in mischief.

After a few minutes, Alex felt a tickle of thirst, and with his usual burst of energy, Alex stopped scratching and said, “Oh Berry didn’t you get tired of all the scratching? I know, I know you were enjoying it but it’s time for a break, I’m thirsty. You don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone! Granny likes it when you’re a good boy.” He then sprang up and ran to the kitchen, tiny footsteps echoing across the hardwood floor.

“Alex, no running in the kitchen, remember?” YN gently reminded him, glancing over her shoulder with a smile.

Alex skidded to a stop, giving her an innocent look. “Sorry, Mama.” He then carefully walked to the fridge, his small hand reaching for a water bottle. After unscrewing the cap and taking a long sip, he paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his face.

Looking up at his mom, he noticed how she’d been working by the stove for a while. The warmth from the flames made the kitchen a bit stuffy, and in that moment, his little mind put two and two together. Carefully holding out the bottle to her, he asked, “Mama, do you want some water too?”

YN paused, touched by the thoughtful gesture. The little boy was caring just like his father. Her heart swelled with pride and warmth at her son’s understanding, and she leaned down to pull his cheeks before pressing a gentle kiss on his forehead. “Thank you, sweetheart. That’s very thoughtful of you.”

Alex beamed up at her, delighted by her kiss, and handed her the bottle with a shy smile. YN took a small sip, her heart feeling full in the best way possible. Moments like these, simple and unassuming, were what made her life feel so complete.

YN glanced around the kitchen, realizing she hadn’t seen Harry in a while. She turned to Alex, who was still grinning from her earlier kiss, and asked, “Where’s your daddy?”

Alex paused, looking thoughtful. “He’s giving Amelia a bath!” he replied brightly.

YN chuckled, wiping her hands on a towel. “Don’t you think he’s taking a little too long?”

Without another word, Alex took off down the hall, announcing over his shoulder, “I’m gonna check!”

YN shook her head, smiling to herself as she continued stirring the pot. But barely a minute later, she heard Alex’s laughter ring out, loud and delighted, carrying all the way back to the kitchen. Curious, she wiped her hands and followed the sound down the hallway, wondering what on earth could have him so amused.

When she reached the bathroom, she found Alex standing at the doorframe, giggling uncontrollably. YN peeked over his shoulder, and the sight before her was too good not to laugh herself.

Harry stood by the sink, almost drenched, his shirt soaked and clinging to him, while his hair, wet and messy, hung down in front of his eyes. Amelia, their 15-month-old daughter, squirmed in his arms, wrapped in a fluffy towel that he was struggling to keep around her tiny, wiggling frame. Amelia, completely entertained, let out a series of squeals and giggles, delighted by the whole chaotic scene.

Harry looked up, his eyes meeting YN’s as he tried—and failed—to blow a strand of wet hair out of his face. “She’s, uh… a slippery one,” he said with a helpless smile, shifting Amelia as she kicked her tiny feet, clearly thrilled by all the attention.

YN chuckled, stepping into the bathroom to take over. “I think you’ve gotten just as much of a bath as she has,” she teased, reaching for Amelia.

“Believe me, I know,” Harry replied, surrendering his squirming daughter into YN’s arms. As soon as she was safely in her mother’s embrace, Amelia nuzzled into YN, her little face lighting up with another round of happy giggles.

Alex, still laughing, tugged at Harry’s soaked shirt. “Daddy, you’re all wet!”

Harry ruffled Alex’s hair, a lopsided grin on his face. “Well, that’s what happens when you try to bathe a little mermaid,” he joked, winking at YN.

YN smiled, cradling Amelia close as the baby snuggled into her, finally calm. Glancing up at Harry, she added with a playful grin, “Maybe next time I’ll leave the bath duty to you again. You look like you’re having way too much fun.”

Harry raised his hands in surrender, laughing. “Only if I get a raincoat next time.”

With everyone still giggling, the air filled with warmth and laughter. For YN, it was yet another reminder of how these simple, unplanned moments held the truest joy.

After drying Amelia’s soft curls and dressing her in an adorable denim overall dress, YN gave her a little pat, sending her off with Alex, who eagerly took her tiny hand. “Come on, Amelia! Let’s play in the backyard!” he declared, guiding her to the door as she toddled along, wide-eyed and giggling.

Meanwhile, Harry changed out of his soaked clothes and slipped into a comfortable hoodie and shorts. Feeling refreshed, he wandered back to the kitchen to find YN putting the finishing touches on lunch. She was focused, stirring one last pot, her face glowing with that contented look he loved.

“Smells amazing,” he murmured, slipping his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. She relaxed into him, smiling as she gave the pot one final stir.

“Thank you,” she replied, turning her head slightly to meet his gaze. “I wanted everything to be perfect for your mom.”

Harry pressed a light kiss to her cheek. “It already is perfect. Besides, Mom’s really coming to see you and the kids. I’m just… here for decoration,” he joked, earning a laugh from YN.

She turned to face him, resting her hands on his chest. “Pretty good decoration, I’d say,” she teased back, her eyes sparkling. “Can’t say I mind having you around.”

He grinned, taking her hand in his. “And I can’t say I mind this whole thing… you, me, the kids, Sunday lunches. I think we’re doing alright, don’t you?”

YN’s smile softened, her heart warmed by his words. “I’d say we’re doing better than alright.”

When lunch was ready, they carried everything to the living room and settled comfortably on the sofa, filling their plates and savoring each other’s company in the cozy quiet. Berry, their loyal dog, lay stretched out on the floor nearby, watching them with sleepy eyes, as though content to be part of their little family moment. But the peace didn’t last long; as soon as Berry heard the sound of laughter from the backyard, he was on his feet and bounding toward the door, ready to join Alex and Amelia in whatever adventure they were up to.

Harry and YN shared a glance, amused, and Harry sighed with a laugh. “Should we go see what they’re getting into out there?”

YN nodded, grinning. “Definitely.”

Hand in hand, they headed toward the backyard porch deck, hearts full and laughter on their lips, ready to join in on the joy of the afternoon.

Harry and YN strolled out into the backyard, enjoying the sight of Alex and Berry playing an enthusiastic game of chase. Alex was giggling as he kicked the ball across the grass, Berry hot on his heels, barking and wagging his tail, clearly in his element.

But their attention quickly turned to little Amelia, who was standing by the swing set, her tiny fingers gripping the seat as she attempted to climb up. She’d tugged it down a few times, her determination evident in her scrunched-up face, but every time she tried to lift her legs, they just didn’t reach. She let out a tiny, frustrated squeal, her cheeks pink with effort.

Alex spotted her from across the yard and immediately abandoned his ball game, trotting over with Berry following close behind. “I’m coming, Amy! I’ll help you,” he declared, a serious expression crossing his little face. The way he spoke, it was as if he were preparing to climb a mountain, not help his baby sister onto a swing.

He placed a comforting hand on Amelia’s shoulder, patting her gently. “Don’t worry, Amy. I’ll get you up there,” he reassured her. Berry sat down nearby, tilting his head as if watching the scene unfold with keen interest.

Alex held the swing steady, lowering it slightly to make it easier for her to grab. Amelia gave it her best shot, tugging herself forward and then clinging to her brother’s back, her small legs kicking as she tried to hoist herself up. But she kept slipping back down with a tiny thud, her face scrunched in concentration.

Seeing her struggle, Alex crouched down thoughtfully, tapping his chin with one finger like he’d seen his dad do when he was deep in thought. “Okay, hm… maybe try to use my back like a lil’ stool?” he offered, glancing up at her with a hopeful smile. “I’ll be like a step!”

Amelia’s eyes lit up, and she gave him an excited nod, as if this was the most brilliant plan she’d ever heard. Alex crouched down in front of the swing, bracing himself. “Alright, Amy, climb on!” he called out, his voice full of determination.

With a delighted giggle, Amelia leaned onto her brother’s back and clutched his T-shirt with her chubby little hands. She climbed as best as she could, trying to pull herself up—but her grip on his shirt only tightened as she clambered, her arms slipping around his neck. Alex winced, his voice coming out in a slightly strained laugh. “Amy… you’re kinda… choking me,” he gasped, though he kept steady, determined to help her however he could.

Harry and YN watched from nearby, biting back their laughter as Alex tried to be the perfect big brother, his determination and care making them both melt a little inside. Berry, still sitting close by, tilted his head again, ears perked as he followed every bit of the action.

Eventually, Alex, catching his breath, stood up, looking down at his sister with a thoughtful frown. “Alright, Amy, let’s try it another way,” he said, more determined than ever to help her reach her goal.

He pointed at the swing seat with a very serious expression, bending down to her level. “Just try to sit on it. Right here,” he said, gesturing to the exact spot where she should aim. “Watch, I’ll show you.”

With exaggerated care, he climbed onto the swing himself, wiggling around on the seat to demonstrate how to sit properly. Then he hopped off and held the swing firmly in place again, giving her an encouraging nod. “Okay, now you try.”

Amelia looked at him, wide-eyed with admiration for her big brother, and then turned back to the swing. She grasped it carefully with both hands, her face full of concentration, and this time, after a few wobbly attempts, she managed to pull herself up, finally plopping down on the seat with a triumphant squeal.

Alex’s face broke into a huge grin. “You did it, Amy!” he cheered, clapping his hands. “You’re a big girl now!”

Amelia giggled, her cheeks flushed with excitement, and Alex gave the swing a gentle push, sending her gliding back and forth, her delighted squeals filling the backyard. Each time she swung forward, she let out a little giggle, her laughter filling the air.

Harry and YN stood side by side, their arms wrapped around each other as they watched Alex carefully push Amelia on the swing. Her joyful squeals mixed with the gentle creak of the swing, and Alex’s steady encouragement filled the air. Berry trotted nearby, tail wagging, occasionally glancing up as if to make sure everything was under control.

Harry tightened his arm around YN’s shoulders, pulling her close as he shook his head in admiration. “He’s… he’s really the best big brother, isn’t he?” he said, his voice soft with awe. “Look at him—so gentle with her, so patient. I can’t believe he’s only six.”

YN beamed, her eyes fixed on their son as she watched him push Amelia with such care, his face serious with concentration, as if he were on an important mission. “I know,” she replied, her voice warm with pride. “He’s amazing with her, isn’t he? Always looking out for her, always so sweet. I feel like we’re really… doing something right.”

Harry looked down at her, a playful glint in his eyes. “Well, I think you’re doing most of it right,” he teased, bumping her shoulder with his. “I’m just here to make sure they know how to make a mess and have fun.”

YN laughed, nudging him back. “Oh, please, Harry—you’re their hero. Every time you walk in, they light up. You’re like their personal superhero.”

Harry chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t know about ‘superhero,’ but… seeing them like this, watching them take care of each other? That’s everything.” He paused, his gaze softening as he looked back at Alex and Amelia. “They’re so lucky to have each other. And I think… we’re pretty lucky to have them, too.”

YN nodded, her heart swelling as she took in the scene—their two little ones, working together, supporting each other in their own innocent, unfiltered way. “It’s moments like these that make it all worth it, don’t they?” she murmured, leaning her head against his shoulder. “All the late nights, all the messy meals and chaotic mornings… all of it. Seeing them happy, and kind, and just… them.”

Harry gave her a soft smile, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “We’ve got a good thing going, don’t we?” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I couldn’t imagine a better team than this. You and me… and these two.” He gestured toward Alex and Amelia, his eyes crinkling with pride. “We’re doing something right, YNN. I know we are.”

Just then, Alex looked over his shoulder and spotted his parents watching. His face lit up with pride, and he called out, “Look, Mum! Dad! Amy’s swinging! I got her up here all by myself!”

YN and Harry exchanged a warm glance before waving back, beaming with pride. “You’re the best big brother, Alex!” YN called out, giving him a big thumbs-up. “Amy’s so lucky to have you.”

Alex’s cheeks flushed with pride, and he turned back to Amelia, giving her swing another gentle push. “Did you hear that, Amy? Mum and Dad said I’m the best big brother ever!” he whispered to her, smiling from ear to ear.

Watching him, Harry gave YN’s hand a gentle squeeze. “We’re raising some pretty great kids, aren’t we?” he murmured, his eyes sparkling with pride. “If nothing else, I’d say we’re getting that part just right.”

YN looked up at him, her eyes shining. “Couldn’t agree more.”

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sesbianlexicon · 2 months ago

Text

YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL AND NOTHING HURTS (1)

Pairing: Sevika x Alternate Universe!Reader

Synopsis: After following a Piltover councillor, the leader of the Firelights, and a furry little man to Hextech's failsafe underground, Sevika finds herself suddenly transported into an alternate universe where Hextech… never existed. In this world, she does not have the burdens of Zaun on her shoulders. Instead, she has you.

Contains: Mature language, mentions of death and violence, moments of intense anxiety and panic, kind of ANGST? Kind of? Honestly it gets kind of comedic at one point I swear (This chapter is more of a set-up for part 2)

Word Count: 6173

Note: As much as I love a good smut fic of Sevika, I require angst because her existence is so unfortunate and beautiful and UGH I just want my wife to be HAPPY. I had this in my drafts for like 2 months and I finally finished it. It's kind of all over the place but IDGAF I had a vision and RAN with it. Enjoy my first Sevika fic!

The world cracks, and Sevika cracks with it.

She feels her mind splinter, scattering like shards of glass in every direction. It’s followed by an odd, ineffable sensation that mimics pain, one that exists out of time. It’s as if she’s just been hit, is being hit, and has been enduring the same relentless blow for years, all at the same time.

Sevika stifles a groan and presses a hand to her temple, trying to focus on her vision that is flooded with bright, blinding light. Her attempts to open her eyes only make it worse— shapes and colors in front of her seem to flare and split, as the pain sharpens at the back of her head. And then, the tension snaps. The world slams into focus with a flash. As if nothing ever happened.

Sevika gasps.

Her body weakly rocks back and forth as she struggles to steady her ragged, uneven breaths. Reality slowly returns to her perception. The sounds of glasses clinking and the hum of human conversation rushes back to her ears, and potent, malty smells fill her nose.

She realizes she is sitting down, her legs pressed against the edge of a circular table. She doesn’t remember sitting down. Where the fuck is she?

Sevika’s eyes flicker around her surroundings, taking in the lively atmosphere.

She’s at a bar. No, she is at the bar. She’s at The Last Drop.

Except it’s not The Last Drop, because there’s no way it is. The layout is similar, with the multiple round tables and the stools surrounding it, the familiar red wooden walls, and the underlying scent of alcohol in the air— but that’s where the resemblance ends. The rest is completely different. The bar is alive with warmth and health, filled with people laughing and talking and not shooting shimmer down their veins. Everyone looks… Cheerful. Friendly. Happy.

Sevika’s eyes travel to the ceiling above, made of sleek glass panels, framed by twisting steel designs in ornate patterns. Sunlight pours through the transparent roof, providing a warm, brilliant light for the bar. The sky is bright. The air is crisp. The people are breathing.

This cannot be The Last Drop.

Sevika sweeps the room again, confusion overwhelming her. She can’t seem to get her thoughts straight— she searches the bar, grasping for something familiar. She doesn’t understand who these people are— until she lands on a figure standing behind the bar counter, mixing drinks and chatting with a customer. She freezes.

Vander.

The sight of him is enough to knock the air out of her lungs. It’s him, unmistakably– broad-shouldered and wrinkled, filled with the gentle authority she gave up on years ago. She feels her body pulse as she blinks rapidly, wishing for the vision to disappear. But he’s still there, with his greying hair tied in a man-bun, laughing earnestly as he hands out two fizzing blue drinks to the customer.

The sight of Vander, standing there, alive and whole, sends Sevika into a spiral— she can’t fucking focus. She can’t breathe, can’t think.

Her body sinks, and she slams her hands on the table in front of her to ground her, hard enough to rattle the surface. The impact shakes through her, her palms burning with the force of it.

And she feels it. She feels it. Both sides. Sevika looks down at her body. It’s still her own, she’s certain, and yet—

Her left arm.

Flesh. Veins. Fingers. Bones and all.

For a long moment she just stares at the shape of her limb, her mind coming to a blank. She slowly flexes her fingers experimentally, watching them open and close with shaky precision. She clenches them and feels the crease of her flesh, the pressure on her joints, and her nails digging into the soft curve of her hand. She unfolds it, sunlight reflecting on a gold band circling her ring finger.

Her heart stutters.

She turns her hand over, palm to sky, and with her right hand she traces the unbroken, flawless skin where there should have been cold metal. Something catches in her throat.

“What the fuck,” she chokes.

What kind of sick joke is this?

Panicking, she pushes herself up from her seat, the stool scraping loudly against the floor. The sound starts to repeat in her head, ringing loudly as her head spins. She closes her eyes to stabilize herself.

This is not happening. No, this is not happening. This is—

“Sevika?”

She snaps towards the voice.

And she sees you— you’re the customer from the counter, the one that was talking to the very well and alive Vander.

She looks at you up and down. You’re wearing a fitted, v-necked green vest over a cream blouse. High-waisted trousers tucked into your laced boots, with a belt that has trinkets and whatnots tied to a small metal loop. Brass accents glint at your cuffs, shining along with the two drinks in your hand. Sevika’s eyes linger on the golden band that glints in your ring finger.

You're younger than her— late-twenties at most, with a soft face and lively eyes that glow in the sunlight. You’re shorter, too, almost comically so compared to her towering frame. You don’t have a fighter’s build, nor the hard edge of someone who’s been through hell. Usually, someone like you would carry at least a small shiv for protection in a place like this, but you lack in defence, staring up at Sevika with such a pretty smile.

Who are you?

“Are… you okay?” You ask, stepping closer.

For a long moment, she doesn’t respond. Her jaw tightens as she fights the instinct to start throwing things. She just stares at you—confusion and disbelief battling for a position in her expression. There’s no way she knows you. There’s no way you know her. There’s no way someone who is as pleasing to the eyes as you would beam at her in such a darling way, talking to her as if you’re… concerned.

Who the fuck are you?

“I got us two of Vander’s specials,” You say, as if to remind Sevika of your obvious errand. You shake the glasses, making the ice in the colorful liquid clink with each other. “Honestly, he could charge double for these and I’d still call it a bargain.”

Sevika’s chest beats faster and faster, her breath coming and going in short rapid fires as her gaze flickers from you to Vander, still standing behind the bar. Her head starts to ring again, the pain returning, like aftershocks rattling through her head. She staggers back, holding her head.

“Sevika?” Your voice echoes into her ears. “You’re scaring me.”

Sevika shuts her eyes tightly and lets out a shaky sigh. Confusion and aches etch in her mind as she stumbles through her memories. Why is she here? Shouldn’t she be… what was she doing before this? She was… she was following the Piltie motherfuckers and that Firelight, wasn’t she? She remembers getting to the underground base where she saw the Hexcore, and then, and then—

The last thing Sevika expects is warmth.

She feels your hand against her shoulder. The drinks have been abandoned on the table, your thumb rubbing the fabric of her leather jacket. There’s softness in your eyes, looking at her with an expression she hasn’t seen in a while. She pauses at the unfamiliarity of the light touch. It’s gentle, almost too gentle, as if it is meant for someone fragile.

Sevika is the furthest thing from fragile.

And yet, here you are.

She jerks away from your touch, and you flinch back at her sudden reaction. Your brows furrow as you retract your hand, studying Sevika’s disoriented, almost horrified expression. You haven’t seen her like this— well, ever.

Although she doesn’t miss the way her pain has stopped, she feels uncomfortable at your contact, which seems to be a complete shock to you. She watches hurt ripple across your face, your fingers gripping each other, as if to hold yourself back.

“Sev…” You start, but you keep your hands to yourself.

Sevika steps back, not enjoying the tenderness in your voice. It’s cautious and slow, as if she’s some delicate thing that might rupture at the wrong word. She’s unsure of what to do, what to say— she’s always so sure.

Sevika is not someone to walk away from her problems. She’s never been one to shy away from a fight. So she surprises herself by walking away from you. She practically stumbles as her body moves instinctively, carrying her towards the door. She knows exactly where it is and it only confirms the distorted truth— this really is The Last Drop.

She shoves the door open and steps outside. She hears your voice call out to her, but the heavy panel slams behind her, pushing her onto the street— only to see her world turned upside down.

And the thing is, Sevika has pictured this before. She’s seen this image through her closed eyes, in dreams that replay over and over at night. The scenery of Zaun’s streets bustling with people and kids— kids running and jumping around. The neon-colored chaos and violence she’s grown accustomed to are nowhere to be found— and in its place are plants, lush and spreading, and fountains bubbling with clear, unsoiled water. The once cracked sidewalks, the filth-stained ground, are now scrubbed and tiled— with flowers that bloom in the corners of the buildings.

Sevika has lived her whole life for this world.

She lingers by the door in a haze until a person comes up to ask her, politely, to step aside so others can enter the bar. She barely makes out what he says but moves anyway, slowly stepping forward into the sunlight. It stings against her smooth skin and she goes rigid. The warmth is foreign as she becomes aware of how she is breathing— in, out, in, out— without feeling like her lungs are being stuffed with fumes.

She passes by dialogues of curiosity and affection— people chatting softly, people responding with laughter— followed by excited clicks of heels and footsteps on the pavement. It’s so lively yet so peaceful, that she can actually hear things through the air— birds chirping from the sky, winds rustling through the leaves, and faint, upbeat strumming of strings.

Sevika turns towards the song, finding the jolly voice somewhat familiar. She follows the sounds of the stringed instrument, finding her way to a small crowd. She peeks through the standing audience to see children seated around to listen to the rustic music, all their attention fixed on the performer. Standing in front of them, singing with unrestrained joy, is a furry little creature.

And Sevika remembers.

Without a second thought, she marches right up to him, ignoring the gasps and shouts of the audience.

“You,” She barks, standing right in front of the startled Yordle. “Where am I?”

The yellow creature stops playing with a startled jump and clutches his banjo. He lifts his fluffy head and looks up at the heckler in offended confusion.

“You know what I’m talking about. You were there!” Sevika snatches the banjo from his hand.

“Mercy me!” The furball shrieks, his green eyes darting between her and the instrument. “I haven’t an ounce of what you’re talking about, young lady!”

Sevika’s grip tightens. “With Hextech. The—” She falters. She doesn’t even know exactly what it was. “The underground. I was there.”

The Yordle’s face changes in an instant at the mention of Hextech. His well-groomed mustache twitches as his eyes widen in horror. A curious horror, though horror nonetheless. He shakes his head as if to make sense of her words.

“Oh, dear,” He nervously mutters under his breath. “You mean to tell me that you have also crossed timelines?”

Sevika blinks. “What?”

The Yordle looks past Sevika, and she glances back with him, remembering that they still have an audience. Usually people scram at the smallest sight of violence— but the people and children have remained in their places, confusion etched on their faces.

The furball clears his throat, his posture straightening before snatching the banjo back from Sevika with a swipe. “Well, folks, the show is over for today, but I will be back tomorrow with a better performance. Don’t worry!”

His cheery demeanor seems to ease a couple members of the audience as they shuffle away, their chatter rising with some frowns towards Sevika. Once the last couple children wander off, the furry creature turns to Sevika, lowering his voice.

“You must follow me.”

“I must say, your presence is rather unorthodox.”

Sevika scoffs, her boots echoing against the metal floor as she follows Heimerdinger through Jinx’s hideout. It’s odd to see the place so… clean. No more scattered blueprints or half-built bombs littering the ground. And the last time she saw it, there were glowing doodles everywhere thanks to Jinx’s newest recruit.

Though it’s not completely organized— tools scattered across the table, books open and stacked in dangerous, tipping ways, and multiple candles left unattended, letting the wax drip on loose papers. Some things can’t be changed.

Heimerdinger hops through the workshop towards a familiar figure hunched over a workbench, his concentration on carving something on a small stone-like item. His braided white hair is tied back into a ponytail, which sways as he leans closer to inspect his work. The scratch of the carving tool pauses when he hears Heimerdinger’s presence, turning towards him as he wipes the sweat off of his forehead.

“Professor, I—” The boy pauses, his eyes snapping to Sevika. His initial shock quickly morphs into anger, dropping his work on the table. “What is she doing here?”

“Well, it turns out Miss Sevika here arrived with us at the Hextech’s failsafe underground.”

Heimerdinger hops over to the blackboard, grabbing a piece of chalk and scrawling something on the surface. “The anomaly of Hextech has scattered us from our proverbial reality— and since you were in close proximity, you were caught in the ripple effect.”

Heimerdinger turns to see his pupil and Sevika glaring in silence. “...It seems the two of you are familiar with each other.”

“Oh, we’ve met,” Ekko spits, getting up to stand his ground. “You followed us? Even after Silco’s death, you’re doing his dirty work.”

“I followed you because if the Piltover council and the Firelights are mixed up in something, Zaun needs to know. You’re not the only one fighting for freedom.”

“Freedom?” Ekko walks right up to Sevika, his gaze unwavering right in front of her face. “You think what Silco did was freedom? Peddling shimmer, rotting out the Undercity from the inside? Silco’s leadership was control, not liberation. And now that he’s gone, you’re walking around with your leash in your hand.”

“Watch your mouth, boy saviour.” Sevika’s hands clench by her sides. Ekko does not back down. Neither one of them has forgotten the lives they’ve taken from each other.

Heimerdinger clears his throat. “This tension is… unexpected. But let’s focus on the matter at hand, shall we? I do not condone Miss Sevika’s covert actions, but the fact remains that she is here. She may yet provide insights or skills valuable to understanding the anomaly.”

“I doubt that,” Ekko sneers, heading back to his table.

Sevika scans the workshop. Bits of inventions and gadgets fill up the space, and while she doesn’t completely understand all the scribbles and equations on the chalkboard, she understands their goal is to get back home. As her gaze drifts across the cluttered space, her eyes land on a shiny flat piece of metal left on the counter.

She sees herself reflected on the surface and moves closer. Her face catches her off guard— it is undeniably her— although her hair is cut in a bob, shorter than she’s ever had it before. It frames her face which looks a bit younger than she is. Her body is less muscular than before, but it doesn’t seem like she completely skips working out either. Her clothes fit her in a comfortable way that’s far cleaner and more put together than she’s accustomed to. And her left arm. She can’t get used to that at all.

She stares at the reflective surface, inhaling sharply, before moving on to a notebook spread open on the counter— sketches of the abnormal Hexcore cover the pages. Her mind flashes back to the memory of her mind exploding into bits and pieces. She swallows.

“I’m afraid this is a timeline where Hextech was never invented.” Heimerdinger says, noticing Sevika’s darting eyes. “And without a creation so prodigious as the Hexgates… no anomaly.”

“So you’re recreating it.” Sevika closes the notebook. “How long?”

“A couple weeks, at least.” Ekko begrudgingly answers.

“Weeks,” Sevika mutters under her breath. She does not have weeks to waste. She needs to go back— Zaun needs her. Jinx needs her. Isha needs her. What is happening to her original body if she is here? “What can I do to get this done faster?”

“You?” Ekko scoffs. “Unless you know how to punch your way out of this universe, you can wait until we’re done with the machine.”

There is an edge of sarcasm in his words, almost a playful jab, but Sevika can also sense the venom in his tone. He’s clearly dragged down by the weight of the situation, in contrast to the furball’s worry-free attitude.

But he’s right— Sevika doesn’t know much about magic or technology. Most she can do is minor adjustments on her prosthetic arm. All the creating and inventing the machinery stuff, that’s… Jinx’s field. But there must be something she can do— she’s not the one to wait for problems to be solved.

“You think I’m just going to stand here twiddling my thumbs?” Sevika crosses her arms. “I didn’t survive Zaun’s trenches by waiting for miracles.”

“Well,” Ekko breathes, his expression unreadable. “This isn’t Zaun.”

And fuck. Yeah. This isn’t Zaun.

Sevika’s frustration presses heavy on her chest. The usual pulse of urgency thrumming her veins, one that is always telling her to get up, to fight, to survive— seems to fade for a moment, replaced by an unknown stillness. She can’t do anything here. She doesn’t have to. The mere thought of that drives her insane.

Before she can respond, she hears the sound of the door, followed by hurried footsteps and sounds of metal items rattling. A short figure enters, holding two boxes that obscure their face.

“Ekko, I found— woah.” She wobbles a bit as the boxes sways to the side, before she manages to drop the boxes on the floor with a thump. Her vibrant blue hair gives her away.

Jinx.

Sevika falters at the sight of her— healthier than Sevika remembers— her skin glowing, her cheeks plump, her frame no longer as scraggly as before. The annoyingly long braids are nowhere to be seen, replaced by rather cute space-buns with a streak of pink. There’s an innocence to her expression, the eagerness to prove herself completely gone. Instead she looks untethered—freed— from the usual chaos of her mind.

She looks at Sevika with a tilt of her head. Sevika pictures a doe. Soft and curious.

“Sevika?”

“Jinx.”

The name doesn't even suit her anymore. Jinx looks confused, almost a bit hurt at the name and— oh. She smiles in gentle understanding.

“Powder, actually.” She offers. “I guess you’re… different, too.”

Sevika frowns. She turns to Ekko. “She knows?”

“He wasn’t exactly being secretive about it,” Jinx— No, Powder— chuckles, pushing the boxes filled with metal trinkets and parts to a corner. “And I’m smart enough to figure it out. Plus, I just heard about you terrorizing our professor in front of The Last Drop. I knew something was wrong.”

Sevila can’t even imagine a world where her fight with a Piltie by the bar could be considered ‘something wrong.’ And she is. In that world.

“The news has spread already!” Heimerdinger nervously chortles. “I do hope you haven’t scared away my audience for tomorrow’s performance.”

Sevika ignores him, her attention all on Powder.

“So, you’re just helping him with all this?” She waves towards the machinery.

“Well, he’s not going to figure it out himself.” Powder grins at Ekko. He returns a small smile and a tender gaze— Sevika almost wants to laugh. The leader of the Firelights and the Jinx? Absurd. This whole situation is absurd. She needs to get back home.

Ekko notices Sevika’s judgmental stare and his lips curl back to a frown.

“Just stay out of the way. We’re close to cracking this, and the last thing I need is you throwing off my balance.”

Sevika’s mouth opens for a sharp retort— but Heimderdinger quickly interjects, sensing the imminent fight.

"Perhaps, Miss Sevika, it would be wise to allow Ekko to continue his work without further interference. I know this isn’t ideal for you, but for now, patience may be the best course of action."

Her gut twists in frustration. Easy for the Piltover motherfucker who’s lived for hundreds of years to preach about patience. She isn’t built for waiting— waiting never got her anywhere.

“I’m not going to sit around for a machine that might not work.”

“It’ll work,” Ekko bites. “And I don’t need your help here.”

Sevika’s eyes flick between the three of them— Ekko, defiant, Heimderinger, a bit skittish, and Powder, sympathetic. Sevika has nothing else to say. She exhales, loosening her fists, letting the tension slip away.

“You could go home to your wife,” Powder suggests, nodding towards the ring on Sevika’s left hand.

The tension comes back. The word ‘wife’ should mean nothing to her, and yet, the moment it hits the air she pictures you and your stupid little face, wide eyes and slightly parted lips, staring at Sevika with darling concern. As if the words you’ve wanted to say had been stolen from your throat.

It sickens her.

She runs her thumb over the ring on her finger. Its warmth is indistinguishable from her own skin. She remembers the matching ring on you.

“She is not my wife.”

Powder shrugs. “She was really worried about you. Especially after she heard you attacked the professor.”

“I barely touched him,” Sevika huffs. Heimderinger’s mustache twitches.

“If you don’t act normal, she might figure out what’s going on.” Powder grabs a pen and scribbles something on a piece of paper.

Normal is the last word to describe this situation. Normal is the last word to describe your relationship with her. How would she ever act normal here, with you?

“Here.” Powder tosses the paper to Sevika. “That’s your address.”

Sevika crumples it in her hand.

“I am not going to my house.”

Sevika finds herself in front of her house.

She stares at the crumpled piece of paper with her address on it, hesitating by the door. Because it’s not really her house— she almost feels like she’s intruding. But it’s late, and she’s tired, jaded— but she doesn’t want to be at the workshop anymore. And she can’t stand being in the middle of the sanitary, warm version of Zaun. Faces of people she’s buried, people she’s left behind walk around with a smile on their face. It’s nauseating.

Sevika has nowhere else to go.

And she would be lying if she said she didn’t want to see you again. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t know why. She crushes the piece of paper and jams it into her jacket pocket.

She twists the handle and steps into the house. The sense of wrongness only deepens at the sight of the interior. The floors gleam, the furniture is neatly arranged, and the air smells of— food. Good food. Nothing like the usual scent of dust, blood, and grease of her typical home– she barely calls it a home. More of a hideout. She moves deeper into the living room, trying to place the strange layout.

She would have moved to this proper place if she had never left Vander, never lost her arm, and never worked under Silco. It’s a house she feels misplaced in. The kind of house someone who had their shit together would own— who cleaned, who cooked, who cared. The kind of life Sevika doesn’t know how to live.

And then she sees you. Laying on the couch in the living room, reading a book in your nightgown by the candlelight. Although she was expecting it, she is startled at the sight of you, so comfortable, so safe in the middle of the house. She catches herself staring.

You look up from your book. "...Hi."

Sevika blinks. She doesn't reply.

“I thought maybe you were spending the night somewhere else,” You mumble, setting your book down by the side table. You weren’t expecting her to be home today— you thought she wanted to be left alone after whatever she had gone through at Vander’s bar. You push yourself up from the couch.

“Um,” Sevika tries as you walk closer to her. “You’re… here.”

“I mean, I wasn’t going to wait for you in the bar the whole day.” You retort, your tone sharp at first but it soon morphs into regret. You’re confused about her behaviour, and you’re sort of pissed at her for leaving you like that, sure, but you shouldn’t snap at your wife. “Are you… feeling better?”

“I’m fine.” She says a little too quickly.

You don't look convinced, standing right in front of her with furrowed eyebrows.

“Vika, you don’t look fine.”

Sevika stares back at you at the nickname, her stoic expression faltering. She feels nauseous again. She’s unsure how to exist with you in her space— always filled with so much concern, sympathy. It’s… uncomfortable. She feels like a cornered animal, a pathetic prey when she is with you.

“I said I’m fine.”

Her voice comes out in her usual harsh way. Your face twists. And for the first time in her life, she regrets it.

Back in Zaun— the real Zaun— the line between fear and respect had blurred. Everyone feared her, therefore respected her. It was how everyone treated her, how they always acknowledged her presence yet at the same time tried to stay out of her way. The satisfaction of knowing she could control everything that happened in a room was what she was used to.

Somehow, she doesn’t want that kind of control over you. She doesn’t want to make you cower or fear her. The thought that she might be doing exactly that— making you feel small, making you regret being near her— it’s as if her body rejects it. She doesn’t want you to look at her like that.

But just as soon as your face shows that flicker of distress, it suddenly shifts into a look of disbelief.

“Are you on drugs?”

Sevika stares blankly. You have the utmost sincerity in your eyes.

“What?”

“If you’re on some kind of street drug, you can tell me. I won’t be mad.”

Sevika holds back her amusement. As if anger, from someone as small and harmless as you, could scare her into hiding something as common as drugs. As if you could intimidate someone like her. She almost wants to laugh at the height difference between the two of you right now.

“I mean, I heard about the ruckus with Professor Heimerdinger and—” You ramble, your mind trying to justify your wife’s behaviour. “It’s one thing to pick fights after being drunk, maybe, but without a single drop of alcohol? The professor has done so much for Zaun and you respect him a lot. It’s just so unlike you.”

‘You don’t know me,’ Sevika thinks, but she bites back her tongue.

“You’re so… so rigid, and every time I look at you, you look like you’re worried I might uncover some sort of secret.” Your eyes narrow as you grasp at clues to come up with a theory. “And you flinch every time I touch you!”

“I’m not on drugs.” She wishes she were. “I’m just tired.”

You frown. She’s been tired before, and she’s been stressed before. But she’s never been like this. Avoidant. Blurry.

But it doesn’t seem like she wants to talk about it— or she’s willing to confess anything. Maybe she really is just tired. She certainly looks like a completely different person. She looks… sad.

You just sigh. “Do you want me to be worried?”

That is the last thing I want. “No.”

“Okay…” You cross your arms. “Are you hungry?”

Starving. “No.”

The two of you lock eyes, before you step back with a reluctant nod.

“...Okay. Go wash up.”

Sevika buffers at your command, watching you retreat back to your couch. You pick up your book again, although your focus is elsewhere. She knows you’re holding back your questions— and it almost pisses her off. Why are you so careful, so considerate towards her?

It’s not like she’s ever earned that kind of care. Not from anyone. And definitely not from you.

The silence stretches between you, and all she can hear is you flapping the pages as you pretend to read. Sevika would prefer your anger— she could handle anger. She understands anger.

But this patience makes her skin crawl.

Sevika turns sharply and strides towards the hallway.

Your eyes remain fixated on the words of the book, but your ears listen to your wife’s footsteps, which pauses a couple of times before finding the bedroom. There’s the creak of the closet doors, the rustling of clothes, before she finds her way to the bathroom. The hesitancy in her steps are enough to embolden your suspicions— and while you don’t want to push her, your curiosity and concern remains.

As soon as you hear the water running, you spring up, tossing the book on the couch, before making your way toward the bedroom.

Snooping is wrong, you know that— but your worry overwhelms your morality. You see her jacket, carelessly draped over the edge of the table in the room. Sevika never leaves her jacket lying around— she knows you’ll make her hang it up anyways.

Your fingers twitch at your sides. With a glance toward the hallway, you step closer to the table.

Her jacket is heavy in your hands, the worn leather supple and wrinkled. You unfold and dig into the pockets, finding a few coins, a lighter, and—

A piece of paper.

You frown at its state, crumpled, as if someone had been squeezing on it continuously. You unfold it, smooth it out, until you can make out the writing scribbled across the surface.

It’s your home address. Confused, you turn the paper around, but there’s nothing else— just the address of the house you and Sevika have lived in for three years— why would she need this?

You squint at the uneven handwriting— It’s Powder’s. You’d recognize it anywhere. The hurried strokes, the exaggerated loops— you’ve seen her writing many times during the Innovator’s Competition in an index card set beside her wild invention, describing it in great detail.

Did Sevika meet up with Powder after the meltdown at Vander’s bar? But it must have been after all the fuss with Professor Heimerdinger, and someone told you that the two of them left together. So, Sevika and Professor Heimderdinger went to see Powder, who gave her the address to her own home?

You shove the paper back into her jacket, returning it to its original place on the table. You’re missing a huge part of this weird equation— and your confusion remains. Perhaps you’re even more confused than before. You take a deep breath before heading to bed, crawling on the soft mattress. You’ve had a long, off day.

When the sound of water finally stops and Sevika steps out of the bathroom, you’re still in deep thought on the bed, fingers idly playing with the hem of your pajamas. She walks into the bedroom in a loose tank top and sweatpants, the fabric hanging comfortably from her form.

She glances at you, her damp hair clinging to her face, before sitting down on the edge of the bed. You expect her to join you under the covers, to settle into the space you’ve shared countless nights before. But instead, she just stays there, her back to you, her shoulders taut.

“...You okay?”

She exhales sharply, almost like a scoff. “I just need a minute,” She mumbles.

Sevika has been through girls before, at Babette’s— she’s no stranger to how a girl feels by her sides at night. But she’s never had someone so determined to comfort her like this. And knowing her relationship with you, knowing that she’s somehow married to someone like you— it’s different. It’s horrifying.

Somehow you seem to recognize that— and she feels your presence shift towards her from behind, the mattress dipping slightly under your weight. She breathes as she feels your hand move to her shoulder, letting the warmth brush against her like you’re testing the air between you.

Her body stiffens under your touch. You can feel the tension of her defined muscles beneath her skin, as if she’s bracing for something sharp, something brutal— but you keep your hand steady, fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns on her back.

You worry she might pull away. But then, so quiet you almost miss it, she exhales. It’s small, broken in half, but it’s enough to soothe the suspense. You keep going, outlining the curve of her spine, watching her shiver— and the tightness of her body begins to fade in pieces, bit by bit.

She leans back towards you and you draw closer, hand brushing her nape of her beck. You let the moment of stillness, of uncertainty pass, before she finally turns toward you. Soft. Fractured. Unfamiliar.

She stares at you, searching for something, unsteady, as if she’s not sure what she’ll find. It resembles the look from before, the one from the bar— but you don’t look away. You’re searching too.

When your lips meet, it’s strange— she’s being so gentle. Modest with her ability to love you. Her touch is light, testing— and for a split second, it feels awkward. Almost as if it’s the first time.

But then she moves her hand and brushes against your arm, fingertips barely grazing your skin, and you liquefy— it’s enough to deepen the kiss, slowly, naturally— as she pulls you closer, and the warmth between you grows. Her breaths are uneven, blending with yours as you feel her tongue slip in— and you’re gone. The world narrows until it’s just this moment, just the two of you.

And somehow it’s not urgent nor overwhelming— it’s not the usual excitement she brings in her kisses. Instead, it’s like she’s carefully learning the parts of you, afraid to miss a single detail. Her hands slide up your sides, not rushing, not pushing— just anchoring herself to you, grounding both of you into a comfortable position on the mattress.

When you finally pull back, your foreheads rest together. Her breaths are hot and close against your cheek, and you share the same air, your chest heaving up and down, shallow and quick. The silence lingers, but then you start to laugh and she smiles too.

And everything falls back into place.

She’s yours again.

You’re a fast sleeper, gone just as soon as you hit your head on your pillow. But Sevika lays awake, listening to the unchanging sound of the clock echoing from the living room.

Every time she closes her eyes, she feels it— a certain weight pressing against her chest, filled with thoughts she doesn’t want to entertain. She shifts slightly, careful not to disturb you, her gaze fixated on a certain grainy spot on the ceiling.

There’s an emptiness inside of her. She’s lived her whole life for Zaun. For years, she sacrificed everything for a better life. She always believed that the people deserved a better Zaun. That she deserved a better Zaun. And now that she has it—

She’s not sure she deserves it.

She feels the soft, comfortable blanket around her and grips it tightly.

This could have been her life. This is supposed to be her life.

Sevika feels you shuffle beside her, still asleep, turning to sluggishly hug her large frame. She tenses at first, unable to move, but soon feels your chest against her left arm, pressing in and out on her muscles as she hears the mellow sounds of your breaths. You’re warm. You’re beautiful. She lets your touch engulf her, and closes her eyes.

Sevika does not fall asleep. But as she lies there, with the warmth radiating from your body, she feels herself melting onto the bed, her body relaxing like it has never before. The weight in her chest lightens at the mere presence of you, and the gnawing emptiness inside feels… a little less hollow.

And for once, nothing hurts.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Hey ladies thank you for reading my unedited silly convoluted fic filled with my love towards Sevika. Get ready for part 2 which is angstier. Crying. Also I wrote most of this during final season and almost failed my final. But I will never fail the WLW nation. XOXO BIA <3

Likes, reblogs, and comments would be SO SO appreciated!!!

PART 2: YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL AND EVERYTHING HURTS (COMING SOON)

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