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always-just-red · 3 months ago

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Hi! Hope this finds you well. Saw the request and wanted to ask for a Yandere Sylus with player reader. Like Sylus knows Mc is a player and he is a game character. When mc was gone for too long, Sylus gets impatient.

If you can do it, of course. If no, ignore this. Wish you writing ideas and inspiration

Hi! Hope you're well too, anon! Sorry for the long wait on this one, got really stuck with it and wanted to make sure I did it justice-- it was such a cool idea! (Also I know L&D has the microphone feature but I wanted to have fun with the limited communication of the player here, so no it doesn't, actually!! 🥰)

Fourth Wall

Sylus x Player!Reader 🩸

Summary: L&D is getting more and more real with each update. This is a new update... right?

Genre: idk really?? real world player x character

Warnings/Additional tags: yandere themes, player!reader, gender neutral, fourth-wall breaking, non-canon, swearing, mild threat, possessiveness, manipulation, Sylus is a little OOC here (we all know he's a sweetheart really!!)

| Word count: 1.5k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Your phone lights up with a notification.

Sylus: Are you in a good mood, sweetie? The weather’s nice, so let’s go out.

It makes you smile, even though you’ve seen it before. You haven’t played Love and Deepspace for two weeks or so, and you’re already thinking about how many dailies you’ve missed— more specifically, how many diamonds you’ll be short of going into the next event. You had a couple thousand saved, you think? It’s probably fine.

The truth is, you don’t really have time for it these days. Escaping reality with fiction is fun, but it’s just that: make believe. Reality’s still waiting for you on the other side, and recently? All that escaping has finally caught up to you. You have a real life. Responsibilities. Yay!

But you are in a good mood, and the weather is nice, so you’ll log in for old time’s sake. Your finger hovers over the app, but something makes you hesitate. You’ve got some emails you should probably get back to, first. Oh— and weren’t you supposed to call your friend, too?

Another notification:

Sylus: Take your time, kitten.

A new one? It’s just text on a screen, but you’re reading it— Sylus’s voice in your head—and you just know it’s dripping sarcasm. Before you have any time to dwell on it, your phone lights up with more notifications.

Sylus: I’m going to count to three.

Cute. He’s not actually going to—

Sylus: One…

Oh.

Sylus: Two…

Really?

Sylus: Three.

Ok.

You tap on the app, weirdly motivated by the time pressure given that it’s coming from a man who doesn’t actually exist. He smirks at you knowingly from the kindled moment you’d set as the loading screen, his crimson eyes playful. You’re not particularly patient either, so your fingers drum along the surface of your desk as you wait, your gaze caught between his and the slowly moving loading bar.

Come on… come on… It finally loads, and you enter the game with another apathetic tap. Sylus stands, waiting— a dark figure framed by the otherwise light and dreamy aesthetics of the Destiny Café. You smile to yourself; it’s just gone lunch, and you half expected to find him sprawled in the usual armchair, fast asleep.

He crosses his arms. “The countdown worked, huh? What are you— five?”

You scoff and give his head a flick. He chuckles, running a hand through his hair as though you’d struck him hard enough to ruffle it. It’s kind of cool that you get some unique dialogue when you’ve not logged in for a while, although… have you missed an update or something? The animation feels smoother. More lifelike, now you think about it.

Sylus stares back at you, his lips playing into a subtle smile. His arms are crossed again and he tilts his head like he’s enjoying your scrutiny. “Something wrong, sweetie?” he asks.

Not really. You zoom in with a practiced sweep of your fingers so you can get a better look at him. His eyes flit downwards, over you— equally shameless— and then he’s meeting your gaze as he steps forward, closing the distance. He can’t see you, but you still can’t bring yourself to look away from him, and you’re not really thinking about the animation anymore.

He lifts a finger to poke at the screen, as if he’s caught you daydreaming and wants you back. You poke him, too: a softer, more affectionate boop on the nose. You can’t help laughing to yourself as his face screws up beneath the touch. This game is getting a little too real.

With a sigh, you zoom out so you can set about collecting your daily log-in rewards. Sylus seems fine— standing idly by as your attention drifts about elsewhere. He knows the drill. He can wait. Speaking of waiting… it’s also been a while since you’ve seen the other guys, and you’re struck by a pang of nostalgic fondness. You might as well say hi while you’re here.

You hit the button to change who you want to meet in the café.

It doesn’t do anything.

Weird. You hit it again. Then again— no change.

Sylus is holding his chin as he regards where your finger aimlessly meets the screen. It’s like he’s looking at… the button? “Oh dear,” he sympathises, “that feature appears to have stopped working.”

You don’t really hear him, honestly. You’ve never had a bug like this, and you’re determined to overcome it with sheer, stubborn persistence. Is it your phone? You test the theory by jabbing Sylus’s chest, and he glances down, apparently feeling it. You try the button again. Then six more times.

Sylus wanders closer to you. “You’re hurting my feelings, sweetie. Am I not enough for you?”

Ok but why isn’t this working? You’re still trying the button; your hope has turned to frenzied disbelief.

“Stop.”

A single syllable, concise as a punch and just as effective. You do stop.

Sylus’s voice is lower. Darker. “Good,” he praises, but he doesn’t sound happy. “Someone’s gotten bolder in their absence, it would seem. I do hope you haven’t forgotten to whom you belong, kitten. Although—” his smile is different than before— “I’d be more than happy to provide a… reminder.”

It’s an innocuous word but not the way he says it. Threats are just intimate promises and he toys with the fact like a crow enamoured by something that catches the light. He’s not going to grow tired of it for a long, long time.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, sensing you gawping. “Did you really think I wouldn’t figure it out? What all… this is?” He indicates the space around him with a wave of his hand. “Quite frankly, I’m surprised the others still haven’t grasped it.” He reconsiders. Smirks. “I misspoke— I’m not surprised.”

Does he mean the game? The other LIs?

“Honestly, kitten,” he continues with a tut and a shake of his head, “you’ve been far from a gracious host. I’m not a plaything, you know. Well…” He’s showing teeth with a sneer. “Not the sort you can throw away, anyhow.”

God, are you really being scolded by a video game character for having other responsibilities? The worst part is that you actually feel bad. You do care about him. You wish you could tell him you care about him.

“Are you even listening?” he sighs.

Shit. Yeah. You can’t say anything he would hear— as far as you know— so you give his hand a poke. He casts his gaze downwards, stretches his fingers with a contemplative flex, then raises his hand so it can be nursed by the other. Is he protecting it from you? Or is he protecting you from it?

“If we’re to keep playing this game of ours, I think it only fair we lay down some rules,” he states. “Firstly—” because it isn’t up for debate— “you will come here every day, just like you used to. I have nothing to do, you see, and if you leave me to my own devices I might just have to find a way into that captivating little world of yours. So I can… investigate what’s keeping you from me.”

Investigate. Another innocuous word he wields like a weapon.

“Secondly,” he continues, nodding towards the broken button on your user interface, “you had better stop seeing the others. Ignorance is bliss, after all, and we wouldn’t want to worry about them connecting any dots, now would we? Besides…” He approaches you again, leaning in close. “I don’t share what’s mine.”

Your breath is caught in your throat and you’re so glad you don’t need to speak. You don’t think you could; if you tried to get words out they’d be unintelligible.

“So,” Sylus drawls, filling your silence, “how about it? Still want to play?”

This time it is a question, but only because he knows your answer. You’re struck by a flash of inspiration, and you communicate in one of the few ways you can— navigating the in-game menus until you can get your message across.

There’s a ping. Sylus retrieves his phone from his pocket, and after a moment of scrolling, he smiles. You can’t see his screen, but you know what he’s looking at: a grumpy crow with an animated bead of sweat and a dispassionate gaze to go with it. That it? it asks.

He still looks far too smug, so you beckon him over with a relax time interaction, watching your character’s hand outstretch on your behalf. He steps forward, linking his fingers with yours, and this animation you know. You tug him closer, except… he doesn’t budge.

His eyes are fixed to where your hands are linked, and he runs a thumb over your skin as though he’s savouring the touch.

Did they change the animation?

“Oh, sweetie,” he sympathises with a click of his tongue. He looks up at you— holds your gaze as he presses a deliberately slow kiss to your wrist. “This is going to be fun.”

#🖋rach is actually writing #sylus x reader #sylus #love and deepspace #lads sylus #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #qin che #sylus x you #lads x reader #lads #lnds #l&ds

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simpjaes · 8 months ago

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mtl corruption kink? 🥹🥹

hyung line + corruption kink

★ heeseung:

wants a girl who has no fucking idea what she's doing and no idea what sex is supposed to be like specifically so he can train into into the little sex puppet he's always wanted. given, you'd probably enjoy every second of it, he'd make sure of that. any pain will always be met with equal pleasure, and he'd never actually hurt you or act like he doesn't love you even for a second. it's just...upon learning how innocent and untouched you truly were, how could he resist? And you'd do so well too, molding into exactly what he wants, to the point he'd probably never leave you out of fear that you'd moan like this, or move like this, for someone that isn't him.

☆ sunghoon:

sooooooo gentle but so fucking cocky. he'd love to have a girl so innocent and sweet, whether she's had sex or not. sure, sunghoon looks vanilla but he is so, so, so far from it and showing you the ropes regarding the world of kinks is nothing but a pleasure and need at this point for him. to see your eyes glisten through an orgasm you didn't even realize was bubbling up? yeah, baby, fuck yeah. i think he'd probably be less aggressive than heeseung, but with his corruption would come a lot of degrading comments before the praises. like "fuck, you sure you don't know what you're doing? look at you take it." while he's training your needy pussy to take way more than in comfortable, followed by a "so good baby, just a bit more, you can handle it, right?"

★ jake:

have you seen this mf? sure, i would love to think he's just a stammering and shy puppy boy that would prefer to be corrupted himself but this is jake. the fucking jake sim, who would probably not realize he's corrupting you until the pretty girl who choked on just half of his cock is suddenly taking all of it and deep-throating like a champ. it's just who he is, any girl that gets his cock out, innocent or not, learns how to fuck it just because he's so goddamn hot and being the person he gives his cum to is something anyone would beg for. additionally, he's definitely the type to go fast, deep, and hard without realizing. so yeah, the corruption would be entirely accidental but goddddddamn would he find it so hot realizing how much you've turned into a cum-slut for him.

☆ jay:

nah mf, you gotta corrupt him. does he need it? no. jay knows very well what he's doing when it comes to a pussy but having a more experienced woman show off her skills on him and play along with his fake ass little "idk what to do" vibe is something he'd probably cum to death for. sure, he breaks character mid-fuck and takes over, asking you to call your pretty subby boi "daddy" and demanding that you admit to liking it more when he's stretching you out knowingly. idk, i think he's the switch of all switches. Loves being called "baby", loves calling his girl "baby. Loves even more when you call him" daddy" like you didn't just ride him into fucking oblivion while he whimpered and begged for it. [im not biased at all fr]

#enhypen smut #heeseung smut #sunghoon smut #sim jaeyun smut #park jongseong smut #sim jake smut #jongseong smut #jay smut #enhypen hard hours #hardthots

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sonotpattismith · 3 months ago

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Inexperienced yuji and reader working their way up to taking each others v cards 🙏🙏🙏

hold me and explore me. (yuji itadori x reader)

word count: 7.1k warnings: college!au, smut, suggestive content, 18+ other request: okay so ive had this idea for so long- Yuji, Megumi, Yuta, Toge, maki, nobara and reader are all friends. truth or dare game that turns spicy (maybe a reader x yuji or reader x megumi au) and they confess their... spicy preferences and confess their feeling to eachother... ya idk if thats weird but thought id request it if youre open to it. other request: virgin yuji x virgin reader - dating for a long time and slowly trying things out together. a/n: I combined like 3 requests into one because they were similar, and I had a vision. Also, track and field Yuji simply had my heart I apologize 😌

You just wanted to crawl in a hole and die. It was that feeling-- you know-- the one you get when you walk into a highschool cafeteria, or the break room in a brand new job, and everyone seems to be privy to something you have no clue about? They seem to laugh at inside jokes, whisper knowingly about topics it seemed like you were just too stupid to catch onto. And, sure, you could just ask what they were talking about, but that would mean subjecting yourself to the mortifying fate of exposing yourself as a complete and utter loser. That’s what that night felt like.

When you agreed to an innocent game of truth or dare with a few of your beloved friends, something deep within you sent off warning signals that these kinds of ‘innocent’ games usually end very badly for big, dumb virgins like yourself. You’re not sure what it was that set off the red flags to begin waving in your mind. Maybe it was the bottle (or three) of shochu they brought into the usual hangout. Maybe it was the fact that half of you were already half-way tipsy when the game was suggested. More than likely though, it was the fact that your way-too-hot and way-too-oblivious boyfriend was in company tonight as well.

So, as you sat back on your hands, with everyone’s eyes expectantly on you, even your crossed legs and chunky sweater couldn’t make you feel less exposed. Oh god, you thought you might throw up right there. Should you make up an answer? Which one would make you sound like you knew what you were talking about, without making it sound like you seriously knew what you were talking about? If your prolonged silence wasn’t awkward enough, your burning cheeks surely were doing you in, but, shit-- how else were you supposed to react to that question?

What kind of weird shit are you into in bed?

Maybe you should’ve just said dare and not been such a pussy. Sure, you probably wouldn’t have been subjected to chugging an obscene amount of alcohol despite your already tipsy state, but it's not like your friends would have subjected you to anything too horrible. Whatever it would have been couldn’t have been worse than exposing yourself as an inexperienced loser in front of your boyfriend.

Speaking of the devil, you felt the unmistakably warm hand of Yuji Itadori himself slide over your fidgeting hand in comfort. He could see it all over you that you were absolutely mortified-- a deer caught in headlights. While he absolutely, so desperately wanted to hear your answer to this question, his instinct to jump in and ease the tension for you outweighed any horn-dog desire flooding his mind.

“Why do ya’ wanna know, Kugisaki? Tryna get in my girl’s sheets?”

The drunken group giggled deliriously at his challenging question. All at once, they began talking over each other, hooting and hollering over god knows what. You couldn’t even bring yourself to try to listen as your chest seemed to cave in on itself with a sigh of relief. Hesitantly, you stole a glance to your right at Yuji, who’s warm eyes were already on you. They sparkled with that boyish glint that was so characteristic of him. Placing a hand behind you, he leaned in, lips brushing against your ear in a way that made a shiver run down your spine.

“I still wanna know, by the way.”

The light tone in his voice was enough to tell you that he was just teasing you, but his noticeably more intense gaze, the way it dragged up your frame when he pulled away-- it told you a larger part of him really, really wanted to know. You chuckled nervously, hoping he wouldn’t notice. He turned back to your group of friends with an amused smirk on his face. Thankfully, everyone seemed to have forgotten about the fact that you didn’t finish your turn. You hoped the same of your boyfriend as he walked you back to your dorm room that night.

“If you even attempt to get me up in the morning to go on a run with you, I’ll kick your ass into Mars.” You warned as you rubbed your fingers into your temples that were already buzzing with the beginnings of a migraine. Yuji pouted dramatically as you flopped back onto your bed. Leaning forward, he replaced your hands with his own to give you a light massage. You groaned softly at the feeling, allowing your eyes to shut peacefully.

“Feels nice, huh?”

You hummed in agreement and leaned into his delicate touch. Too entranced in the sensation of his hands on you, you didn’t notice the way he leaned down, his face just inches from you. “Nice enough that you’ll answer your truth from earlier?”

Your eyes flew open, and you gasped at the sudden proximity. He flashed you a wolfish grin. The coolness of your pillow sheet served as a slight solace for your burning cheeks as you turned your head away from him in embarrassment. An unconvincing scoff fell from your lips.

“That was a stupid question.” You muttered, trying to stop the pounding in your chest as he moved to make himself comfortable beside you. It was a firm indicator that he was definitely not letting up any time soon. Softly grasping your jaw between his fingers, he moved you to face him again.

“Not stupid to me.” Yuji pressed, smiling at the way you blushed under his gaze. He ran a finger down the side of your heated cheek. “I wanna know what you like… what turns you on.”

The casual manner in which he spoke about such things only served to further convince you that he had way more experience than you did. What you didn’t know though, was the way his heart was pounding wildly in his chest, and how he waited with bated breath for your answer. Despite his charming confidence and boyish charisma, the only action Yuji Itadori had ever seen was from his own right hand. He knew your relationship would be progressing soon— god, how he wanted it to, but his nerves were eating him up inside at the thought of making a fool of himself in front of you. So, when Nobara presented that question, he thought the gods had smiled upon him, and this could give him a head start to figuring you out before he was a sputtering, moaning mess beside you.

“C’mon, babe,” he spurred you on with a nervous smile. “I’m your boyfriend… you can tell me.” “I don’t even know how to answer that question, nor am I near drunk enough to be having this conversation right now.” You were shaking your head as if it would rid you of the butterflies taunting you with the way he was drinking you in with that longing gaze of his. “Go on, you’re too drunk to be allowed access to sleepover privileges tonight.”

“Hey!” His Oscar-worthy pout made another appearance as you tugged on his arms to urge him to get up. It was proven more difficult than you anticipated, what with the pounds of pure muscle that clung to every inch of him. Despite your struggle, he stumbled to his feet along with you. The giddy boy haphazardly fought against you as you pushed him toward the door. The tips of his fingers clung against the door frame as he leaned into you from just outside the door. “Think about it— yeah?”

His light eyes held a sincerity that made you melt, his nose brushing yours as he stared down at you. You felt breathless, watching the way the muscles in his shoulders flexed as he held himself up on the door. Suddenly, one of his hands was coming up to cup your chin.

“Promise?”

You could only nod dumbly at him, causing a wide, tipsy smile to break out on his face. Swinging forward, Yuji smacked a fat, sloppy kiss on your lips before balancing himself on his feet once again and shutting your door behind him.

Despite your insistence on not being woken up the next morning, you still found yourself strolling out to the track with your bag in tow that morning. You had never really been a morning person, or a running person in general. So, when you started dating Yuji, he'd look up at you with those big, sparkly brown eyes and beg you to accompany him in the mornings. After coming to a compromise that you would just sit and watch, his metaphorical tail practically began wagging. Truthfully, the boy didn’t even care if you were running or not. He just wanted you to watch so he could show off a little. That first morning you sat in the grass, watching him intently as he zoomed past you on his fourth lap without so much as breaking a sweat— the way your mouth hung open slightly, impressed eyes following him deftly around the track— it was better than any pre-workout he’d ever lay his hands on.

It had become a morning routine of yours now to sit out in the grass as the sun was rising to watch him run. You would always bring a book or your laptop with you to make it seem as though you were busy with something. Whatever distraction it was typically ended up abandoned on your lap in favor of the way the muscles in your boyfriend’s back would ripple with every purposeful step he took, and he knew it too. So, you tried to sleep in that morning to nurse the tiny hangover that plagued you, but your body was already up and ready to be entertained at the crack of dawn.

As you leaned back onto the grass, allowing the barely risen sun to soak through your skin, you thought about what Yuji had requested of you the night prior. It’s not that you didn’t want to explore those things with him, but you couldn’t help but feel like he may look at you differently should your lack of experience come up. You’d had boyfriends in the past, not many, but two or three. They were all high school fads, boys you only ever saw in class or once a week in a bowling alley or movie theater. All that came from those flings were disappointing make out sessions and uncomfortable boob grabbing that were always abruptly halted with a rushed ‘this isn’t gonna work out’ from your frazzled lips.

When you began college, finding a boyfriend wasn’t exactly a top priority for you, but you certainly felt a bit more confident in your ability to pick them out with your older age. So, when Yuji Itadori stumbled toward your table at the campus cafe, still in his muddied up track uniform and giggly friends pushing him forward, the corny pickup line that fell from his lips actually worked on you. Maybe it was the goofy confidence on his face that appeared as though he really was convinced that it would work. Maybe it was his two friends that stood a few feet behind him observing with mortified expressions that said I can’t believe he just said that. Whatever it was, it made your heart skip a beat when you laughed boisterously in his face and, rather than being offended like he probably should have been, he laughed nervously along with you. He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, just thinking about how he really didn’t intend that to be funny but whatever works, right?

It had been almost four months since that fated afternoon in the cafe, and the both of you couldn’t have been more happy that that dumbass line accidentally worked on you. But then again, it had been almost four months, and it had just never come up in conversation between you two. You were almost positive that Yuji was being sweet Yuji and didn’t want to rush you, but he could have sworn he was just too much of a dumbass to charm you into allowing him the privilege of sharing such intimacy with you yet.

Maybe it’d be better to just let it play out— let him take over and show you the ropes. Still, you couldn’t help the knawing anxiety in you that told you being a virgin at your grown age was definitely not attractive and would absolutely change things between you two. Groaning in frustration, you flopped back down onto the grass behind you.

“Sit up, you’ll get ants in your ears.”

Gasping in horror, you shot up with your hands pressed over your ears. Nobara snickered as she set her bag down to sit beside you. At the sight of the very woman who was to blame for this predicament you’ve been put in, you grumbled. Her glowing face scrunched up in question at your sudden attitude.

“I am never going to another one of your hangouts if I even smell a drop of alcohol in the vicinity.” You huffed, watching as Yuji circled around in front of you. Without stopping, a wide smile stretched across his cheeks upon seeing that you did come after all. Waving aggressively to you, he continued his run with a bit more of a pep in his step. He had an important audience now, after all. Smiling softly, you waved back at him.

“What a loser.” The red head feigned a gag, but there was an amusement in her eyes as she watched how eager her best friend was to impress you. Tearing her gaze from the idiot who was currently running at the speed of light in hopes his girlfriend was watching, she tilted her head at you. “And what did I do?”

“You got Yuji all horned up with that question about what I like in bed.”

“First of all, ew.” She blinked roughly as if trying to rid the image of her horny friend from her mind. “Second of all, what’s the issue? Is he seriously that bad at—”

“I’m a virgin, Kugisaki.”

She fell silent, blinking rapidly at the girl in front of her, who had grabbed at the redhead’s knees in exasperation. While you partly felt bad for putting Nobara in the awkward position of having to talk about her friend’s sex life in such a way, you couldn’t help it. Even when you were first introduced to her, you were silently thanking the gods that there was a girl you could talk to about these things, given you were a little bit of a loner yourself.

“You two haven’t…”

You shook your head desperately at her.

“And now he wants to know what I like in bed, and I don’t know. He’s gonna think I’m a loser, or I’m gonna be horribly disappointing in the sack, and he’s gonna—”

“Why don’t you just tell him all this?” Nobara suggested slowly, watching the way Itadori looked over at them with a fond smile as he passed them up once again. Now, she knew damn well Yuji Itadori was a total virgin with a capital V. She recalls him talking about finally having gotten a blowjob once, but that he was too drunk to remember it but it ‘totally still counted’. She wanted to help ease your nerves about your own inexperience, but she also felt it wasn’t her place to disclose such information to you.

“Because, he’s probably been with so many girls and knows so much more than me, and I just feel like a loser by comparison. I’m a loser, Kugisaki. A sad, virgin, loser.”

“This dude gets more pathetic the more I get to know him.” She seethed quietly with her pointer finger and thumb pressed against the bridge of her nose. “Listen, trust me, and be honest with him. Itadori seriously likes you, and if he finds out you’re holding out on him cause you’re scared he’ll think you’re a loser, he’s gonna be upset. Like sulking in the corner, growing mushrooms with his own fumes upset.”

“You think so?” You mumbled into your knee, toying with a blade of grass below you.

“Trust me, that idiot will be so excited to get you under him, he probably won’t even notice if you just rag-dolled it.”

The mental image made you laugh unabashedly, and Nobara smiled at your easing mood. She playfully elbowed your arm, leaning back on her hands as she regarded you in curiosity.

“And how has no one ever tried to get in your pants before? You got a chastity belt or something?”

Shaking your head, you looked down shyly. “I didn’t say they haven’t tried…”

“I knew it!” Nobara exclaimed as you shushed her desperately, watching from the corner of your eye as Yuji slowed his pace and began heading toward you two. “You were breaking hearts left and right before this loser came along, weren’t you?”

“Shut up!”

As you dragged yourself through your classes that day, you were mentally hyping yourself up to have that conversation with Yuji later. He typically stacked his classes in the mornings so his afternoons would be free for track meet and, of course, you. As you glanced down at the time in the corner of your laptop, your leg bounced anxiously. Would he really take it as well as Nobara made it seem?

Whenever you wanted more time to think, the stew, to just marinate in your own anxiety, time always seemed to move that much faster. Four o’clock rolled around faster than you had anticipated, and your feet seemed to falter with every step you took toward Yuji’s dorm. With a shaky breath, you unlocked the door with the small key he’d given you a few weeks ago. Upon hearing the sound of the shower still running, your tense shoulders eased up a bit. Dropping your bag down in his desk chair, you flopped back onto his bed. You had a plan, you had your words prepared, you were ready to make this as normal and not awkward as possible.

As Yuji stepped out of his small, steam filled bathroom though, only clothed in his sweat shorts that barely covered his mid thighs, wet, pink hair clinging to his forehead, your plan suddenly went to shit. He smiled excitedly upon seeing that you were already there, but his pearly whites were the last thing you were focused on right now. Jesus, they don’t make men’s shorts long anymore? His tanned, defined runner’s thighs were practically on full display for you to drink in greedily.

“Is my dick hanging out or something?”

You were snapped from your trance by his brash question, looking up to find him staring down at his lower half in question before glancing back up at you curiously. Shaking your head with flushed cheeks and a smile, you laughed at his blunt tone.

“No, just like those shorts on you is all.”

“Oh, you do?” Yuji looked back down at himself once again with a shy smile before coming to lean over your spot on the edge of his bed. Your breath hitched when his knee came up to sink into the small space between your legs as he climbed over you, grasping the side of your neck in his hand. “I’ll wear them more often then.”

Without allowing you time to respond, he pressed a chaste kiss to your lips. You sighed contentedly at the feeling of his warm body hovering over yours. Brining your hands up, you allowed your fingers to graze over the rippling muscles of his thigh, your fingernails unconsciously grazing along the skin. He hummed against you, bringing his other leg up to rest beside you, effectively caging you between him and the bed.

“Did you—mmph,” The boy could barely tear himself away from you long enough to get his question out. Your free hand came up to run through his wet hair. “Did you think about what I asked you?”

You suddenly remembered why you were here in the first place.

“About that—” But he was everywhere, his lips moving to sloppily cover your cheeks in soft kisses, grasping your waist in his free hand. It began to creep up your shirt, until you felt the tips of his fingers graze the hem of your bra. You gasped and reached out to grasp his wrist. “Yuji, I wanted to— hah— t-talk to you about something.”

“‘M listening, babe.”

Somehow, with the way he had his pink head buried in the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing and suckling the sensitive skin there, you highly doubted that. Still, he squeezed gently at your ribs in encouragement. His hand strained against your grip on his wrist as if aching to continue his exploration of your chest. You swallowed anxiously, the fingers that were woven in his drying hair tightened. Once that small moan escaped his lips, you couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Yuji, I’m a virgin.”

You felt his lips abruptly halt against you, and his hand stopped trying to fight against yours. Squeezing your eyes shut, you cringed at the crushing silence. Suddenly, you were just desperate to fill it and break the sudden tension.

“I should’ve told you earlier, but I was just kind of embarrassed, and I didn’t want you to think I was a loser or pathetic or something. I completely short-circuited when Nobara asked me about what I liked cause I just don’t—”

“Oh my god— thank god!”

Your rambling was cut short by his sudden, ecstatic proclamation. He sat up abruptly, pulling you into his lap as he moved to sit over the side of the bed. His hands came up to grip your cheeks in disbelief.

“I thought you were gonna expect me to be able to lay down some master pipe or something, oh my god— I can’t breathe.”

“Yuji!” Your bubbling laugh filled your chest, dispelling all previous anxiety quicker than you could have anticipated. For just a moment, you allowed his words to sink in in disbelief. “Are you saying—”

He cut you off with a small nod, his cheekbones flushing pink. With a timid smile, he ran his hands down your shoulders and arms to grasp your waist.

“Even if I wasn’t— I don’t care if the whole damn university has run through me— I could never think you were a loser. Not a bigger loser than me, anyway.”

As if the warmth in your chest couldn’t spread anymore, his sweet words only made that heat travel down south. Maybe it was his unwavering compassion, or maybe it was just that you could finally rest easy knowing you two were on even playing fields. Whatever it was, it had you crashing forward to meet his awaiting lips once again.

There was a newfound eagerness in your desperate kisses now. Something had shifted between you two, and it seemed as though a whole new area of one another was just unlocked. Your bodies were timid, unexplored— drawn toward the other. Though neither of you would likely admit it, it excited you both that each of you would be the first to experience one another in such a way.

“We can take it easy now, yeah?” He offered breathlessly between bruising kisses. The hands that were wrapped around his shoulders snaked down to explore the muscles that rippled underneath them. His back arched ever so slightly, mouth falling open in response to your soft caressing. “Take— ahh— our time.”

You hummed in agreement, but neither of you seemed too eager to ease up on your desperate pursuit. Yuji dipped his head down to press sloppy kisses over your collarbones. He almost ripped the neckline of your shirt in an attempt to gain more access.

“Exactly.” you whispered, already out of breath from the anticipation rising in you. Your head fell to the side to encourage his continued attack on your neck. Despite your agreement, you didn’t stop him when his hands sneaked under your top and threw it over your head.

“Oh, fuck.” Yuji groaned without an ounce of shame as he stared down at your bra-clad chest. He was eternally grateful that you had something on under there, because he was convinced he would have busted right in his shorts if he saw your bare tits with no preparation right now. Your cheeks burned under his intense gaze, and you instinctively moved to cross your arms over your chest. At once, his hands came up to cage your elbows at your sides, dipping down to press kisses to the plush pillows. A soft moan of surprise escaped you. Your boyfriend’s head perked up at the sound, and he looked at you with sparkling eyes. “You like that?”

Tongue tied, you could only nod wordlessly. Releasing his grip on one of your arms, his fingers set ablaze each inch of skin they traversed on their way up to cup your jaw affectionately.

“What else do you like, angel?”

It came out of you like word-vomit, all previous notions of apprehension and timidness lost on you under his fiery gaze. His brown eyes shone in a way that you swear you’d kill a man for should Yuji ask while batting those fluttery eyelashes at you.

“I like the way you hold me like that—” You babbled mindlessly, breasts arching into his chest. The boy thought his brain was going to fry right then and there, watching the way you were falling apart on his lap. “And I like the way your thighs look in those shorts—”

“Yeah?”

You would have kept going had it not been for his eager interruption, and you were partly grateful for it as you were positive you would have embarrassed yourself. Once again, you only nodded. He shifted under you, maneuvering you slowly to sit against his left thigh, a hand hesitantly coming up to press against your back. In an instant, you felt the taut muscles of his thighs flex beneath the thin fabric of your shorts. You gasped at the feeling, hands flying up to grasp his shoulders.

“Is- Is this okay?” Yuji questioned, uncertainty breaking through his voice that had suddenly lowered darkly with the lust that flooded him. Too flustered to even form a coherent answer, you leaned forward to kiss him once again. Moaning softly against you, the hand he had pressed against your back pulled you forward, encouraging you to grind against his tense muscle. A string of desperate whines slipped past your lips as he moved you against him.

Your boyfriend continued to push and pull at your waist until you found a rhythm of your own. Abandoning your supple skin, he reached down to palm himself through his shorts. The strain against the fabric was almost unbearable at this point, and your desperate little ruts against him were only spurring him on. Leaning back on his free hand, he watched you work yourself against him as he stroked his covered length.

You looked down at how his bicep flexed with each stroke. Reaching forward in a haze, you slipped your hand under his. A gasp choked its way up Yuji’s throat at the feeling of your comparably smaller hands clutching at him. You mimicked his movements with fervor, the heat in your core burning as you watched him throw his head back with a groan.

“Does that feel good?” You questioned hesitantly, breath picking up a bit as you felt the wet patch that began to form over the fabric of his shorts.

“Yes!” He gasped eagerly, grabbing your wrist to speed up your movements a bit. “Oh fuck.”

Your wide eyes stared at him in awe. His bare, muscled chest heaved before you. An inescapable urge had you leaning forward to bite into the firm flesh, a motion that had him jerking up into your hand. Noted.

“Babe, hold on. I’m—” he choked up when you began softly laying open mouthed kisses on the area you’d attacked with your canines. “Shit, I’m gonna cum, wait��”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence. You looked down at where your hand was languidly stroking up and down his twitching member, noticing with parted lips how his pink tip was now poking out from his waistband. It glistened as the sun shining through the window hit its dripping surface. Without much thought to it, your thumb reached up to swipe at the weeping slit.

“Fuck, oh my god—” This time, he cut himself off with his own strangled moan. His fingers pressed into your hips and wrist with a bruising pressure, as if you might disappear mid-high and leave him gasping and crying to be graced by your touch again. His chest and neck flushed red as you felt his release spill over your hands and coat his abs that flexed in tandem with his unconscious thrusts.

You suddenly wished you had left your phone in your pocket instead of your bag so you could snap a picture of the way he looked at the moment. His chest heaved as he came down from his high, and he looked back down at you in a panic, cheeks ablaze.

“Shit— I’m so sorry!” Yuji began babbling mindlessly, staring anxiously down at the mess he’d made of himself and your hand. Embarrassed wasn’t a strong enough term. “You didn’t even finish— fuck, this is—”

“Yuji, it’s okay—”

“No, I just came in my fucking shorts. I wanted to…” his words drifted, and he held your cheek with his clean hand. “I wanted to have sex with you.”

A warm smile settled over your lips. Leaning into his hand, you pressed a kiss to his palm. “We can take our time, remember?”

He huffed quietly, looking up apprehensively at you from his lashes. The boy’s blown out, brown eyes took in the sight of your flushed cheeks and disheveled hair, the way your breasts were rising and falling deeply against your chest. A mischievous smile fell over his once embarrassed face.

That’s how you found yourself on your back and on the edge of his creaking bed, legs swung over his shoulders and thighs pressed against his ears as he tried his hand— well his tongue— at a new skill. Your brows furrowed in concentration, trying to determine if it felt good or just kind of awkward. A small hum left you as you squirmed against him at the foreign sensation. Suddenly, his pink head was poking up from its spot between your legs to look up at you with those ‘Yuji-Special’ puppy dog eyes.

“I suck, don’t I?”

You quickly sat up on your elbows to meet his frantic gaze. His cheeks were burning red, chin covered in slick.

“No!” You insisted, but he wasn’t convinced, dropping his head against your stomach in agony. “Yuji, just… try again. I’ll tell you what feels good, okay?”

Rolling his shoulders back with determination, he went back in. He licked a long, hesitant stripe up your folds. As the tip of his tongue grazed your sensitive bud, you gasped quietly. Still, it was enough to have Yuji’s head perking up like a dog who just heard the rattle of his food bowl.

“Right there?” He questioned, his word mumbled with his tongue still pressed flat against you.

“Y-Yeah--”

Your instruction was cut off with another eager, rough swipe of his tongue against that golden spot he’d found. On instinct, your thighs clamped down against his head as a moan ripped through you. Against you, your boyfriend let out a moan of his own, responding to both the feeling of your warm, plush inner thighs pressing against his cheeks and the sound of your saccharine moan-- one that was solely his doing. It was a dopamine rush similar to that of which he felt on the field when you would watch him oh so encouragingly. It spread through his veins like a fire-- that burning desire for him to just impress his girl.

Like a man starved, Yuji’s tongue attacked your sensitive bundle of nerves with fervor, drool and slick dripping down his chin. You squealed at the sudden change of pace, the pressure of the foreign sensation weighing down on your chest as you writhed underneath him. It was too much- the direct, rough friction lapping so desperately against you that it was almost uncomfortable.

“Slow down!” You gasped out, your arms supporting you as you reeled away from his tongue’s attack. The muscle’s in his shoulders flexed as they wrapped around your thighs to keep you in place. He peered up at you with stars in his wonton eyes, wondering what the hell he could possibly be doing wrong now. “It’s too much, just-- like you’re kissing me, Yuji. S-Slow..” You could feel your cheeks burning at the sound of your own instructions, but the look in his eyes as the top half of his face stared determinedly up at you told you he was taking mental notes.

Humming firmly, his eyes slowly fluttered shut again, and he retracted his tongue from your core to replace it with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. You sighed contentedly at the feeling, your hand drifting down to thread through his hair. It felt as though he finally understood, and Yuji knew he couldn’t just chase your high without pace, without care. His movements were slow and deliberate now, allowing himself to enjoy it as well instead of being so concerned with pushing you over the edge so quickly.

Your jaw fell slackly open as he slowly reintroduced his tongue into the rauchy kisses he was working against you. The curve of his smile could be felt from your fold as he sensed the trembling of your legs against him.

“Like that, Yuji--” You whined softly, grasping at the roots of his hair to pull his face closer to you. It felt like he was molding to your core, becoming one with you. A tear fell down the side of your face at the intense intimacy of it all, and you were glad he was too occupied to notice. Gently swiping his tongue up from the entrance of your weeping chasm to the hood of your clit as his lips wetly circled the area, you noted that he really was acting as though he was simply making out with a different part of you. “Oh my god!”

You couldn’t see it, too lost in your own pool of pleasure to pay it any mind, but his eyes rolled back at the sound of your breathless whines. When your hips slowly began rocking against his face, he thought he may as well have died right there on the floor of his dingy dorm room.

“Is it good?” He mumbled against you, never once stopping his ministrations on your clit. It was a dumb question-- the boy knew it was good-- what with the way your grip was practically yanking the hair out of his scalp, pushing his face further into you until he was sure he would pass out from lack of oxygen (not that he would mind going out that way). Still, Yuji was desperate to hear you say it, to tell him how good of a job he was doing at pleasuring his girlfriend.

“So good--” You gasped, feeling the tingling in your toes, reaching up your legs and into your core. Your rocking against his face was desperate now, chasing your impending high with a fervor that would have embarrassed you had you even felt remotely conscious enough to notice. Your eager boyfriend was drinking it all in though, fingers coming up to grip at your hips and aid your frenzied thrusts on his face. You were making an absolute mess of his face, but you didn’t care, and lord knows he didn’t either. “You’re so good, Yuji!”

A forlorn whine ripped from his throat at your praise, and the vibrations it sent through your bundled nerves caused the dam to snap within you. Sitting up in a desolate haze, the fingers that had graced the top of his head came down the back of it, gripping the nape of his neck to hold him against you as you cried out his name once again. The heels of your feet dug into his back as you trembled through your high. His soaked lips continued to hungrily lap you up until you were crying out in sensitivity, clamping your thighs closed to stop him.

You were heaving out breaths, hunching over as your nails began softly scraping at the nape of his neck. Yuji’s face slowly came up from its place between your thighs-- a place he noted it should have been all along. Still on his knees, he stared up at you in a drunken daze, the lower half of his face glistening with evidence of your release. His pink hair stood up and stuck out in all directions as he panted up at you.

“Did I do good?”

That mental image was seared into the back of your mind as you tried to go one about the rest of your week. Each time that image flashed in your mind of your big, muscly boyfriend on his knees for you, eyes just pleading to be praised, your thighs would press together almost on instinct. It was that much more difficult to concentrate on any of your classes. You couldn’t confirm if you two’s impromptu intimacy was the reason for the sudden change in Yuji’s behavior, but you had a feeling. While he’d always been a bit clingy, he was now all over you; wrapping an arm around your shoulders to pull you into his side each time you two met up with friends or on campus, dragging your chair closer to his by the foot wherever you went, stopping to plant a kiss on you each time he passed you on his runs. It was evident to everyone around you that something had changed between you two— what with the sudden clinginess and blushing looks from across the room.

As much as the both of you wanted, you didn’t have much of a chance to get eachother alone again though. Yuji’s track team had their annual relay race just around the corner, so he was caught up in practice and meets most of his free time. Still, it was the first big race that you would be attending of his, so you were excited despite the fact that it was taking up most of his time. It was a bit cool outside that morning, so you were bundled up in one of your boyfriend’s university sweatshirts as you made your way out to the crowded field. You could barely hear over the combined chatter of both your university and the competing school’s crowd. Looking around, slightly overwhelmed with the amount of hustle and bustle surrounding you, you nearly jumped out of your skin when hands bared down on your shoulders.

“Where were you! Yuta and Maki have been looking for you.” You relaxed upon hearing the familiar voice of your boyfriend over the crowd. Sighing in relief, you turned around to grasp onto his bicep as if the crowd might scoop you away. He was already beaming down at you, his sweat band pushing his hair away from his forehead. The tip of his nose and the tops of his cheekbones tinted pink with the cold air that nipped at his skin.

“Take me to them! I am so lost.” You pleaded as you dramatically batted your lashes up at him. An easy smile spread across his lips as he wrapped an arm around your neck to guide you through the crowd. “And shouldn’t you be getting ready with the team right now?”

“Had to make sure my girl had a good view first.” Yuji winked down at you upon seeing the bashful tint that spread on your cheeks. He turned you to face him as the two of you came up upon the stands, pointing up to where your friends were standing and waving you over. “Wait!”

You whipped your head back upon hearing him calling out to you from below.

“I don’t get a good luck kiss? No pep talk?”

“I didn’t wanna hold you up.” You laughed, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to his lips from his spot on the ground. He grasped onto your chin to deepen it for a moment before reluctantly letting you go. Slightly breathless, you continued, “Right, pep talk. What do you want if you place, hm? Human Earthworm marathon? Revolving sushi?”

“Just you.”

His sincere words and intense gaze made you falter, remembering the way he looked between your thighs just days ago. Fingers tightening around his shoulders, your eyes ran down his face wantonly.

“Just me, huh?”

“Mmhm,” Yuji hummed, brown eyes soaking in the sight of you in his sweater, standing in the bleachers to cheer him on. “Nothing’ll motivate me more.”

“Better get to steppin’ then, Itadori.”

Yuji was sprinting like a bat out of hell. As he gained on Megumi, you could see him holler at him with his palm outstretched for the baton. His fingers curled around the wooden rod, and he was off. You could swear you saw his teammate’s raven hair fly back from the dust being kicked up by the boy already light years ahead of him.

“Jesus, what crawled up his ass?” Maki remarked in astonishment. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say his feet weren’t even touching the ground. He moved so fluidly, so swiftly, as though he was simply floating across the track. The other runners, you noted, had stern expressions of determination on their faces as they paced themselves through their legs. Your boyfriend though, as you watched him drift across the field, was lit up with pure thrill. It had an ecstatic smile spreading across your own cheeks. Standing up from your seat, you cupped your hands around your mouth to cheer him on. You almost wished you could feel some sort of push and pull, some kind of apprehension about whether or not he would make it, but the truth was, Itadori had already left all the other anchors in the dust. So, really, it was more of a formality when he hopped across the finish line, and the coach ripped the tag off his uniform to declare his team’s time.

Both Yuta and Maki flew up from their seats to clap, but their cheers were drowned out by those of the hollering crowd surrounding you. Your friends’ arms came around you in glee, but your gaze was still focused on Yuji, who’s team was now having their own celebratory rituals. Over the heads and shoulders of his bustling team, his gaze still found yours in the crowd. He raised the wooden baton to point it toward you, and with a wolfish grin, sent a wink your way as if to say this one was for you.

Lord help you when that boy got his hands on you.

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dollfacefantasy · 1 year ago

Text

Just Like the Movies

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: your boyfriend dons the ghostface mask to let you live out a fantasy

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, fingering, cnc, praise/degradation, knife play, predator/prey dynamic (he chases her idk what to call it), dacryphilia, voyeurism mentions

word count: 3.4k

a/n: i wanted to write at least one spooky thing for halloween and i love scream so here you go. i'm working on requests i promise, i just wanted to get this out before october ends. as always, thank you for the comments and reblogs <3

tags: @sleepyluxe @kaitkatme @tosuckmyweenis @pupthepokemonenthusiast @bizzarethirst @death-paint @petitecolibri @iron-toxinz ghostface photo used in the header is from @/oikizumi on pinterest!

An old scary movie plays on the television as you relax on the couch after a hard week. You had a soft blanket draped over you and a bowl of popcorn in your lap. The missing piece was your boyfriend. You were just waiting for him to come home and join you for your little makeshift marathon.

You casually watch the movie while lifting handfuls of popcorn to your mouth. You had seen this one before so it wasn’t scaring you, but it was entertaining enough to pass the time with until Leon returned to you.

It was getting to be that time of evening when he usually came marching through the door, tired from work but still with open arms for you to slide into. He hadn’t come home yet though. As you’re wondering where your lover could be, your phone begins to ring.

You sit up and grab it from the table in front of you.

No caller ID.

You raise your eyebrows at the strange nature of that. Assuming it’s a scam call though, you leave it be. However, the phone rings again. You actively decline the call this time. You place your phone down again, hoping that would be the end.

It wasn’t though because not even a minute later, your phone vibrates again.

You reach for the device and see a text message pop up on your lock screen.

‘Don’t ignore me, pretty girl.’

That piques your curiosity. When the phone rings again, you click the answer button and bring it to your ear.

“Hello?” you say.

“Finally, she answers the phone,” a smooth, predatory voice teases.

“Who is this?” you ask.

“Oh c’mon, you don’t wanna ruin the fun already, do you babydoll?” he purrs.

“Well, what do you want?” you ask. The cadence of the voice was familiar, but the actual sound of it, you couldn’t place. It didn’t sound like anyone you knew in real life.

“To talk to you. I guess you could say I’m kind of lonely,” he says with mock sadness.

“Aw, well I’m not, so bye,” you say and hang up the phone. As you begin to place that voice and the cadence behind it, Leon’s late arrival makes sense. You had disclosed this little fantasy to him recently. And it seemed like he had got the modulator to sound just like the movie for you.

Not even ten seconds go by before the phone rings again. An excited chill comes over you as you lift it and accept the call.

“Hello?”

“Why’d you hang up on me, angel? That’s not very nice of you,” he taunts, “You doing something better right now?”

“Mhm,” you hum.

“Yeah? What’s so important that you can’t spare a few moments of your precious time?”

“I’m about to watch some scary movies,” you say, a smile spreading on your face. You sit up on the couch more as you feel where this conversation is going.

“Scary movies? I like scary movies,” he says, “Tell me, do you have a favorite?”

“I like Scream. You ever seen that one?” you say teasingly.

“I’m familiar,” he says, “That one’s not really scary though. I bet I could give you more of a thrill.”

“Mm, maybe. But sadly for you, my boyfriend will be home soon.”

“Boyfriend? That’s a shame,” he says, his voice becoming a hint darker.

“I’m sure it is. Anyways, I should be going…” you trail off knowingly.

“C’mon, blondie can wait a few more minutes.”

“Blonde,” you repeat slowly, feigning fear, “How do you know he’s blonde?”

“I’ve been watching you for a while, baby. Had to make sure everything would be perfect tonight,” he says with a low laugh, “Let’s just say that we have plenty of time now.”

“Why are you doing this? Who are you?” you say, cranking up the fear in your voice. You stand up from the couch and walk to a window to see if you can spot him outside.

“That doesn’t matter, sweetheart. Plus, I thought girls liked the whole man of mystery thing,” he chuckles, “You’re honestly telling me this doesn’t turn you on?”

“It doesn’t!” you say defensively.

“Are you sure about that?” he breathes, “When I cut those slutty little shorts off you, I’m not gonna find a messy cunt crying for me to fill her?”

“No…” you say, your cheeks heating up while arousal pools in your belly.

“You don’t sound so sure,” he teases, “Y’know, I think I can see your nipples getting hard under that thin shirt all the way from here.”

You quickly step away from the window, a shiver shooting up your spine. You bite your lip. “Please don’t hurt me,” you whimper.

His cruel laugh crackles through the phone. “I wanna hear you cry like that when you’re cumming all over my cock.”

Every word tumbling from his lips stoked the flames of desire within you. Your veins were coursing with a primal need at this point.

“I’m gonna call the police,” you say. Your voice was breathy in what could be interpreted as terror, but in reality, it was pure lust.

“Do you think that would stop me?” he rasps into the phone, “Because, we both know I would get to you before the operator could even take your address. But let’s say you did get through. I can be quick, doll. Take what’s mine and have that tight pussy full of my cum with time to spare.”

You shift your thighs and look for the smallest semblance of friction as he lays this out to you.

“By the time any cop did get here, all they would find is a pathetic little mess, lying on the ground all fucked out and bred, a dumb smile on that pretty face.”

The tiniest whine escapes your throat from that mental image. You wonder if he heard it, but the throaty chuckle on the other end answers your question.

“You dirty fucking whore. You love this. You wanna be pinned down and used until your sweet mind is broken and completely cock drunk.”

“No, I don’t,” you say, trying to keep up the act of defiance even though your desire was palpable in your voice.

“Well, too bad. But I’ll be generous, little one. I’m telling you that I’m coming in now. A little head start if you’re smart,” he says, “You better not waste my fucking time. Give me a good chase, or I’m not gonna be nice when I catch you. Find out if your insides are as pretty as the outside.”

You hang up the phone. Your body was on fire with a mix of adrenaline and arousal. You scamper through the house into another room, wondering what to even start with. Your thoughts are cut off when you hear the back door slide open.

Your pulse thunders in your ears. You move quietly across the room you’re in, peering through the doorway back into the living room. You see him. That tall and fit body donned in a tight black t-shirt and pants. He wears black leather boots on his feet. A large hunting knife is strapped to his belt. His head is covered, and when he turns, your heart seizes at the sight of the ghostface mask.

He catches a glimpse of you through the cracked door and starts toward you. You zoom through the other door in the room, maneuvering quickly around furniture and stray clutter. Then, you loop back to the open back door. You can hear him clambering through the hall behind you. Primal fear courses through you, instinctually telling every cell in your body to run.

“Where do you think you’re going, sugar?” you hear the voice modulator crackle.

Moving through the sliding door, you dart across the backyard. The grass was wet against your feet since you didn’t have the time to grab a pair of shoes. You fumble with the gate, your hands shaking from the adrenaline coursing through you. You try to shut it behind you to delay him, but he’s already so close.

You continue sprinting into the woods behind your home. The area surrounding you was dark. It was cold out too. Your skin had broken out into goosebumps, your thin shirt and shorts not providing much warmth, and your bare feet only exacerbating the feeling.

There were trees everywhere, and it felt like there were things hiding within the dense woodland. The whole time you focused on not running into a tree, you could hear him behind you. His breathing was heavier, but it was clear he was exerting minimal effort.

You jump over overgrown roots and duck under stray branches. Despite running for a bit, you still weren’t too deep in the woods. You shoot a look behind you, trying to see if you were any closer to losing him than before. He’s just as close, and in the midst of your attempted glance, your foot catches on a rock. You cry out and tumble to the ground. Skin scrapes against the dirt and rocks beneath you.

He slows his pace to a simple walk, pulling the hunting knife from the sheath. The wide blade shimmers in the pale moonlight. He holds it up and drags a gloved fist over the silver, just like in the movies. Another, low laugh breaks through the speaker of the modulator.

“Too easy, princess,” he taunts, “Get up and keep running.”

Your eyes widen and blood rushes to the lower region of your body at the command. You stumble to your feet and stagger away. Your foot aches a little from the rock and the fall, but you continue in earnest.

He lets you go on for a while longer. Occasionally, he would intentionally fall behind, giving you the illusion that you could outrun him. But also filling you with the dread that you would be out in those woods alone.

Soon enough, he’s had enough of the chase. He speeds up and hooks his arms around your waist. He pulls you to the ground in a swift motion, whipping around your body so quickly that you could barely see it. He’s got one of his knees holding your dominant arm down while a hand holds the knife to your throat. You squirm and whimper under him, causing him to shake his head and make a noise of mock disappointment.

“Poor baby. You did all you could, didn’t you?” he coos menacingly, leaning down closer to your face, “Look at you. Out of breath, heart beating out of your chest. You tried so hard.”

He brings the knife up to your cheek and drags the tip across, not cutting you but letting you feel the cool metal on your soft skin. You whine and scrunch your face in discomfort, eliciting a cruel laugh from him. He drops the knife nearby and shakes his head.

“Not a fan of knives, sweet thing? Too scary?”

Next, you try recoiling from his touch, but he’s caging your body on the ground. The damp dirt presses against your back and smears on his clothing as he wrestles with you to keep you in place. Again, you can see how little effort it takes for him to keep you down. The display of strength has your heart beating harder with lust.

“Keep fighting me, little one. It’s my favorite part,” he breathes before shifting on top of you and roughly flipping you over.

Now, squirming only rubs your face into the soil beneath you. In this position, you can feel his hard cock against your ass. He reaches over for the knife again and brings it to the base of your spine. He uses his knee to hold down your arm again, so he can pull your skimpy top taut and slice through it with ease.

He handles you like a ragdoll and yanks it off. The knife falls to the ground again as he reaches around your body with both gloved hands to knead your breasts. You whimper at the harsh squeezes and rolls of his fingers. His face is right next to your head, and you can hear his ragged breathing under the mask.

He pinches and teases your nipples, your noises now becoming obviously pleasurable. A hand slides into your hair and grips the roots as he shoves your face to the ground. Your cheek is smooshed on the cool surface, and your lips part as your own breathing picks up. Your hips are still squirming, but now only to try and feel some friction with his dick.

“There we go. Such a little slut. Didn’t take much for you to give in. You know this is where you belong. Beneath me, stuffed full of my cock,” he groans.

His hands glide down your body, pulling your hips into place. He tugs your shorts and panties down to your knees, humming in satisfaction when he sees your dripping cunt. Two leather-covered fingers slide through your slick. They circle your puffy clit, drawing mewls from your throat. The fingers then dip inside you and pump in and out a few times. Your body shudders at the sensation.

“So fucking wet. You like this even more than I thought. So sick baby. My twisted little doll,” he teases.

He plants his free hand on the back of your neck and digs his fingers into the side of your throat. His other hand continues working your aching pussy, adding in another finger to your needy hole. You choke out a few moans as your breathing becomes more like panting.

“All this for just my fingers? Can’t imagine how you’re gonna cry on my cock. Maybe scream for me a few times,” he purrs.

After a bit more, he pulls his fingers out of your pussy, shushing you when you whine in protest. You hear the sound of a zipper and the rustle of fabric being adjusted. It isn’t long before you feel the heat of his cock prodding your entrance. You shift your hips back, taking the tip in.

He grunts and his breath hitches as you clamp down on the sensitive head. Once he regains his composure, he slams his hips forward, sheathing himself fully inside you with one thrust. You cry out and claw the dirt beneath you.

“You wanna be an impatient little bitch, I’m not gonna be gentle with you. If you’re so fucking needy that you can’t wait two seconds for my dick, I’ll treat you like the cockslut you are, sweetheart,” he says before beginning to rock his hips back and forth.

He finds a rhythm with ease. One of his hands gives your ass a few firm smacks while his other hand returns to your head to pull on your hair. The noise of your skin connecting sounds through the woods along with your whining. His grip on your hair is like a vise. The mild sting of the pull mixed with the rush of pleasure from him drilling into you brings some tears to your eyes.

“That’s right, fucking take it. This is what you were made for, sweet girl. Your body knows it,” he grunts as your walls flutter around him.

He smacks your ass again while getting more erratic with his thrusts. The hand in your hair returns to your hip to give him more leverage. His digits dig into your skin to the point of potential bruises. You whimper and moan, your head becoming cloudy while he stretches you out.

His quiet moans hit your ears and make your stomach erupt with butterflies. You tighten around his shaft. You were starting to work up a sweat despite the cool temperature of the air around you. You shudder and twitch, only causing him to hold you tighter.

Your back arches as more sinful noises pour from your lips. A particular thrust snaps something in you and breaks the dam that was holding in your tears. It felt like he was stroking deeper than ever before, and you just couldn’t hold it in. Warm drops stream from your eyes while your whimpering grows louder and less controlled.

“Are you crying, little love?” he coos, but you can hear the smirk in his voice. He starts rubbing your back with even, soothing strokes without stopping his thrusts, “Cry it out, sweetheart. It just feels too good, doesn’t it?”

“Y-yeah,” you whimper with a weak nod.

“Yes it does. I know, baby,” he says condescendingly. His gloved hand continues caressing your back while he snaps in and out. You grow louder still, whining and moaning through tears.

“Someone’s gonna hear you, doll,” he teases. Your cheeks warm with embarrassment, but you’re past the point of being able to control your volume. “You’d probably get off on that though, you little freak.”

“N-no,” you stutter out in an attempt to defend yourself, but you’re cut off by your own gasps of pleasure.

“No? You wouldn’t cum on the spot if someone saw you like this? Taking my cock like the good little whore you are. Crying cause it’s just too much for you.”

You shake your head as best you can while being pressed against the ground. Your pussy clenches around him though from the description alone.

“Sure,” he chuckles before grunting, “Someone could be watching right now. It’s so fucking dark out here you wouldn’t even know.”

You can’t hide the thrill that gives you. A loud cry tears through you and your hips squirm within his grasp, trying to get you to that peak.

“Yeah, I know you like that,” he growls, leaning down and encasing you with his arms. The new angle lets him piston himself even deeper within you.

He keeps grinding himself into you as you both feel the coils of release getting closer to snapping. One of his arms snakes around your head, his bicep curling around your neck. The plastic front of the ghostface mask presses into the side of your head. He’s grunting and moaning into your ear, bringing you right to the edge.

“I feel it coming, honey. Let it go. Cream on my cock, baby girl. Give it all to me,” he mumbles.

With no reason to hold back, you let your release explode. You writhe in his hold, gasping and crying as euphoria floods your being. You bite your lip and tilt your head back to nuzzle and sloppily kiss at the mask.

He’s not far behind you. A few thrusts later, he’s draining himself in you, filling your insides with hot and sticky cum. His hips sputter and the mask becomes misaligned on his head as the two of you press against each other.

You’re both panting in the end. Leon pulls out and rolls off of you, landing on the ground next to you. You don’t move from your place in the dirt and just look over at him. He tugs off the mask and drops it near the knife. For the first time tonight, you see his charming smile and sweet eyes, a sharp contrast to the performance he just put on. He leans over and gives you a soft kiss as he adjusts the rest of his clothing.

You still don’t move from your position. He sits up and rubs your back again. His hands massage the muscles there for a moment before trailing down your leg. He gently lifts your foot and kisses your ankle.

“Your foot ok, baby?” he asks while rubbing your thigh. Even after all that, he hadn’t forgotten your fall earlier.

“Mhm,” you hum with a nod.

“Ok, good,” he says.

He starts to help you roll over so you can get up. He smiles at you, brushing some dirt off your cheek.

“Let’s get you home so we can shower,” he says and helps you pull your shorts back on as you sit up. He kisses your temple a few times and strokes your hair, “Then we can cuddle and watch some scary movies.”

That makes you crack a smile, and you kiss his lips.

“Let’s get home quick. It’s cold out here, and I don’t have a shirt anymore thanks to you,” you tease.

You rise to your feet and lean on him for support. He picks up the knife and mask as well as the scrap of cloth that was once your top. He offers it to you with a sheepish smile. You roll your eyes and shake your head.

“Guess, you’ll just have to stay close then,” he says and tucks you under his arm. He kisses the crown of your head before you two start walking back through the woods to your home together.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #resident evil imagines #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy imagine #resident evil smut #smut

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carmenized-onions · 7 months ago

Text

Do the Thing! | Toilet Repair

logline; Today's itinerary: Fix the toilet, catch up with Syd, try not to cry when everyone asks you where you've been.

series history; Previous Chapter

portion; 7.1k+ (this shit got away from me man, idk what to say)

possible allergies; Negative self-talk (It's the Bear, babe, everyone's sad). I did no research on plumbing and am truly making it the fuck up-- I know for a fact I'm not using any word correctly and I simply will not be fixing it. Reader eats meat!! Specifically pork!! Your 'name' is 100% just Tony now.

pairing; Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto & Fem Reader (No pronouns, but 'handywoman' and 'Miss' are said. Plus a chest reference).

you ever start writing and you just cannot seem to find an end so you keep going forever? yeah.

“I think my name is just Tony now.”

You sip your overpriced orange juice. You really have to fucking savour it, now a days. That’s like 25 cents a sip, and Syd’s treating you to this breakfast outing, so it’s not even your own wallet on the line here.

“You lose all sense of identity, in a restaurant.” Syd straightens her back, mocking her very own mechanical movements of whenever she steps in a kitchen. “I am Chef.”

This diner isn’t more than two blocks down from The Bear. It was probably your second favourite spot in this neighbourhood. Probably still is. Sitting in the back corner booth (your favourite) with Syd is nice but distracting. She’s been updating you on everything since the catering scene and her botched credit, and you’re absorbing all of it, you swear, it’s just hard to not remember why this was your favourite booth.

Not because it’s seats are the least worn in, not because it’s got the right amount of sun through the window without blinding you, but because of the company you kept here. You’re trying to not notice your own name carved into the table. Especially since it’s not your handiwork.

You laugh at Syd’s joke on time, thank God. No awkward pause. “Yeah, you fuckin’ are. Head, right?”

She nods. “It’s cool. It’s like, vomit-worthy stressful but also…”

“You wish you were dead when you’re there, but you’d rather be dead than do anything else?”

“Yessir.” She nods again, digging further into her pancakes. “I really fucking owe you, by the way.”

“You’re paying me off through breakfast.” You wave her off. “Plus, I was available and it was like maaayybe 5 minutes of manual labour, it’s nothing.”

“Y’know what?” She hums, “I think actually, you owe me.”

“Yeah?” You grin.” Please, let me clear my debts, Syd?”

She smiles, pointing her fork at you. “You owe me the fuckin’ Beef background I’ve apparently not unlocked. Everyone was talking about you after.”

“Good things?”

“Vague things. Shit made me even more curious.”

You laugh. No shit they’d be vague. What can they say? “When my dad was running the repairmen gig, Cicero or Fak would call him in—”

“Oh fuck.” She snaps her fingers, seemingly in realization. “Your dad’s the connection!”

“The connection?”

“Fak said he had a connection for our fire safety test shit, and then said he didn’t—”

“Ah.” You nod knowingly. “Dad cut the cord on his business phone when it transferred to me, didn’t really keep people updated. Whoops.”

She nods, taking another bite of her pancakes, speaking mid-chew. “You could’ve saved our asses way faster, and I’ll-I'll never forgive you, but continue.”

Snickering, you continue, “Well, they’d call my dad in, and then my dad would call me in as his like, like his fuckin’ Sous of Repairs. And shit broke all the time at the Beef, as I’m sure you’re well aware, so I hung out around Mikey and everyone a lot.”

“Ah. N’ then…”

“He fuckin’ died.” You laugh, because there’s no way to say it smooth, so you might as well say it bad. You stretch out your arms and lean back in the booth. “I kinda took a step back, after that, so we didn’t manage to crossover ‘til now. S’ironic that you’re the one that brought me back instead of an oldie, honestly.”

She desperately wants to ask more about Mike, but she can tell now is not the time, so she just lets it lie and moves on. “You stopped being an EMT to take up the handyman shit, then?”

“Yessir.” You nod, finishing your straggling home fries. “Just kinda made sense to trade off, and I didn’t want to see the family bizz die. Do I have to occasionally pick up shifts bartending to make rent during slow months? Yes. But I also don’t watch people die anymore, so that’s a win.”

“In a way, you’re watching people die still, just slowly.”

You bite down hard to stifle any semblance of a smile or laughter, deadpanning, just to see her squirm in awkwardness for a moment. It works with flying colours, of course it does. It’s Syd. She’s still Syd. You speak at the same time.

“Cause of the alcohol?” “Cause—Cause of the alcohol.”

You both break into laughter, she throws her napkin at you. “Can’t stand you, oh my god. Let’s go clock in.”

She pays your bill before you can try to sneak your card in, which feels all too familiar, and you’re off.

Off to fix an exploded toilet.

“How the fuck do you fix an exploded toilet?”

Your hands rub over your face, lifting your safety goggles for a second. Too fucking foggy. Too fucking sweaty. Plumbing never really was your biggest strength. You’re staring at the bane of your existence, and it’s the latrine. How far we fall.

“You good, Cousin?” You hear from behind. You don’t need to turn to know it’s Richie in the doorway. It’s a fair question, you’re sitting criss-cross in front of a toilet, head in hands.

“Yeah, Cousin, I’m good.” Your words are muffled by your hands. Fully not cousins. For the record. You would argue you're not even that close, but he'd slap you upside the head. You turn to look at him over your shoulder. “Can you like, get me a pen and note pad? I need to like, strategize an attack.”

“It’s not that bad, Cousin—” “It’s that bad.” “Just tape the—” “Fuck off with the tape!”

You click your teeth, staring at the gurgling porcelain before you— At least it’s clean, it’s just fucked. “I shut the valve and it didn’t do shit. I think I have to remove it entirely so I can see what’s going on with the underground pipe.”

“Heard.” Richie and you both know that his hotfix handiwork has absolutely contributed to this penultimate mess you’re in now, but you’re both letting that go quietly for now. “You charge by hour or service?”

“Service flat rate and then after two hours it’s by hour.”

He hums, knocking his fist on the doorway a few times before walking away. “Pen and pad, Chef.”

“Not a Chef!”

“Term of Respect, Chef!”

You tap your leg incessantly, groaning like you’ve got an 80-year-old body as you stand to your feet. Richie’s grown a lot. He wears suits now. Hasn’t even poked at you for vanishing. Though you have a feeling it’s coming. If not from him, from someone.

You step out into the hall, leaned against the wall with your arms crossed as you wait for your pen and pad. And now you just have more time and a better view to take in how much has changed.

Gutted. A few walls gone. Makes sense, you told Mikey he was getting a mold problem. He never listened. Seats are new. The booths are the all-around style ones now. Ritzy. It’s too good for this neighbourhood. Is that a good thing? Yeah, right? Despite the fact that The Bear should feel out of place, you feel out of place being in it. Could you afford to eat here? Could the people who work here afford to eat here? Syd said she’s not getting paid for the next few months, so at the very least, the Head Chef can’t.

“Strange?” Tina sidles up to you on the wall, wiping her hands on her apron. Completely knocking you out of your dissociative fugue state.

“Yeah.” You nod, a little too quickly, that felt judgey, you correct, uncrossing your arms. “It’s daunting, I think; to see it all at once rather than slowly built in. Like, I know objectively this is very cool, but—”

Tina hums with understanding. “Feels gutted?”

“Was gutted.” You nod. “Doesn’t mean I don’t like it, it’s just, I dunno. Adjustment period, all that.”

“I needed a second too, but Jeff is good. Change has been good.” You nod like you know who Jeff is. “Carmen, I mean.” Your nod is now significantly more understanding. She smiles, you’re a little surprised to see Tina’s got a lot more insight than she used to. She pulled the thought of Carmen right out of your subconscious before you even detected it for yourself. “He’s good. You’ll see.”

You nod. You know the good she means is not Michelin Star Good. You already know that. He’s Mikey good. Person good. You clear your throat. “How’s Louis?”

“Good. Y’know, he’s getting to that age, getting in trouble. S’been a while since he’s had a good influence.” She nudges you. There it is. There’s the poke. The ‘where have you been?’ The ‘it’s been a year’. The— “Y’know, Chef didn’t come to the funeral neither.”

That one you didn’t expect, your head swivels to her hard. “Carmen didn’t go?”

His brother didn’t go? Oh, who the fuck are you to judge...

She nods, practically with her whole body, she looks more amused than anything. But like, mom amused. The worst amused. “You’re both the sensitive type.”

You cock your head at her, raising a brow. Smirking slightly. “Wow, Tina, I thought you changed too but you still talk your shit, eh?”

“I’m not talking shit!” She laughs, hands up in defence. “I’m just saying, you’re alike.” You hope that the laughter makes her forget the topic but it doesn’t.

“Where have you been?” She softens. She’s not asking to be mean, she’s asking out of concern. Why does that make it feel worse?

You tuck your hands in your pockets and retrain your eyes on hers, even if it feels bad. “Thought time and distance would heal all wounds.”

“Did they?”

Before you can answer, “Pen delivery, cousin!” Richie returns, triumphantly, with a pen and pad held high in the sky. He makes you jump for it. You elbow him in the gut, not hard. “Fuck off, Rich…” He keels over enough for you to grab it. “Thank you, chef.”

You turn back to Tina, who you now realize has spent half her smoke break on you. She nods to you, and then the bathroom door. “I’ll let you get back to it.” You nod in return. When she turns to walk away, you grab her shoulder.

“Tina.” She turns again. You should say something. Something vulnerable and thankful. Words of affirmation are not your thing. But maybe they could be, “If you end up with a dead plate—” Or maybe not.

She grins, and part of you is concerned by this, but she waves you off, giggling like she knows something you don’t. Already walking off. “You’re gonna be taken care of, Terry, don’t worry.”

This is a bad new nickname scheme. The fridge guy is just gonna end up being called ‘fridge guy’ if you take all his names.

It’s maybe three hours later. 11 am ish. You’ve finally put the toilet back in place, the pipes fixed underground— Which is a huge win of progress, the problem is, it’s just seemed to open the toilet’s ability to have other problems that need to be addressed. There’s a strong chance you’ll be here until you die. And even after that, this stupid toilet will still be gurgling, outliving you.

But you seriously have to eat something, so you scrub yourself clean, set your safety equipment down, and head out of the bathroom for a much-needed stretch of the legs— And to hopefully get a plate from Tina.

On your way to the kitchen, you’re stopped and walked backwards to a booth in the corner by Richie. “Hey, Miss, happy to serve you today, my name’s Richard but you can call me Richie, how’re you doin’ this fine morning?”

They’ve yet to open front of house, so you play along, taking your seat with a laugh. “I’m doing perfect, Richie, how are you?”

He nudges the air . “Ey, better now that you’re here, ah? Can I get a drink started for you?”

“Really gonna practice your set on me?”

He shrugs, still smiling. “If you don’t use it, you lose it.”

You hum, then rub your temples, the headache is setting in— Not cause of him, just been a tough morning. “Just your coldest fuckin’ glass of water, Rich.”

“Right away, Cousin.” He slips off into the kitchen.

When the door swings open again, it’s not Richie coming with your ice water, but Carmen— It’s your first time seeing him since the walk-in. When you came in this morning with Syd, it was Nat that gave you the quick briefing on the schedule and goals for today.

“Tony.” He hums, corners of his mouth just slightly upturned. The nickname has stuck. Goddamn. He sets the water down in front of you, along with a plate— Covered by a cloche—Or the silver lid thing, whatever.

“Carmy.” You only mean to mimic his tone, but then cringe. “Is Carmy fine?”

He pauses mid slide into the booth, sitting across from you. He seemed all cool and collected and is now suddenly extremely caught off guard. Already sweaty. “Y-yeah, I’m better, thank you—”

“No, I meant—” It is so difficult to hold back laughter. You deserve an Oscar.

You’re not doing great to be fair but like, still, Oscar worthy attempt.

“I meant like, like is the nickname okay?”

The horrors just keep piling on his face, and you can’t help but feel guilty. No shit he feels like he’s starting on a lower playing field here. You knew his dead brother, you know his Head Chef, your first time meeting him was at quite possibly his lowest moment and biggest mistake— Of which you had to coax him out of, and now he’s misunderstanding every innocent question you have for a inquiry into his psyche.

He clears his throat for objectively too long of a time. “Carmy is fine. Tony is fine?”

“I’m doing okay, yeah.”

Thank God, he laughs, awkward sure but objectively amused.

You nod down to the covered plate, smiling, “Fuck is this?”

He leans forward in his seat to get a hand over the lid. “I, uh. Made you a thing. As thanks or like, an— an apology.”

Ah. That’s why Tina was laughing about you getting taken care of.

He lifts the lid, and what is revealed, if you weren’t careful, would be enough to make you cry. Thankfully, the shock registers as uproarious laughter, one that Carmen cannot help but join.

“What the fuck?”

Pork brisket sandwich. Something that Mikey made for you, specifically. Because you said one time you were more of a pork fan than beef and he absolutely lost it. In a cute way, though. Said ‘Oh, I’ll make you fuckin’ pork, alright?’ You’re not sure if he won or lost the argument, because you did find it better.

“I, uh, we had some cuts left over that we weren’t gonna be able to fuckin’ use, and uh, Tina showed me this, this recipe card, last night.” He slides over the very same brisket recipe Mikey had written down. Little doodles of angry faces and Xs over pigs in the margins.

“He was so fuckin’ mad.” You snort, looking at it. “All I fuckin’ said was I had a preference!”

“In The Beef!”

“He asked!” You quickly defend, through laughter. “And it tastes fucking good. All he did was prove my fuckin’ point— And spent hours doing it. Were you here overnight for this, slowcooking?”

He shakes his head, though there’s a hesitation in it— So you’re not privy to completely believe him. He sniffs, swiping at his nose “I, uh, just came in early. Had to fix some shit anyways.”

He’s staring at the sandwich, then occasionally you, expectantly. You look at him with equal expectance.

“Well?” You start.

“Well?” He astutely adds.

You nod down at the dish. “Do the thing.”

“The thing?”

You pick up one half of the sandwich, but you’ve got no plans of eating until he satisfies this craving first.

“The thing Syd does where she explains why she’s proud of her dish and why I should care. I know it’s Mikey’s, but you clearly made changes.”

“Oh. Uh…” He was both expecting and not expecting this soap box. “So, followed the rub to a T— Well, with a salt bed, this time. Put it on brioche instead of the old shit. And I uh, added uhm—” He snaps his fingers, staring at the sandwich in your hand. “Added pickled red onion, for acid and sweet, and garlic confit. I’m—I’m happy with my spin on it.”

You whistle as a form of praise, he flushes with a glow of pride and is desperately trying to not show it. He’s proud because it’s curated, personal. Ah, he is Mikey good. You nod and take a bite, trying to control your reaction. Worst part about having Artists as friends (especially chefs): They fucking stare so hard when you’re taking in their work. And they’re over analyzing every micro expression. He’s no different.

Fuck. It’s fucking good. Is it bad that it’s better than anything Mikey ever made? Nah, that’s how he’d want it.

“Ah fuck, that sucks—” Is the first thing you say, and his face falls, “Expensive food is worth it.” Right back up. Easy to please. “It’s really good, Chef. Thank you. Did you try it yet?”

He shakes his head, so you push the plate with the other half of the sandwich— It’s brisket, anyways. You’ll be full by the end of this one. Portions generous. He looks momentarily hesitant, which is cute, but inevitably leans forward and takes the sandwich. He nods with each chew.

He hums when he finishes chewing, pointing emphatically at you, though his voice is neutral. “You don’t like something, though.”

“What?”

“What’s wrong with it?” He stares at into the cross section of his bite. “Chewy? Texture?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it.” You’re quick to deny.

He shakes his head, hand over his mouth to hide the sauce on his mouth. “M’not gonna be hurt.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the dish, Carmen.” You take another bite to prove your point. Also you’re hungry. Two things can be true.

He zones in on the emphasis immediately. “It’s the plate, isn’t it? I told Syd—”

“Your tables aren’t bolted.” You interrupt, swiftly. Mouth semi-full.

“Huh?”

You put your sandwich down and swallow, taking your time with it. “Your booth tables.”

You knock on the pristine wood with the joints of your left hand. You swivel your body to look under the table, he follows suit, meeting you there. His left leg has been violently shaking, but he’s thought you wouldn’t notice it until now.

You put a hand on his knee to stop the shaking. He bristles, slightly, but you’re not even doing it on purpose. Your focus isn’t on him. It was making the table imperceptibly shift— Which, of course, you clocked. You tap your foot to the bottom of the table leg. No screws. “They aren’t bolted down.”

You lift yourself back up, moving your hand back to yourself in tandem. He stares at it for a little longer. How you noticed that, he will never know. Repairmen are a different breed…

“I just thought it was a weird choice. Nothing wrong with it, per say. Maybe you wanna test different layouts.” You shrug, taking another bite.

“The booths aren’t bolted either.” He adds, lifting his head up above the table, finally. “I don’t— we’re not gonna fuck with the layout, I don’t think.”

“Should get Fak on that, then.”

“Fak’s big-timing us.” You cock your brow, mid chew. He explains. “He’s focusing on hosting, f'now.”

You nod, swallowing, hand in front of your mouth so you can lick the sauce off your upper lip in non-humiliated peace. “This another job for me, then?”

“If you’ll take it.”

“If your fuckin’ toilet doesn’t kill me, I will.”

“How’s that going?”

You shake your hand so-so. “Ask me in two to three hours how it’s going.”

“Heard.” He sighs, leaning back in the booth. The stress is too apparent not to ask.

“How’s the second day open going?”

“I’m not in a fuckin’ freezer, so that’s a win.” Oh-ho, he’s acknowledging it. You were very comfortable forgetting that moment for his sake. “Thanks, uh, f’ that.”

You shake your head, shrugging off the thanks. You lift your last few bites of the sandwich to him. “You’re good. You’ve gifted me brisket. You relax since?”

“Not really.” He replies bluntly, taking a deep inhale. He pulls at his face from the top down, with both hands. Oof. Bad sign. “I think I’ll be good by tomorrow. Gonna get off early, tonight.”

“You don’t seem happy about that.”

“Ask me in two t’ three days if I’m happy about it.”

Back to work and this is taking so much fucking longer than it needs to take. Why is there tape there? Fucking Richie. Fucking Fak. Fucking Mikey. Godssake. Pipes are fixed. Water pressure is fixed. What the fuck is still wrong with it? What the fuck is wrong with you? Everyone is going to hate you if you can’t fix this. You’ve been here for like 5 hours and you can’t figure out what’s fucking wrong here? You’re nothing. You’re—

The toilet does you the favour of knocking you out of your episode by spraying you in the fucking face, soaking through the top of your jumpsuit. With a groan, you unzip the upper half and tie the wet sleeves around your waist. “Son-of-a-bitch.”

Maybe you just need a change in task for a second. Also, a new t-shirt, because your tank did not survive the waterworks either. This room isn’t the thing you need right now. You slip down the hall to the kitchen. “Who needs a coffee? Or water?”

There’s a chorus of orders, all of which sound like you’ve just asked ‘who wants a gift from God?’, which, you might as well have. This is what you like about being a handyman. The relief you bring. You just need a smidge of praise to get through the rest of this job. You’ve got this.

The small, but serviceable coffee machine in very back of the kitchen calls your name, but Richie sticks his arm out, blocking you from walking past expo up front.

“Hol’ up, Cousin, you look like a fuckin’ wet dog.”

“Well, what ‘ya gonna do about it?” You retort, despite the retort not honestly making any sense, you put your hands on your hips. “Do you want a fuckin’ coffee or not?”

He rolls his eyes, falling back onto the balls of his feet before walking off. “Ey, Sug, are those shirts still in the basement—”

You’ve won for now. You scrub your hands clean before getting to work. This is good. Oooh, Marcus has fresh coffee beans (that he’s willing to share!)— This is easy. You can already fix most broken things, but a machine that actually fucking works? Baby, you can make that sing.

Plus, the bartending gigs you’ve done don’t make you a barista by any means, but they certainly don’t hurt. Oooh, Marcus has syrups! Fuck it. Steamed and frothed milk. That toilet has you on your ass, you need to go above and beyond here. Make each cup personal. You need a win in the form of admiration.

You gather a tray of coffees (and a water for Sweeps, who is too fucking sweaty for a hot drink right now, so fair), all varying in milks, sugars, syrups, intensity. “Coffee run, I hand ‘em out, don’t just take! Corner!”

Ebra, to no one’s shock, likes his coffee black— But, and he’ll tell no one this, you just know it on instinct— He likes it a little too watery. “Good.” Who are you to judge? He likes what he likes.

Tina would take hers black for simplicity, if you let her, but of course you don’t. 2 sugars, foamed milk, chocolate and cinnamon syrup. “Too good to me.” It’s too worth it, when she says it like that and slaps your cheek. Balm of the soul.

Marcus, who watched you make these, did opt to let his imagination run too wild and added one of every syrup to his own cup, wanting to experiment with you. It doesn’t taste good. You switch it for a spiced coffee when he’s not looking. He’s silently very thankful.

After handing out a few more to the new cooks, you come up to Syd. “Take this one, take this one.” Then whisper, so no one knows you are displaying supreme favouritism. “It’s the one oat milk latte I made.”

She turns to you from her station, then darts looks over her shoulder like she’s making an under the table deal before grabbing it from you. She takes a delighted sip, eyes rolling just slightly in the relief of caffeine, she nods. “Fire, Chef.” Ah. This will get you through the day alone.

It also gets you through the willpower it takes to ignore Fak running by you to steal a coffee off your tray. Out of the corner of your eye, you point to the one meant for him— As if you didn’t make it for him, c’mon…

“How’s bathroom?” Syd asks, taking another long sip.

I’m going to fucking explode, not unlike your drainage pipe. “Needed a thinking break, but I’ve made a lot of progress. How’s kitchen?”

“Made a lot of progress. Auto-piloting through this prep.” She looks down at her cutting board, cracking back to it. “Latte helps, a lot, thank you. You should join for family, if you’re still here for it. Unless you don’t want more brisket.”

Fuck. She doesn’t think you’re so slow that you’re gonna be here until family, does she? “Yeah, maybe.” You look around, three coffees still on the tray. “...Where’s Carmen?”

She grimaces. Uh oh. The tension she glossed over at breakfast is still definitely there. She nods her head to the back door. “Smoke break. Or temper tantrum. I don’t fuckin’ know. Don’t tell him I said that.” You laugh, nodding. “You think a coffee would help—” “Please.”

“Corner!” Yells Richie, returning to you. He silently flicks out a shirt for you, holding it up proudly, ‘THE BERF’ stares back at you. You give it a solid five seconds to process before you say anything.

“Collector’s item...” You nod, tone sarcastically impressed. You pivot your shoulder for him to throw it over, hands too busy.

“That’s what I fuckin’ said!” He throws it over your shoulder. “No one fuckin’ listens, these days.”

You bite back laughter and nod, handing him his coffee. Hot. Dark. Two sugars. And, to his delighted surprise, a touch of cinnamon syrup. “Oh, fuck, missed your twists, Chip.”

You wince at what was a long-forgotten nickname, and so does Richie. Funny how remembering origins can do that to you. He’d just said it so instinctively, really. “My bad—”

“Chip is good.” You interrupt, rolling your shoulders back. And it is good, really. “It’s kinda—It’s kinda comforting.” It’s nice to not forget. He nods, and you give each other the ‘we are still so fucked, eh?’ smile before lovingly bumping shoulders as he returns to expo and you head to the back alley.

Carmen’s squatting, cigarette in one hand, creating a halo of smoke around him, and his phone in the other. He snaps out of his mental fog when the door opens, slipping his phone into the pocket of his apron like he’s got a secret to hide.

You hesitate at the doorway, maybe this is not the moment. “Sorry, Chef, I just wanted to offer a coffee? If you need air alone—”

“No, no, I’m good—” He’s quick to correct, then even quicker to correct himself. “I— I’ll take a coffee, I mean. You can stay, s’fine.”

He reaches for it when you sit next to him, but you pull the tray back to hand him the correct one. “Sorry, I—I like, did a thing, for yours. I dunno how you take your coffee, so I thought I’d do it weird.”

He takes the cup, eying it curiously. “Do it weird?”

“Do it like, like a Chef. Can’t make anything fuckin’ simple. The lot of you.”

He hums, amused, staring at the cup, then looks at you expectantly. “Well?”

“Well?”

“Do the thing.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Oh, fuck off.”

“C’mon, tell me why I should care.” He teases.

“Ah, fuck.” You sniff, oh to have your own words turned on you. Looking at the coffee in his hands, “I figured you’d like strong black coffee, but like, complex. So, it’s got like, cardamom and lavender n’ maple syrup. Shout out Marcus.” He smiles. “And then, I know I did just say black coffee but I wanted the aesthetic so I spooned foamed milk on top and sprinkled on some dried lavender.” You take your own cup in hand, putting the tray down. “If you hate it, we’ll trade.”

He pays close attention to your explanation. Man, his eye contact is simultaneously so soft and so scary. He takes a sip. Let’s it sit in his mouth for a second. “Excellent, Chef.”

Oh, if Syd’s ‘Fire’ could get you through the day, Carmen’s ‘Excellent’ will get you through the week to spare. You hide the way you beam by drinking your own coffee.

“How’re you doing?” It’s far too obvious that he’s had something heavy on his head all day, but you’re not going to say the quiet part loud, yet.

He takes a long time to respond. “I, uh…” And when he does, it’s weak. “I’m alright, yeah. I’m alright.”

You nod repeatedly, digesting the huge lie. “Ask me how I’m doing.”

He squints. “…How’re you—”

“Fuckin’ terrible, Carm.” You cut him off, putting your cup down next to him, standing up. You speak emphatically, gesturing with your whole body.

“I’m at my wits, Chef. Completely out of my depth. I fix the main pipe, I fix the water pressure, I triple check the tank, I fuckin’ power cycle the valve— I’m absolutely at a loss as to why it’s still gurgling— Why it shot water straight at my tits— Close your eyes, if you care, by the way.”

With barely any warning you peel off your tank top, you’ve got a bra, it’s fine. It’s very cute that he still looks away. You slip the new shirt over your head as you speak, muffling the words.

“—I’m wearing a shirt that says Berf, and the only way I can feel any semblance of not being utterly useless is by making coffees so good everyone has to praise me for them. And now I’m telling the fucking owner, my boss for the day all this.”

He nods, slowly. There is perhaps, not a single person in his life that has ever been this forthright. Someone he hasn’t had to over-analyze or dig into to figure out what’s actually going on. It is refreshing, terrifying, and for some reason, removing your walls have completely shattered his.

“So.” You lower your head to his level where he sits. “How are you doing, Chef?”

He takes a long sip of his coffee. Stews on the question before he spills his guts, calmly. “I’m sitting outside of the restaurant I started that I own, and my brother should be here, but he’s not and— And I was locked in a fuckin’ freezer on my opening night, which was my own fuckin’ fault— And the tape is wrong and the painting is stupid and that new hire did meth so now we’re down one.” He takes a deep breath.

“And we have Heinz instead of Frenchies, and it’s fine. That’s the fucked part— It’s fine. The ship did not sink without me— It went fine. Better, maybe. My problems aren’t fuckin’ problems. I’m just making it worse for myself— everyone. And I know Syd is mad at me, and I know my— My girlfriend? Is mad at me, and I know that I’m gonna break up with her tonight because I’m not meant to be— that.” He says the last part fast, more to himself than you, really. And then he finally looks back up at you.

“And I’m telling all of this to the person who saved me from hypothermia and a fuckin’—Fuckin’ meltdown, who probably thinks— knows that I’m a psycho.”

You take a beat before nodding, sitting next to him again, arms crossed. Silent. Contemplative. “I have thoughts.”

He nods, taking a drag. “Don’t pull punches.”

“Well, to start most honestly, we must remember, I love Syd. So, I’m not gonna mince about her.”

“Heard.”

You recall everything Sydney had told you at breakfast. The recap of how she got to this point. “Syd isn’t mad at you, she’s disappointed and distrustful.”

He grimaces. “That sounds worse.”

“It is.”

“Oh.”

“But in a way you can fix.”

“How?”

“Handle shit different. Actually show up to shit and make calls. Manage your priorities by urgency— Not by favourites. If I broke my fuckin’ arm and your ‘girlfriend’ had a runny nose, who are you taking to the hospital?”

“You can’t take yourself?”

“Bitch?”

“Kidding. Heard. What else?”

“You’re not gonna tell her I said this because she would rather die than tell someone she wants something.” You lean closer to him, peeking over your shoulder to make sure no one’s secretly come from the kitchen. You knock into his knees.

He takes another drag, short, choked. “Sure.”

“You were kind of a bitch about the menu.”

“The chaos menu? She said—”

“She fucking lied. She lied when she said it was fine, Carm, it does not take a psychic to read Syd’s mind.” You interrupt, taking a sip of your coffee. “She was so excited to get to build a menu, especially with—” you, “—a partner, and then you completely ditched her. And then you just made your own! Total control freak shit! Cut her out of the fun part of being head chef completely! You get to invent masterpieces and she picks out the best cheap plate? Fuck is that?”

He nods contemplatively, poking his inner cheek. “Yeah, that, that makes sense. That’s shitty.” He turns his gaze from looking ahead to face you, hand over the bottom half of his face. “What else?”

“You’re reactive.”

“No shit.”

“How long do you think you were locked in the walk-in for?”

He swallows, thinking. “Like… an hour?”

“It had been 23 minutes.”

“Oh.”

“You catastrophize, it’s a fancy therapy word,” You cannot help but be impressed by this white man writing down the word in his phone for later. “It means, basically, when something bad happens you blow it completely out of proportion into something it isn’t. Your opening night was definitely a bummer from being in a freezer— But be honest with yourself, would you have let yourself have a good night if you weren’t in there?”

“…No.”

“No. Which is also bad. Which brings me to my key point.”

He tenses up, preparing for you to rip into him further.

“You’re doing a good job, Carmy.”

He immediately swivels back to you, almost dropping his phone. Knee knocking into yours. “Fuck off.”

“I will not.”

“You just said I was a catastrophe.”

“Fully not what I said.”

“I read between the lines.”

“Carmen.”

You take a breath, putting your arms on your knees, bent over. “The restaurant is beautiful, your cooks are talented and they’re prepared— So prepared that they can handle 23 minutes without you. That’s a good thing. You’re threaded into The Bear— The ship didn’t sink, not because you weren’t there, but because you had been. Everyone had the tools they needed to succeed, even with Heinz, a Mid painting, and torn tape. And listen—” You take one last sip of your coffee. “You need to check your ego if you think you’re the first man I’ve coaxed through a panic attack while doing a repair.”

He laughs, half-heartedly. He scratches his nose. “Heard. Yeah, thank you, Chef.”

“I don’t know shit about the meth thing though, I really couldn’t tell you.” You smile when this coaxes a better laugh out of him. You’re considering a career in stand up exclusively for him because it feels like such a reward to hear it.

“And the girl?” He asks. Amusement tinging but leaving his voice.

You click your teeth, shrugging your shoulders at him. “Based purely on your hesitation to say girlfriend, I’d say yeah, probably not ready for a relationship.” You reach your hand out to his shoulder when he flops his head down. “But, just asking, is this your first relationship?”

He thinks for too long before nodding slightly. “First one.”

“First restaurant too?”

He nods again.

“Yeah.” You pat his shoulder before letting it go, opting to hold your cooling cup. “I know you’re a Michelin star fuckin’ big deal but like, me personally, I can’t name a thing I got perfect the first time I did it.”

There’s something in his eyes, when you say that. Something wistful, nostalgic, hurt? No. Something different.

“It’s not that I didn’t do perfect—”

“You’ll do better next time.”

He wrings his hands together between his knees. “Yeah.”

“You’re gonna be fine, Carm.”

“You’re good at that.” He sniffs, head down, scratching his nose.

“At what? Self-help?”

He exhales what just barely sounds like a laugh. “Kinda. S’just, when you say it, you say it in a way where I actually believe it.”

You’re getting the fuck out of here before they open for dinner. You’re not letting anyone down tonight motherfucker. The Berf shall prevail. Maybe a win here will feel like a win for Carmen, too.

You run the sink to wash your hands, as you’ve done before here— But since fixing the pipes and the pressure… Something’s… different. You pause your scrubbing, listening closely.

…

When the sink is running, the gurgling flow of water from the toilet stops. Huh. You stop and start the faucet a few times to verify this. Yeah. You stare for a long moment before connecting the dots, then punch the sink in realization.

“Fucking Mikey!”

“What’d he do this time?”

You twist around. Ah, other sibling. Natalie. Clipboard in hand, business ready. You take a beat before remembering to smile, nodding to the sink behind you. “He connected the tank flow to the toilet and the sink with one wire.”

She tilts her head, squinting. “Why would he do that?”

“I suspect to save water?” You spin around, kneeling down to look behind the sink. “I think the idea was to have the sink not function when the toilet is flushing. But, it uh, well, did the reverse, kinda. Toilet doesn’t function when the sink isn’t running.”

“Oh.”

“So uh,” You shut the valve under the sink. “Your water bill should go down a little after this, since it won’t be running into what is an essentially a second trap pipe.”

“Oh!” Did she get what you said? No. But she doesn't need to. She heard ‘bill should go down’ and that’s really all she needed. “Thank you!”

“Not a problem. S’my job.” You stand, shutting off the valve to the toilet as well. As you kneel down to work again, you feel her gaze burning into your back. You don’t turn to face her. “You have questions.”

“Oh, ah… Am I so obvious—?”

“Yes.” You’re too quick to answer, unbolting the wires where it attaches to the toilet and the ground. You sniff with a panicked, “Ah, uh, it’s endearing.”

She’s quiet, for a moment. She doesn’t ask you what she actually wants to ask you, and you know that. “Well, I’ll need to exchange info for your invoice.”

“Ah, don’t worry ‘bout that, your brother already covered it.” You stand once more, before going to the sink to undo it’s valve, you fish through the deep pocket of your jumpsuit, pulling out a crumpled business card and handing it to her.

“But it’s good to have my info on hand, for sure. It’s ah… Kinda old.” Kinda is an understatement. Your dad’s name is still on it, scribbled out in pen and replaced with yours. The dead business line is also scribbled out in exchange for your personal cell.

“It’s uh… I usually only work for friends and family, these days, so I’ve kinda stopped trying to keep up appearances.”

She smiles at it. Thank God, she finds it charming and not sloppy. She tucks it into the clasp of her clipboard. “That’s fine, we are friends and family.”

All you can do is nod, pivoting to the sink. There's a beat of peace.

“Didn’t see you at the funeral.”

Ah. There it is. For a Bear, she sure knows how to poke one. You stutter in unscrewing the bolt.

“Would’ve been nice to meet you, then.”

You clear your throat, it's strangled. “Yeah, I think I was trying to avoid introductions, honestly. Grief comes in different ways, eh?”

“Does it?”

“Mine does.” You swallow, unbolting the wire. With it free, you can just yank it out of the wall. God, forgive your brain, but Mikey was right, she does like to fight. Too bad you don’t.

She just hums in reply, watching you pull the wire from the wall. “You’re a real lifesaver.”

Fuck. Fuck. Lifesaver? Is she fucking with you?

“That toilet sprayed me right in the face, yesterday. And you saved Carmen.” There’s an amused lilt to her voice. She’s not fucking with you. “There’s something about a handywoman that Fak cannot match.”

You can hear a faint ‘Hey!’ through the walls. You laugh through an exhale.

“Again, s’my job. I do my best. Did uh, what was it, Terry come by for the walk-in? I wasn’t looking when I was there.”

You sort through your tools, deciding caulking the holes closed is probably the best option.

“He came over basically overnight to fix it, bless him, still don’t know his name.”

You laugh, it’s a little strangled. So Carmen did stay overnight. He must’ve. You smooth out the caulk with your thumb and a palette knife. Blending it into the grout as best as you can. “Good. Good.”

You dust yourself off. Standing. “Well. That’s uh. That’s my job done. Carmen asked me about—”

“Bolting down the booths?” She nods, checking the time on her watch. There’s not enough time before lunch to do it now. Plus you don’t have the screws. “You’re free to come by in the morning tomorrow—”

“But?” You interrupt, throwing your tool bag over your shoulder.

“But?”

“You said free like you’ve got a preference, what do you prefer?”

She chuckles, slightly. There is something about you that feels familiar. “If you could come after close tonight around 12, that would be nice—”

“It’s done. I’ll be there.”

“Lifesaver. I'll give you the code.”

Fuck.

Always gotta give the reader/mc some sort of mysterious background that even you don't have all the info on. Always.

Hehehehe, again, we're slowing this burn so much. Strangers to Friends to lovers but they're both so comfortable in friends it's hard to move !!

Forewarning, btw, if you've already sunk 10k worth of words into your brain for me (thank you!! I hope you've enjoyed!!), I've never written smut before and I feel like I probably will not build up the courage to do so by the end of this series, but I could prove myself wrong, I dunno. But warning in case that's your thing!! I might blue ball you babe!!

Pretty please tell me your thoughts or I'll eat my Berf shirt. Collector's value!! Thrown away!!

Next Part

#carmen berzatto imagine #carmy berzatto #carmy x reader #carmen x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto #the bear fx #carmy the bear #the bear x you #the bear #the bear x reader #the bear fanfiction

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