#my drafts are almost completely cleared ^^

[rafesbabygirlx]

Saying goodbye to my writing (for now, maybe)

This is me biting the bullet because if I don’t do it now I won’t do it. This needs to be done. After yesterday, my choice was ultimately decided.

I’ve loved writing in here for the past 8 months, I’ve loved reading everything that others have created, I’ve loved becoming friends with all of my mutuals and followers who’ve supported me, I’ve loved being apart of this community.

I’ve come so far in the short months that I’ve been on here. I am so grateful to have been apart of this. But I genuinely think that I am done. I no longer feel motivated. I feel like I have no fresh ideas, the ones that I thought were great weren’t that great at all. I’m hating everything that I’ve posted and although I am grateful for everyone, I see this blog going no where from this point. I almost feel like I’m going backwards. I’m sorry if things have been left unfinished. Clear indication of where my head is at. I hate looking at the number of my drafts and seeing what I have incomplete, but they’re going to have to sit there for now.

I want to thank my mutuals who have been there for me forever I love each of you so much. You’re all so talented. I’ll still be around, just to read what your brilliant minds curate. And if you’ve also decided to take a step back from writing, my DMs are always open to talk. 🩵

@cherrywriterrr @whytheylosttheirminds @writingroom21 @rafesplaymate @ivysprophecy @rafesteddy @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @inthelibrarybtw @maybejj @papercranesandinkstains @angel06babysworld @starkeygirlposts @starkeynation @drewsephrry @drewssgirl @frankoceanluvr11 @rafescokewhore @memoirofasparklemuff1n @angelicameron @rafecameronssl4t @zyafics @moondustbaby @anacamofficial @itneverendshere @httpsdrewstarkey @kieeslove @leather-n-velvet @littlelamy @rafeysvenicebitch @nemesyaaa @maybankslover @cokewithcameron

Same goes for any of my followers. You are always able to come and talk with me. Just because I am stopping writing anything else does not mean that I want to shut off from here completely. I love every single one of you. MY DMS ARE ALWAYS OPEN.

I’m hoping that I get over this hump because I genuinely love writing. Just right now this feels like the best step for me. I could ramble on for hours, but this is where my heart is at the moment. I’ll probably keep coming back and adding mutuals in or more words.

Also

Please never be this type of person, to those who take the time to put their hearts and hard work into their writing. This is a decision that I’ve been battling with for a while now and getting messages like this:

don’t help with anything. And then when you try to back pedal and say this:

you’re not just asking. You were very clear in your original ask what you thought of my work. Why would you think I would want to continue? Why would you think that comment would make me or anyone feel good about what they do? Then when I sit here and defend myself I get this:

None of this has anything to do what I’ve been going through. But all of this yesterday only helped to solidify my decision. I’ve seen too many amazing talented people run off this app or broken down over the dumbest things. Anons complain about everything and can be so nasty. You don’t know what the one thing with be that will make a person hate what the used to love. It’s not that hard to be a nice person.

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

14 with lando pleeeeaaase

map of you ༊*·˚

prompt 14: colouring tattoos

☁︎ ln x reader ♡︎

☁︎ fluff ♡︎

masterlist ☾☼

i'd love your support! https://ko-fi.com/kavi2305

the sunbeam-flooded afternoon streamed in through the window of your apartment, casting long shadows on the floor. lando, reclined on the couch, was completely engrossed in his task. he held a set of colored pencils in his hand, his forehead furrowed with concentration, his tongue protruding from the edge of his mouth.

you, on the other hand, were lying on the floor, your back a canvas for his artistic skills. you had a series of detailed tattoos, a large tapestry of ink that was a chronicle of your life, your travels, your interests. and lando, since he'd found his passion for coloring, had been fascinated with coloring in the details. "almost finished," he breathed, his voice low and intense. he was carefully coloring in a mandala on your shoulder, the bright colors of the pencils bringing the intricate pattern to life. you laughed, feeling the soft pressure of the pencil on your skin. "you're really serious about this," you said. "it's a big deal," he said, not looking up. "it's art." "it's also my skin," you reminded him, but you were grinning. "just that way," he said, at last lifting his head. "and it's a work of art." he held the colored pencils up, admiring what he had created. the mandala, at first just a rough outline, was now a kaleidoscope of color, a rich explosion of blues, greens, and purples. "wow," you said, turning to view your shoulder. "that actually isn't half bad." "i told you," he said, smug. he took up another pencil, a vivid orange color. "now, where were we?" he questioned, his eyes scanning your back. you had a variety of tattoos: a delicate floral design winding down your spine, a geometric pattern on your ribs, a whimsical scene of constellations on your calf.

each of them had a special significance, a tale written in ink. and lando, with his boyish passion, enjoyed bringing them to life with his hues.

he'd started with simple shading, adding depth and dimension to the designs. then he'd moved on to more complex coloring, coloring entire scenes in with vivid colors. he'd even begun experimenting with color blending, producing subtle gradients and textures. "how about the constellations?" he said, indicating your calf. "i haven't colored those in a while." "sounds good," you replied, adjusting your position. lando settled in, his attention back to his work. he colored in the stars carefully, employing a variety of blues and purples to give them a sense of depth and dimension. He sprinkled a little silver glitter on the bigger stars, so they sparkled in the light. he was really good at it, you had to admit. he possessed a natural color sense, an ability to mix colors and produce subtle effects. He was also very patient, spending hours painstakingly coloring in the elaborate patterns. while he worked, you could feel yourself spacing out, the soft pressure of the pencil and the soft rumble of the air conditioner humming you into drowsiness. you were shaken awake by lando shaking your shoulder softly. "all done," he declared, grinning. you stood up, uncurling your limbs. "let's see," you said, turning to inspect your calf. the constellations were stunning. the stars glimmered and twinkled, colors blending perfectly. it was as if a small galaxy had been traced upon your skin. "lando," you murmured, your voice full of wonder, "this is incredible." "i know," he said with a grin. "i told you i was a natural." he leaned in and kissed your shoulder. "i love your tattoos," he said. "they're like… a map of you." "and you're the cartographer," you said, smiling. he smiled, pulling you into an embrace. "exactly." and so, you and lando sank back onto the sofa, the afternoon sun warming your skin, the bright tattoos a reminder of your mutual creativity and love.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

i'm just clearing out my drafts/inbox! i can't write x reader anymore, i'm more interested in being gay! (this is a joke, but fr, i can only do rpf now)

taglist: @maketheshadowsfearyou ; @anamiad00msday ; @imlonelydontsendhelp ; @peterholland04 ; @justaf1girl ; @greantii ; @nocturnalherb16 ; @phobiccneel ; @winkev1 ; @alexxavicry ; @hiireadstuff ; @midnight-and-books ; @landoscarino ; @stylesmoonlight12 ;

[writteninscarlet]

random, mundane headcanons part 3(??) of ????

favourite piece of technology?

"Currently? The new system at the shop. I like the antique style, but modernity is far better in terms of being able to actually do my work," she admitted, rubbing the back of her head sheepishly. Wanda was far from against technology, and could use most things handed to her. But her way of living tended towards the mystical rather than the technological.

"Surely, the antiques I've kept from the place or receive to sell or display are amazing. Quality pieces. However, technology certain has it's place and makes things so much easier. ....costly though. It was a pain to update and used up most of the savings to get new things fitted."

Outwith the technology at her shop, The Emporium, Wanda's favourite technology changes often. She'll always be amused and impressed by whatever new thing is going on with Stark, and still impressed and amazed by what arrows Clint can make. Her most used piece of technology is her phone, and she doesn't mind the odd game here or there to pass the time or some social media but she tends to just use the call features or various messaging systems. She has to hand it to tech, it doesn't have the flair of astral projection or sending ravens or words just appearing in the air! But it is far simpler and more efficient.

what did their parents want them to do?

"Well, it depends on what set of parents we're referring to," she mused, mostly past getting upset or nostalgic at the thought. "But shall we talk of the Maximoff's since my first few years were with them?"

"The Romani community at the time, at least with my parents and their social circle, was geared towards males being... more important. My job was to bring people in. I was taught how to dance, and taught how to sew and crochet. I was also taught how to read tarot cards - though certainly not the variation of reading decks that I now know." A silence for a moment as she thought it over. Her childhood was happy and she wouldn't think otherwise, but it was filled with hard work, a lot of travelling, and a lot of taking the blame because Pietro was right and she was wrong. "I think my parents simply wanted me to do something that made me happy. They weren't limited, I don't think so, but they were accustomed to how they lived their life and didn't think about other things. I suppose they just thought I'd travel with them indefinitely."

In terms of the Maximoffs and Max/Erik, they wanted what a lot of parents want - their child to follow in their footsteps. To follow their religion (difficult when the Maximoffs and Erik followed different faiths), to follow their beliefs, their line of work... She was taught various skills as a child because staying with the Maximoff's she was likely to be a matriarch at some point. Taught a little medicine, some languages, dancing, tarot, various otehr skills. But Wanda certainly believes that her and Pietro's happiness were paramount.

do they fall asleep easily?

Wanda cast a glance away, then a shake of her head. "Not... Not usually. No." She gave a small shrug, thinking it over for a moment. "For starters, my schedule isn't set. The shop is open during the day, but some customers and clients only come at night - from people brought by the Last Door, to creatures of the night. Not to mention, a call for the Avengers can come any time."

"But... Even when I have the time to sleep, be it night or day, I can lie awake for some time. Sometimes I think, sometimes I don't think anything. I simply can't sleep. And when I do sleep I normally end up waking up early-- It's-- Well, it's my issue. I'm used to it, so it's not anything worrying."

Sleeping hasn't come easy to her in some time. When her depression was high, before and after 'House of M', she could spend days sleeping or just lying in bed. She had no energy, nor the will to see anyone. She does her best to have what schedule she can so as not to fall into that again. But she does have insomnia, of sorts. When with someone, a partner, she does manage to sleep better - she'll still not fall asleep instantly, but it takes less time. It's partly security, partly... who knows what. A skill, a sign of love? Wanda does try her best to get the sleep she needs, and there are plenty of good nights/days. It's not something she's worried about currently.

do you get car/sea/(flight?) sick?

"Not at all. I love a journey," she replied with a smile. "I enjoy a car journey, partly because I never really have to drive or be driven. It's a nice way to see a place I think. I rarely travel by boat or ship, but I'm incredibly used to flights through the Avengers."

"Car is maybe my preferred mode... The faster the better sometimes. You can't beat my brother for speed, however I enjoy a fast car because you can still see the sights. Of course, I wouldn't want to be the one driving. As I say, I don't tend to use cars. I have magic. I'd like to properly learn, though I can drive when required it's a skill I'm probably rusty with."

She happily doesn't get sick. And loves a journey. The travel really is important to her. She does like a nice car, probably more than a nice ship or plane or jet, whatever. She can drive, but the last time she did so? Long time ago. She can affect probabilities so you'll live, but maybe some lessons wouldn't go amiss. She actually knows a fair bit about nice cars. She doesn't know all by sight or sound, but she's been around quite a few people who do enjoy a good super car - and prior to/around her depression first hitting, she enjoyed studying anything and it was so easy to watch shows about cars or read up on them. Or ask Tony or someone else to talk about them.

who do you bicker with them most?

"Pietro, by far," she responded. There wasn't even a split second of hesitation. He was still, and always would be, one of the people closest to her. They had a lot of similarities, far too many perhaps, including arrogance and pride which was probably reason enough for most of their arguments. "We bicker over many things. We tend to overall have similar ideas and feelings, but how we go about things changes a lot."

"We love each other, but we're not the same person. So our closeness leads to bickering." Outside of Pietro? Probably her teammates, though not usually over major issues. Again, when you saw someone often there was always going to be little things that come up.

The answer is Pietro by a long shot. Sometimes it's just for the fun of it and to tease him. They are similar, but their differences are wide and varied. Their pride doesn't like when they're beaten either. And they've both made a lot of mistakes in how they've 'protected' one another in the past, so whilst a lot of bickering is simply surface level and joking, easily resolved, there are larger issues too. Wanda will also bicker, teasingly and properly, with partners. It's not a power struggle or show of dominance, and she's not one to ignore what another person says. But if she feels differently about something she'll state her argument, especially if she feels close to someone. But with a partner she isn't one to hold a grudge, and she's more than happy to compromise or lose. Communication is really important to her, and not all communication is lovely dovey. If she teases you, you're well liked.

does your voice stand out?

"Possibly. Especially around some more than others. I've not yet managed to lose the accent from my home country. ...Or countries. We travelled a lot when I was younger - Serbia, Romania, countries such as these. And my accent isn't yet gone. But I've learned that it can be easier not to show this. I've worked to have a more 'American' accent because it prompts less questions. I used to use this fake accent more regularly but... I use it less now, and let my own accent come through."

She was proud of who she was, but she hadn't always been. Her accent didn't seem to bring 'good imagery' to mind, and always seemed to set her 'lower' in peoples estimations. Or that she could not truly speak english when she thought her understand better than most others. She hid it to make life easier, but it didn't really help. She was prouder now.

Wanda really is proud of her accent, and around those she's most comfortable with (partners, or close members of the Avengers) the accent will come through more pronounced as she's relaxed. She's the kind that when excited or in high emotion, her accent is more noticeable and thick.

[dawnthefluffyduck]

Sunday doodle, will likely clean this up later :3

[arolesbianism]

Me sitting and watching any oni discussion waiting for an excuse to bring up a seed is planted all like 🤓👉👈

[kyuujo]

↳ whoops! ↳ sae itoshi x fem!reader ↳ sfw ↳ jealousy, language, kind of a creepy dude, subtle allusions to fwb, my writing

↳ sae itoshi… the man you are… this idea literally smacked me in the face so i opted to ignore my 7+ drafts and whip it up :P thank you so much for reading and i hope you enjoy! <3

“… oh, and did i tell you about my time with atlético madrid? boy, the sheer amount of sprained ankles i had to deal with…”

you barely suppressed the urge to roll your eyes. how long had this dude been prattling on? you know he’d told you his name, and something about being a retired physical therapist, but truthfully, that was all the information you had retained since he started talking to you. seriously, you just wanted to watch the damn game.

“that’s fascinating.” you cut him off, eyes trained on the bodies undulating across the field. well, more specifically, trained on one body…

“… and sae takes complete control of the midfield! look at him go, he’s unstoppable!”

your heart fluttered inside your chest and your gut heated as some rather lewd memories crept their way into your central vortex. you hadn’t even known locker rooms could be so… enticing before your hookup with sae.

you’d been so focused on watching sae in his element (and daydreaming) that you hadn’t even noticed when the man scooted closer to you — at least not until you felt the heat of his thigh smushed against yours, made much more noticeable by the chilly bite of october.

you snapped your eyes to the man to glare at him — he continued to drone on about something as if he hadn’t just invaded your personal bubble. you huffed and slid your ass down the bench, disconnecting his thigh from yours. your skin was starting to crawl, and where the dude had once been perceived as annoying he now was coming off as creepy.

you hoped that your disinterest in the conversation and your very obvious attempt at putting distance between the two of you would spell out your rejection to him — but it clearly didn’t, or maybe he just wasn’t speaking the same language as you, because he simply closed the distance once more.

“what about some coffee? would you want to go grab coffee with me some time?”

you were just about to open your lips to verbalize your rejection (and tell him off for his clear disrespect) when the words were stolen right from your mouth — by the sudden impact of a ball right to the side of the man’s face.

you couldn’t stop the shocked gasp that ripped through your throat as the man fell backwards off the bench with a yell of pain. you could just see some crimson splatters atop the silver of the metal stands, and for a moment, your brain completely stopped.

“and sae itoshi sends a ball flying straight into the stands! like a rocket it split through the air — oh my god, is that man okay?!”

the announcer’s sudden exclamation had you immediately whipping your attention to the field, eyes connecting with sae’s almost instantly. he stood tall on the field, one hand atop a cocked hip, and with a shrug he mouthed one word;

“whoops.”

do i really believe sae would send a ball straight into the face of anyone who gets too gutsy with his girl? yes. yes i do. thank you so much for reading, and any likes, comments or reblogs are not required but are so very appreciated!

[sierrale8ne]

celibacy / paige bueckers x fem!reader PART OF THE $$$4U COLLECTION ‘ it’s been four months and two weeks and 36 hours and eight minutes since you been pleased ’

summary after finding out you ended your sexual arrangement with paige for work purposes, she takes it upon herself to show you how much she’s been missing you and how badly she’s been needing you. warnings paige is a hornball that can’t comprehend why you’d want to obtain from having sex, sexual content, packing, strap-on sex, strap-sucking, spitting, literal cum eating like… p is a freak. from lena i felt like bringing back some old pairings so this is p x that reporter i wrote about a minute ago ( in my main masterlist titled easy access ) this is nasty, i’m ovulating so there’s that.

Paige had been accustomed to the life that came with being a star athlete: wake up, practice, treatment, class, nap, lift, and if all of that was completed, the occasional media interview.

Today was one of those days.

Her practice jersey is damp against her body, the navy blue compression shirt underneath clinging to her arms as she answers question after question. Tournament seeding, last year, the draft next month. All of it is the same, just enough for her to know exactly what to say and when to say it.

She stands patiently, arms crossed over her chest as she waits for the next question. And then it comes.

“Paige, is there any advice you’ve given your teammates— specifically Sarah and Jana— about how to handle the tournament now that they’re in it?”

Paige freezes.

It’s your voice, she’s known it well enough to be able to point it out in a crowd full of all other reporters. A voice she’s heard so many times that it became burnt into her brain— every tone, every shift.

You dig your way through to the front, and when Paige sees you— like really sees you for the first time in months— it’s the first time all day that her demeanor shifted. She’s always loved your work attire and how you prided yourself in looking your best. But today you’ve dressed down and she still thinks you look perfect. Low rise washed denim, New Balance sneakers on your feet, and a white shirt with some writing on the left shoulder that she can’t quite make out.

“I’m sorry, can you ask that again? I zoned out for a minute.” Paige clears her throat. The other reporters laugh but you stay focused, it your first media availability with Paige. You knew better than to crack, especially now. So you repeat the question, poised as ever and honestly Paige is a little shocked. She thought if anything you’d be just as off your game as she was. But you weren’t.

She stutters, and it’s so small that you almost miss it, but she answers anyways. “Just to embrace the moment. Pressure is a privilege, and they came here to preform on the biggest stage—” Her eyes bore into your own, blue like large pools of cerulean. The same eyes that once made you give up everything, toss away your morals, and submit to her. “— and we all got total confidence in them. Hopefully that translates to them having total confidence in themselves.”

You nod, thinking about how generic her answer was and how your boss would probably have something to say back at the office. It seemed like she always did, but that’s what came with being an intern, you’ve learned.

Media availability ends, and you are very glad that Paige was the last to be interviewed because you can’t wait to get away from her fucking gaze. You cut the recording on your phone, shoving it in the back pocket of your jeans, followed by sticking your notepad and pen in your purse.

You follow suit with everyone else, turning towards the practice facility’s exit doors to head back to the office. Until your stopped, a hand to your lower back that send a rush to your core.

You’re reminded of the first time. The way you danced against her at Ted’s her hand on your back, bending you over as you twerked her jeans, the feeling of the zipper against your ass. How she took you home, made your legs shake and your toes curl, just to become even more vulnerable with you in bed hours later. You learned a lot about Paige that night.

You learned even more about yourself.

That no matter what, as long as she was around you’d never be able to resist her.

It’s exactly why you turn towards face her right now, you hands cautiously gripping your purse and the other raking through your hair.

“Look who finally came to see me.” Paige’s nails rake along your skin, dangerously drawing you closer and closer to her.

You feel your knees getting weak already. She smells surprisingly good considering she just got out of practice, she looks even better. But you can’t. “Stop.” You groan, reaching back to brush her hand off.

“I’m just checkin’ on you, you good? It’s been a while.” Paige says, her voice sultry and a bit cheeky. She’s priding herself on the fact that she still has you like this.

“Paige, we’re not doing this here. I’m at work.” It reminds you of what you said the last time you had her. MSG in New York, another day you were supposed to be focused on work that ended up with Paige’s hand in your pants.

She nods, pretending to understand but the look on her face lets you know she’s thinking about anything but. “Okay, then come over later.”

The blonde had a way of making you go speechless every time you saw her, but right now you were literally at a loss for words. You made it clear when you cut her off— Paige was a distraction— so for her to stand here, so hellbent on getting you alone, in a way she once had you, was ridiculous.

You scoff, looking around at the now filing out hallway. You drag her off, fingers digging into the bicep that’s so fucking big you nearly are taken aback by it. “I’m not having sex with you, P. It’s done, you know that.”

“You’re tellin’ me whoever else you’re sleeping with makes it feel as good as me? Y’know that’s bullshit, ma.” She goes on, and you take a step back for your own sanity. A response bats around in your brain, you shouldn’t tell her the truth, she would get too confident. Too cocky. You didn’t need that.

It came out anyway, like word vomit. “I’m fucking celibate, Paige, there isn’t anyone else.” You grit through your teeth.

Paige’s eyes nearly glow and her mouth curls up into his God awful smirk that you’d want to slap off if she wasn’t so damn sexy. “You? You’re playin’.”

“I’m not. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to finish.” You mutter, walking across the hallway to the elevators plans sweating as you do what you know best. Work.

Your night ends with a much needed bath, soaking in the hot tub to soothe yourself of all the stress piled up throughout the day.

And the tension that only Paige Bueckers could give you.

She was good, you had to give her that. And what made it worse was that it was effortless. Paige didn’t have to say too much, or even touch you. All she needed was one moment, one instance where your demeanor shifts and your strength cracks and all of a sudden you’re her’s again.

You couldn’t shake your mind of her even if you tried.

And it made your core fucking throb.

When you finally do exit the bath— legs a bit sore from the attention you had given yourself between your legs— you cater to yourself. Legs smooth, and body smelling of sweet vanilla cashmere. You throw on some cute pajamas, matching silk with a top that fits you loosely. The plan is to get in bed, until you hear a knock at the door.

You trail to the door, manicured feet padding against the hardwood.

And then you open it.

And there she is.

At first, it’s like your mind is playing tricks on you. Because it’s been forever, and no one in their right mind would show up to their old fuck buddy’s apartment at this hour. Paige seems to be the exception.

She wears these dark grey Essentials sweatpants, slightly dirty and scuffed on the hems. They sag just enough for you to see a small edge of her Nike Pro’s when she lifts her arm over her head and her fingers run through her hair. Her hoodie matches, and that makes your knees buckle. The dark fabric makes her skin and hair look even brighter.

“Why are you here?” You sigh before she even gets a chance to speak. Being mean about it seems to be the only way you can think of to get her out. It’s for your own sanity anyway. You’ve never been able to rid her off for as long as you and Paige have known each other.

Obviously, you don’t know Paige.

Because she finds that so fucking attractive.

Paige bites her lip, trailing her eyes to your shoulder where the strap of your shirt has fallen. “I’m still on this celibacy thing. Like, are you sure? And why the hell would you want to do that?”

You have to laugh, because it’s hysterical that your vow to stay away from sex had UConn’s star player unable to think straight.

“Paige, I—”

“Seriously, we’re not having sex anymore because of what? Did I do something wrong? Am not doin’ it right, you gotta tell me.” Paige is babbling, and it makes you so embarrassed that you tug her inside the apartment before your neighbors can hear about it.

It’s unfathomable to you. “I didn’t think it was that hard for you to find someone else to sleep with, Paige.”

“It’s not! But you cut me off, and the first time I see you again you’re talkin’ bout some celibate. So, naturally I’m curious.” Paige attempts to explain, hands moving freely in the air as she talks and you stare at them the entire time. Her knuckles slightly red from the cold, veins adorning the back of her hand, and her long ass fingers. It was a taunt. As soon as you made it clear that you weren’t going, here she was. Testing you.

You take a step back, as if the distance would give you a clear head. “You’re a distraction.”

“What?”

“A distraction.” You speak up. “I can’t do my job with you texting me and telling me all the ways you want me in bed. I literally couldn’t focus.” You explain, and now that it’s said out loud you feel ridiculous.

Paige Bueckers was so good at fucking you, that it made it hard for you to do your job.

The blonde lets out a sigh of relief, dropping her arms down on your counter and leaning against it.

“You happy now?” You respond, sighing loudly.

“Ma—”

“No.” You cut her off quick. This is exactly how it went last time. And this time you had half a mind to know better.

“Let me get you there, baby. No distractions this time, I swear.” She murmurs, voice low and almost strained— hours of practice for the tournament to blame. “No way you don’t want it, ma, just please.”

Paige is walking towards you now, hands reaching for your hips and you let her. You actually don’t even think about moving. You can smell her cologne, warm and woodsy, sticking to the fabric of her clothes. Her hands trail off you to the hem of her hoodie, pulling it up and over her head.

Your eyes trail to the ground it falls on almost immediately, because Paige’s choice of a thin tank top and no bra leaves very little to your imagination.

“What do you want, ma?”

A whimper flies from your lips as her hand grips your chin, fixing you to look at her. Your hand grips her shirt for leverage, clinging to what’s left of your morals.

That’s when she knows she has you exactly where she wants you.

“Hmm? What do you want?” Paige repeats, dragging your hand down her abdomen until it rests at her sweatpants. And you feel it. Her sweats were baggy enough to conceal it, but as soon as you feel the length in your palm it’s clear that Paige was thinking about you the same way you were thinking about her in the bath. “You want it? ‘Cause y’know I’m always ready to give it to you.”

“I want it.” You whine, snaking a hand up to her neck, tugging her close to you.

Her breath fans your lips, a smile gracing her face that doesn’t even try to hide. “Yeah? Break this li’l streak you got goin on?” Her hand tugs your shirt strap lower down your arm, and the second it’s reached the furthest it could go you’re slotting your lips with hers.

She tastes like everything you’ve remembered her to be, minty but still sweet. Her lips are soft, vaseline smeared on them and transferring to your chin. You continue palming the strap through her sweats, and Paige groans like it’s an extension of herself.

“Want you.” You moan.

“I know. I got it, baby. I gotchu.”

Paige’s strap sits on your tongue as you greet it with tiny kitten licks. You should’ve known that Paige would’ve made your work for it after leaving her to dry for months. Which truly wasn’t your intention. Paige was attractive, women wanted her, and you expected her to get it elsewhere.

Obviously not.

Her back is flush to your couch, shirt hiked up to give you a view of her hardened nipples and perfect fucking abs. You grip the base, spit trailing down the length that you take into your mouth.

“Mhmm, put that fuckin’ mouth to work, baby. Lookin’ so sexy f’me.” She hums, pushing your still slightly damp hair out of your face.

You plant your hands to her thighs, taking the strap deeper just to prove that you can. A part of you thinks you enjoy showing out for Paige like this again, doing what she wanted when she wanted.

Her eyes flutter shut like she can feel your mouth, the warmth of your tongue running on the underside of her cock— and if she closes her eyes hard enough, she probably could. But the vibration is good enough.

“Four months. Four and a half fuckin’ months.” Paige says to herself between breaths.

You pull back to breathe, saliva connecting your lip to the tip. You’re completely mesmerized by her, you vulnerable she looks even when you’re the one on your knees with her cock in your mouth. You spit on it again, sucking it back into your mouth before taking the strap in again. You’re sure that Paige’s eyes roll into her head.

“You’re fuckin’ crazy.” She grunts, hips moving forward further towards you. “Gonna paint your face, I swear.”

Paige’s words send a throb to your cunt. You can almost picture it— her groans and slack jaw as she comes. You draw your hand between your legs, rubbing your clit that’s still covered by your pj’s. The stimulation makes you whine.

“That shit turns you on, ma? Just know you’re so fuckin’ wet.” Paige hums to herself. She decides to reach for your hair, tugging you up and off of her strap until you’re hovering over her.

Saliva dangles from your lip, and in her obvious lust, Paige sticks her tongue out. You’re left speechless. Paige was a freak, you knew that much, but she’s chasing after your fucking spit like she’s thirsty for it. Like she was dying in the desert and you were the only one to solve her thirst.

She almost slurps it up, the noise so vulgar that you moan in her face. Paige chases after your mouth, locking lips with you in a deep kiss. Your hips grind against the strap, paying no mind to the mess it’s going to create on your shorts.

“Need it inside me, P.” You plead.

“Celibate my fucking ass.” She groans against you, using her strength to push you to the other end of the couch. Her hands dig into your hips, clawing at your shorts so hard that you’re sure she’s going to rip them off of you.

You’ve never seen Paige like this, this needy, this horny. She dragged your mouth onto her cock with a fervor that was animalistic. Then now, her teeth nipping at your own lips so hard she might draw blood.

It’s hot.

It makes you upset that you held out on her for this long.

Paige’s hands slip to your shoulders, pushing the other strap down your arm and putting your tits on display for her. She breaks the kiss, lips trailing down your jaw, neck, and chest before finally reaching your nipple.

“Paige!” You moan, head thrown back in ecstasy as she pulls your shorts off next.

“No crotchless this time?” She jokes, making you think back to the last time she fucked you stupid. It gets her off, watching how desperate you are for her to make you come.

“I need you to fuck me,” You whine desperately, hand fisting a handful of Paige’s perfect blonde hair. “Please,” you beg. Your hips grind against the unbelievably long strap, almost as if they had a mind of their own.

“I like it when you beg.”

“I know.” You tug your black panties to the side. Paige smirks at how soaked you are, the way your slick drips through your folds. “Want your cock, P. Please.”

With your help in spreading your legs Paige is tapping the tip against you. The wetness of your pussy filling her ears like the sound of music. Your mouth falls agape at the sudden pressure. and she takes the opportunity to fill your mouth with her own spit. A fat glob falling on your tongue and you swallow it almost immediately.

“Tell me you want it again.”

You sob, body aching in need. “I want it, I want it, Paige.”

Without hesitation, the athlete thrusts forward, burying all eight inches balls deep inside you. It’s so foreign, months of being away from her to blame. A collective gasp escapes both of your mouths. Your eyes rolling to the back of your head while her mouth formed the perfect ‘O’. Paige eyes you like a piece of meat before connecting your lips again in a heated frenzy. Your back arched into Paige’s as she gripped your hips and began roughly pounding into your cunt.

“You hear her? Just screamin’ for this dick, baby.” Paige hums, her words sending a rush of more arousal out of you. A mixture of pleasure and ecstasy spread across your features as Paige established a fast and relentless pace. “You’re so fuckin’ easy.”

“Baby—”

She breaks the kiss. “Imma distraction, but you can’t get off without me. Can’t make this pussy cum the way I do.” The couch practically groans in protest, its durability tested as Paige’s grunts reverberated against your lips. The room filled with the intoxicating sound of your bodies colliding, skin slapping together in a sensual symphony that echoed off the walls.

You watch Paige tuck her shirt in her mouth, giving her a perfect view of not only where she digs you out, but your tits that bounce in her face.

She’s fucking the shit out of you. And that alone is enough to draw her close to that climax.

“Y-you— Paige, baby. You’re fuckin’ deep, fuckkkk!” Your eyes were tightly shut, face contorted in pure bliss as you cling to the blonde with every fiber of your being. Your legs wrapped around Paige’s thighs, ensuring that she couldn’t escape your embrace. “F-fuck! P!” You cry out.

“Fuck you stupid, yeah? Put yo’ ass to sleep. Make it feel so fucking good, huh?” She roughly pushed the fabric of your shirt over your head. The fabric slipped away, leaving you fully exposed. “Cover me in it, cum on me, ma.”

You want her closer, deeper, anything. So you wrap your arms around her neck, tugging the blonde so close that your forehead touches hers. She keeps thrusting, seemingly noticing that you needed more.

“I know you’re close.” You murmur, trying your hardest to keep your eyes focused on her. “Paige, oh my Goddddd—”

“Y—shit.” Paige’s legs tremble, and you notice the slight falter in her rhythm. “Fuck, you first.” She lets out a groan, followed by a chase of your lips. It’s soft, way softer than how she fucks you.

“I’m cumming, I’m cumming— I’m gonna cum, baby.” You babble over and over, your resolve fleeting your body as your orgasm creeps up on you. Paige lets out a high pitched gasp, her face flushed with overwhelming pleasure.

She tried to hold back, to maintain her composure, but failed miserably. A moan of pure bliss escaped her lips as she thrusts once more, practically balls deep into you as she comes. You let out a moan yourself as you feel the warmth taking over your body.

Paige doesn’t pull out, only pulling back enough to swipe her fingers over the ring of come that you’ve left behind. She brings her fingertips to her mouth, riding them out your taste.

“You left me out to fucking dry for four damn months?” Paige asks, her breathing labored from the exertion. She brings her hand down to your cunt, clit completely swollen. Almost desperate. “Left me without this shit for too long, ma.” She mumbles around her hand yet again.

She’s cleaning you up with her fingers, every bit of your release finding her tongue in almost desperate sweeps. You whine at the sensitivity, but let her.

Because it’s Paige, and you can’t fucking resist.

🔖 @thaatdigitaldiary @rosemariiaa @pboogerswbb @xxloveralways14 @bueckersbitch @d3arapril @wbbgetsmewetter @tndaqlwifwy @ykylalex @ohmybueckers @flipthepaige @janaelalfysblunt @cherryswisherz @courtsidewithlani @vamptizm @bdbueckers @makethemhoesmad @unadulteratedcyclepaper @omg-imtumbling @avvwritesstufff @luvnoirs

[nicksolemnlyswears]

THE BEAR AND THE BEE HIVE

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

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

word count: 14.4k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Deal."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you sure?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you going far?"

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

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

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

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

"You really don't have to…"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Late night?"

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

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

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

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

Carmy smiles and softly chuckles, "Fair enough."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sorry for assuming," he raises his palms.

"You're forgiven," you chirp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So, rebellion or something else?"

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

"Did it work?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Only a couple of blocks away. Why?"

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

"Thanks," you respond with a small smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Night," he whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You sure?" He asks once more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, chef!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Chef, your girl is here."

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

"Here you go."

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

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

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

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

"Yes, Chef!"

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

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

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

"You too, Neil!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What about your famous pizza?"

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

"Thanks," Carmy laughs breathily, "Do you mind if we walk? I feel some of the rush still."

"Lead the way, Mr. Berzatto."

Carmy grabs your hand, leading you to the streets of Chicago. It's silent momentarily as the wind cools Carmy's heated face. He places his hand along with yours into his pocket.

"Did your brother like it?" He asks, breaking the ice.

"Oh yeah. I'm officially like the best sister ever," you respond, squeezing his hand.

You had accidentally forgotten that your brother had passed the Bar exam. So, you didn't have time to get him anything in celebration. You figured dinner at a lovely new restaurant would help while you got him a proper present.

"How did you feel throughout, though? It looked intense." You often found yourself looking through the small glass window into the kitchen. They were always on the move, looking for the next thing to do.

"It didn't just look like it. I'm used to it, though," Carmy admits with a sniff. Everyone's best and worst habits shone through for those couple of hours. It's an environment he's all too familiar with, in and out of the kitchen.

"That rough," you grimace.

"It's fine. We have a lot to work on, but it's a start, and it wasn't entirely terrible," Carmy says, thinking back on tonight. Before coming out to meet you, he wrote down a couple of things to go through with Sugar and Sydney.

"Good, 'cause I hope The Bear sticks around the block," you say, bumping your shoulder with his.

You invite Carmy into your house when you arrive. He takes up your offer, holding your hand to help you balance as you take your heels off. It reminds Carmy he forgot to mention how beautiful you looked today.

He follows you to the kitchen, watching your hips sway and your dress skirt swishing. Padding to the wine fridge, you pick out a bottle of red to celebrate.

Carmy indulges in looking at your legs as you stretch up to reach for the glasses of wine up in your cabinets. His blue eyes darken as your dress hikes up, exposing your pretty thighs.

His gaze darts back up at you when you turn around to place the glasses on the kitchen counter. You hand him the wine opener so he can do the honors because you suck at taking the cork out. It's why you mainly stick to cheaper wines with twist-off caps.

"Here is to The Bear and its amazing owner," you say, lifting your glass in front of you.

"Here's to not fuckin' it up entirely," Carmy follows, making you giggle. Your wine glasses clink, and you take a drink.

Placing the glass back down, Carmy pins you against the counter, his strong hands resting on the edge of it. You look at him through your lashes, a hand coming up to his chest to feel the steady thumping of his heart.

"You look beautiful. I like the dress," Carmy murmurs. It's better late than never.

The dress you wear is a pretty shade of light blue. Simple yet dressy. The neckline gives him a good view of your cleavage and has long sleeves to compensate for the shorter length. They currently cover the goosebumps lining your skin.

"Yeah? I picked it out thinking you might," you reveal, biting your lip. The shade reminded you of his eyes.

"You were right," he whispers, cupping your jaw. As pretty as the dress is, he's sure it'll look so much better on the floor.

Carmy closes his eyes as he leans down to kiss you. He's always struggled with words, so he hopes it's enough for you to catch what he's trying to say.

You smile into the kiss, blindly leaving your glass to the side to be able to touch him. Your palm presses against his chest and taut abdomen. He hides a nice amount of muscle under his t-shirts, a pleasant surprise.

Carmy easily lifts you up to sit down on the kitchen island. He steps between your legs, never breaking the heated kiss. The hands on your waist trail down to your thighs and under your dress. Carmy's tattooed hands squeeze your ass and thighs, earning him a moan from you.

This is the farthest you've ever gotten, and you're more than ready to have all of him. Carmy knows this, which leads to his thoughts getting out of control.

He has to make a decision now. Does he allow himself to be with you, or does he remain by himself like always? Richie's, Sugar's, Cicero's, and Sydney's voices all shout at him different things. Some are in favor, and others are in opposition. 'Uh oh.'

He can't lead you on and sleep with you if he will back out tomorrow. The voices become deafening in an instant, ripping him away from your embrace. His emotions bubbled over and spilled all over the place.

"Wait, stop, I just-" Carmy breathes heavily, taking a couple of steps back from you. Carmy's hand comes up to his forehead as he attempts to organize his thoughts.

"What's wrong?" You ask worriedly. Did you do something wrong?

Carmen's thoughts spill out his mouth without making much sense as he paces in your kitchen. "I can't stop thinking about it and owe it to my team..."

"Carm?" You slide off the kitchen counter, approaching him slowly.

"-keeps saying it's a distraction," he rambles mostly to himself. His heart is pounding painfully in his chest. If he didn't know any better, he'd think he was having a heart attack.

"Hey, hey, hey. What's a distraction?" Softly, you grab onto his arms, stopping him in his tracks, trying to find his lost gaze.

"You. Whatever this is," Carmy breathes, finally meeting your eyes, which he instantly regrets as your eyes turn sad.

The watering of your eyes is unintentional, as is the knot forming in your throat. "You think I'm distracting you?" You question barely above a whisper.

His response is instant, "Fuck, no, the opposite. W-When I'm with you or-or think about you, things get clearer, and it's-it's when I feel the most focused." Carmy holds your shoulders, comforting you because he never meant to hurt you. He can't stand the sad look in your eyes.

Slowly, you begin to piece together his rambling and conclude that other people have been telling him you're a distraction. You wonder if they don't want him to be happy. The Bear is the center of Carmy's life, and before that, it was the restaurant in New York. He deserves more than this crazy job.

"Then fuck what others tell you, Carmen. You deserve to have a life outside The Bear." Maybe you're selfish because you don't want to lose him, but you hope he believes your words.

"I-I don't. I don't deserve all your attention or your affection. I'm nothing special. I don't deserve you." Carmy says, shaking his head with furrowed brows.

Weeks ago, he had no source of enjoyment. He said it himself at the support group. Now, he has you, yet he can't bear the thought of you wanting to be with him. He feels like he's tricking you into a bad deal. That's what he is, though, isn't he? An overachieving fuck up with tons upon tons of baggage.

Carmen Berzatto is an anxious person with too many problems in his life. He has a fucked up family. His mother is a mentally unstable alcoholic. His brother was addicted to painkillers and decided that shooting himself on a bridge was better than living this life. That's without mentioning all the trauma he has from his job and the terrible people he's worked with.

What good does he have to offer you?

"Yes, you do," you reassure him, placing your hands on his cheeks. The cool metal of your rings soothes him somewhat, grounding him. "You deserve all that and more, Carmy. You're so sweet and kind and hard-working. You've been through shit. You deserve something good in life. Maybe it's me, or maybe it's not, but don't close yourself off."

You're begging at this point. Whatever this relationship is, it's just starting. He's not giving himself a chance. You like Carmy so damn much. He's funny without knowing it and thoughtful, too. There are so many qualities he doesn't realize he has.

His eyes watch you as tears line them. He's silently pleading for you to convince him. To get him out of his own head and forget the expectations others have on him.

"I'm not going to force you into anything, Carm. It's your call, but I've enjoyed our last couple of months together. I know we don't know each other completely, but I want to know everything about you. I have feelings for you, so whatever you decide, I'll support it."

Being honest is all you can do at this point. You pour your heart out and hope Carmy chooses you.

You and Carmy stand in the middle of your kitchen. Face to face, reaching out towards each other. It's clear as day that you want the same thing. It's only a matter of taking the right steps now.

"I can't let you go," Carmy responds, grabbing the hand on his cheek. His thumb brushes over the back of it.

"Then don't."

Carmy's decision is made. Without another thought, he smashes his lips against yours. He grabs the back of your neck, tilting your head to meet his heated kiss.

It's more intense now that the cards are on the table. Nothing to hold him back.

Tongues clash together as your bodies seek each other out. The temperature rises when Carmy lifts you up to wrap your legs around his hips. His hands are on the back of your thighs, holding tight onto you.

"Bedroom?" He asks, breaking the kiss, a trail of saliva between the two of you.

"Down the hallway," you breathe heavily, kissing down his neck.

Carmy makes it to the bedroom, opening the door with a bang. He spots your bed, placing you in the middle with him holding himself up on top of you.

He watches as your back meets the bed and your fair fans around you like a halo. The curvature of your breasts accentuated even more from the position.

Carmy hikes your leg further up his hips as he dips down to kiss a wet trail down to the neckline of your dress. He leaves open-mouthed kisses on the rounded flesh, nipping at the skin playfully when you arch your back to push more into him.

"Carmy," you breathe, cupping his jaw to pull him back to your lips. Grinding your hips, you manage to graze against his bulge.

"Shit," Carmy shakily curses, thrusting his hips to meet your touch once more.

Curiously, your hands wander across his body. Carmy's moans in your ear make your panties wetter than they already are.

You grasp the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and off. You're desperate to have him, your cunt aches for him. Your nails scratch down his firm stomach when he bites into your earlobe, softly calling your name.

"Unzip me," you pant, pushing him away and pulling your hair off to the side.

Carmy grabs the small zipper, pushing it down and exposing your pretty skin. As he slides the fabric off of you, he kisses your shoulders and back, taking note of the goosebumps on your skin.

His mind is in the present, and nothing can take it away from him. It's like a switch he managed to turn off in his brain. No more family drama, no more The Bear. It's just you...and him. Honey and Bear.

You stretch your neck to the side, giving Carmy more space to pepper kisses across the delicate skin. The dress pooling at your feet exposes your chest, and Carmy's hands come up from behind you. His fingers shyly brush up your stomach, tickling you, until they find your breasts.

He draws a moan from you as he squeezes them in his palms, pushing you back to meet his chest; turning your head to the side, you find his lips.

The kiss breaks when he slides one of his hands into your underwear, dipping his finger to feel your wetness. Your arm reaches back to dig your fist in his curls.

"You're soaked, Honey," he moans, finding your clit to tease it.

"Been waiting for so long, Carmy," you whine as your hips stutter along with the flicks of his wrist.

"I'm sorry. I'm here now," he purrs into your ear.

Carmy can hear the distinct 'shlick, shlick, shlick' of his fingers against your clit. It spurs him on as he slips a finger into you. He can't wait to have his cock inside of you, snug and warm.

"Oh my god, Carmen," you gasp when he prods another finger into your entrance. Hanging onto his arm across your chest, you roll your hips against his fingers.

"I got you," he says, digging his fingers deeper into you and curling them.

Your knees buckle as the tips of his fingers curl and hit your g spot repeatedly. If it weren't for him, you'd be on the floor. With your tummy tensing under the weight of the pleasure, you stutter out, "I'm gonna cum."

Carmy's hand is wet from your juices as he ups the ante. Just as your walls begin to squeeze around his fingers, he pulls them out to circle around your clit.

"Oh, f-fuck!" You squeal, throwing your head back onto his shoulder.

The way your clit softly twitches under the pads of his fingers fucks with Carmy. It makes his cock throb and leak into his jeans.

Untangling from his embrace, you place a breathless kiss on Carmy's lips. His slick digits dig into your hips as he prolongs it.

Blindly, you find the edge of his jeans and unbutton them. If Carmy notices, he doesn't say anything. You want to give him one more reason to stay with you.

He moans into your mouth when you grasp his length through his boxers. He's rock hard as he desperately ruts against your hand.

With your hold still on him, you push him to sit on the bed. Carmy looks up at you lustfully. You plant a single short kiss on his lips before kneeling on the floor between his legs. You leave love bites down his chest while looking up at him through your lashes.

Carmy brushes away any hair that falls on your face, his blue eyes focused solely on you. When you reach the waistband of his pants, you pull them down along with his underwear.

His length pops up from its confines, slapping against his tummy. Its tip is a pretty pink shade, with a thick length and a slight curve to it. You salivate instantly at the sight of it.

Carmy's nervous under you. It's been a long since he's been with someone else, and he's never been the most confident.

"Relax," you say teasingly, kissing around his lower tummy to calm him.

Finally, your hand wraps around his cock, lightly pumping it. Leaving sloppy kisses down his happy trail, you feel Carmy's stomach taut in anticipation.

It's been so fuckin' long.

With your eyes staring into his hungry ones, you kiss the pink head that glistens with pre, teasingly brushing it against your lips. Keeping eye contact, you lick his length from base to tip. You alternate between kissing and licking for a minute, enjoying watching Carmy squirm.

"Fuck, Honey," Carmy throws his head back at your torturous pace.

"Look at me," you sweetly say.

Taking mercy on him, you part your lips to take his length into your warm, wet mouth, bobbing your head to a steady rhythm. Prying one of Carmy's hands from the bedsheets, you place it in your hair, encouraging him to use you.

"Good girl," he moans, fisting your hair to force you to take more of his cock. You let your hands rest on his thighs, feeling the strong muscles underneath.

Carmen observes you with hooded eyes as you hollow your cheeks, sucking him expertly. He's obsessed with how your lips leave behind a tinge of red lipstick on his skin.

"Shit-Fuck me," he yells into the room when you swallow around him.

You want him to cum, but Carmy has other plans. He doesn't think he'll last long if you make him cum now, so after the stunt you pulled, he pulls you off his sensitive cock.

The sight in front of him is erotic as a string of saliva connects you to his cock. The tears lining your eyes and blushed nose add to that pretty picture.

"c'me 'ere," he says, helping you up and kissing you as he leads you back to the bed. He tugs off your wet panties, throwing them somewhere in the room.

You lay back on your pillows with Carmy slotted between your legs. It's torture having him so close and yet so far. Now that you've gotten a taste of his cock you need more.

Carmy touches the inside of your thighs, inching his way closer to your cunt. He instantly notices how fuckin' wet you are. You're dripping even more than before.

"Sucking me off, got you this wet, princess?" He asks, leaning his forehead against yours.

"Mhm, Carmy, wish you would've cum in my mouth," you admit, tilting your head up to brush your lips against his.

"You have such a dirty fuckin' mouth," he chuckles darkly.

Where did this side of you come from? You're usually so sweet and delicate. He should've known you would be a freak in bed. To think he almost let this all go.

"Carmen, please."

"Please, what?" Carmen teases, lining his cock against your opening, wetting his cock.

"Fuck me," you moan, kissing his jaw.

"'m gonna fuck you good, princess," he promises, with a shaky nod before he remembers, "Fuck! I-I don't have a condom with me."

"I should have some in my drawer," you mention breathlessly.

Carmy opens the condom in record time but is surprised when you take it from his hands and roll it down his shaft yourself. You just want an excuse to keep touching him.

With your leg hiked up, he aligns himself and slowly pushes in. You both gasp at the sensation. Carmy, for one, is trying to not bust a nut so soon because you're so tight and warm.

Meanwhile, you hold onto Carmy's back as he stretches you out. It's been so long, and your toys aren't nearly as thick as him. You breathily moan in his ear, which he takes as a good sign as he begins thrusting more forcefully and deeper.

Carmy hopes this isn't a dream, and if it is, he hopes he doesn't wake up anytime soon. He has one hand holding onto your thigh and the other holding himself up. His gold chain dangles above you as he picks his head up from its spot on your shoulder. You take the chance to tug on it, returning his attention to your lips.

"You feel so fuckin' good, princess," Carmy groans, squeezing your thigh.

"I love your cock, Carmy," you whine, feeling the drag of his cock on your walls. The pleasure is all-consuming, leaving a fuzzy feeling in your brain.

"You like when I fuck you like this?"

"Yes, yes, yes, keep going."

His hips snap hard against yours, hitting that spot each and every time. His pelvis hitting your clit. He squeezes your thigh, hips, and sides before his hand squeezes your tits, too, playing with your nipples.

Suddenly, he straightens up, pulling you down the bed to have you flushed against his pelvis. He's a sight for sore eyes that forces you to keep your eyes open.

His thrusts are more forceful like this, where he digs his fingers into the fat of your hips to pull you towards him with each snap. It makes your tits bounce, hypnotizing him.

Through your lustful gaze, he looks like a marble statue. His chest glimmers under the lowlights of your room as sweat clings to him, his chain jumping against the blushed skin of his chest, and his fucking hair falling over his pretty eyes. The set of his jaw could've been sculpted by Michaelangelo himself.

Your hands indulgently reach down to touch him in any way you can. You can only reach his stomach, where a nice pair of abs appear due to the effort.

"You like what you see?" Carmy teases. He's entirely lost on you because otherwise, he wouldn't be as cocky to say that.

"You're so handsome," you pitifully say. Your brain not computing as it should, but how can it when it's being fucked out of you?

Carmy doesn't know how to respond. It's not often he's called handsome or looked at as lustfully as you're looking at him. Thankfully, he doesn't need to say much as your eyes roll back and you squeeze your walls around him.

"Carmy, I'm so close," you pant, trying to find any part of him to hold. He offers you his hand, lacing your fingers together.

"Just a little longer, princess," Carmy groans as you clench around him. "Fuck, don't do that to me."

He glances down at the spot where you and him meet to see a ring of white on the base of his cock. He's enthralled with the way you stretch to accommodate him and the way your pink walls drag along his length when he pulls out. Fuckin' beautiful.

Putting all his knowledge to use, he thumbs your clit, making you jolt. He needs you to cum now, or he won't make it. His balls feel like they're about to burst.

"Carmy," you cry out, tightening the hold on his hand.

You teeter on the edge for only a second until you cum, waves of pleasure washing over you. Carmy curses from above you as your tightening walls choke his cock, making him cum too. He stutters his hips a couple more times, riding out his orgasm.

He leans back down again, catching your lips in a small kiss. His body slowly relaxes against yours as his head rests on your neck, breathing in the scent of sweat and perfume.

"That was good," you breathe heavily, rubbing your hands up and down your back. You're just starting to think clearly.

"Fuckin' amazing," he adds.

There's a beat of silence before you both burst out laughing.

A bubble encases you, and it can't be popped as long as you stay in your bedroom. Carmy doesn't want to leave; it's late already, and in a couple of hours, he has to get up and go to The Bear to repeat the process.

For once, he forgets about that and focuses solely on you. He has a couple of hours to spare. Sleep is overrated.

You face each other on the bed, talking in hushed whispers. Your fingers trace the '773' tattoo on his bicep like you've always wanted to do. It tickles Carmy, so he grabs your hand and kisses your palm.

"Now that I'm thinking about it. I didn't see your tattoo," he whispers to prevent disturbing the peace.

Your face warms at his words. You had forgotten about that. He's seen a lot of you in the past couple of hours. What's a bit more of skin?

"You missed my big bad tattoo?" you joke, poking his nose.

"Show me," he says with a lopsided smile.

You make it dramatic, rolling your eyes and giving him a big sigh. Sitting up on the bed, you peel the bed sheets from your body. Carmy props himself up on his elbow in anticipation.

Right there, on your left side and under the curve of your breast is a small outline of Winnie the Pooh's face. Carmy touches it, biting his lip to hold back a laugh. Unsurprisingly, it's precisely what he expected from you.

A few chuckles pass his lips as he pulls you back into his arms.

"Don't laugh. It made sense at the time," you whine, covering yourself back up.

Carmy pulls you to his chest, kissing your temple, "I'm sure it does. Pooh Bear loves his Honey," Just like he does.

"Exactly! Someone gets it!"

And he does because Carmy, aka The Bear, is quickly falling for his Honey.

A couple of days later, Carmy is back at your house helping you prepare the famous pizza you promised him. He lets you take the lead on everything, preferring to follow your instructions rather than let his mind run wild. It's not like you'll let him do most of the work anyway; it's your recipe, and you're protective over it.

"Can you chop up the veggies?" You ask him as you lay down the dough in a pan.

"Yes, Chef," he nods, kissing your cheek as he digs through your kitchen drawers for a knife.

"Oh, I like the sound of that," you muse, shaking your shoulders as you knead the dough to spread it.

"Don't let it get to your head, Hun," Carmy smiles, slicing the vegetables expertly.

Cooking with Carmy is surprisingly easier than you thought. He's not controlling over the kitchen or judgy. He lets you do your thing in peace, following your orders no matter how strange they might be. This is your kitchen, not his.

As you spread the sauce and cheese over one of the doughs, Carmy gets a call. He wipes his hands with a rag and picks it up. You only hear his side of the conversation.

"No, I'm off tonight. I'm with my girl. Call Sugar. She should be able to help you with that. Great. Thanks."

Carmy had promised himself that he would try to balance it all better. He has his team to help each other out. The Bear is a priority, but so are you because you help him keep whatever sanity he has left.

Carmy hangs up, and when he returns to you, he notices the grin on your lips as you put the toppings he chopped on the pizza.

"What's with the smile?" Carmy stands behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he props his head on your shoulder. Your hair tickles his nose, smelling the notes of coconut of your shampoo he digs his head farther into it.

"I'm your girl?" You ask, the smile still present on your face. He'd missed your initial reaction when you heard him call you 'my girl.' You almost dropped the container of pepperoni that was in your hands. It's a shock cause he never asked you to be his girl.

Carmy pauses and tenses up against you. "Uh, yes? Hold up. Turn around," he orders, as he places his hand on your hips to turn your body around.

"Yes, chef," you respond cheekily, your arms around his neck, careful not to touch his sweater with your messy hands.

"Aren't you my girl?" He frowns, rubbing a thumb over your hips.

"I could be, but I don't remember you asking," you pretend to think.

Carmy never directly asked you to be his girlfriend, and you never asked him to be your boyfriend. You might as well be a couple since you've been dating long enough. You decide to seize the opportunity now to get it out of him. Having a proper anniversary day would be nice because you hope this lasts.

"I see, my mistake," Carmy nods, catching your vibe, "Honey…"

"Yes, Carmy?" You blink innocently at him.

"Would you do me the honor of becoming my girlfriend?" He finally asks.

You could joke around but decided against it cause the moment is perfect, "I'd love to," you nod, giving him a small kiss.

When the pizza is cooked, you bring it over to the dining table. Serving Carmy a pretty slice. Excitedly, you wait for him to bite into it and taste it.

"What do you think?" You ask expectantly.

"You were right. Best pizza in Chicago," Carmy agrees with an unbelievable laugh. He's got a lot to learn from you. It's the truth, or maybe he's blinded by his feelings. Only time will tell where you and Carmy will end up.

The End?

thank you guys for pulling through and reading! i know it's a slow burn but i hope you liked it! i certainly enjoyed writing it even though it took me like 4 months.

if you liked it, i would appreciate you liking it, commenting or reblogging. if you have some feedback feel free to send it my way too. i wanna get better at this whole writing thing!

thank you! bye xx

[fungateshortcakes]

Munch Munch

OMG I FORGOT I HAD THIS IN MY DRAFTS FORGIVE ME

Just a lil old man Logan drabble bc UGHHH he can crush my head with those juicy arms AHHH

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Logan never understood why you looked at him the way you did.

He was old. He was tired. His body was breaking down from the inside, poisoned by the very thing that once made him invincible. His hands shook more than they used to and no matter how hard he tried to hide it, you saw. You saw everything.

And yet there you were, leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed, giving him that look again. Like he was something worth staring at. Logan wasn’t used to being wanted. Not like this.

He could feel your gaze tracing over his arms as he sat in his white wifebeater at the kitchen table. This was by far not the first time he caught you staring at him like that. He noticed it every time. The way you would watch the flex of his biceps beneath his shirt, the way his forearms tensed whenever he clenched his fists. He wasn’t blind. And if he had any doubts, well, the way you were looking at him right now? Like you wanted to sink your teeth into him? Yeah. That cleared things up really fast.

"You’re staring again" he muttered, though he didn’t cover up, just took another sip of his drink. "Mhm" you hummed completely unapologetic in how you were goggling his arms. You pushed yourself away from the doorframe and stepped in closer, fingers reaching out to lightly drag over his arm, just enough to make his skin prickle.

Logan exhaled sharply through his nose, setting the beer can in his hand down on the table "You got a problem?"

"Yeah, actually" you said, tilting your head. "These arms? They’re just sitting there. Not being held. Not being bitten. Wasted potential, really."

Logan choked on a laugh, a rare sound from him "Bitten? What do you-?" before he could finish his sentence, you leaned in and without hesitation you pressed your teeth lightly against his bicep. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make him feel it. A playful little bite that was gone as fast as it came.

Logan went completely still. The only sound was the sharp breath he sucked in through his teeth. You pulled back again and watched his reaction, your lips curling into a satisfied smirk. "Huh, that shut you up really quick."

Logan finally blinked, looking up at you like he wasn’t quite sure what the hell just happened. He opened his mouth but closed it before any words came out, rubbing a hand over his beard and sighing deeply.

"You just bit me" he said, like he was still trying to process it.

You grinned "Yeah. You act like you can just sit here with these babies out and expect me not to."

Logan huffed, shaking his head at your words, but the corner of his mouth twitched. He almost a smiled. Almost. But you counted it as a win nonetheless "You’re goddamn ridiculous" he muttered.

"Maybe" you mused with a pout, poking at his arm again. "Now flex for me, old man. Let me see the goods." you demanded, already munching on your bottom lip in anticipation. You just couldn't help it. You knew he was starting to feel his age, to look it, too. But damn, his arms were still plumb 'n thick. Just how you liked them.

Logan let out a low groan and for a second you thought he would just ignore you, but to your absolute delight, he sat up a little more straight, rolled his shoulders back and flexed- just a little, as if to tease. Just enough to make the veins in his forearms pop, to make the muscles in his biceps shift under his skin.

And goddamn, you swore you felt lightheaded...and how your panties were getting wet. You bit your lip at the sight "Shit" you breathed, your eyes fighting from rolling back because good god "You are so hot."

Logan narrowed his eyes at your praise, grumbling something under his breath, but you caught the way his ears burned just a little bit pink. He could act all gruff and broody, but you knew the truth now.

You were disappointed as he lowered his arm again. You stepped closer, placing your hands on his arms, fingers tracing the muscle slowly, deliberately. A shudder ran up his spine at your touch. He tried to play it down, but he couldn't hide the obvious goosebumps explodig over his scarred skin "Do it again, baby. " you murmured, smoothing over his shoulder and arms.

Logan arched a brow "Again?"

"Again" you stated firmly, it sounded like a command to him. And maybe he would follow it. He rolled his eyes, but you were able to catch the slightest smile on his lips that seemed a little proud, flattered even. It was balm for the soul, your words. You actually wanted to see him, worship something he thought no one cared for anymore. But here you were.

Acting as if he was annoyed by your persistance, he lifted his arm and flexed, this time for real. The muscle in his biceps tensed, thick and solid beneath your hands that wandered over the firm muscle. His forearms flexed, veins running up his skin like a goddamn work of art. The old scars, the roughness, the strength, it was all so perfect. Your forearm next to his biceps looked so small, it made your mouth water.

And you couldn’t help it. You made a sound. A tiny, helpless whimper that you couldn’t stop even if you tried.

Logan froze and his arm lowered slightly "Did you just-?"

"Shut up" you giggled, pressing your face against his shoulder to hide the absolute mess he was making of you "Nah, sweetheart" he said, his voice downright smug and a grin spreading across his face while he stood up, towering over you, wrapping his strong arms around your neck, making you groan as pure, firm muscle surrounded your flushed face "What was that sound?" he teased, his voice low and raspy against your ear

You whined annoyed against his broad chest, wanting him to drop it "Logan"

But he wasn't letting up "You whimpered" he stated matter of factly, clearly enjoying himself "Over my arms."

Your hands slid up his sides, squeezing him. You looked up through your eyelashes, a suggestive grin on your lips "Well, you could just shut me up with these big, strong arms of yours" you purred, leaning up to kiss him. And Logan could already picture the way your teeth would sink into his flesh as he held you in a headlock while pounding his cock into you from behind, leaving deep bite marks on his arms that wouldn’t start to fade until the next morning. He grinned back down at you, capturing your lips in a kiss.

"Let's give you a reason to bite, bub"

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Fuck me he is so hot the best he ever looked and I will DIE on that hill. One chance, ONE FUCKING CHANCE!!!! I am not rlly the girly to randomly bite my partner but istg I would munch and nibble and gnaw on his arms FOREVER they are so big and manly and mhmm and yummy and BARK BARK

I have two more old man Logan drafts I completely forgot about- should I post them too?

[peachsayshi]

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ blessings ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

↬ summary: nanami kento tries to be the perfect husband and father but when a tough night fighting curses ends badly it results in nanami snapping at his daughter. 

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ minors / ageless / blank blogs (dni) ↬･tags: nanami x female reader; hurt/comfort; nanami has a daughter; domestic drama; being a jujutsu sorcerer is hard; momotarō is a famous Japanese folk tale :c ↬･ wc: 3,383

↬ notes: hi, everyone! I'm currently not really active at the moment so please don't feel disheartened if I haven't been responding to your messages or tagged posts. I'm taking a small break and only coming online for a bit to catch up on some messages, read fics or queue posts. I'll be back to properly posting and interacting soon but in the meantime I wanted to share that I finished up this draft over the weekend. I was actually debating if I should post this but then just decided to go for it! sending all my love xx

nanami’s head is heavy, completely clouded with despair, and it tints his brown eyes a shade of murky gray. the walls of his beautiful home feel narrow, almost claustrophobic, which explains why he’s struggling to catch his breath right now. stepping into the hallway, he instinctively peeks into the dining area to find you and his daughter eating dinner together. she’s sitting on the chair, her legs far too short to even touch the ground, holding a half eaten onigiri between her small hands. you are by her side, sneakily tidying up after her as you brush away the stray beads of rice trickling onto the table. 

a little glow blooms in nanami’s heart at the sight of you both but there is a vicious creature residing in the pit of his stomach that veils the bright light away. 

he quietly takes off his jacket, his bruised fingers loosening the tie around his neck. he clears his throat before announcing with exhaustion to you both that he’s finally home. 

your eyes meet his, the muscles on your face falling immediately. he can practically feel the blood rushing through your veins as worry washes over you. the reaction makes his chest uncomfortably tight, but he knows that he can’t hide his expressions around you like he used to. 

you both move together so fluidly now, like a single body of water that ebbs and flows to its own natural current. 

he escaped the night’s fight with a few cuts and a couple of bad bruises, but there is currently a student on shoko’s table who barely made it through. the young man arrived at jujutsu tech only a couple of weeks ago, but his naive and charismatic qualities turned into fatal flaws in the world of sorcery.

he bit off more than he could chew by trying to take on a special grade curse.  

shoko promised nanami that she would heal the boy, but admitted there was only so much she can do in regards to the aftermath of his injuries. the sorcerer couldn’t bare to leave him behind, but gojo refused that he stay and insisted that he return back home to his pretty wife and adorable daughter immediately. 

“I’ll handle things from here,” is what his superior said, while nanami’s guilt climbed up his throat. 

that student was his responsibility... 

...and he failed him entirely. 

“papa’s home!” his daughter chirps. the pitch of her voice ringing in nanami’s ears to pull him back to the present and far away from the scene where life and death were dancing together in a tango.  “papa, look, look...mama and I made onigiri!” 

her feet bounces up and down, and there’s a touch of a pink against her cheeks when her mouth stretches into a beaming grin. the innocence in her eyes makes nanami falter and he can feel himself falling deeper into the abyss. for a minute he resents himself for selfishly bringing such a beautiful thing into this world, only to gamble with the fact that she may potentially be in his shoes one day. 

he begs for that outcome to never happen, beseeches whatever higher power above him that exists to spare her from this life. she should never have to go through this, never have to experience these heartbreaks that only wither a person down. 

“I can see that,” nanami replies in a low voice before shifting his attention to his feet. 

right now, he can’t stomach an ounce of her purity, and it radiates around her like a halo. she's so unbothered by his presence, so completely unaware of the sudden change in the atmosphere around her... 

“we made tuna, salmon, and veggies...” she babbles on. 

“how nice...” nanami curtly interrupts, before anxiously running his fingers through the strands of his messy blonde hair. 

“which one do you want, papa?” she questions eagerly, pointing her sticky hands at the plate to show off the selection of triangles. 

“sweets,” you interject just as nanami turns on his heel to walk in the other direction, “how about we finish up eating our dinner, and we can save some for your daddy tomorrow...”

“nooo!” she whines far too loudly, which forces nanami to stop dead in his tracks. he glances over his shoulder to see her puffing out her bottom lip with disappointment, “you said...you said we make it so we eat together!” 

she’s only six. 

she can’t perceive that her father is struggling to hold himself together. deep down inside nanami knows that, but it isn’t enough to keep his cool. he doesn’t know why his daughter’s insistence causes him to pinch the front of his brows with annoyance or why he shoots a frustrated look in her direction. 

he doesn’t know why he’s suddenly picturing shoko calling the student’s parents to deliver the news that the man who was supposed to protect their child was unsuccessful in his duty. 

he doesn’t know why he feels at fault for everything that happened, even though the circumstances of the events were completely out of his control.  

he doesn’t know why he’s imagining himself on the receiving end of a very similar call, or why he can’t stop picturing his precious daughter on that table instead…

all of this pummels into him, and the monster emerges out from it’s cave.  

“be quiet and stop making such a fuss.” 

his voice comes out sharper than expected, and the expulsion of his frustration allows him to see the crystal clear picture before him. 

the room is dead silent. 

your face is in full shock at the hissing tone of your sweet husband snapping at his darling baby girl who he only ever speaks to with a gentle voice. 

what truly unravels nanami is the look that his daughter is giving him - her angelic features are sullen, but her eyes remain wide with surprise. her bottom lip is slack, and the only sound he can hear is her uneasy breathing. her eyes, the most beautiful gems in existence, twinkle as tears begin to form and she tries to quickly blink them away before turning her attention back to her plate.  

nanami doesn’t know he managed to stop time itself but the three of you remain frozen in place. 

he regrets his words immediately. 

he wants nothing more than to pull his precious girl close into his chest and smother her with apologies. the part of him with sense tells him to follow through and make things right with her, but instead he begrudgingly continues to wallow in his own self pity as he walks over to his room. 

･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･

the house is unusually quiet now, the music of domestic joy morphing into hushed murmurs and whispers outside your room door. you settle your crestfallen daughter into her bedroom before moving to check on your husband next. 

fresh out of the shower, nanami is seated on the edge of the bed with his exhausted eyes pressed firmly into the palms of his hands. he exhales a heavy breath, his dirty work clothes still piled just outside the bathroom, and your heart nearly collapses seeing him in such a state of disarray.

you kneel before him, two hands sliding across the soft material of his sweats as you brush them along his thighs before carefully bringing them up to circle around his wrists. 

“kento?” 

he allows you to pull his palms away but your throat constricts when a band forms tightly around your neck. you swallow the lump with an upturn of your brows as you are greeted with red, exhausted eyes. you cup that handsome face in your hands, your thumbs sweetly motioning back and forth across his cheeks as you try to soothe the tension away. 

after all this time together, it hurts you to see that he still tries to hide his tears. nanami constantly holds himself to the highest standard, always ensuring that he can solidify himself as the rock for you and your daughter to depend on through thick and thin. it’s so rare for you to see him crack, to watch him crumble under the overbearing weight of the things that he is burdened to carry. 

“you had a rough night,” you point out in a low, sympathetic voice and he simply just nods his head in acknowledgement. 

his eyes flutter close again when you lean forward to press a tender, reassuring kiss on his brow. “you want a talk about it?” 

the way his voice shakes makes you shiver, but you tentatively listen as he relays the events of the night before finally concluding that satoru called him only a few minutes ago to reassure him that the student in question is alright. 

“he lost an eye, but at least he’s alive...” he concludes somberly, the warble in his final statement prompting you to wrap your arms around his neck as you pull him in for a protective hug. 

nanami receives it with gratitude, strong arms circling around your waist as he buries his nose into the crook of your shoulder and breathes in.

your scent is a reminder of his permanent sanctuary.

a safety, a reassurance of home.

you stroke his blonde locks between your fingers until he exhales, "i'm so sorry," he breathes, "I...I didn't mean to snap like that..."

a tiny smile tugs at the corners of your lips, and you unravel yourself to cup his jaw into your palms once again. "I appreciate the apology, but I don't think I should be on the receiving end of it..." you hint sweetly.

nanami closes his eyes guiltily. "I'm a horrible father."

you click your tongue with disappointment, your face falling as your disapproval pinches between the space of your brows.

"you're just human," you remind him defensively, "you're a wonderful father, the best man that our daughter can look up to"

"did you see the look on her face?" he replies, his voice unnaturally small. the tender expression he gives you is filled with regret, and it's enough to make your heart ache all over again.

"kento," you contend, "don't do this to yourself. we're both going to have days where we mess up, but that doesn't mean that the problem can't be fixed."

you thread his hair between your fingers, like your brushing through rays sunlight. "she's waiting for me to read her a bedtime story," you explain, "but I'm sure she would rather be with you instead..."

"I doubt that," your husband replies as he reaches for your hand to kiss the inside of your palm.

"we will always love you, kento," you answer back, "unconditionally. on your good days and your bad ones"

he didn't even know how desperately he needed to hear that, for your certainty to remedy away all his sorrows, until they actually left your lips.

your husband's throat tightens, tears pricking his eyes once more but he hides them away when he leans in to seek out a kiss from the woman whose heart he deeply adores.

･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･

nanami leans his shoulder against the frame of his daughter's room. his heart patters lightly, making him realize that he might actually be nervous. it's strange, he thinks, that he would feel hesitant to approach his own child considering that he was her guardian but nanami had never allowed his professional life to fracture into his personal one like this before.

she's seated on the floor next to a pile of books and her stuffed rabbit secured tightly underneath her arm. there's a warmth in his chest when when he makes note of the soft toy, because he purchased that himself the day she was born and the pair have been inseparable ever since.

he clears his throat, bringing his scuffed knuckles to gently knock on the door.

"my love?" he calls out to her.

his daughter perks up, her breathing changing slightly as it rises and falls with a hint of apprehension. she glances over her shoulder to see him.

"where's mama?" she asks, her question shattering the man into a million pieces at her subtle dismissal.

"taking a shower," he answers cooly, "but I'm here to get you ready for bed..."

her lovely eyes refuse to lock into his own, and she simply tucks her lip between her bottom teeth to avoid giving nanami a reply.

she looks so much like him when he was a child. he remembered when his parents used to scold him too, and how he would also hide away in his room. the only difference is that nanami's parents were far more traditional - a time where elders were never submissive to young hearts.

"may I come in?" he requests politely, ensuring that his daughter knew she had a choice if she wanted to speak to him.

her nostrils flare slightly while she considers him, but to his relief she nods her head eagerly.

nanami steps into her room, always feeling largely out of place amongst her things. "did you find a story for bed?" he asks.

she again quietly nods her head and picks up her favorite book; a compilation of japanese folktales with beautiful illustrations. you both have been reading one for her each night ever since she got it it as a present from her grandparents.

he crouches on his knees to meet her at eye level. "you've really been enjoying this one, haven't you?" he carries on, hoping to coax more words out of her.

“yeah,” she replies in the same mousy voice of uncertainty. she shifts her attention away when she stands on her feet, clutching onto the stuffed bunny tightly while her other hand swings the book by her side.

“and what tale are we reading tonight?”

she shrugs her shoulders with indifference, a hint of pink blushing her cheek. “I dunno. I…I can just until mama is ready…”

nanami visibly slumps. her rejection an entirely new painful experience that he's never endured before. he scratches the back of his head anxiously, finding himself at a loss for words. the seconds pass, an awkward bubble surrounding both father and daughter. it’s only broken when nanami exhales a sigh, and reaches his hands towards her waist to draw her into his frame.

“darling,” he addresses tenderly, “can you look at me?”

“no, you were mean…” she blurts out, her bottom lip trembling slightly.

nanami’s heart sinks.

that’s the first time he’s ever heard those words from her lips.

“I know,” he murmurs shamefully.

her mouth forms into a tiny button of a pout but she meets his eyes for the first time as he acknowledges his behavior.

nanami arches forward to kiss her forehead, “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that, sweetheart. I’m so sorry if I upset or scared you”

she fidgets with the book in her hand. “did you not want onigiri?” she asks, her innocence tugging the corners of her father’s lips into a small grin.

“it wasn’t the onigiri, my love,” he reassures, “daddy just…had a bad day at work…”

“why was it bad?”

nanami sighs once again.

she still doesn’t know that he’s a sorcerer. you’ve both reduced his position to her by simply explaining that nanami “helps and protects people".

thankfully your daughter doesn’t pry too hard to ask any further questions.

“someone I know got hurt. so, daddy was a little shaken up when he came home…”

"shaken up?"

"scared, my love"

his daughter shakes her head in disbelief, “nu-uh, you never get scared, papa” she rebuts.

nanami huffs out a laugh, flashing her a full grin now as he brings his fingers to his chin to to ponder her sweet statement. he quirks his brow and cheekily replies, "we can't all be brave like you," in an attempt to lighten the mood.

his daughter narrows her eyes towards his hand, her mind instantly distracted with other things already. "you got hurt too papa!" she gasps, dropping the bunny by her side to point at his knuckles.

nanami glances at his fingers covered in red marks.

"wait!" she exclaims as she places the book by his side. "I have something!"

she spins on her heel and rushes towards one of her drawers. meanwhile, nanami just takes her in with his love soaked eyes, watching as she rummages through her stuff with determination until she scurries back his way.

"got it!" she squeaks with a smile, and to his surprise she jumps right into his arms with such nonchalance it nearly make him crumble on the spot.

your voice echoes in the back of his mind: "we will always love you, kento. unconditionally. on your good days and your bad ones"

"mama bought it for me," she explains, regaining her father's attention once more.

nanami rests his cheek on her shoulder, and inhales her powdery scent as he keeps one arm warmly secured around her waist. he watches her peel off the plaster of the band aid, lbefore grabbing his hand and placing it unevenly over his knuckles.

"now a kiss!" she adds, as she brings his hand to her mouth and exaggerates a loud "mwah" sound for emphasis. "mama says the kiss is what makes it all better"

nanami instantly feels significantly better from this remedy of love. he extends his digits out, and looks at the hot pink "hello kitty" band aid that now rests comfortably on his knuckles.

"thank you, my darling," he coos and peppers her cheek with a few kisses before turning her to face him once again. "you made me feel a lot better"

she flashes him an equally large smile in return, showing off her missing teeth.

"I did?"

nanami chuckles as he scoops her up in his arms to give her a well deserved bear hug. she laughs as he stands on his two feet, and sheds away any lingering thoughts of apprehension that may have stuck.

"you always do," he reassures, his soul vibrating back to life when he feels her return his embrace. “you think you can forgive me for how I spoke earlier?”

“yeah,” she confirms and squeezes him just a little tighter. "I love you lots, papa"

"oh, my angel," he hums, "you have no idea just how much I love you too..."

･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･

after winding down from your evening pampering session, you decide to pass by your daughter's room to check on your little family. you peer through the cracked door to find nanami spread out on your daughter’s bed, with your daughter curled into side and her head resting on his chest.

“did I come from a peach too like momotarō?” you hear her ask, but your heart flutters at the sight of your husband’s pearly whites.

you’ll never get over how much you love seeing him smile with such genuine emotion.

“no,” you hear nanami reply calmly, his finger lightly holding the page open. “you remember your mother explaining how you used to live in her stomach first?”

“oh yeah,” your daughter replies with a hint of disappointment over the fact that she was not birthed from a piece of fruit as mentioned in one of her favorite folk tales.

“shall I carry on?”

“uh-huh,” she answers and she readjusts her position to get even more comfortable. "I think if we look hard enough we might find momotarō..."

"you think so?" your husband wonders with honest curiosity.

"I know so, papa!"

"how many peaches do you think we need to check?"

"hmmm," she mumbles, "maybe a million?"

"a million?" your husband dramatically replies, "that's a lot of peaches don't you think,"

"I mean, it's less than a billion..." she responds quite matter of factly.

you catch his gaze from between the door that’s ajar. his expression fully relaxes, and you smile knowingly in his direction at the sight of father and daughter making up.

“papa?” his daughter questions upon his sudden silence, but your husband keeps his focus on you as he hums in acknowledgement before replying, "you're not wrong, but it'll still be quite a challenge to cut through a million peaches..."

"we might need some help," your daughter adds on.

you blow him a secret kiss as to not interrupt further, and quietly close the door before heading back to your bedroom.

[blank-potato]

Kitchen Hazard

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader x Yelena Belova

Summary:

“I…” Bob says, stepping forward to take one for the team before Yelena stops him. Patting him on the shoulder as if throwing herself on the grenade for him. You smile at her as she takes a small bite. As soon as it hits her tongue, her mouth is immediately assaulted with an overwhelming burst of sourness and a hefty helping of… salt? What on earth did you put in them? “It's delicious,” She wheezes with a smile, a single tear rolling down her cheek. It was not.  You can't cook for shit. Or You can't cook, and you're a massive distraction in the kitchen, but they love you regardless.

WC: 2.0K

A/N: A little fluff kinda crackfic I started the night after I watched Thunderbolts, and I'm finally getting it out my drafts

You were trying your best, the whole team could see that.

“Somebody taste this.”

You weren't exactly the most well-adjusted, but thankfully, no one on the team was. But one of the only things that made you feel calm was cooking. It was your way of getting away from all the stabbing, shooting and kicking your superhero day job affords you. It also allowed you to show the team how much you loved being with them and how much you cared about them. Because the way to someone’s heart is through their stomach, at least that’s what you’d learnt from TV.

You pout, looking around as you offer your cupcakes, but no one has even moved, except Ava, who had phased out of existence as soon as you turned around with the tray in your hands. 

“Bob? Yelena?” You ask, fluttering your eyes at them. You knew they could never say no to you. You were each other’s something, you hadn’t exactly put a label on it, but they loved you, they loved each other, and you loved them, which means they were more often than not your cooking test subjects.  

“I…” Bob says, stepping forward to take one for the team before Yelena stops him.

Patting him on the shoulder as if throwing herself on the grenade for him. You smile at her as she takes a small bite. As soon as it hits her tongue, her mouth is immediately assaulted with an overwhelming burst of sourness and a hefty helping of… salt? What on earth did you put in them?

“It's delicious,” She wheezes with a smile, a single tear rolling down her cheek.

It was not. 

You can't cook for shit.

The first time you made cookies, they came out so hard that they could’ve been used as weapons. In fact, you ended up leaving a small bruise on John’s head when you threw one at his head when he said they had more in common with rocks than cookies. You apologised profusely afterwards, but you still thought they weren’t that bad, maybe John’s head was just soft. 

But that was hardly the last time you hurt someone with your food. Like when you almost poisoned and killed Bucky with your experimental fusion noodles, which tasted, according to him, like what he imagines jet fuel must taste like. 

Or the time you attempted to make soup for Ava when she was sick, and you managed to overcook the meat and vegetables in it. She had no voice, a fever, and still managed to croak out, "Is the soup supposed to be black?"

Not to mention that every other thing you made was unbearably spicy. At one point, John even started inspecting your spice usage like he was defusing a bomb. 

Your cooking could be considered biological warfare.

“You really like it?” you ask, your eyes sparkling with pride. You really tried this time. You measured things (mostly), followed instructions (kind of), and only deviated from the recipe a tiny bit to add your own special touches. Which, in reality, meant you went completely off the wall and threw in everything that looked “inspired.”

“It’s…” she says slowly, her eye twitching just a little as she fights to keep the smile on her face, “…perfect.”

There’s a beat of silence before she clears her throat and adds, “Really… unique flavour profile.”

“Great! Dig in,” You exclaim, pushing the cupcakes in front of her. Bob feels his stomach lurch at the thought of having to eat it all and is eternally thankful to Yelena and her seemingly iron stomach. 

“I can cook dinner too—”

“No!” came the resounding chorus from everyone in the room, except Alexei, who somehow didn’t mind your food and would always be reaching for seconds with alarming enthusiasm.

“That’s not necessary. Let Bob and I do it,” Yelena cut in quickly, a flicker of fear in her eyes like she was remembering the great ‘Turkey Incident’ of last Thanksgiving. They still got war flashbacks every time a turkey was so much as mentioned. 

You blink, the hopeful smile on your face slowly melting into a confused, almost pouty frown.

“But… I can help. I want to help,” you say, your voice softening with genuine intent, oblivious to the silent, panicked glances being exchanged behind you.

Bob watches you for a moment, and he understands that feeling all too well, wanting to be of use to the rest of the team and not feel like dead weight. He smiles gently, leaning over the counter and taking your hand in his, his thumb brushing soothing circles against your skin.

“You can keep us company instead,” Bob suggests softly, his eyes warm and reassuring.

You nod slowly, the tension in your shoulders easing as you return the faint smile. “Sounds good,” you murmur, squeezing his hand in return.

The three of you enter the kitchen and look around. 

“So, what are we making?” you ask, hopping up onto the counter briefly before deciding maybe that’s not the best idea with Yelena around. You have found yourself pinned against one or two with intense makeout sessions following after and you should probably let them actually cook...probably.

“Creamy tomato pasta. If we try anything else, I’m scared we’ll burn the place down,” Yelena replies dryly, already grabbing tomatoes and garlic from the counter with practised ease.

You watch them fall into a rhythm, working in surprising harmony. Bob is boiling the kettle and starting to gather other ingredients, while Yelena multitasks like a pro, heating oil and prepping a pan. It’s almost domestic. Who are you kidding? It is domestic.

“Do you know where the basil is?” she asks, not looking up.

“Grab it for me?” she adds a beat later.

Bob reaches over her, brushing slightly against her side as you snag the fresh basil from the windowsill planter, handing it over with a little flourish. She smirks, not missing the theatrics.

“Can you open this for me?” Bob suddenly asks, holding out a stubborn jar to Yelena.

You raise an eyebrow. “You could crush that jar with your pinky.”

“I know,” he says sheepishly, “but it’s more fun when she does it.”

Yelena rolls her eyes but takes it, popping the lid off with a casual twist like it was nothing. “Hopeless,” she mutters playfully, setting it down on the counter.

He lingers, sticking closer to her, hovering a bit too obviously over Yelena’s shoulder as she preps ingredients. You exchange a glance with her, trying not to laugh.

“What?” she asks with a knowing smirk, catching his gaze.

“Just go cut onions,” Yelena adds, nudging him away with her elbow.

He obeys, letting out a sigh before grabbing the cutting board and starting to slice.

Both you and Yelena keep a not-so-subtle eye on him, watching his clumsy but careful movements. His eyes dart to both of you.

“I’m being careful, okay? I won’t cut myself. Invincible, remember?” he says, feigning confidence.

You don’t say anything, but you remain close. Curious, quiet, and maybe a little mesmerised as you watch his hands work. There’s something oddly calming about the way Bob moves: precise, steady, almost delicate despite his size. He’s focused, thoughtful, and your eyes follow the subtle shifts of his fingers, the crease of his brow, the way his lips part slightly in concentration.

It’s… entrancing.

Your skills of observation come in handy a few moments later when you notice his nose twitch ever so slightly. He clearly doesn’t want to break focus, but it’s distracting him.

Anticipating his needs, you reach over and gently scratch the side of his nose for him.

His shoulders relax, and he exhales with a laugh. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Turning your sights over to Yelena, you notice she forgot to put on an apron—again. With a dramatic sigh and a teasing shake of your head, you grab one off the hook.

“Let me put this on you,” you say, holding it out.

Yelena raises a brow but obliges, dipping her head slightly with a smirk tugging at her lips.

You slip the apron over her and step behind her to tie it, fingers brushing gently against her back as you secure the strings. You can feel her tense ever so slightly under your touch, but she doesn’t move away; in fact, she leans back just a bit.

“There. Now you won’t ruin another one of your ‘cool assassin’ shirts with tomato sauce,” you say with a playful nudge to her shoulder.

“I would make tomato sauce look badass on my shirts, but I get your point,” she quips, turning her head to glance at you over her shoulder, that smirk now fully formed.

“I’m the best sous chef anyone can ask for,” you chirp with a confident grin. Seeing a smudge of sauce on the corner of Yelena’s mouth, you lean in and kiss it off, marvelling at the taste as your lips brush hers.

“It tastes so good,” you murmur, cooing over the tiny bit you tasted on her lips before turning back to the pot, taking a spoonful and humming in delight.

“Yeah?” Yelena muses with a smirk, clearly amused by your enthusiasm.

“Bob, you have to try some,” you say, not even giving him a second to react before you reach up and kiss him quickly on the lips. “Good, right?”

Bob flushes a bright red, blinking rapidly. “Yeah, it’s uh—” he stammers, coughing slightly as his body tries to recover from you making his heart skip a beat. 

“You guys might just be better than me at cooking,” you say with a playful grin, leaning in toward him. His hands immediately fly up, cradling your face, but then he pulls back.

“Wait, my hands are onion-y, I don’t want to make you cry,” Bob says, a little sheepishly.

“Then don’t use your hands,” you tease, eyes sparkling.

You lean in again to kiss him, and he’s forced to keep his hands by his sides, despite clearly wanting to cup your face and deepen the kiss.

Pulling back with a mischievous smile, you reach out, grabbing Yelena and tugging her closer. “I’m cooking.”

“Not anymore,” you declare firmly, determined to kiss your not-quite-girlfriend, not-quite-boyfriend, because honestly, dinner didn’t matter anymore. 

You wrap your arms around her, starting to kiss her neck as Bob’s lips trail over yours. His hands grip your hips firmly, pulling you closer.

“We need to—” Yelena starts to say, but neither of you are listening.

Your hands are wandering, and honestly, you don’t even know whose hands are where anymore. Nothing could pull you apart.

Well, except for a fire.

Suddenly, the only sound in the room isn’t the soft brushing of lips or the quiet gasps—it’s the loud whoosh of a pot catching fire, flames licking upward, smoke building fast, filling the air.

You dramatically scream in pure horror, as Yelena rushes forward, swearing fiercely in Russian while searching for something to smother the flames.

“I’ve killed us, I’ve killed us all!” you wail, like you’ve discovered you had actually been switched at birth. Melodrama seemed to suit you quite nicely, another cute attribute they liked about you. 

Bob quickly wraps his arms around you, his voice calm and steady as he gently strokes your hair. “It’s just a small fire, see? Yelena is taking care of it.”

Within seconds, Yelena smothers the fire, the smoke beginning to clear.

She turns to you both with a sharp look, her tone a mix of warning and amused exasperation.

“What did we learn?”

“Never leave the stove unattended,” you say with a pout.

“And?” Bob asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t distract the cooks when they’re cooking…” You reply, giving a small shrug.

“Can we just order food?” you suggest, admitting defeat. They both nod in agreement, no way they're letting you anywhere near the kitchen for a while. You were a hazard, whether you were actually cooking or not.

You start to help them clean, the some smoke still comes out as Ava walks in, eyes wide. “What did you do in there?” she asks, taking in the smoky room and the faint scent of burnt tomato sauce. 

Masterlist

[munsonsmixtapes]

The Prophecy

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

After recommending a movie to you, Steve invited you you over to watch it with him and to his surprise, you agree.

This has been sitting in my drafts for a while and I have no idea why I never posted it.

Based on “The Prophecy” by Taylor Swift because that song is Steve.

Steve would be the first to admit that his sex life is nothing but vanilla. He’s always on top and always so sweet and gentle. But now he’s starting to wonder if that’s the problem. If that’s the reason why women don’t seem to want anything more than a one night stand.

He doesn’t get it. He used to be King Steve and now he can’t even get a call back? What the fuck is that about? He goes on a date almost every night and still somehow the only action he gets is with his hand.

The “you suck” side of Robin’s board is so full that she had to get another one and what started as a harmless joke has now made Steve start to think badly about himself. He used to have so much confidence and now it’s withering away bit by bit with each rejection.

He thinks all hope is lost until you walk in to Family Video. You’re all smiles as you ask him for a suggestion and he’s convinced it’s all a prank. It’s going too well if he’s being honest. You’re laughing at his jokes and genuinely seem interested in what he’s recommending. He’s now wondering if Robin put you up to this so he’d stop complaining to her about being single.

He decides it doesn’t matter and that he’s going to play along because you’re pretty and now he’s following you around the store like a lost puppy, holding a large stack of tapes that you’ve handed to him. Normally, he hates when people treat him like he’s their personal shopper but he’s going to let you do whatever you damn well please. You might as well tell him to jump because he’ll ask how high.

“Is this one any good?” You ask, holding up a tape to him and he audibly gasps. He didn’t think anyone hadn’t seen the movie so the fact that you haven’t is genuinely shocking to him.

“You’ve never seen the Princess Bride?” He’s acting like he just witnessed you commit a crime. Sure, you’ve heard of the movie and listened to people rave about it, but there’s something about it that turns you off.

“No,” you shake your head and Steve plucks the VHS from your hand and heads over to the counter with you following him.

“I can’t allow that. You’ve gotta watch it. It’s one of the best movies of all time. So, I’m renting it to you.”

“Well, maybe we can watch it together.” Are you…flirting? He hasn’t been flirted with in so long that he’s having a hard time telling whether it’s that or you’re just being friendly.

“Y-yeah. I’ve got whole movie theater in my basement. We can watch it there.” That’s become his make out spot when everyone found out about skull rock, but this time, he just wants to watch a movie with you.

“It’s a date,” you glance at his name tag to get his name. “Steve. Can I call you, Stevie?”

“You can call me anything you want.” He internally cringes at his words, but you seem so into it that he can’t possibly take them back.

“Well, I’m y/n, but you can call me anything you want.” The line completely goes over his head as all he can focus on is your name. He’s heard so much about you and now that he can put a face to a name, he finally understands.

You’re new to Hawkins and it’s clear that you’re the talk of the town as everyone seems to want a chance to either be you or under you. And he can see why. You’re sweet and very easy on the eyes. You’re probably the most stunning woman he’s ever seen and you’re flirting with him? He’s wondering if this is some sort of cruel prank.

You set your purse on the counter then pull out a notebook and pen from it before setting them both on the counter in front of him. “Here, write down your address and I’ll write down my number and you can call me whenever you’re available.”

He’s scribbling down his information so quickly that he’s afraid you can’t read it. But you read over the words without a word then scribble down your number before ripping off the piece and handing it to him. You then put your things back into your purse before pulling out some cash to pay for your rental.

“Oh, he’s always available. How does tonight sound?” Robin has inserted herself into the conversation and Steve really wishes she hadn’t. He can get a date all by himself thank you very much.

“Stop helping me,” he whispers to her and he really hopes you can’t hear him.

“Tonight is perfect,” you smile and Steve swears he’s already in love with you. “Call me when you get off?”

“Oh, he’ll be getting off, alright,” Robin says under her breath and Steve is quick to elbow her in the stomach.

“Seriously, stop,” he turns to her to give her a glare and you honestly just find their whole dynamic to be funny, like siblings. Steve slides the VHS across the counter to you along with your change and as soon as you’re gone, he’s going to let Robin have it.

They’re so engrossed in their conversation that they haven’t even noticed that you’ve left your purse. The bright pink thing is sitting there in front of them they’re not even aware, too caught up in their silly conversation.

“I’m helping you get laid and this is how you repay me?” She asks, leaning against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I don’t need your help,” he tells her as he heads over to the cart of returns to put them away and Robin follows.

“Clearly you do. Or else I wouldn’t have had to step in.”

“I was fine. I’ve still got it.” He honestly doesn’t know how he even got a date with you since he almost always flounders now. Maybe this will be the one that finally sticks.

“Good for you, dingus, you scored a date with the hottest woman in town. Maybe this time I’ll actually be able to put a tally in the “you rule” column.”

Robin knows that it’s a cruel joke to make when he’s so sensitive about the whole thing, but she can’t figure out why. Even thought hasn’t been and will never be attracted to him, she totally understands the appeal. He’s sweet and funny and much more intelligent than people give him credit for. She doesn’t know why he can’t seem to find someone to settle down with when that’s really all he wants.

She knows he’s not as happy as he lets on, that he’s much more lonely than he tells people he is. That he always goes out with his friends or is over at her house because his is far too big to be alone in.

That’s why he’s always got a girl in his bed so he won’t be going to sleep alone, but that’s how he always wakes up as they always leave him before he’s awake.

It’s not fair, she thinks. That everyone has seemed to have found his person but not him. He’s such a fucking catch so it just doesn’t make sense. She’s really hoping that maybe you’ll be the one.

“Fuck off,” he shoves her away with a laugh. He’s being a good sport about the whole thing, at least that’s what everyone thinks. No one knows that sometimes he’ll go home and have a good cry in the shower because of how alone he feels. And he feels so fucking pathetic for it, but it's the only way he knows how to cope.

The bell above the door jingles, signaling that a customer has entered the store. Steve and Robin turn to see Dustin carrying a stack of VHS tapes he's going to return. He's got a bright smile on his face as usual as he makes his way over to the counter where Steve meets him.

“Everyone’s coming over tonight to watch Star Wars if you guys wanna join,” Dustin says as Steve returns the movies to the system.

“I’ll be there, but Steve has a date,” Robin replies, patting Steve on the shoulder in a congratulatory manner.

“Right, with your hand, a sock, and a bottle of lotion, just like every night?” Dustin is wearing a knowing look and Robin is grimacing in disgust while Steve’s cheeks turn bright pink.

“No,” Steve glares. “With a girl. We’re going to watch the Princess Bride.”

“What’s her name?” He’s asking in a way that makes it seem like he doesn’t believe Steve, but he does. Dustin just likes to give him shit any chance he gets.

“Y/n.” Steve’s tone is smug and Dustin scoffs in response because now he really doesn’t believe him. There’s no fucking way that he scored a date with you of all people. Maybe back in his “King Steve” days, but definitely not now.

“Y/n as in y/n l/n? No way dude. She’s way out of your league.” Dustin is laughing now as if he’s just heard the most funny joke.

“Gee, thanks, Henderson.” Steve grabs the tapes now that he’s put them back in the system, then turns his back, heading for the break room because it’s time for his thirty. He doesn’t have time for this.

He can hear the two of them still yapping as he closes the door. He reaches for his punch card, punching that he’s on his break then grabs his lunchbox from the fridge before sitting down at the table with a sigh.

“She gave him her number and everything. And let me tell you, she’s even hotter than they say.” Robin had never seen you in person until tonight and she totally understands why everyone is head over heels for you.

“Don’t believe me?” She asks, eyeing the purse on the counter that you had apparently left.

“This could be anybody’s,” Dustin glares at her just as you enter the store again. All of the air is sucked out of his lungs as he’s come to the realization that you are in fact real.

“Totally forgot my purse,” you tell Robin with a little laugh as you grab the thing from the counter, slinging it over your shoulder. You then turn in Dustin’s direction, staring at him with your signature bright smile. “And who might you be?” You ask, and Dustin’s mouth goes bone dry as he looks up at you. You really are hotter than they say.

“D-“ he clears his throat before trying to introduce himself again. “Dustin.”

“Dustin,” you repeat and his name sounds so angelic coming from your mouth. “That’s cute. Well, it was nice to meet you Dustin and I'll see you, Rob,” you wave at her from over your shoulder like you’re old friends and yeah, she’s going to be thinking about that for a very long time.

You flee the store yet again and Dustin’s eyes are following you as Robin opens a magazine, staring down at the page to hide her blushing cheeks. He’s trying to figure out how he can become four years older while Robin is crossing her fingers that you’re also into girls.

They both know it’s pathetic, especially since you’re going out with Steve tonight, but they can’t help it. There’s just something about you that draws people to you, like they’re all sailors being lured to their deaths and damn if that isn’t a good way to go.

It’s the way you carry yourself, as if you don’t have a care in the world. And you don’t. You just go around with all of that confidence and maybe that’s why everyone either envies or wants you. You never pay attention to that, though.

None of them truly know you and they don’t care to either. You’re just something pretty to look at, someone who will look good on their arm, but the second they get you into bed or even hang out with you with everyone watching, they’ll leave you in the drop of a hat. Because really, all they want is for you to make them look good.

But Steve? He actually treated you like a person. He wasn’t falling all over you, just genuinely trying to help you find a movie. You’re not usually one to randomly ask someone out, in fact, the whole thing made you super nervous. But he was so eager to agree and that made you feel like your usual self again.

You've heard a lot about Steve. You know his reputation and how he's very popular with the ladies, so you're surprised that he's available on a Saturday night. You figured that someone else would have already snatched him up and put a ring on it. You're both about that age now so it's honestly surprising that he's single. How has no woman in Hawkins come to their senses and married this man? You suppose you should be grateful since you're the lucky woman he's invited over tonight.

Steve exits the break room as soon as his break is over still thinking about you and how he still can't believe how you actually asked him out. The prettiest girl in Hawkins. Maybe he really does still have game.

He makes his way over to Robin feeling more confident than he has a long time. She's scribbling something down in a notebook and he lets out a deep sigh. He was really hoping that she would have gotten bored of that stupid game by now. But apparently not.

As always, his love life has just become a joke to everyone. Because it's just so funny that poor Stevie can't get a date. He'll die alone while everyone else will end up with someone. That's just his fate, he thinks.

The rest of the night goes by so slowly. It's almost painful for Steve to look at the clock, watching the minutes tick by at a glacial pace. He has never been so eager to go home, actually wanting to be there for the first time in a long time.

He's so close to asking Robin to close up for him because he just realized he doesn't have anything to eat or drink besides shitty beer and a pizza that's been in his freezer since he was a kid. But he decides that he'll just hurry to the store on his way home because he's already had her close for him more times than he can count.

"Would it offend you if I picked out your outfit for tonight? Because no offense, Steve, but this,” Robin refers to his outfit. "Is just not going to cut it.”

“Gee, thanks, Rob.” He's already nervous enough and doesn't need Robin making him second guess what he's going to wear even though he was already going to anyway.

“I'm just saying, would it kill you to switch it up every once in a while?”

“Are you of all people seriously trying to give me fashion advice right now?”

“What's that supposed to mean?” She crosses her arms over her chest as she leans against the counter, fixing Steve with a glare. He doesn't actually mean it, he just suddenly feels a lot of pressure about tonight and he's taking it out on her.

"Nothing, I'm just nervous, alright?" He runs a hand through his hair and just by the look on his face, she can see that he's telling the truth.

"Thought you didn't get nervous." She's smiling smugly now and Steve really doesn't appreciate it.

He ignores her and rounds the counter, making his way over to the door, turning the sign to signify that the store is now closed. He's now counting the minutes until he's able to go home, actively watching the hands on his watch tick, tick, tick by.

"I haven't done this in a while, alright?" He asks as he locks the door. "I'm a little rusty."

"A little?” She scoffs and Steve rolls his eyes.

“Alright a lot.”

“You need to relax. It’s just a date.” But it’s not, not to Steve. He thinks this could actually be something and he hopes he doesn’t blow it this time.

“So are you getting out of here or what?”

“What?” The question genuinely catches him off guard. He didn’t think she’d actually want to close for him since she’s done it so many times in the past.

“I can hold down the fort. Go get the girl, Steve.” He smiles widely, before pressing a kiss to Robin's cheek before hurrying out the door to his car. For once, he actually thinks he has a chance and he’s totally going to take it.

[florestalio]

FEELING FRISKY — m.jh

you had always found your best friend attractive, who wouldn't? but perhaps, him being so close to you when you were ovulating... wasn't the best idea. after all, a harmless crush can lead to being dangerously close to toeing the line of friendship.

GENRE— porn with little plot, friends to ???

WARNINGS— unprotected sex (don't!), reader is extremely horny, reader is so down bad for jaehyun it's almost embarrassing, reader isn't as subtle as she thinks, jaehyun is a cocky little shit, fingering, mirror sex (?), pussy slapping, cum eating, missionary, bondage, let me know if i missed any!

WORDCOUNT— 3.6k

NOTE— this was written when the pictures of jaehyun sucking on a lollipop with a bandaid on his cheek dropped. yes, this is extremely self indulgent. also, this was originally going to be named "feeling 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂" but I changed my mind cuz... yea, i think it's self explanatory. enha ver here!

P.S— this had been rotting in my drafts for so fucking long, it's embarassing.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

A SOFT GROAN FELL FROM JAEHYUN’S LIPS, as you continued to read your book, despite him being literally two feet away from you — that too on the same bed. What could that stupid book possibly contain, that you were completely ignoring his presence?

He groaned again. “Can you please put that damn book aside and pay attention to me instead? We were supposed to hang out, not be busy reading stupid books–”

You rolled your eyes. “We weren’t ‘supposed’ to do anything. You came to my apartment of your own accord, went straight to my bedroom, and plopped down on my bed, expecting me to entertain you — it’s not my fault that you can’t find the entertainment you wanted from me.”

Yes, maybe you were being a little harsh. But then again, he deserved it. You were ovulating — really bad at that — and were peacefully watching certain… videos on twitter, when he suddenly rang the bell to your apartment. Of course you were gonna be mad at him. Guaranteed, he had no idea. But that can’t stop you from being petty, can it? Not to mention that the book you were reading was one of the best smut books ever, so you had at least had something to distract yourself from the current dilemma with — but he was hellbent on trying to get you to ditch that as well, just to make you pay attention to him.

Distract yourself from what, exactly? Why, it’s your best friend, of course.

You had always found him attractive, who wouldn’t? But now that you were ovulating… the images in your head starring him were… unholy in the least.

You needed the distraction. Everyone knows that a girl ovulating, while being in the presence of a guy who she is even slightly attracted to, can be very, very dangerous. Especially if said guy is a good friend. Toeing the line of friendship is never a good idea, especially with Jaehyun. You weren't willing to lose him forever, just to satisfy your temporary needs… even if he was making it really difficult for you to not pounce on him.

You never thought a band aid on someone's cheek could be that attractive, combined with his all black outfit and the lollipop in his mouth. The way he kept swirling his tongue over the candy? God, you were definitely going to hell from the thoughts you were having about him.

A scoff from your best friend snapped you out of your daydreams. “Okay, maybe I came uninvited. But isn't it common courtesy for you to not blatantly ignore someone right in front of you? Or is that book of yours so engaging that you forgot basic etiquettes?”

Oh, how you wished to yell at him and say that yes, the book really was that engaging. How you wished to recreate the absolutely mouth-watering smut scenes in the book with him–

Okay, you really needed to get a grip over yourself.

You cleared your throat. “Fine, I'll keep the book down, but I don't know how to entertain you.” True to your word, you kept the book down, the uncomfortable heat that had been long since pooling into your lower stomach, not fading in the slightest. In fact, the more you looked at him, the more the heat intensified.

He rolled his eyes, speaking in an irritated voice. “It’s not like you aren't enjoying yourself right now, is it?”

You couldn't understand if it was because you were ovulating, or if he was doing it purposely — but something about the tone of his voice was so fucking hot — you could feel even more heat starting to pool into your lower stomach, your panties sticking to your folds uncomfortably. You spoke in a slightly shaky voice. “W-What is that supposed to mean?–”

Jaehyun took the lollipop out of his mouth with a loud ‘pop’, before speaking with an accusatory tone. “Don’t play dumb with me. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

…There was absolutely no way you were growing wetter at his tone. Since when did he sound so… hot while accusing you? And why were you enjoying it?

You didn’t even know what he was accusing you of. All you could concentrate on was his slight smirk and the cocky gleam in his eye. You couldn’t tell why he was looking at you the way he was, but you knew he was up to no good.

But even when you predicted that, his next few words still managed to make your blood run cold. “Stop pretending like I can't see you rubbing your cute thighs together. I'm not blind, you know.”

Your jaw dropped, staring at him with eyes that were wide open in horror. He noticed?! God, so now he thinks you're a pervert — which, given your behavior, wouldn't be wrong — but still–

You didn't know how you still had the audacity to play dumb, but you did. “I-I don't know what you're talking about–”

You were cut off with a loud scoff from him. He gave you an incredulous look, speaking in a condescending tone, paired with sheer disbelief, letting you know that he didn't buy your bullshit. “You don't know what I'm talking about?”

You gulped, your thighs unintentionally pressing together even harder to prevent a fresh wave of slick from trickling down your hole. “N-no?–”

He let out a disappointed sigh, which seemed to be more of a mocking gesture than a genuine reaction of disappointment. “So you aren't going to admit it on your own. That's okay, I can always make you admit it.”

Without a warning, he wrapped a hand around your ankle, yanking you towards him. You screamed out loud from utter shock. Before you could say anything, he pulled you up, wrapping a hand around your waist so that you were pressed flush to his chest. He spread his legs, settling you in between them, before turning you, pressing your back to his chest. Jaehyun grabbed your chin, pulling it up, so that your eyes stared right into your own in the mirror on the far end of your room.

Your eyes trailed to his own in the mirror, shocked to see his expression. His eyes had darkened, slightly hooded eyes staring straight into your soul. You had never seen your best friend like that, but today… safe to say your thighs clenched again, your panties surely drenched by now.

You gulped, noticing a slight smirk on his face. He brought his lips closer to your ear, whispering softly. “Tell me princess, are you still not going to admit it?”

His tone sent chills down on your spine. You wanted to admit it so bad, wanted to let him know exactly how you needed him to rail you within an inch of your life — but then again, you wanted to find out what he would do if you didn’t give into his demands. What you guys were doing had already crossed all lines of friendship, it didn’t matter now if you guys went all the way anyways.

So you proceeded to lie. Again. “I- I seriously don’t know what you’re talking a-about–”

He let out a disappointed sigh, — which sounded really condescending instead — before speaking again. “So you really have no idea, hm? You’re telling me you aren’t wet right now? Hm?”

Your breath hitched. Fuck, this was really happening. “I- I’m not–”

You were cut off with a loud gasp, when he suddenly pressed two fingers right over your clothed cunt, the nearly drenched fabric soaking up more of your wetness. You couldn’t help yourself, letting out a choked moan, when he pressed them in even harder, effectively pushing the fabric deeper inside your puffy lips, even more slick dripping down out of you.

Your best friend — could you even call him that anymore? — bit down on the lobe of your ear, before speaking again. “Nasty little slut, aren’t you? Soaking up your panties right in front of me, and yet you have the gall to lie to my face? Acting all innocent too… was this what you actually wanted? For me to force an answer out of you? Fuck, look at the way you’re clenching around my fingers, and they aren’t even inside you yet — we’re gonna have so much fun together princess…”

His last few words turned you on even more, — if that was even possible — falling out of his lips like a dark promise, a promise that he intended to keep. You still needed to answer him, so you did — only this time, all hesitation, all the ‘acting dumb’ was gone, replaced by pure, unadulterated, lust. “I’m s-sorry please — please, fuck me Jae–”

You couldn’t even complete your sentence, before he pulled his hand off your pants, opting to push the waistband of your shorts down instead. You didn’t even realize that you were lifting up your hips for him to shove them down your legs, your underwear following suit — only, instead of throwing it far away randomly in the room, he brought them to his nose, screwing his eyes shut and taking a deep inhale.

His action caused your jaw to hang open in pure shock, eyes as wide as saucers — you were so unbelievably horny, all you wanted was to push him down to lie down on your bed, and ride him till the two of you were spent beyond salvation — but you knew he wouldn’t let you do that. He always liked to be assertive, which you were fine with — although right now you were growing impatient. You needed him, did he not understand that? You needed him so fucking bad, you would let him take you raw, breed the fuck out of you, fuck a baby into you–

At this point you didn’t even know if these were your own thoughts, or your ovulation fucking with your head. Either way, you were filled with the thought of him, your mind chanting ‘Jaehyun, Jaehyun, Jaehyun’ like a mantra, imprinting his name into the walls of your brain — which was funny, because he hadn’t even done anything to you yet — properly, that is.

Speaking of, you just noticed him stuffing your soaked panties into his pocket, his hand coming to grip your chin again. He raised it to make you look into the mirror. You made eye contact with him in it, gulping at the look in his eyes. It was purely predatory, lust swimming in his irises like an insatiable hunger.

If you had any doubts about him not wanting you as much as you wanted him, your doubts were certainly all cleared now.

His hand left your chin, coming down to your impossibly wet cunt instead. He slid a finger over your slit, rubbing it up and down, collecting your abundant amount of slick on it. He watched in the mirror, completely fucking mesmerized by the sight of your pretty little pussy fluttering around his finger. He decided to use another finger, using both of his digits to part your folds, watching even more slick dripping out of your needy cunt. It was truly a sight, causing his bulge to strain against your back, a loud moan escaping you at the feeling. Your head fell back on his shoulder, your eyes screwed shut from the feeling of him playing with you so lewdly — it was like a scene straight out of your dirtiest fantasies, one that you never imagined would actually happen in reality — but fuck, you were definitely not complaining.

You suddenly gasped out loud, your head jerking up, staring directly into his eyes in the mirror. Your eyes were wide open in shock, from the impact of his slap on your impossibly wet pussy. Your breathing had fastened, staring at him in pure shock. He scoffed at your expression, glaring at you through the mirror. “What? Surprised? If you want me to continue, you better not remove your gaze — you’re going to watch as I make you fall apart on my fingers. If you avoid eye contact even once, I’m going to edge you the entire day — yes, the entire day. I’m not kidding in the slightest, princess, so you better keep those pretty eyes of yours peeled open if you want to cum at all.”

You swallowed thickly. This, this was what you needed. He was what you needed, he was all you needed. His tone, his words, everything was so fucking hot — you craved everything he could offer, and more.

But, in order to get a little bit of literally anything he had to offer, you needed to obey him. So you decided to comply, not removing your gaze even once from the mirror.

He plunged his fingers inside you without a warning, fucking them into you at a rough pace, drawing out loud squelching noises from your pussy. You let out the loudest moans and whimpers known to mankind at his rough pace, whining slightly, clenching and unclenching around his fingers. You arched your back to the best of your ability, letting out a loud whimper, when the calloused pads of his fingers rubbed oh-so-deliciously against your walls. Your breath hitched as he rubbed that spot on your walls, his other hand holding you down tightly to stop you from squirming. He had noticed immediately, making sure to hit that same spot over and over again, using his thumb to rub on your clit simultaneously. You let out a choked gasp, the band in your stomach tightening at alarming rate; a telltale sign of you being brought to your fastest  — almost embarrassingly fast — orgasm yet.

Jaehyun watched your expressions with his lip pulled between his teeth, his eyes hooded, as you fell apart on his fingers. The little shudders and loud whines were music to his ears.

God, you knew exactly how to drive him crazy.

He kept on thrusting his fingers shallowly, until you were squirming from the overstimulation. He then withdrew his fingers from your soaking cunt, giving your clit a last pinch, eliciting a whimper from you. He brought his fingers to his mouth, maintaining eye contact with you in the mirror, as he licked them clean, a soft groan leaving him as your taste hit him.

He licked off every last drop from his fingers, before harshly grabbing your chin. He turned your face halfway towards him, smashing his lips on yours, for the very first time — which was a little funny to think about, given that he had already made you cum on his fingers; that too at such an embarrassingly fast pace.

The kiss was sloppy and messy, spit mixing and dribbling down your chins, tongues clashing with each other. But neither of you seemed to care, too engrossed in trying to memorize the feel of each other's mouth.

He gripped your waist without breaking the kiss, pulling you backwards, before shoving you down on the bed. You fell on your back with a light ‘oof–’, your head hitting the pillow. You barely had any time to gather yourself, before Jaehyun was crashing his lips into yours again.

He kissed you at a feverish pace, one that you could barely keep up with. His hands roamed about your body frantically, desperately trying to memorize every inch of you. He started to fiddle with your clothes, trying to take them off you, almost tearing them off in the process.

You barely processed it when your shirt went flying in some corner of the room, your bra following suit. Your nipples harden almost instantly as they come in contact with the cold air, causing him to immediately pinch them, drawing out a loud whine from you. He sucked on one of them harshly, using his hand to pinch and twirl the other nipple. He alternated between both, biting and sucking on the skin around your nipples too, until your entire chest was covered in red hickeys and bite marks.

You were starting to find it a little unfair because of how you were the only one unclothed between the two of you, causing you to take the matter into your own hands. You tugged at his shirt impatiently, causing him to give in and take it off. He tried to immediately kiss you again, but your hands that were tugging at his pants stopped him. He stared at you with a slightly impatient glare, before taking his belt out of the loop.

Instead of taking his pants off like you hoped he would, he grabbed both of your hands, before tying them with the belt, attaching them to the headboard. You gasped loudly, trying to free your hands, in vain. He laughed at your state. “Patience is key, darling. Didn't you know that?”

He pressed another harsh kiss to your lips, swallowing your whines, as he slowly grinded on you. You could feel the outline of his rock hard dick through his boxers, pressing insistently against your clit. You let out sharp gasps and moans at the sensation, but it was quickly ripped away from you.

You were positively drooling when he shoved his boxers down, his cock standing proud and tall. It slapped against his stomach, leaving a trail of precum on it. He grabbed your thighs, shoving them apart, before aligning himself with your eagerly awaiting cunt.

He rubbed his angry red and leaking tip on your clit, before gliding it up and down your slit, collecting your wetness. You arched your back, your eyes rolling into your head, a loud moan practically ripping out of your lips. You looked up at him with teary eyes, silently begging him to hurry up.

He smirked down at you, leaning down to nip at your bottom lip, before finally pushing himself inside. You let out an even louder moan, feeling his bulbous tip stretch you out, before he thrust himself fully inside — earning a choked gasp from you. He groaned, barely giving you time to adjust, before pulling himself almost completely out, leaving only the tip in, before thrusting back in.

He set a brutally fast pace, the continuous ‘fap-fap-fap’ sounds ringing loudly in your ears. The squelching sounds from your pussy were almost equally as loud, as more and more of your wetness trickled down his length. Your bottom lip was pulled in between your teeth, eyes screwed shut. You subtly bucked your hips up, trying to match  his pace.

He noticed it quickly enough, grabbing your hips to still you, before stopping as well. He gave you a stern look, before changing his pace. Instead of the brutally fast pace he had set earlier, he switched to a slower pace, focusing on hitting every single spot perfectly.

You clenched around him tightly, a breathy moan of his name leaving your lips. His pace stuttered, before he grabbed both of your legs, folding them to your chest. The new position helped him pound into you even deeper, reaching places you never could on your own. His mushroom tip collided with your cervix every time, making you see stars.

He was deep, so so deep. He felt so fucking good, like you were in cloud nine. By the looks of it, he thought the same.

He let out a deep groan, breathy whispers leaving his lips. “P-Pussy feels s-so — fuck — s’fucking good — fits like a glove–” He cut himself off with a moan, feeling you clench around him harder. “Keep s-squeezing me like that I'll cum.”

You could barely hear him, your brain completely fogged up. You could barely formulate a single coherent thought, the completely unadulterated pleasure leaving you dizzy. You let out a soft gasp as you felt him sucking on your neck, just above your jugular. It felt good, too good.

You could feel the band in your stomach start to tighten, signalling your impending climax. He could tell it was close too, by the change of pitch in your moans. He focused on hitting your g-spot with every thrust, bringing his hand down to rub circles around your clit, coaxing your orgasm out of you.

The added stimulation was all it took for the band in your stomach to finally snap, your cunt clenching impossibly tight around him.Your eyes rolled back, mouth open in a silent scream. Your orgasm washed over you, coating his dick in a layer of white.

Your orgasm triggered his own, causing his hips to stutter. He tried to pull out, but your pussy was clenching so tightly around him, he simply couldn't. He grabbed your hips, pushing himself even deeper. His eyes rolled back, a groan escaping him, as he came in you.

Spurts of cum erupted from him, shooting deep inside, your pretty cunt clenching around him even harder, milking him for all he was worth. He came and came, till he physically couldn't anymore. He pulled his softening length out of your spent hole.

Your ruined pussy clenched around nothing, globs of cum dripping down your thighs. Jaehyun scooped them up with his fingers, pushing them right back into your sensitive folds. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, pushing your hair out of your face. “You're still with me?”

You nodded tiredly, too spent to speak. You were still in disbelief of the entire situation, but it was as real as real could get. You felt him untie your hands, before scooping you up in his arms, carrying you bridal style, carrying you to what you could only hope was the bathroom — before you passed out in his arms.

PERMANENT TAGLIST: @senascoooop

[sixeyesonathiel]

very niche drabble from my drafts but honestly i would die without posting anything new in a day so i hope y'all will like this and see the vision LMAO, will have different parts <3 since lyra have pointed it out, just saying now that the reader is the cashier :D

isekai'd as game protag nerdjo x isekai'd as saintess npc reader, fluff.

the sunlight catches in your hair again.

satoru doesn’t mean to look. really. he doesn’t. but it’s kind of impossible not to when it glows like that—when every strand shimmers gold in the light of the descending sun like threads spun from divinity itself. it’s almost offensive, honestly. like the devs knew exactly what they were doing when they coded your idle animation to lean forward with a hum and tuck a loose wisp behind your ear just so.

he shifts his weight from one boot to the other, arms crossed, mouth tight, trying to look casual and not like he’s completely entranced by the way the snow melts before it even touches you.

he shouldn't be staring. he shouldn't want to.

because he already has a crush.

back home—real home—there’s a girl who works at the little corner store where he always buys his merch and energy drinks and plastic gacha keychains. she wears cute earrings. remembers his name. slips extra digimon stickers into his bag when she thinks he’s not looking.

he can’t seem to recall what she looked like, probably because of this whole isekai thing but he was sure about one thing. he was going to ask for her number, eventually. probably. maybe. someday.

but still he could not peel his gaze away.

you’re kneeling by a bed of bluebells—early bloom, thanks to your passive skill, blessing of spring. soft petals brush against your fingertips as you gently trace the outline of each flower, humming a song he’s pretty sure isn’t in the game’s ost. a small smile plays on your lips. the world around you feels alive in a way it never did when he played this on his old console—birds chirp too realistically, snowflakes glint too sharply, the wind carries your voice just enough to tease at the edge of his hearing.

and he’s just standing there. holy sword at his side. cape slightly crooked. heart lodged firmly in his throat.

“you’re staring again,” their rogue probably says behind him. maybe it’s their archer this time. he doesn’t hear. or rather—he refuses to.

because how the hell is he supposed to focus on defeating the demon king when you smile like that?

he’s the hero now. the chosen one. satoru gojo, level 99 celestial knight. maxed-out stats in everything that mattered: strength, speed, light magic resistance, charisma so broken it’s been nerfed twice since launch. and yet here he is—still taking psychic damage from the way your lashes flutter when you blink at him.

he’s been here for weeks ever since dozing off in a middle of some cutscene. isekai’d straight into his favorite game—celestial hearts: divine war of fate—which was absolutely not supposed to be a dating sim. it was about strategy and honor and battle mechanics. not about feelings or pretty saintess girls in glowing white cloaks and soothing voices who keep patting his head when he looks tired.

“sir gojo?” you say gently, glancing over your shoulder at him, smile soft and patient.

your eyes catch the light and sparkle—sparkle, literally sparkle. like someone turned the shader settings all the way up just for you. “you look flushed. are you feeling alright?”

“y–yeah,” he says, cracking audibly. god. why did his voice do that. he clears his throat. straightens up. resets his face to what he thinks is a neutral, knightly expression. “must be the sun. y’know. too hot.”

you blink. your lips part in polite confusion, and you glance up at the sky.

“but it’s snowing.”

“…right.”

his hands twitch at his sides, fingers flexing restlessly in his gloves. damn this game. damn the developers. damn their incredible, stupid attention to detail. your hands—bare, of course—hover over the flowers again, cupping one like a tiny offering. your sleeves fall past your wrists, white and gold embroidery catching the breeze. he knows your bio by heart: “saintess of the divine spring, miracle maiden of light,” the usual npc flavor text. maxed healing. high affinity scores. probably a tragic backstory somewhere in your questline.

but none of that mentioned how your laugh sounds like windchimes strung across heaven’s gate.

“sir gojo,” you say again, standing now, brushing imaginary dust and flower petals from your skirts. your movements are dainty, practiced, but your brows draw slightly inward with genuine concern. “you’ve been standing still for a while. are you sure you’re not overheating?”

his cape flutters awkwardly in the wind. his fingers go rigid. he can’t even blink.

girl. please.

he opens his mouth. closes it. opens it again, as if maybe this time something normal will come out.

“maybe i’m…” his voice trails off as he wills his brain to function. “overheating from your… divine radiance?”

the words leave him like a spell miscast.

a pregnant pause.

then—your eyes go wide. your lips twitch. and you laugh.

not a dainty giggle this time, but a laugh. soft and delighted and surprised all at once, curling from your throat like a melody no bard could replicate. you lift your sleeve to hide your smile, cheeks faintly pink—not blushing, no, the game probably just coded you to respond to compliments with a heat shader—

he’s going to die.

he’s actually going to drop dead right here in the middle of a flower field over a non-playable character.

somewhere deep in the forest, a bowstring snaps with unnecessary violence. someone—probably the mage—lets out a strangled, exhausted noise of pure despair.

satoru barely notices. he’s busy fighting for his life.

you’re still smiling at him. the wind rustles the bluebells. your hair glows like god’s personal sunbeam. the scene is perfect. it looks like a damn cg cut-in. he expects text to pop up any second with your name and some sappy line like “i’m glad you’re here, brave knight.”

but instead you just say, softly, with an amused little tilt of your head, “you’re strange, sir gojo.”

“i get that a lot,” he mumbles.

and somehow, impossibly, you smile brighter.

he has to beat the demon king. return to his world. back to traffic, vending machines, anime reruns, and microwaved curry. back to a life without hand-drawn skies and snow that melts against your skin and the way you say his name like it’s a blessing.

but you’re looking at him now like he’s the one glowing.

and satoru thinks—maybe. maybe just a little longer.

a few more days of fumbling compliments, of you laughing at his dumb jokes, of trying not to combust every time your hands brush his.

a few more days of your soft voice calling him “sir gojo” like you don’t even realize you’ve already enchanted him more deeply than any demon ever could.

[kupidachillea]

Olympians x You (hcs or imagines)

Author note: Geez, it’s been awhile. Sorry, I’ve been in bit of a funk, got both writers block and art block but I just want to drop this. I still have a few things in my drafts, but for now I’ll feed you guys this.

TW (trigger warning):This may have a few Yandere themes in it. And while the Olympians themselves aren’t really yanderes- they do share similar tendencies considering their myths. Please note that this isn’t completely accurate to their mythology- but it’s just a bit of fun so please take no offence and be nice in the comments.

CW (content warning)⚠️: readers either 17-18+ (to read this I mean), light mentions of nudity, molesting and sexual harassment, toxic behaviour. General (hinted) Yandere behaviour. Reader’s discretion is advised.

🏺- You weren’t sure how you got here but somehow you ended up on mount Olympus of all places.

🪡- Your brain was fuzzy and you hadn’t yet registered the 12 + looming faces above you. When you did notice, they were bickering in a language you didn’t understand (or at the very least, understood a little). It was jarring and you were still trying to get your bearings.

-🏺 You noticed one of them, a woman, dressed in garments fit for royalty (in ancient times at least) and had somewhat of a peacock aesthetic to it, yelling and pointing accusingly at a man, presumably her husband. She didn’t seem happy. Hera. Queen of the Olympians..that means the other must’ve been Zeus..oh boy

🪡- Zeus looked as if he was trying to quell his wife’s anger before things got more out of hand. There were a few others in the back that looked bored of the situation- as if a similar thing has happened before, while others looked mildly amused.

🏺- Despite all that- the argument seemed to have turned completely to you. Hera turning her rage towards you. “You! Where did you come from, how did you arrive here!?” She’d ask in anger, it was evident she had very little patience if any at all, thankfully though she was now speaking a language you could understand. You scrambled to answer her, your body trembling slightly at how her voice shook the marble floor you were sat on.

🪡- You tried to explain to her that you didn’t know how you got here. Your brain still fuzzy with images that didn’t clear up or make sense. This obviously didn’t help the Queen’s anger and you could see her patience slipping. She would scoff and turn back towards the other gods, them discussing what they should do with you.

🏺 - Some suggestions were thrown around, some you weren’t so fond of. Multiple times did they suggest either killing you or throwing you off the mountain (which would kill you anyway). However those ideas were shut down immediately by more ‘kindhearted’ gods. This hasn’t happened in centuries- a human spawning on top of their mountain out of the blue..they aren’t really prepared for this.

🪡- They were almost all out of ideas, until one golden haired music deity bent down to your height and took a closer look at you. His eyes shining as he took in your appearance before a smile started to work its way on his lips. “How about we keep them..?” He suddenly asked, his gaze still set on the little (little to them anyway) human in front of him.

🏺- This made everyone pause and even you were shocked by the suggestion. You found it ridiculous and you argued that despite how flattering it was- you didn’t want to stay with them and you wanted to be returned back to your home. The gods only seemed to ignore you, as if you were a child having an unreasonable temper tantrum. They were all considering keeping you here!

🪡- “Well…” Hermes started. You could tell since he was a bit shorter than the others and he had his signature winged sandals. “It has been quite awhile since the gods have had a plaything..” he would mutter reluctantly. He wasn’t entirely sold on the idea, despite how his father and brothers (most anyway) were grinning like idiots. You, obviously , did not appreciate being referred to as a plaything.

🏺- “Then it is settled..this little one shall be our new plaything!” Zeus grinned, a little too happy for both yours and Hera’s taste. You were about to give them a piece of your mind but was swiftly silenced by a threatening gaze from Hera..to your surprise. And thus began your horrible life with the Olympians..

….

🪡- You were stripped of your modern clothing and given a chiton to wear instead. “It’s too modern for our liking..” Aphrodite would say as she felt up your body in ways that made you shiver in discomfort. “We’re use to our people…how should I say this? Showing a little more skin…” the goddess of love would chuckle sweetly, while you would stare at her in embarrassment and maybe even a hint of disgust. While you could understand where she was coming from- it still didn’t stop you personally from being uncomfortable with they way she was touching you.

🏺-You’d also be dressed up in fine jewellery, much to your surprise..anklets of gold, bangles made of bronze, necklaces etc. sweet smelling oil perfumes covering your body- anything to make seem more ‘appealing’ to the gods and goddess. You were their plaything after all, so it made sense for them to dress you how they liked..no matter how much you disliked it.

🪡- They’d occasionally have you pour them wine at banquets or sit on their laps to just sit there and look pretty. The main gods that did this were of course Zeus, Apollo, Poseidon, definitely Dionysus and at some point Hermes. You didn’t really appreciate this, but rejecting their request would result in a ‘punishment’ for you.

🏺- To your surprise..Ares rarely touched you without your permission, but he was a little mean here and there. He along with Athena and Demeter weren’t as…’touchy’ as the others. And Artemis …you appreciated that..though just because they didn’t touch you in inappropriate ways doesn’t mean they weren’t as ‘crazy’ as the rest.

🪡- For example, while Artemis wasn’t big on being a pest in terms of touching you, she did take you out on hunts..which..wasn’t so bad in your opinion. It was much better than being up on the mountain most days..she thought a little more rationally- but of course- her twin, Apollo, would see you hanging out with his sister and get a little possessive about it. Which you didn’t understand- you weren’t any of their lovers (even if they thought so), but even so..most hunting trips were cut short because of him.

🏺- When you finally got moments to breathe away from the gods..you’d spend it out in the garden..hidden away from everyone and thing..it was your quiet time up until one of the gods summoned you. You found out that you weren’t the first human to be in this position (and probably not the last)..according to one of the lesser known gods (maybe Hebe) you were told that centuries before, a young lad was taken into the heavens to serve Zeus but had been placed into the stars as the constellation known as Aquarius.

🪡- You shivered at the thought..you didn’t want that to happen to you. To be placed in the stars? Doomed to forever look down on earth and watch your family and friends grow? It may have been an honour back then but to you it was almost like a death sentence.

🏺- Either way, life with the Olympians got harder to cope with. Your privacy was always compromised and you were forced to many things you didn’t like. Sometimes the gods would be as bold to sneak up on you while you were bathing and either join you in the pool or touching up your nude body.

🪡-Often giving excuses for why they would do so, or simply ignoring your protest. It wasn’t hard to manhandle you after all..they were gods, and you were a puny human. Why should they care about your thoughts and feelings. It progressively got worse with them kissing your neck or cheek without your permission too- Apollo was the main culprit of that..

🏺- Sometimes you found yourself crying in a corner by yourself at the situation you were in. The only person willing to comfort you being Hestia. She obviously didn’t approve of this but she couldn’t do much besides being a safe space for you to turn to, which you appreciated.

🪡- But no matter how you protest, run, hide, or try to defy them; you are still theirs. That how they see it anyway, and they won’t change their mind..

[this-is-tiny-mia]

Smudged Nail Polish (+18)

General Masterlist ceo!harry x fem!reader / assistant!reader

Summary: Late nights at the office often meant brainstorming sessions and a ton of work undone. But one evening, the line between work and pleasure begins to blur. A simple roleplay dynamic all for the sake of the project ends up in something more real.

A/n: Hello pretty people! i hope you enjoy this as much as i did, just a little one shot i did out of small inspo, i have some requests pending that i'll be working on next week, but for now i hope you like this 🥰 as always thanks to my @eileenrry

Word count: 3k

Warnings: SMUT, workplace dynamics, soft dom, roleplay, spitting, breeding kink, small anal play, dirty talk, protected sex, inappropriate workplace relationship. (If i'm missing something pleaseeee tell me)

It was a late night. Late nights in the office always felt strange—quiet and oddly intimate—but you didn’t mind at all. Just a few months ago, you had landed your dream job: Creative Assistant to the CEO of Pleasing. The title alone sounded impressive, but the perks? Even better. Flexible hours, generous benefits, and the freedom to manage your own schedule on certain days. It was everything you’d hoped for.

But the real dream? That was Harry Styles.

Harry was a force of nature—successful, sharp, and effortlessly charismatic. He was always impeccably dressed in a perfectly tailored navy suit that seemed to be his signature. The faint trace of his cologne lingered in the air whenever he passed by, a scent you couldn’t place but would recognize anywhere. And then there was his demeanor: respectful, composed, and so disarmingly kind that it almost felt unfair.

Tonight, though, the air in his office felt different. It was just the two of you. Everyone else had already gone home, but with the project nearing completion and half the marketing team either on vacation or out on maternity leave, the workload had piled up. 

“Alright,” Harry said, breaking the silence as he rummaged through a stack of papers. “We’ve got the main framework done, but we still need to draft some scenarios for the campaign since the focus group couldn’t deliver.”

You glanced up from your laptop, frowning. “But how are we supposed to do that? We need feedback from the potential users for each specific scenario they proposed.”

Harry’s gaze flicked up to meet yours, a small, confident smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, we’ll do it ourselves,” he said like it was the simplest thing in the world.

You blinked, trying to make sense of his calm demeanor. “What do you mean we’ll do it?”

He leaned back slightly in his chair, his smile growing as if he was letting you in on some great secret. “Roleplay,” he said casually, the word hanging in the air between you.

“Roleplay?” you echoed, your brow furrowing as you tried to process his words.

“We’ll act out the scenarios ourselves,” he explained. “It doesn’t need to be Oscar-worthy, just convincing enough to predict how well each idea might sell.”

You stared at him for a moment, unsure whether he was being serious or if this was some kind of elaborate joke. “Okay… I mean, I’m not exactly an actress,” you admitted, a nervous laugh escaping, “but if it helps finish this project, I’ll give it my best shot.”

His lips curved into a small smile— “That’s the spirit,” he said, glancing at the papers spread across his desk. “Let’s start with the luxury skincare line scenario. Imagine you’re the target customer—fancy, discerning, and effortlessly chic.”

You straighten your posture, pretending to smooth an imaginary designer coat, and adopted your best posh accent. “Oh, darling,” you began, with an exaggerated wave of your hand, “I simply must have that serum. It’s the fountain of youth bottled, isn’t it?”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “Not bad, but tone it down just a bit,” he said, gesturing toward you. “Think confident, not cartoon-ish”

“Right,” you replied, clearing your throat and trying again. As the exercise continued, his focus on the scenarios was unwavering, but there was something about his presence—calm yet bossy—that made the small office feel more intimate.”Stop laughing!” 

“I’m not, i’m sorry…continue” he said obviously holding back a laughter that tried to disguise as a smile

Each line you spoke, each moment of collaboration, seemed to shift the atmosphere slightly. You weren’t sure if it was the late hour or the proximity, but it felt as though the boundaries between professional and personal had started to blur, ever so slightly.

Harry glanced at the next sheet of paper in the pile, his expression flickering with something you couldn’t quite place—anticipation, maybe? “Alright, now let’s switch gears,” he said, holding the paper up. “This one’s targeted at men. The campaign focuses on nail polish as a statement piece for confidence and individuality.” he read.

You tilted your head, intrigued. “And who’s playing the confident, self-expressive man?”

His gaze met yours, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “That would be me.”

You couldn’t help but grin, the image of Harry Styles—polished, corporate Harry—role-playing as a nail-polish-loving trendsetter suddenly lighting up your night. “Alright then, Mr. CEO. Show me how it’s done.”

He reached into the desk drawer, pulling out a bottle of nail polish. Black, of course. “We’ll use this as a prop,” he said casually.

“Where did you even get that?” you asked, trying to suppress a laugh.

“It’s from one of the older product lines,” he replied, shaking the bottle lightly. “Okay, here’s the scenario. You’re the interviewer, and I’m the guy explaining why nail polish isn’t just for women—it’s about breaking boundaries, blah blah blah”

You leaned forward, picking up a pen as if it were a microphone. “Alright, sir,” you began, adopting a mock-serious tone, “what inspired you to wear nail polish?”

Harry leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. He extended his hand, pretending to examine his nails like a pro. “Confidence,” he said smoothly, his voice dropping an octave. “It’s not about following trends; it’s about creating them. Nail polish isn’t just color—it’s an attitude.”

You raised an eyebrow, fully immersed in the act now. “And what does black say about your attitude?”

“It says I know who I am,” he replied, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that momentarily made you forget this was all pretend. “Strong. Bold. Unapologetic.”

You faltered, your pen lowering slightly as you tried to keep the playful mood intact. “That’s... a very convincing pitch,” you admitted, your voice softening.

Harry smiled, uncapping the bottle and holding it out toward you. “Want to try?”

You blinked, surprised. “You want to paint my nails?”

He shrugged, still holding the bottle steady. “Why not? Consider it part of the roleplay.” You hesitated, glancing between him and the tiny bottle of polish. “Alright,” you said, holding out your hand with a mix of curiosity and nerves. “But if this ends up a mess, It’s on you.”

Harry chuckled softly, taking your hand in his. His fingers were warm, steady, and unexpectedly gentle as they held yours. “Trust me,” he murmured, dipping the brush into the black polish. “I have a steady hand. You’ll be fine.”

The first stroke of the brush sent a shiver up your spine, the cool polish meeting your nail while his grip remained firm yet careful. “You’re oddly good at this,” you said, watching as he filled in the nail with precision.

He glanced up briefly, a smirk playing on his lips. “Years of being in this business, love. You pick up a thing or two.”

Your heart stuttered at the casual “love” nickname, though you weren’t sure if he even realized he’d said it. You shifted slightly in your chair, trying to play it cool. “So, is this part of your usual day? Painting nails after hours?”

He chuckled again, his eyes focused on the task. “Not exactly. You’re the first.”

Something about the way he said it—low and intentional—made the air between you feel thicker. You swallowed, feeling his thumb brush lightly against your knuckle as he moved to the next nail.

“Done,” he said finally, releasing your hand and holding it up to inspect his work. The glossy black polish caught the light, neat and perfect. “Not bad, if I say so myself.”

You looked at your hand, then back at him, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Alright, Styles. You might be working on the wrong department”

“Ready for the next scenario?”

“Ready”

He reached for another paper, scanning it briefly before meeting your gaze. “We’re supposed to act as a married couple discussing which products fit into their daily routine.”

Your stomach flipped, though you weren’t sure why. “A married couple?”

“Yep,” he said, standing and straightening his suit jacket. “We’ll set it up in the kitchen. I’ll be making coffee, and you…” He gestured toward the mock product setup on the counter. “You can decide which items fit into our routine, like something we both can share”

You followed him to the makeshift set, your polished hand still tingling from his touch. As he walked, he loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves, suddenly looking far more casual—and far more distracting.

“So,” he said, moving behind the counter and grabbing a prop mug, “how long have we been married?”

You leaned against the counter, crossing your arms. “How long do you think we’d last?”

His lips twitched into a sly smile. “Forever, obviously. You’re not getting rid of me.”

Your cheeks flushed despite yourself, and you rolled your eyes to hide it. “Alright then, Mr. Perfect Husband. Let’s see how good you really are at this.”

You stood in the imaginary kitchen, fiddling with a bottle of moisturizer from the array of products set out on the counter. Harry leaned casually against the opposite side, arms crossed, the tie around his neck loosened just enough to make him look effortlessly handsome.

“So, darling,” he began, his tone dripping with mock affection, “are we really going to argue about whose moisturizer is better again?”

You rolled your eyes, holding up one of the bottles. “Well, Mr. Styles, when your so-called favorite leaves your skin looking like it’s been through a desert, I think it’s fair to say mine is better.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, stepping closer and picking up another bottle. “Excuse me, but this—” he pointed at the label, feigning offense—“is luxury. You just don’t appreciate the finer things.”

“Luxury doesn’t mean effective,” you shot back, placing your hands on your hips. “And besides, we both know you’ve been stealing mine anyway.”

He smirked, setting the bottle down and closing the distance between you in two easy steps. “Caught me,” he admitted, his voice lower now. “But can you blame me? Yours smells better. And…” His eyes flickered over you, playful but intense. “It works.”

You froze, the playful banter suddenly charged with something else. Harry’s presence was overwhelming, the way his voice dipped and the heat in his gaze as he looked at you made the air in the room feel heavier.

“So,” you said, trying to regain control of the moment, “does that mean you’ll finally admit mine’s the better choice?”

“Never,” he said with a grin, though the teasing edge in his voice had softened. His hand brushed past yours as he reached for the product, and the brief contact sent a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed hard, clutching the moisturizer as if it were your lifeline. “Well, then I guess we’re at an impasse.”

“Guess so,” he murmured, but he wasn’t looking at the moisturizer anymore. He was looking at you, his expression unreadable but undeniably intense. His hand lingered on the counter next to yours, the proximity making your pulse quicken. He took a step closer. Inches away.

“Harry…” you began, but your voice faltered.

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Tell me to stop,” he said softly, his voice steady but with a hint of vulnerability. “If this isn’t okay…”

But you didn’t say anything. Instead, you found yourself leaning into him, your pulse racing. His hand moved to your cheek, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

“This doesn’t feel like roleplay anymore,” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of nerves and anticipation.

“Good,” he said simply before his lips met yours.

The kiss started slowly, tentative, as if testing the waters. But when you didn’t pull away, he deepened it, his other hand sliding around your waist to pull you closer. The desk pressed against your back, and all thoughts of work, scenarios, and professionalism melted away.

His lips left yours briefly, trailing down to your jaw and neck as his hands explored, his touch igniting every nerve. “You have no idea how hard it’s been,” he whispered against your skin, “pretending this wasn’t on my mind.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair as you gasped softly. “We shouldn’t—”

“But we are,” he cut in, his voice firm yet laced with desire. “Tell me to stop, and I will. But if you want this…”

“I do,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess them.

That was all he needed. He lifted you effortlessly onto the desk, his lips finding yours again as the world outside his office ceased to exist. you could feel his growing thickness against your thigh, and a surge of anticipation shot through you.

It was risky. It was unprofessional. But god, did it feel right.

He pushed your skirt up, his fingers hooking in the waistband of your panties and tugging them down. His breath was warm against your skin, the faint stubble of his jaw rough and enticing.

Your body responded eagerly to his touch, your heart pounding with every brush of his lips against your skin. and the heat and wetness between your legs just growing bigger and bigger by the second

As he kissed his way down your body, his hands exploring every inch, a new, raw sensation overtook you. He was unraveling you—piece by piece, moment by moment—until all that remained was need.

When his mouth finally found the place between your thighs, you had to bite back a moan. His tongue was slow and deliberate, savoring every inch of you until he found the perfect spot. Your fingers gripped his hair, pulling him closer as the sensations overwhelmed you.

His grip on your thighs was firm, holding you in place as he worked his magic. When your orgasm began to build, it felt like nothing you had experienced before—hot, heavy, and urgent. It swept over you, making your legs tremble and your breath catch.

Afterwards, he stood up and leaned over you, a smug grin on his face. "My perfect wife" he said in almost a moan before capturing your lips again "Fucking perfect sweet wife"

"Fuck, Harry..."

"I'm not done yet"

Before you could process his words, he pulled off his boxers, and his cock was right there, thick and pulsing and begging for attention.

You couldn't take your eyes off him. You licked your lips.

He reached into the pocket of his suit pants, pulling out a condom and tearing open the foil wrapper with his teeth. The sound of his belt and zipper being undone sent a fresh wave of excitement through you. He slid the condom over his hard length and pressed into you, filling you with one smooth thrust.

"Oh god"

"God has nothing to do with this" his voice thick with lust

"Fuck, Harry, please"

"Please what?" he asked, his tone low and teasing “Use your words”

"Just fuck me"

He didn't need to be told twice. His hips snapped against yours, driving him deeper inside with every thrust. It was primal, urgent, and everything you didn't know you needed. You gripped the edge of the desk, bracing yourself as he pounded into you.

The tension coiled in your belly, hot and electric. He reached down, his thumb finding your clit and drawing tight circles.

"Knew right when i chose you to be my wife" he said as if he was still roleplaying but god both of you were too far from it.

"You're mine" he groaned, his breath hot against your skin. "All mine"

"Yes"

"Say it"

"I'm yours"

He thrust into you harder, the edge of the desk pressing against your ass. He was relentless, his fingers and cock taking you apart bit by bit. "Gonna knock you up, fill you up with my babies"

Your toes curled at his words, a jolt of pleasure shooting through you. It was wrong, so wrong, but the taboo only made it more exciting.

"God, yes"

He drove into you again and again, his rhythm frantic and desperate. "Gonna put a baby in m'wife"

Your legs tightened around his hips, pulling him deeper, you felt one hand on your ass gripping you tightly, him calling you wife made things twist inside you, this was a roleplay that wasn't in the work papers.

"Turn around" he demanded as he pulled back.

"What?"

"Now"

You turned around, tummy on the desk and raising your ass up. He slammed into you again, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulled you against him.

"That's it, love, take it"

His words were filthy, but they only fueled the fire inside you. He reached around, his fingers finding your tightest hole teasing just a bit to see your reaction.

"Mmm, fuck. I can't wait to ruin this pretty little ass too"

He spit directly into your hole. He pressed against your entrance, pushing the tip of his finger in as his cock pounded into you. It was too much, the sensations overwhelming and intoxicating.

"More"

"Can't do more love i don't have lube in here and i don't want to hurt this pretty hole"

"Next time..." you breathed

"Next time" he echoed, his voice full of promise

You clenched around him, feeling the tension building. His breath was hot against your neck, his thrusts relentless. "Gonna fill you up, m'pretty wife"

"Yes"

"Come around my cock, Gonna put a baby in this tight fucking cunt"

That was it, that was all you needed to hear. Your orgasm tore through you, leaving you shaking and breathless. He followed soon after filling up the condom, his cock pulsing inside you.

For a few moments, neither of you moved, the reality of what had just happened hanging heavy in the air. He pulled out slowly, tying off the condom and tossing it into the trash. He helped you off the desk, his fingers brushing against your skin.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with concern.

You nodded, your heartbeat still racing.

“My nail polish it’s ruined” you said breathlessly looking at your nails. the nail polish, all smudged.

“Oh love, i’m going to ruin more than nail polish on you”

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Taglist: @hermionelove