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beenbaanbuun · 2 months

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the pool w/ choi jongho

words - 3k

genre - suggestive

warnings - fem!bodied reader, bikini, internalised slut shaming (kind of but not really?), public undressing (again, kind of but not really), size kink, awkward!jongho, bff!wooyoung, lifeguard!san, massage, nipple piercings, i thing that’s it

Wooyoung holds a smug look on his face as he drops onto the sunbed next to you. You have to admit that he looks pretty good with the sun bouncing from his wet skin, but you'd never tell him that. You'd say your friendship resembled something more akin to siblings than anything else, and why would you ever have anything nice to say about your brother?

“What’s the shit-eating grin for?” you say as you toss him the sunscreen and lean forwards; an open invitation for him to massage some into your spine. The quiet scoff he passes in your direction doesn’t go unnoticed, but you can’t comment on it before you hear the click of the cap opening and an ice cold drip of sunscreen hits your back. You wince as your friend massages it in with delicate hands, your body not quite getting used to the temperature quick enough for it not to be uncomfortable as he spreads it all over. Wooyoung only laughs, taking great pleasure in the quiet hums of dissatisfaction you make.

But it only takes about 10 seconds from his hands to pull away from your back and the click of the sunscreen bottle closing to hit your ears. You spare him a glare over your shoulder, watching as he rubs the excess from his hands onto his chest knowing full well that he can't possibly have rubbed it on correctly.

“I don't have a shit eating grin,” he lies through his teeth as he takes great care rubbing the cream into his chest—a lot more than he took with your back. You almost want to push him back in the pool to wash it all off again, but that would be petty, even for you. Instead you simply roll your eyes in dismay and shift to a more comfortable position. Your book lies on the table next to you so you grab it, open it and crack the spine. You don’t start reading quite yet, though; you can’t concentrate when wooyoung looks like he’s planning something devious.

“Yes, you do,” you argue. “Tell me what you’re doing!”

“I'm not doing anything!” he fights back, tone defensive and not at all matching the gleeful smile on his face.

“Well, then tell me what you know!”

His eyes flicker to the pool for just a moment before returning to you. Maybe he thinks you didn’t see it, but you did, and so your gaze follows his only to land on him. The same man from the pool yesterday, and the restaurant last night, and breakfast this morning. The very same man you’ve been obsessing over the last few days. You squeak in something akin to terror and immediately look back to a smirking Wooyoung. Your eyes stay firmly locked on his for one, maybe two seconds before some strange magnetic force pulls your eyes back to him.

He leans against the edge of the pool with one arm up on the side, allowing you to see the soft flesh of his arms. The skin is tan and smooth and good god if you don’t get a chance to dig your nails into it by the end of the holiday then you’ll have worn nothing but your skimpiest of bikinis for nothing. The uncomfortable wedgies and uneven tan lines will have been a waste, nothing more than a study in the art of hassle and discomfort, and that really would put a damper on what has been an otherwise enjoyable holiday.

You crane your neck further to get a glance at his face. Those plush lips that look so incredibly soft, the sparkling eyes that turn a deep honey colour when the sun shines down on them. There's something beautiful about him in the same way a bear is beautiful; intimidating and graceful yet somehow sweet at the same time. Perhaps the strange duality is just one of the reasons you can’t seem to take your mind off of him. His hair is pushed back in a way that has you drooling, and not just at the mouth. You can’t help but let your eyes linger for just a second or two before they move a little further south landing upon that mole on his neck; the one you so desperately want to press your lips to…

You’re ripped from your trance when Wooyoung snaps his fingers impatiently in front of your face. With an unsurprising degree of reluctance, you tear your gaze away from him and return it to your best friend who’s smug smile seems to have grown. You’d wipe it from his face if you could, but he’s too far away and it’s far too hot to exert the energy needed to move. You scowl at him instead, tossing up a middle finger in displeasure.

“Stop being weird, Woo, nothing is going to happen,” you say through gritted teeth because god, you desperately hope that statement isn’t true.

“You want it to, though,” he seemingly reads your mind. “You should do something about it!”

“What, like you’re doing with that lifeguard?” You point to the shirtless man across the pool who has absolutely zoned out when he should really be watching the water instead. You can only hope no one has an emergency whilst he’s busy gawping at your friend who has been endlessly peacocking–not that you can say anything–since the day you arrived at this hotel. Wooyoung sends a wink in his direction before turning his attention back to you, just in time to see you fake gag.

“See; I am doing something about the lifeguard,” he grins at you.

“A wink and a smile isn’t going to get you laid.”

“Well it’s more than you’re doing with your man,” he counters, “creepily staring at him isn’t going to get you laid either.”

With a groan you toss your face down into the soft cushion of the sun bed. Wooyoung is right as much as it pains you to admit that to yourself. You want the pool guy so bad and yet all you’ve even attempted to do to seduce him is wear tiny little bikinis that haven’t seemed to catch his attention even once. At least wooyoung has some form of communication with the man he wants to fuck, even if it is just mentally undressing each other from opposite ends of the pool. Knowing your luck, by the end of the holiday wooyoung will have bagged himself the hot lifeguard and you’ll be alone… again.

Wooyoung sighs at your dramatic performance before grabbing your coin purse from the bag. “I'm going to get you some liquid courage,” he says as he stands up, “don’t ever tell me I don’t ever do anything nice for you.”

“But that’s my purs—” he puts a finger to your lip to shush you.

“Thank you is all you have to say.”

And then he’s gone, swinging his hips with each step he takes. If you were to look over to the lifeguard you’re almost sure you’d be able to see him licking his lips with desire. Almost like you when you immediately turn your head to sneak another look at him.

Only he’s not where he was when your eyes last left him. In fact, when you give the pool a scan, he doesn’t seem to be anywhere at all. Did he leave? You question yourself as you less-than-subtly scan the pool over and over again. It would probably be the best thing for your own sake if he did and yet your heart still aches at the prospect. It's not like you were going to speak to him–you absolutely, unequivocally weren’t–too shy and anxious to put yourself up for that rejection, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t want to pine for a little while longer.

Feeling nothing but dejected ,your eyes shift across to where Wooyoung stands at the bar, top half leaning over the counter slightly, pert ass pointed in the direction of his beau. You’d call him a slut if you hadn’t been doing the exact same for the last week; putting your body on display as some sort of mating ritual in the hopes of a man fucking you halfway to oblivion. At least one of you seems to be having some success in his tiny little swim shorts that definitely show more off than they need to. It’s a good job he has a nice ass, you think to yourself just as a shadow passes over you, blocking the warmth of the sun beating down on your back. It’s just someone walking past a little too close, you tell yourself as you keep your vision on your friend, it’ll be gone in a moment or two.

Except a moment passes, and then another, and the shadow doesn’t move. You’re about to turn your head in the direction of the obstruction to see what’s so important for you to get a them-shaped tan line on your back, when you hear a voice. “Your boyfriend didn’t rub your sunscreen in too well, did he?” It’s pretty, musical and sweet just like a little songbird. Somehow that’s all you need to know exactly who it belongs to. Call it intuition or something but you know it’s him blocking the sun right now.

Your heart beats out of control for just a second before you manage to rein it in. “He’s not my boyfriend,” you respond, turning your head to gaze upon his damp body in all its glory…

Perhaps you’re no better than a man since the first things your eyes focus on are his tits. They’re soft and beautifully tan with little moles dotted here and there to match the one on his neck. You dart your eyes between them like you’re playing your own little game of join the dots. It takes you on a tour of his chest, pupils darting from one pec to the other until your eyes land on something you never expected to see.

Two metal bars…

On either side of his chest…

Right through his nipples…

Holy fuck…

Your jaw goes slack, and so, it seems, does your hand. Thankfully the sound on your book thumping against the less than dry ground is enough to break you free from the stupor his nipple piercings had put you in. Your vision shifts in an instant, settling instead on the pages of your book that more and more water seeps into with each passing second. “Shit,” you mutter, bending down and wrapping your fingertips around the now sodden paper.

“You got it?” he asks, clearly not too put off by your strange behaviour. You hum affirmatively as you lift the book and place it on the table beside your sunbed. He makes a similar sound, although his sounds more thoughtful; more like he’s trying to come up with something to say. It takes a while but eventually he seems to finally land on something, pulling in a deep breath before opening his mouth. “I could've grabbed it for you if you wanted,” he’s kind too? Well that’s horrible news for your crippling obsession with the stranger, “if you’d, you know… asked me to or something.”

You can’t help but let out a laugh at how unsure he sounds. It’s as if his words aren’t his own, dropping from his lips before he’s even had time to realise what he’s saying. There’s a grin on your face as you twist your head back around to see him, only this time your eyes focus on his face. He’s even sweeter looking up close, his wide eyes and round cheeks making him look something more akin to a little cub than an intimidating killer. Perhaps his face would kid you into thinking he’s innocent if it weren’t for the bars glinting at you just a foot further south.

“I shouldn't have to ask,” you grin, trying your hardest to sound seductive. To your own ears it sounds more like a petulant child; you can only hope that he doesn’t hear it too. “Not if you’re a gentleman, anyway.

“But what about consent?” he says as a pretty shade of peach covers his cheeks. You want to bite them, as if they’d give you the same sweet juice as the fruit they so clearly resemble. You wonder if his lips taste that sweet; you bet they do. “I didn't want to overstep.”

Your grin splits your face in two as he shuffles awkwardly from foot to foot. Upon first glance, you were half expecting him to be some suave, smooth talker. He'd say a few flirty pick up lines before taking you to his room for a one-and-done. This, though—this is much more dangerous. This is feelings territory.

“You’re not overstepping by picking my book up,” you say, “that’s simply courteous—gentlemanly, like i said!”

“Courteous,” he repeats slowly as if it’s a new word to him. there’s a ponderous look on his face that quickly morphs into a shy smirk. It seems to transform into something much more confident in the matter of a few seconds. It's almost cocky, and yet there remains to be that sweet, unsure look in his eyes. It's adorable, really. “Well,” he pauses to take stock of his next few words, “would it be courteous to offer to finish rubbing in the sunscreen your boyfriend missed?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you repeat.

“Well–”

“Just rub it in, will you?” you cut him off with an exasperated sigh. As much fun as you’re having playing this little game of cat and mouse, the need to have his hands on your back far outweighs any amusement you’re getting from his pitiful attempt at flirting. He listens, placing one hand on your calf to support himself as he perches himself on the edge of your sunbed. It inches its way up to your inner thigh, stopping just before it gets dangerously close to your core. His thumb barely brushes against the exposed crease where your ass meets your thigh as he softly grazes his fingertips over the back of your leg. They shift to the side, gracefully slipping over the thin string of your bikini bottoms that rests upon your hip. They catch against it, tugging ever so slightly on the bow that holds the flimsy garment together.

It's a promise, that much is crystal clear.

His palm is warm when it first comes into contact with your lower back, yet it still manages to send a shiver up your spine. It’s big too, covering just enough area for you to realise how small you are compared to him. You could see it in his broad shoulders and his thick arms, but feeling it is just… different. He’s barely even touched you yet there’s already a moan on the tip of your tongue. God only knows what’ll happen when his hands get a little more adventurous.

“Can I undo your top?” he approaches the question with about as much grace as a baby giraffe, clumsy yet endearing with the way he blurts it out. It’s impossible to hold in your giggle, your heart swelling with just how awkwardly adorable he is. But then his fingers tug dangerously upon the little bow at your spine and your breath suddenly hitches in your throat. You feel it loosen, but not quite enough for it to fall completely open. It’s not quite clear if he’s just clumsy or if he knows exactly what he’s doing, but either way the simple action has you shifting your slick thighs against each other. “Well?” he softly purrs, and by the tone of his voice you have to assume he's so blissfully unaware of everything he’s doing to you.

“If you think it’ll help,” your voice sounds strained but he doesn’t mention it. He doesn’t tease you about how much he’s affecting you, or do something unprovoked to force you deeper into this pit of unadulterated arousal you’ve found yourself in. Instead he just tugs open your bikini, just like he said he would, and then his hands are on you again.

The first moan you let out as he grazes his hands up and down the plane if your back can be passed off as one of enjoyment. The massage you’re receiving from the big strong hands of an unbearably handsome man is just good and the sound you let out is simply one of appreciation. No one can blame you for wanting to show how much you’re enjoying it, right? The second moan, however, is almost impossible to pass off as anything other than a plea for more. As his fingers dip down your sides, hands cupping your waist and making you feel so small and malleable beneath him, you can’t help but groan as you sink your teeth into your bottom lip.

His fingers pause, hands tensing a little as the grip they have upon your waist intensifies. Although you haven’t exactly tried to hide it, you know that this is the exact moment that just how badly you need him really sinks into his adorably awkward brain. You’re not entirely sure what else he was hoping to get out of giving you the world's horniest massage, but it’s clear that he wasn’t expecting to get this far. Maybe he’s just a pervert who just wanted an opportunity to feel you up before going to furiously masterbate in the comfort of his room, or maybe he really did just want to come and talk. It doesn’t really matter either way, now; you still need his cock buried deep inside of your walls.

He leans in, grip intensifying as his torso comes to rest against your spine. The metal bars that you nearly almost forgot about feel like ice against your spine as he pushed you down into the bed with his body. Small; you feel so incredibly small, like it would take him no effort at all to pick you up and put you anywhere he deems he wants you. You hope he wants you sitting on his dick, if that really is the case.

“Do you want to come back to my room?” he whispers in your ear like a child passing a message in the middle of class. Nothing about his voice reads sexy, and yet you know if you were standing it would have your knees buckling. you nod silently, not trusting your voice to come out in a way that doesn’t make you seem pathetically desperate. He hums in appreciation. “good,” his lips connect with the side of your head, “the names Jongho, by the way. just in case you need something to moan.”

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez oneshot #ateez fluff #ateez fic #ateez smut #ateez scenarios #jongho x reader #jongho smut #jongho fluff #jongho fanfic

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bijouxcarys · 4 months

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Just Your Tribal Chief (Roman Reigns x fem!Reader)

Masterlist

Description: In the chaotic world of WWE, where titles and egos clash, the Women's World Champion faces a new kind of challenge: her own boyfriend, Roman Reigns...

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, smut, angst, slight daddy kink, dirty talk, rough sex, oral sex (m recieving), semi-public sex, voyeurism, lil bit of choking, Tribal Chief-mode...

Word Count: 3.8k

Tags: @trippinsorrows (literally don't know who else to tag so if you want to be tagged in any future Roman fics, let me know!)

Her face was hard as stone as she followed her boyfriend, struggling to keep pace with his towering strides. Despite her own formidable strength—she wasn’t the undisputed WWE Women’s World Champion for nothing—his height advantage was undeniable.

She had earned her title through relentless dedication, ever since she started training at fifteen. She had bulldozed through her opponents, male and female, during her NXT days and earned her place on both RAW and Smackdown. Being assigned as a Free Agent in the 2023 draft by Hunter had been the culmination of years of sacrifice.

That’s when the chaos began.

Interviews, talk show appearances, high-stakes matches—nothing could deter her from her goal. Her ultimate triumph came at Wrestlemania 39 when she vanquished the one and only Charlotte Flair. It took her long enough to comprehend that she had in fact defeated the daughter of the man she’d sat and watched hours of as a kid. But it happened.

Life was perfect; she was the champion, her boyfriend retained every time. Pure bliss, right?

No.

Just… no.

“What the fuck is wrong with you today?” Y/N spat, slamming the door behind her as they entered his locker room. His. Of course, his.

“Me?” Joe laughed, running a hand over his face as he paced the length of the room. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Yeah, you. You’ve been bitching all day, Joe!” She crossed her arms, her eyes ablaze.

“Oh, I’m Joe now,” he jabbed a finger into his chest, halting his stride. “Out there, I’m Roman Reigns, undisputed champion—but in here, I’m fuckin’ Joe.”

Y/N was baffled. Joe hated being referred to by his ring name when they were alone; he despised being treated like a superstar off the clock. So what was this?

“Last time I checked, your name was Joe,” she huffed.

“And the last time I checked, my girlfriend didn’t let men leer at her like she’s a whole ass meal on a plate.”

She laughed bitterly, amused by his newfound insecurity. She had never seen this side of him before. They had joked about it, but it had always been about his magnetic presence and how women practically swooned around him.

“Aw, are you jealous?” she taunted, leaning forward. “Is that what this is about? Does my success fracture your delicate little ego?”

She wasn’t about to let anyone, especially a man, undermine her. Not even when it was hers.

“You get off on this, huh?” Joe’s brows narrowed as he stepped closer. “You get off on antagonising me all the damn time!”

“Antagonising you? I was doing a fucking interview, you insecure prick! What am I supposed to say—oh, sorry, I can’t talk today, my Tribal Chief is a little fragile, let me come back once his dick is intact again!”

“Oh, my dick be stayin’ intact, babygirl, you know that better than anyone.”

“Don’t fucking detract, Joseph.”

“I’ll stop detracting once you admit that… guy out there was gunnin’ for your number. My boy’s eyes couldn’t even stay focused!”

As they argued, they closed the distance between them, Y/N’s neck craning to meet Joe’s intense gaze. She couldn’t deny the thrill of seeing him riled up, though she knew this wasn’t genuine anger. She recognised angry Joe, and this wasn’t him.

This was angry Roman.

Narrowing her eyes, Y/N chuckled, her nose inches from his. Joe’s lips curled into a sneer before he straightened, taking a deep breath.

“Joe–”

“I’m not gon’ tell you again, Y/N…” he began, his voice measured, before he lowered his head, his eyes locking with hers, darker and more menacing. “When we in these four walls. This arena. Hell, when we at work…” He loomed over her, metaphorically trapping her, though she was free to leave if she chose to.

“I’m Roman Reigns. Ain’t no Joe here. Do you see Joe in this room right now, baby?”

She bit back a grin, revelling in the tension. Damn, she was fucked up, but she loved it.

Before she could respond, his large hand encircled her neck, holding her in place.

“I asked you a question,” he growled, his voice rough and commanding.

Her irritation melted into a dull ache low in her abdomen, her thighs clenching involuntarily. She exhaled shakily, struggling to maintain her composure.

“No…”

The whisper conveyed everything he needed to know.

“Good,” he murmured, his fingers tightening on her neck. “Now, are you gon’ make it up to me, or are we gon’ keep fighting?”

Y/N swallowed hard, the air between them electric. “Make it up to you?” she asked, a mischievous glint in her eyes, testing him.

He didn’t reply with words. Instead, he closed the distance between them, his lips crashing down on hers with a fervour that sent shivers along every inch of exposed skin on her body. The kiss was demanding, urgent, reflecting the tension that had been simmering all day.

His hands travelled down to her waist, gripping her possessively as she responded with equal passion, her fingers tangling in his hair, just below where it was all neatly held together in a characteristic man bun. They stumbled backward until her back hit the wall, pinning her in place with his weight. Breaking the kiss, he gazed down at her with dark, smouldering eyes.

“You know exactly what to do, babygirl,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that weakened her knees. “Show me just how sorry you are.”

Her breath hitched, heart racing as she nodded, her fingers already working to unbutton his pants. The anticipation was almost unbearable, but it only heightened the intensity of the moment.

She sank to her knees, a willing captive to his dominance. Joe chuckled, pleased with her compliance.

“Even when we arguin’, you still so desperate for this dick,” he taunted as she tugged down his pants and briefs. She didn’t have to look up to know he was smirking—that signature smirk that always had her pulse quicken.

“Well, sometimes it’s the only way to get you to shut up,” Y/N retorted, unabashedly cheeky as she stroked him with a deliberate slowness, savouring his reaction.

“Babygirl, that mouth of yours better get to work before I do somethin’ ‘bout it.”

Instead of following through immediately, she paused, her hands resting on her thighs. Eyes wide and provocative as she looked up at him innocently.

“What are you doing?” Joe asked, narrowing his gaze. Her innocent facade only fuelled his frustration.

She simply shrugged, maintaining her coy demeanour.

A slow, understanding smirk spread across his face. “Oh, you wanna play that today, huh?” His voice was low, almost a growl, filled with a predatory hunger.

Y/N licked her lips slowly, teasingly, her eyes glued onto his. “Maybe I do,” she murmured with a slight husk.

Joe’s smirk turned into a wicked grin. “A’ight then, babygirl, let’s see how long you can keep this up.”

Without warning, he grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back slightly, not enough to hurt her, but enough to assert his dominance. Y/N’s heart raced, a shiver of anticipation running down her spine. She loved when he took control, loved the raw, primal intensity that radiated from him in moments like this.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice rough and authoritative.

She complied, her wide eyes locking with his. The room seemed to shrink around them, the outside world fading away as their focus narrowed to just the two of them. They didn’t even care that someone could walk in at any moment.

“You know what I want, don’t you?” Even though his tone was softer, it still carried a growl in its undercurrent.

“Yes…”

“Then stop playin’ games and show me.”

With that, he released her hair, his hand moving to the back of her neck, guiding her forward. She didn’t need any more encouragement. She wrapped her fingers around the base of his length, her other hand resting on his thigh for balance, and took the bulbous head between her lips. Slowly. Just enough to savour the taste of him.

Joe let out a low groan, his eyes closing for a moment as he felt the warmth of her tongue circling the sensitive skin. “That’s it, babygirl,” he murmured, his hand tightening slightly. “Just like that…”

She worked him with a deliberate slowness, swirling and teasing around him—torturing him with every movement. She traced the tip of her tongue along the bulging vein that stood out prominent along the underside of his cock, applying pressure at the correct places. Just that alone caused a light throb against her, his breathing to grow heavier, more ragged with each passing second.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he growled with a strained cadence. “You gon’ make me lose my damn mind.”

Her response was a soft hum, the vibration shooting right through him. She loved having this effect on him, loved knowing she could drive him to the edge with just her mouth. Increasing the pace slightly, she took him deeper, her fingertips digging into his thigh for further leverage.

Joe’s hand slid from her neck to her jaw, guiding her movements, dark eyes surveying her every move. “That’s it, baby, take it all…” he encouraged lowly. “Show me how much you want this dick.”

It was inevitable that his gravelly words made her moan around him. Made her core tighten around nothing. Throat relaxing, she forced more of him into her mouth, pushing herself to her limits. Eyes watering from the effort.

“Fuck,” Joe hissed, his hips bucking involuntarily. “You’re so fuckin’ good at this.”

She pulled back slightly, gasping for breath as she ran her hand along his length, coating the entirety with residue spit. Before he could even process it, he was back in her mouth, and her warm palm was skillfully lowering to pay attention to his full balls. A steady massage. The combination was almost too much for him to handle.

“Shit, Y/N,” he groaned. “You keep that up, and I ain’t gon’ last much longer.”

Y/N pulled back, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his throbbing cock. She looked up at him with a hint of arrogant pride. “Maybe that’s the point,” she teased breathlessly.

“Oh, you think you’re clever, huh?”

She nodded, a sly smile playing on her lips. “Maybe.”

He grabbed her by the arm, pulling her up to her feet and pressing her back against the wall. “We’ll see how clever you are when I’m done with you,” he growled, his lips smashing against hers in a bruising kiss.

She whimpered into his mouth, hands flying to his broad shoulders as she clung to him. His punishing assault had her arching into him, her body pressing against him in a desperate attempt for any friction. She even went as far as to roughly tug at his bun, clumsily pulling the hair tie from his head and letting it snap around her wrist for the time being. The way his hair framed his face when down and free had her yearning. Every. Single. Damn. Time.

Rough, calloused hands played with her, yet failed to relieve any of the growing arousal below her waist. He squeezed at every curve he could grasp, a non-verbal worship of the woman in his arms, despite his harsh demeanour.

“You want this, babygirl?” he murmured against her lips, dragging her across the room with him. “You want me to fuck you? Here? With everyone walkin’ around outside?”

“Yes,” she gasped as she felt the back of her legs hit the couch. “Please, Joe.”

He chuckled darkly, pulling back to look at her. “Sorry, who?”

“Roman,” she corrected herself quickly, voice shaky. “Please, Roman…”

“Good girl.” Even though, in essence, he praised her, one could not miss the slight condescension woven between the words. A condescension that intensified as he guided her back until she let her weight fall onto the plush, cushiony surface behind her. With one hand propping himself up, his other traced light circles along her bare leg, slowly creeping further up until it disappeared under the skirt that started it all. The short, form-fitting skirt she chose to wear that day for her interviews. The one that showed off the shapely contours of her body—toned legs and all.

He hadn’t even gotten beneath the thin material of her underwear and he could already feel the dampness collecting on the fabric. “Damn, so wet for me already.”

She whimpered, bucking her hips against his hand, desperate for more. “Please,” she begged weakly.

Narrowing his eyes down at her, he gauged her reaction, every contortion in her face, as his fingers gingerly slid beneath her panties, barely grazing her weeping folds. That alone caused Y/N to let out a breathy moan, her head falling back against the couch as the small grant of relief encompassed her.

“You like that, huh?” he taunted, allowing the tip of his middle finger to apply the slightest pressure, scarcely touching her sensitive nub. “You like it when Daddy touches you like this?”

“Yeah…” She furrowed her brows at the sensation of Joe’s fingers dragging downwards, teasing around her entrance. He lowered his head down to hers, pressing a light kiss to her forehead before he pushed forward, allowing a single finger to slide into her with ease.

It seemed almost immediate that she clenched around him, the bare minimum sending her into utter bliss.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he groaned with a smirk, lips moving to brush against her ear. “I can’t wait to dick you down, babygirl. Feel all this,” he added his ring finger without warning, steadily stretching her in preparation, “around me.”

Y/N was trembling with need, her body threatening to take her pleasure by grinding into him, but she refrained, knowing the outcome was always a prize in the face of anticipation.

“Please, Roman,” she sighed, moving her head to look up into his eyes. “Please.”

He continued to taunt her, pulling his fingers from her pussy, only to lift them up to his mouth to suck them clean. “It’s a damn shame you ain’t gettin’ no head right now when you taste so good, baby.”

She wanted so badly to cuss him out, to stop this whole thing and make him suffer further. But she knew better. This was all part of the game, and they both loved every second of it.

“Ass up, babygirl,” he smoothly demanded, leaving no room for argument as he nodded his head to the side.

Like clockwork, she obeyed, flipping herself onto her hands and knees, finding a place on the couch arm to prop herself up. Back arched, she presented herself to him. For him to use at his disposal. One look ahead and she was caught by the sight of their own reflection in a full-length mirror. Their eyes met, and a smug little smirk appeared on his face as he braced himself on the couch behind her with one knee propped up.

“Ready, baby?” he asked, tracing the pre-cum soaked head of his cock along her folds, shimmying the tight fit of her skirt up and over her ass so he had the perfect vantage point.

“Always ready—please,” she whimpered, teeth clamping down onto her lower lip. “Please, Roman, fuck me.”

It was almost brutal, the swift motion that allowed him to sink into her tight hole. She tightened around him within seconds, the burning stretch taking over her entire being for a moment. His thickness stung her, impaled her. Claimed her.

His face strained with his stubborn attempts at refraining himself from going to town on her pussy, his hand momentarily leaving her ass to tug his shirt off. Now she had the glorious sight of not only her needy body bent over for him, but also the perfectly sculpted structure of this Godlike human’s body.

Whilst he started out slow, giving her the benefit of letting her adjust, it wasn’t long before he’d fallen into a brutal pace, hands grabbing at her hips as skin collided and sweat beaded up all over both of them.

“Mm, that pussy singin’ for me, baby, y’hear that?” he chuckled airily, leaning back to watch as her core hungrily swallowed his thick dick, the glisten of his shaft when he withdrew, just to slam it back in. The noises were lewd, and entirely theirs.

Y/N could barely think, her body consumed by sheer ecstasy, all provided for by him. Each thrust sent shockwaves through her, building a steadfast pressure as she hung onto the couch for dear life. Her body jolted forward each time his hips collided with hers, a groan reverberating in her chest when he swung particularly hard.

“Can’t even speak, I’m fuckin’ you so good…”

As much as she hated to hand him a perfectly stroked ego on a fucking platter, she couldn’t argue with that very simple fact.

“H-harder,” she managed to squeak out.

Always happy to destroy her, he lifted his leg to plant his Jordans-clad foot on the couch, allowing him to build up momentum as he obliged, his thrusts becoming animalistic. She reached back to grab at one of his hands, pulling it lower and guiding it towards her clit.

“Needy lil’ girl,” he chastised, but happily circled her swollen clit with a rhythm that matched the ferocity of his thrusts. Glancing up at the mirror, the sight sent him into overdrive; her mouth dropped open, her face flushed and makeup smudging around her eyes. “Look at you, babygirl… how fuckin’ beautiful you are takin’ this dick.”

She let out a moan, starting to viciously bounce back against his dick, a fiery look in her eyes as she, too, watched their reflection putting on a picture perfect show curated for an audience of two.

“That’s it, mama… Goddamn, you takin’ me so well.” Joe’s body careened over hers, shadowing her entire form with his. His lips were ghosting beside her ear as he roughly purred, “Remind me to make you sit on my face when we get home.”

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, body rippling as his large arm circled her neck, holding her against him as he went to town on her cunt. Her head fell back against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as she felt her climax barreling closer.

“Nuh-uh, baby, open those eyes,” he mumbled into her ear. “Need to see those pretty eyes when I nut in this pussy.”

With a strained whine, she obeyed, forcing herself to open her eyes and look ahead of her.

“Good girl… fuck, Y/N.”

“Oh my God…” she groaned.

“Ain’t no God here, babygirl,” he started, tightening his arm around her neck. “Just your Tribal Chief.”

That did it for her, she arched painfully, pussy fluttering around his shaft. “Roman… I’m gonna cum—fuck, yess, keep going…”

“Yeah? You gon’ give me that nut, huh?” He nodded at her, his hair falling around them as he pressed his lips into her neck, dragging his long tongue over her salty skin, teeth baring down on her as he felt her clench so tightly around him. “Gon’ cum on Daddy’s dick like a good lil’ slut?”

“Yes, yes, fuck, please–”

“Ain’t nobody make you feel this good ‘cept me, baby. You got that?” he said through clenched teeth, pummelling his hips into hers. When she only responded with a shaky whimper, he yanked her against him. “I asked you a question.”

“Yes! Nobody can fuck me like you, Daddy, only you!”

“Damn right… go on, aulelei, cum for me.”

She didn’t need to be asked twice. Without further effort, she let out an elongated whine, high-pitched and unbothered by the very public location. Convulsing, writhing, ears buzzing, she released harshly on his cock, squeezing him so intensely, she could see the effects of it on his face in the mirror.

“Goddamn, that pussy cummin’ so hard,” he breathed with a low chuckle. “You want this nut, baby? You want it?”

Garnering the last of her energy, she nodded fervently.

“Tell me. Tell me you want it.”

“I-I want it…”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to cum inside me.”

“You want who to cum inside you?”

“You!”

“And who am I?”

The sensitivity was too much, and her hips jerked, the aftershocks stunning her pussy as Joe chased his high like a cheetah with its prey.

“I said,” he ripped his hand away from her clit, landing a sharp sting of a slap to the side of her ass in the position they were in. “Who. Am. I?” He emphasised each word with a jolting thrust.

“Roman Reigns! Fuck, you’re Roman Reigns…”

“That’s right… You gon’ get this Tribal Chief nut, and you gon’ take it.”

“Yes, please, please give me it all…”

“A’ight, baby.” His movements became erratic as he soon found his release, practically roaring as he hit his zenith, spilling into her in hot ropes.

All Y/N could do was stay in his grasp, her weight completely limp in his arms as she allowed him to empty his frustrations deep inside her. She already knew she’d be feeling it seeping out later into the day, but that’s what she loved so much about it; the hidden reminder that she was his, and nobody could come close.

For a moment, they stayed like that, their bodies entwined, breathing heavily against each other. Eventually, with a huff, Joe pulled out, shoving himself back in his pants and turning her over to face him. His tepid fingers stroked over her hair as he gazed down at her, eyes softening.

“You okay, babygirl?”

“Mhm,” Y/N nodded, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. “More than okay,” she hummed, leaning into his touch.

Unlike last time, the kiss he planted on her lips was a stark contrast to his roughness. “Good,” he whispered against her.

“Are you actually upset with me? Y’know… about the interview stuff?” she asked quietly.

Joe chuckled, shaking his head. “Not in the slightest… I’m proud of you,” he let her know earnestly, lightly grazing his lips over her nose. “And I love you.”

Y/N grinned, almost giddily. “I love you too.”

“Dammit, Uce, again?!”

Both Joe and Y/N snapped their attention to the locker room door, where a flabbergasted Jey stood with a take out bag from Waffle House in his hand.

“Oh, yeah,” Joe smirked. “I asked the twins to get us some food,” he casually told her.

Her eyes widened, mouth dropping open a bit. “You’re such a dick.”

#roman reigns #roman reigns x oc #roman reigns smut #roman reigns fic #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns x reader #wwe #wwe fanfiction

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miintsprigz · 9 months

Text

Mercs x GN! reader who drew them (ALL NINE!)

This goes out to everyone, not just my artists.

But yes, all my fic material is extremely self-serving.

Big thank you to a dear friend of mine for helping me with mercs like Pyro, Engie, Sniper, and Medic when I got stuck.

VERY LONG POST INCOMING

Scout

• Well, he IS an artist himself, that’s probably how the two of you first started talking.

• Ran past one day, only to immediately throw it in reverse and go “hey whoa whoa whoa when were you gonna tell me you could draw?!”

•Naturally…it was only a matter of time.

•He was always so encouraging about your stuff, so…after working up the guts, you showed him.

• “Yo wait a sec…you drew me??? I…” For once in his life, he’s at a loss for words. He’s never been drawn—not even a self-portrait. For as cocky as he seems…well…

•He just…stares for a second. Marveling. Is that…really what I look like?

• “Do you like it?” “Abso-friggin-lutely, (Y/N)!!! You kiddin’? I don’t even look that beautiful in real life! And ya know, that’s sayin’ somethin!”

•You laugh, and he pulls you in so fast to hug you that you weren’t even ready. “But seriously…thank you. I’ve uh…I’ve never been drawn before. You did amazing. …you know I gotta draw you now, right?”

•And he does. He’s a complete perfectionist about it—he feels like he can’t replicate you, you’re one of a kind. (He actually does very well! But he’s so shy showing it to you…d’aww.)

Pyro

•Pyro was more of a doodler than anything. They loved color. And of course, you could resonate with that.

•Sometimes you’d draw designs and let them color it in. They giggled all the while…they just adored how creative you were.

•Being the most secretive about their appearance, they’re hard to nail down…even for you. Pyro is most themself in their full gear. You, out of everyone, know that best.

•So you took a…different approach. Abstraction.

•Their hands, the ones that so often seemed to be magnetically drawn to you.

•Their back, the strong shoulders when they just felt content to sit in the quiet with you.

•The brief glimpses you’d caught of their face—split second instances in shadows—those were easy, yet challenging. Their brief sightings made them easy to be abstract about, and yet, it made them harder to actually nail down.

•Conjuring a rather fittingly smoky composition, it had a dreamlike feel to it. Pure Pyro.

•You were only a bit hesitant to show them, but when they did see…they surprised you a bit.

•You could see them straighten up a bit…surprised. They craned their neck a bit, looking closer, gently curling their fingers over yours to hold the snapshot-like portraits with you.

• “Hmmm…” There was a sort of…tranquility to them. So unlike your little sparky fella.

• “Do you like them?” Immediately, the edge of their mask bumped against your forehead—your own personal way of kissing. That was all the answer you needed.

•They couldn’t verbalize it, but…seeing beauty in images of themself. The same beauty they saw all around them…it made them see themself in a way they never had before.

•And of course, it made them fall even deeper in love with you, the one who cared for them so much that they took the time to look so deeply.

Heavy

•Heavy is a very intelligent man, but he’s never had much gift for creative work. Even his insults were kind of just the same thing repeated, when the other mercs made it an art form.

•So he couldn’t help but be enraptured by your artistic endeavors and how much work you put into them.

•He loved to see you covered in your medium of choice, your passion for it. Made him lovesick. How lovely you were doing what you loved.

•If he could paint, he would have wanted to paint that. So he could look at it forever.

•So of course, imagine his delight when you decided to draw him!

• That roaring laugh you so enjoyed boomed immediately, just elated.

•“Ohhhh…look at that! You captured me perfectly! Beautiful!” You couldn’t help but beam with pride.

•“Can Heavy keep this?” “Of course you can, hon.” This warranted a sudden barrage of kisses to your face, which cracked you up of course.

•“Very happy to have such talented artist as yourself to love. But to me? You are most beautiful. In all the world.” Despite being more eloquent in his native language, Heavy could still get you to turn red. “Oh gosh…” “Is true!”

Demoman

•Tavish had always been a pretty sentimental fellow. He really did enjoy artwork, but didn’t talk about it much.

•Once he discovered that you were an artist, he was over the moon. Finally, he felt, he could talk to someone about art without them possibly poking fun.

•He’d never go in your sketchbook unless you allowed him to, but he always looked with such admiration in his eyes. “That’s bloody brilliant. So long as ya luv it, never stop doin’ this. Cuz I’ll never stop lookin.”

•One day, you told him you had a surprise for it. “I dunno if I like surprises…” “Oh trust me, Demo,” you chirped, “I think you’ll like this one.”

•As you held up the finished product, his mouth went agape. Almost instantly, he began to smile.

•“Well aren’t you just the sweetest!! That’s me there???” “Yes, love. I uh, I hope that you like it.” His gaze shifted over to you, and you could see his eye had grown somewhat misty.

•Demo was at a loss for words. He had never thought of himself as particularly good-looking, certainly not good enough to be drawn. And yet. You had drawn him. Drawn him very well. And he liked how he looked. Was that how you saw him?

•“Aw, Tav…you okay??” He blinked quick, trying to keep composed.“Never better…c’mere, you…”

•Wrapping his arms around you, he gave you a kiss, just about taking your breath away.

•“My little artist…ya made me look so good.” You caught him rubbing his eye a bit. “I just drew what I saw.” “Well, ya see a work of art in me. And that? That’s the best surprise of all.”

Engineer

•With how much designing went into his machines, Dell could always appreciate the skills of an artist. So when he learned that you were one, well, that only sweetened an already sweet deal.

•You were a little self-conscious at first about him watching you work. You tended to just work parallel to one another, both lost in your own stuff.

•You’d sometimes stop what you were doing to follow his hands as he put the pieces together, fingers wandering as they looked for the correct tool.

•When the inverse happened though—when Engie watched you work—he admired your spontaneity. You could start off with a total wild card and somehow managed to pull it all together and make it work, in a way he never could have come up with.

•Being rather rigid in his own trade, that was something Dell couldn’t help but be dazzled by. Very smart man for sure, but rather by-the-book. Not like you. He saw genius in the way your mind worked.

•So, one day, as the two of you perused each other’s handiwork a bit, you shyly revealed the piece you’d made of him—hard at work on an updated sentry model.

•His lips parted a little like he was about to say something, but nothing came out.

•“I know it’s a little rocky…I’m not the best at drawing machinery.” Gently, he took ahold of the sketchbook and gave it a soft tug, nonverbally asking for permission to hold it. You let him.

•As he looked closer, a warm smile crept across his face. “Well, well…wouldja look at that. That’s me alright.” He chuckled heartily, but you realized it was from admiration, not amusement.

•“Look at you, (Y/N)! Saw me all covered in dirt an’ said ‘yeah, I can make art from that’. I love it…shucks, darlin’, I can hardly get my eyes off of it.”

•He looked back at you, still all aglow, only to find you blushing to the point of near luminescence. “Aw, c’mon now honey…no need to be all shy. You’re incredible, ya know that?”

•An arm slunk around your shoulders, pulling you fast to his side, quickly pecking the top of your head. “I love it, and I love you.”

Soldier

•Soldier was a brave man, that he was confident in. But even he was self-aware enough to realize he wasn’t the sharpest.

•Anything he’d ever drawn looked like kids’ stuff, so to see what you could make? It blew his mind.

•Jane tried not to stare while you drew—you’d gotten all nervous when you’d caught him, and he was trying to be courteous—but he couldn’t deny how it captivated him.

•“Whatcha workin’ on now?” “I’m drawing those two goofs.” You motioned to the Spy and Scout bickering as they often did. “Why them, of all things?” “I just like capturing the moment sometimes.”

•One day, as you sat while he drilled the rest of the team, you started to do just that. You found it hard not to chuckle just a little as the others groaned and rolled their eyes.

•Sure, you got their annoyance, but you couldn’t help but be pulled in by Jane’s excitement and hot-bloodedness.

•“Seemed pretty lost in your work there, or I woulda asked you to join in.” A strong hand ruffling your hair snapped you out of your daze. “Capturing the moment again?”

•“Uh-huh. I think this is my best one yet.” You turned the book around to show him, and you saw his lips part slightly in surprise before he suddenly laughed. “Haha! Look at that! It’s me!”

•You laughed with him, just happy to see him so tickled by it. “I think I really captured you.” “I’d say so, kid! I’d say so…wow.” The amusement gave way to what you realized was…almost awe.

•“I look…strong. Proud.” “Yep.” “…I look good.” “Of course you do.” He nudged his helmet down a bit with his hand, chuckling to himself. From what little bit of his face you saw…was he blushing?

•Imitating him playfully—it was something you two tended to do, he found it cute—you joked, in your best impression of him, “‘Are you going soft on me, maggot??? You’re red as a tomato!’” “Noooo…oh, (Y/N), what am I gonna do with you?”

•He caught the side of your face softly and pecked you on the cheek. “But…really. Thank you, sweetheart. I think that’s my favorite thing you’ve ever made.”

Sniper

•Truthfully, Mick had never given a lot of thought to the arts before he’d met you. What really caught his eye was the amount of time you put into it.

•Sniper knew better than anyone that holding still, completely focused on your task, being all but absorbed in it…that was respectable.

•The fact that he could leave for work and come back to find you in the same spot? It was just very attractive to him.

•You stopped by to watch him sometimes, very discreetly, on less busy days, although he wouldn’t lie, it got him nervous. He trusted in his own skills plenty, but…you weren’t just anyone. He couldn’t have you getting hurt.

•So one day, as he finally wrapped up, he saw you, still hard at work. He didn’t want to interrupt you, but if it was time to go, he wanted to go. Giving you a light pat on the shoulder, he chuckled. “Almost done there, darlin? Quittin’ time.”

•“Just a bit more…there. Perfect. Check it out.” You held up what you’d been working on: a full sketch of him invested in his own work.

•It took him a moment to process what he was seeing, but once he did, he couldn’t help but be amazed. Slightly slack-jawed, he looked up at you, the faintest trace of a smile.

•“Never considered myself the modelin’ type, ‘specially not out here, but…wow. Ya really did it. And I look bloody good, too!” “Well duh!” “Oh, stop—” Oh, that got him. The Aussie was surprisingly easy to fluster once he’d fully grown comfortable, and you loved it.

•“Awww, are you blushing?” “Just a little…now c’mon.” Taking your hand, he helped you up, quickly hugging you around the shoulders, catching you somewhat off-guard.

•“But really. Great job there. Thanks…it’s an honor, ya know that? To be drawn by you?” “Gosh—” “Heh, now you’re the one goin’ all red.” “Oh, stop—”

Medic

•The good(?) doctor first learned of your artistic prowess when he caught you trying to draw the charts he had on his wall. “Ooh! Very impressive.”

•Medic could do a lot of things, but drawing wasn’t really one of them. He couldn’t resist watching you work, even though he knew it was a bit touchy.

•“Poetry in motion, Liebe. Really.” Simp. “Oh, come on—” “I mean it! You have such precision, such grace…it’s a sight to behold!”

•So of course, when you were working on something that you absolutely would not let him look at, he wanted to see even more.

•“I promise that whatever it is, I will find it as beautiful as you!” “It’s not that, silly—it’s supposed to be a surprise!” He seemed almost sulky about it…it was kind of cute, although you did feel a bit bad.

•Eventually though, it was done—him, with Archimedes on his shoulder. “Okay, honey, you can look now.”

•One hand comes up over his mouth, audibly gasping. “Is that…? It is!!! Haha!”

•You had never seen him this happy, and you couldn’t help but smile. “You’ve really outdone yourself this time, (Y/N)! Look at that…and Archimedes too!”

•Perhaps unsurprisingly, he brings the bird out to show him too. It’s hard to gauge the response from a dove, but the tranquil cooing seems to suggest that he enjoys it.

•The doctor catches you off-guard as he sweeps you into a kiss. “Oh…danke, Schatz (treasure). May I keep this?” “Of course~”

•Best believe this man is showing your art off to EVERYONE who he treats, going on and on about what an incredible artist and person you are.

Spy

•This guy is a man of culture, he can appreciate good art. And good artists, wink.

•But in all seriousness, your attention to detail was incredibly attractive to him. After you’d been together for a while, the two of you would sit in his smoking room and relax together once the work day was over.

•Sometimes he’d be off to the side just doing his own thing, reading, but other times he’d actually sit beside you and watch. There was an intimacy to it, one you took time to grow fully comfortable with, but he was patient.

•So when you were very secretive one night, it caught his attention. Nothing slipped past him—not even you. You sensed him behind you surprisingly quickly though, and quickly closed the project up.

•“Shy tonight, are we? So unlike you, mon bijou (my jewel)…” “Hehe…be patient, babe, it’s not done yet.”

•His arms wrapped around you from behind briefly…gosh, it was difficult to keep anything secret from this man. “Very well. Keep your secrets…for now.”

•But he respected that you didn’t want him to see it just yet, and so he waited.

•“…Okay, you can look now.” In an instant, he was behind you again. It was hard to even look up at the guy right now, but once you did…there was this sense of wonder in his face that you hadn’t seen before.

•It wasn’t often that Spy looked at himself unmasked for longer than a few seconds—he’d almost forgotten his own face by now. For spies, he reasoned, it was better that way. But the way you had captured every detail of him…

•“Oh, what a handsome devil…wonder who that could be…” Was he trying to brush off his own flustering? Maybe a little.

•You couldn’t help but giggle as he almost hurriedly sat down next to you, quickly drawing you in close as he continued to look. Almost entranced.

•That element of intimacy I mentioned before? It was his turn to feel it now. Not even in a physical way, which is what this Casanova is so used to.

•No, the fact that you had clearly just…looked at his face, so intently. There was something raw and vulnerable to it. And as much as he wanted to look at it even more, his eyes were magnetically drawn to you.

•“I wouldn’t have ever asked it of you, but…I always wondered what it would look like if you drew me. I…”

•Glancing back down, he found that he couldn’t even come up with anything to say. The act of love had rendered him speechless. YOU BROKE HIM OH MY GOSH/j

•“…Do you like it?” Before you could say anything else, you were swiftly kissed, and I mean kissed.

•Spy always looked at you with a sort of passion, but this was different. He had never felt so much love for someone. Felt like a young, hopeless romantic boy all over again.

•“I adore it…and most of all, I adore you, mon cœur (my heart).”

AAAAND IM DONE. WHEW. That was fun!

936 notes · View notes

tonyspank · 1 year

Text

WH0 R U???

Warnings: Professor!Reader, Tara eye-fucking you, and that’s all I believe.

Summary: Tara’s attractive Professor comes to the rescue.

A/N: I’ll be doing a part 2 soon w smut 🥲

part 2

Several years of school, scholarly work, and teaching experience led you here.

To Blackmore University. You were younger than the average professor, but your dedication and passion for education set you apart.

You were professional and not one to be pushed around. That much was clear when you set foot inside your literature classroom for the first time.

English was always your favorite subject, and you excelled in it throughout your academic journey. So, why wouldn't you pursue a career in teaching English at the university level?

However, for the next few months, you won't be teaching literature. Instead, you'll be filling in for your co-worker Laura, who's away on FML, taking on the role of teaching film study.

While you may not have much experience teaching film, Laura was desperate for someone to cover her classes, and you were willing to help out. She's been nothing but sweet to you. Plus, how hard could it be? You've watched movies before.

When you walked into the classroom on your first day, late in the afternoon, you were greeted by a bunch of drama kids who were honestly confused; you could see it in their faces.

They were expecting Laura, their experienced film study teacher, but instead they got you, someone with little to no teaching experience in film.

"Professor Y/LN?" Jason Carvey, a student from your previous class, asked with a puzzled expression.

"What happened to Laura? We were really looking forward to her class."

You took a deep breath, placing your belongings on the desk at the front of the classroom.

"Unfortunately, Laura had an unexpected personal matter to attend to and won't be able to teach this semester. But don't worry, I may not have much teaching experience in film, but I'll try my best."

You reassured the students, hoping to alleviate their disappointment. "Professor Crane provided me with some materials and resources to help guide us through the semester. Additionally, I've been doing my own research to ensure that we have a fulfilling learning experience in this class."

You give the class a tight-lipped smile before opening your briefcase.

"Well, shall we get started?"

Tara didn't know exactly what it was about you that made her eyes widen and her heart begin racing. Sure, anyone could see you were attractive, young, and obviously confident, but there was something more captivating about your presence.

Was it your voice? Was it how you commanded the room with your words? Or perhaps it was the way you'd lean back against the desk, crossing your built arms as your eyes scanned the room, exuding an air of authority.

Tara found herself drawn to you like a magnet, unable to tear her gaze away. She was intrigued by the air of mystery that surrounded you, wondering what secrets lay behind your confident façade.

As class went on, Tara's dark brown eyes scanned over you like a predator assessing its prey. From your perfectly styled hair to your amazingly kept eyebrows, your enchanting y/e/c eyes, to your sultry lips—don't get her started on your sculpted jawline.

You were a sight to take in, captivating and commanding attention without even trying. You presented yourself with an effortless grace that made it impossible for anyone to look away.

Your white button-up shirt was crisp and tailored, hugging your form in all the right places, and your black slacks were perfectly pressed, accentuating the length and strength of your legs.

Tara's stare flew back up, staring at the bulge in your pants, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment and desire—

"—Tara, is it? What do you think?" Tara quickly snapped out of her momentary distraction, her cheeks still flushed.

She cleared her throat and tried to regain her composure before responding, "Oh, I'm sorry. Could you please repeat the question?"

You smile, showcasing your charming dimples and perfect smile. While Tara was in her trance, you found yourself relaxing into the class's discussion, feeling like you no longer needed to put on your strict professor persona.

You leaned back, crossing your legs. "How do you think directors like Quentin Tarantino push the boundaries of traditional storytelling in their films? Do you believe their unique approaches have a lasting impact on the film industry?"

Tara nods, playing with the pencil that sits in front of her. "Yeah, I think directors like Tarantino definitely push the boundaries of traditional storytelling, especially with their unique approaches that challenge the audience's expectations and keep them engaged. Like Kill Bill and Pulp Fiction, for example, and how he used non-linear narrative structure and unconventional use of violence to create a distinct cinematic experience that stands out from the mainstream. Peak cinema at its finest."

You raise an eyebrow, impressed. "You surely know your film." The freckled-faced girl giggles in response, dropping her gaze to her hands.

At the end of the lecture, Tara approaches you with a small smile on her face. You look up from your notes, which Laura had given you, and it also confuses the fuck out of you. With a quirked eyebrow, you meet Tara's gaze, your face softening.

"Oh, Tara. Need something?" Tara hesitates for a moment before speaking. "Actually, I was wondering if you'd accept my late work. Professor Crane gave me extra time to complete it, but I still couldn't finish on time. I understand if you can't, but I thought it was worth asking."

You bite on your lower lip, not noticing how quickly Tara's eyes drop to the action. "Uh, sure." You rip out a piece of paper from your notebook and write down a quick note.

"Here's my number. I lost the login to my email, so this will have to do. Send me your late work, and I'll make sure it gets to Professor Crane. Just make sure to include your name and the assignment details in the text so there's no confusion. I'll do my best to help you out."

Tara's eyes light up with relief as she thanks you profusely. "I really appreciate it, thank you so much." You nod, giving her a tight-lipped smile before focusing back on your notes.

A few days later, you're home alone, eating a bowl of ice cream while you watch the movie Stab. Suddenly, your phone buzzes with a new message. Your eyes fight to tear away from the screen, and you reluctantly pick up your phone to check the message.

+1 (347) 871-1921: wh0 r u???

You squint at the unfamiliar number, puzzled by the message. After a moment of hesitation, you reply.

You: I'm sorry, but I think you have the wrong number. Who are you trying to reach?

+1 (347) 871-1921: profdsser y/ln

You furrow your brow, trying to decipher the cryptic message. It doesn't make any sense to you. Curiosity getting the better of you, you decide to respond one more time. You: I'm sorry, but I don't understand what you're saying. Can you please clarify?

+1 (347) 871-1921: rolling eyes emoji

+1 (347) 871-1921: three ht poreffesor whofilling for ms crane?

Was this Tara? You put down your bowl of ice cream; this had to be Tara. And she had to be drunk. You take a deep breath before responding again.

You: Tara, is that you? Are you okay? It seems like you're drunk.

+1 (347) 871-1921: ummmmmmmmm

+1 (347) 871-1921: busted

You: Tara, I'm really concerned about you. Is everything alright? Please let me know if there's anything I can do to help.

Tara: iamat the frt house

Tara: canyoucum pik me up, pleas?

You twist your lips, concerned about Tara's well-being and the fact that she is asking for a ride. Surely she had friends with her. You didn't want to leave her stranded, but you also didn't want to be the professor driving their students home from a wild party. However, you take a moment to gather yourself before responding.

You: Of course, Tara. I'll be there to pick you up. Just send me the address, and I'll be on my way.

Tara has started sharing their location with you.

You see the location pop up on your phone, quickly checking the estimated time of arrival, and mentally prepare yourself to pick up your drunk student.

#tonyspank #wattpad #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x y/n #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x gn!reader #tara carpenter imagine #tara carpenter fluff #tara carpenter scream #tara carpenter x female reader #tara carpenter x male reader #tara carpenter x g!p reader #professor!reader x tara carpenter #professor!reader

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writers-hes · 3 months

Text

Growing Pains | c. berzatto x reader

A broken promise between friends hangs heavy in the Chicago air. He was haunted by a loss, seeking refuge in the city he never considered home. She was a wisp of stardust who finds herself back in the city she always considered home. A rent-dispute sets the stage for them to meet again, only to realize that dreams, both realized and abandoned, are so much brighter when you’re younger. (trauma, mentions of alcoholism, sexual harrassment, angst, some bad words…) A/N: This is entirely different from my other fics and I hope that you enjoy it. I really do.

MASTER LISTS TAGLIST “I want to become an artist,” That was what nine year old Carmen Bezatto told you when you asked him what his dream was. He was shy and kept to himself. You were different. You were magnetic and the boys in class all had a crush on you. The teachers loved you and the girls from the higher years doted on you.

“I want to become an actress or a singer,” you confessed, sitting beside him. The crayon that he was holding was blue and he set it down. “What are you drawing?”

“A car,” You peered over his shoulder.

“You’re really good Carmen,”

“Carmy,” he whispered, his heart beating fast. You look at him in confusion. “Call me Carmy,”

“Why do you want to become an artist?” you asked him. You were looking at the drawing of spaghetti and meatballs on his sketchpad. He drew it with a crayon.

“It’s what I’m good at,” he shrugged. “I’m not good with words but I’m good at this. Why do you wanna become an actress?”

“I want people to love me! I want to be so rich and buy my mom everything she needs. I want to star in movies. I can also cry on command. See?” you asked. He watches you clench your eyebrows and wobble your lip. Soon the first tear falls. He’s never been so mesmerized by another person before.

“Carmy,”

“Hm?”

“Let’s promise to achieve our dreams and revisit this place after we’ve done it,” you said, sticking out your pinky for him. He beams at you, the rare smiles he gives and intertwines his pinky with you.

“I promise,”

You two made unlikely friends. Carmy was still on the sidelines when he reached high school while you were still in the spotlight. You joined theater. Carmy was sure there were some who still harbored feelings for you. Who wouldn’t? You were the same magnetic, charismatic, charming girl he knew from childhood. Everyone was so sure that you’re on your path to become an actress.

“Carmy!” He turns around and sees you rushing towards him with a smile on your face. You loop your arm with his and walk to the next class together. “You didn’t wait for me,”

“Sorry,” he chuckles lightly, seeing you pout. “You were just talking to some guys and I didn’t want to just stand there,”

“Sorry,”

“It’s okay,” he looks at you.

“I saw you talking to Claire,” you teased. He told you once that he had a crush on her. “What did you guys talk about?”

“She just asked me about homework,” he says looking away.

“You’re so cute, Carmy!” you gushed, pinching his cheek with your free hand. He blushes harder. He should be used to such remarks by now.

“Let’s just go to class,”

“Wait, hold that pose,” he says. School ended and he found you sleeping at the library. He decided to sit in front of you until you woke up. The sun was already setting and it seeped through the windows of the library.

“Huh?” you asked. You were craning your neck to the side to stretch it.

“Hold that pose. I’m sketching,” You look at the paper and the pencil in front of him. “I’m trying to draw different angles,”

“Alright,” you replied. You stayed like that until Carmy says that it’s alright. You watched him draw more details and add more shadows. “You’re really good…but why do I have a mustache?”

“It’s called hatching,” he chuckled. “But it looks like a mustache,” He erases some shades and shows you his sketch. “I know it’s not good…”

“It’s good!” You snatch the piece of paper from him and hold up the portrait beside you. “See? Looks exactly like me,”

“Your nose is crooked,”

“Carmy!” you pouted. He laughed, his curls falling down his face as he hid his smile from you. Your heart beats fast and you look at him. It was your first time actually taking him in. He is beautiful.

“Let’s go home?” he asked after laughing. He tries to take the drawing from you but you snatch it away.

“This is mine as a punishment for saying that my nose is crooked!” you told him, opening the folder that you were sleeping on. He tries to chase it but you keep it.

“I’ll give you a better one!”

“I like this,” you told him earnestly, keeping the folder in your backpack. “When you’re a really famous artist, I’ll sell it for a really expensive price! From Carmen Anthony Berzatto’s earlier work. Come on, Carmy! Let’s get out of here. You promised to walk me home today,” he heard you say. He stands up from his seat and waits for you. He takes your lunchbox for you as usual. Dede likes to cook your and Carmy’s lunches. She makes him bring your lunchbox home. Carmy thinks that she’s just making sure that you’ll still be his friend.

The walk home was usual, your and Carmy’s lunches on either hands, you trying to catch up on his steps no matter how much he tried to slow down. Carmy walks you home and you thank him, hugging him to the side before leaving. You watch him walk away from your window.

Looking back, you and Carmy had always been close. However, sometime in your senior year, you watched him pull himself away from you. It was quick. It felt like someone plucked a rib from you. It was painful. One day, he just decided not to talk to you as much. He doesn’t wait for you during theater practice anymore and he hasn’t been walking home with you. You’d always be walking home, alone. Carmy wasn’t there anymore.

“Carmy, can we talk?” you asked, running after him when he ignored you again. You look up at him with sad eyes and he just looks away.

“For what?”

“Oh, well—I just…” you stammered. You looked at his sweater instead of his face. “I just wanted to know if everything’s fine?”

“It is,” He shrugs you off like you didn’t matter.

“Oh,”

You nod to yourself, looking away. What else was there to say?

“Um, do you…do you want to walk together?” you asked.

“No,”

Your heart drops and you swallow thickly. He hears you whisper something that he doesn’t remember anymore. All he knew was that he felt like absolute shit. His mom has been drinking more, Mikey was pushing him away, Richie was giving him a hard time, and Sugar locked herself in her room most of the time. He hasn’t been thinking straight and his home environment was just so draining that he forgot to reserve some of his energy for you. You leave without waiting for him to reply. He watches you run away from him. He should’ve ran after you that afternoon.

The day after that, Carmy thought of seeking you out. He wanted to apologize for how he behaved the past couple of days. He wanted to tell you everything but you were nowhere to be seen.

You returned to school a week after that due to a family emergency. He lost his courage by then. The teachers were kind enough to give you extra credit and you aced them all because soon, you were getting acceptance letters from colleges. When you were younger, you and Carmy both agreed to go to the same university that offered the courses you wanted to major in. You both agreed to go to the same college and rent an apartment together. You were just about to knock on the Berzattos’ door to ask Carmy if your plan would still push through. What Dede said broke your heart, though.

“He didn’t tell you? He left for Copenhagen last night. He got a scholarship from Noma!” she excitedly told you. She blows smoke away from you and your face falters. You shook it off though and decided to congratulate Dede. You emailed Carmy that night but he never replied. You remembered during graduation when Carmy’s family asked you to have a picture with him. You both stood awkwardly as Dede, oblivious as ever, clicked on the shutter multiple times. Sugar felt uncomfortable and looked for your mom but she was nowhere to be seen. Mikey and Richie were giggling among themselves as usual. You went home with a defeated sigh. The acceptance letter in your hand was clenched tightly. You remembered how you and Carmy filled up the forms together. He was fussing over every detail while you laughed at him. Where did it all go wrong?

Your hand shook when you sat on your bed. You couldn’t even celebrate the fact that you were going to college—that you were about to pursue your dreams.

The first person that Carmy wanted to talk to after learning about Michael’s death was you.

He didn’t give himself the time to cry over him; just like how he didn’t give himself the time to cry over his mistake of leaving you without saying anything. Mikey always told him that he was weak because he was sensitive and was in tune with his emotions. He didn’t know that he always had to have to guard up at his own home because he was scared of what his mom and brother might do next.

When he arrived in Chicago for the first time in years, his heart dropped. You weren’t there to pick him up. Who was he kidding? He left you to yourself without so much of an explanation. He didn’t even tell you that he changed his dream. Was it a dream? Or did he pursue it out of spite? To show Mikey that he was better than him? He wanted Mikey to look at him with such jealousy…such envy because Mikey didn’t graduate from college. He was a drop out with too many plans and too many failures. Carmy was better than him. Carmy managed to go to Noma without anyone’s help. He wanted Mikey to seethe when he sees him. So why was he in his brother’s failing sandwich shop instead of cooking for the President?

He’s been looking for you for weeks now but he couldn’t see you. He couldn’t ask Richie because he was ashamed. He just wanted to walk home with you again. He was sure that Sugar knew where you were. She was the type to be in touch with everyone but he never brought himself to it.

When he was in a relationship with Claire, you were momentarily put on his back burner. She was beautiful, he knew that. As kids, you’d always find a way to make Claire talk to Carmy.

“Remember Y/N?” Claire asked. Carmy’s back tenses as he prepares to go to what will soon be The Bear. Claire watched him put his white shirt from the bed.

“Hm?”

“I don’t know. She always found a way to make us talk to each other,” she shrugged. “I used to think you guys would end up together…or were together,”

“Why-why would you think that?” Carmy asked, facing her. He furrows his brows like he was so confused. The notion was foreign to him.

“Everybody thought so too. You walked her home everyday and you’d draw her all the time. You guys were so close. Some guys didn’t bother to ask her out because they thought you were together. I didn’t make a move on you because I thought the same,” she swallows. She feels shy about what she just confessed to him. Did he catch it? “Everyone thought you broke up because you suddenly stopped hanging out,”

Carmy stood there, speechless. What was he supposed to say to that? Why did his girlfriend say that?

“But it doesn’t matter anymore,” he hears her. She gets out of bed and walks over to him. She hangs her arms on his shoulder. “We’re together now,”

“Yeah. We are,” he says, kissing her forehead. He didn’t feel how embarrassed Claire felt. He was thinking about something else.

“Should we invite Y/N to the opening?”

His question caused the chaos to stop. Sugar drops the pen that she used on whatever it was she was writing while Richie raises his eyebrows.

“Or not,”

Sugar looks at him quizzically. She looks at Richie next and then, Eibra. They knew you. You frequented the sandwich shop with your mom when you were younger. Carmy brought you here to piss on Michael.

“What?” he asked. “We don’t have to. Fuck—okay, let’s not,” he stammered, his last word was weak. Sydney was confused. “Anyways, I uh—fuck. Let’s take five,”

“What?” Sugar asks. “No, no, no. We have to finalize this list now, Carm.”

“Yeah, I know that. I-I—“

“Even if we were to invite her, I don’t know where she is anymore,” His heart stops beating. He was so sure she knew.

“What?”

“She left for college,” Richie explained. “Seemed like her whole family left with her too. Their house is occupied by a new family now. We’re surprised you didn’t know. She told us that you guys were still in contact when you left,”

It was his turn to be confused. His mind was racing. Were you alright? Where are you now? Do you remember him? Do you still have the drawing he made of you?

“I totally forgot about her,” Richie confessed, chuckling. Carmy looks at him, his eyes turning into slits. His cousin raises his hand in surrender.

“You didn’t bother to ask?” he asks Sugar. “You grew up with her too, right?” He couldn't help but feel resentful. Why didn’t she treasure you like she treasured everyone else?

“Carm, she was your friend,” He runs his hand through his hair. He closes his eyes and counts to three. “Besides, she disappeared without a word…just like you did. As far as I know, she left first and then, her mom did.”

“Let’s take five,” he declares before leaving.

He rummages through his phone and tries to remember his old email address. He really wanted you to be there. He wanted to hear about your dreams and he wanted you to hear about his. He never found the courage to look you up on the internet. He didn’t want to know the hard truth.

His hands tremble as he holds his phone when Claire’s name pops up from the screen. He shouldn’t be worrying about you—he should be worried about Claire. The girl he loves. The girl he’s always dreamed of. Right, Claire. Claire. Claire Dunlop. They met again by the frozen aisle of the store.

“Hey,”

“Carm,” Her voice soothes him. “Just wanted to…check-in. You left feeling kind of not okay? How are you now?”

“I’m good,” he says. “Just remembered Y/N. I wanted to—uh, I wanted to invite her to the opening…if-if that’s okay with you?”

“Of course, it is. She was your best friend,”

“I don’t know how to reach her…would you know?” he swallows. He felt like shit for asking about another girl to his girlfriend. “Claire?”

“Hm, let me ask around. I’m sure somebody knows. She kind of fell out of the radar after you left,” she says. Everyone thought you eloped. She kept that part to herself.

“Cool. Thanks. Let me know,” he says. He looks at the time. “I have to go,”

“Alright,” she says. I love you. She kept that too. “See you tonight?”

“I’ll let you know.” He ends the call and sets his phone down. He rummages through the drawers to look for clues you might have left behind. He wanted to look for you. He didn’t know why he had the sudden urge to do so. It’s not like he has any right to. He pauses, looking at a distance. He tries to rack his brain for that stupid email. He rushes out of the office and sees Sugar.

“Do you remember what my old email was?”

The Bear opens and you weren’t there. Sugar can’t remember his old email. Carmy forbade her to look you up. It could have been as easy as that but he didn’t want to. He can feel himself slipping away from Claire the more he busies himself with work. He tries to busy himself with work because he tries to bury the guilt of leaving you behind. Sugar told him that you went to his childhood home the day after he left Chicago. She said she got into the arts school that you both applied to. You were probably on the way to tell him about the news. He feels horrible.

Carmy knew that despite your charm, you were self-destructive. You were both alike that way. You have the tendency to self-isolate whenever you feel upset. One time, Carmy accidentally said something hurtful towards you. You pushed him away. He had to climb to your window and apologize before everything was alright again. When your mother scolded you, you’d lock yourself in your room and stay in the library until it closed so you wouldn’t have to see your mom. When you didn’t get the role that you wanted for a play, you’d distance yourself from everyone until everybody started to miss you.

“You’re the only one who can get me out,” you once told him. You said it in such a teasing manner that he only brushed it off. He didn’t think about it before but it’s all he’s been thinking about now. Would you let him bring you out again?

Claire broke up with him when The Bear opened. He brought all of his anger out to Richie. He was an island. He was alone and was out of touch. He’d go to work, cook, and then leave. He didn’t talk to anyone. He’d just scream his head off until he blows off the steam. This is the dream, right?

He decided to go out and explore today. He had to go to Aurora, a city near Chicago to meet up with a potential supplier. He wanted to introduce a new item to the menu. He let go of the bucatini and other items. Last night, he stood a foot away from the island, looking at the food he just prepared. They were so intricate…they reminded him of you. All the food was reminiscent of your childhood with him. He didn’t know what happened for him to finally feel the gaping hole in his life shaped like you.

He arrives at the spice store hidden from the main road. It was quaint and the shelves were lined with jars of tea and various spices from around the world. Jugs of flavored vinegars were displayed for purchase. When he entered, the aroma of the jars enveloped his nose. He happened to find this spice store on the list of possible suppliers that Sugar prepared before The Bear opened. He felt right at home with the creaky wooden floors and warm lighting.

“Can I help you, sir?” the attendant from the cashier at the corner asked. He walks over to her and studies her corner. A framed paper caught his eye. It was too easy to miss to the unknowing eye but he saw it. The frame was on the very top, almost touching the low ceiling. His entire world stops and he sees it. He sees you. He sees the drawing that you took from him on that afternoon in the library.

“I…,” he swallows. “Do you know the—the artist of…of that portrait?” he asked, pointing at his sketch.

“Oh. I’m not sure, sir but the owner might know,” the attendant replied. Carmy nods.

“I’m actually here for uh, a meeting? I’m the owner of a restaurant in Chicago and I-I…am here to meet for a possible partnership,”

”Oh! Of course,” she nods, looking at the piece of paper the manager gave. “Mr. Berzatto?”

“Yes,”

”The manager will be here soon. May I lead you to the backroom? Would you like some tea?” she asked. She sees him play with a plastic of tea bears. “Tea bears. It’s the first of its kind. It’s a gummy bear that you can dissolve in water for tea. You can also eat it as is. Would you like to try a flavor? I recommend the blueberry and blue pea,”

”Oh, uh—sure,” he nods, following her to the back. Carmy sits down and the attendant leaves. He looks around the room. The walls had awards and other accolades. The attendant arrives with a cup of hot water and some colorful tea bears.

“Just add one to the water and snack on the rest,” she smiles. He picks up a tea bear and studies it. It kind of reminds him of you. He remembers how much you loved tea. He gifted you exotic and expensive teas every time. He knows he shouldn’t get his hopes up but what were the odds? There was only one copy of that drawing in the world and it was supposed to belong to you. The manager arrives just right after he bit on the head of the first bear. Vanilla and raspberry.

”Hello, Mr. Berzatto,” he says. He was a stout man with a kind face. “Sorry for my lateness,”

”I was early,” he says, standing up to shake the other man’s hand.

“Tea bears,” he acknowledges and Carmy smiles a little bit. ”I hope the drive wasn’t too tiring,”

”It wasn’t,” he replied. “I have the documents with me,” He lays the folder on the table with information about The Bear.

“I take it you’re the owner?” he asks Carmy. He nods, and the manager reads over the company profile. He wastes no time asking Carmy about The Bear. Carmy answers them and he’s so tired. He should have made Sugar come here instead. The meeting ends without a fuss.

“Do you have any questions?”

“It’s not really about the spices but the portrait on the counter. I want to have a portrait made,” he says.

“Oh,” the manager looks at the cup of tea that Carmy drank. “I’m not quite sure but I’ll be sure to ask the owner. Bea has a couple of spice samples ready for you outside,”

Carmy stands up and exits the room. He drives home with a brown paper bag and a picture of the portrait that hangs on the wall. It was you. It was you.

He couldn’t sleep that night. The spices for the new menu sits on his kitchen counter, untouched. He thinks about it. What happened? He thought you were an actress. That was what your dream was. He couldn’t help it. The itch that his fingers have makes him reach for his phone. Before he knew it, he was on Google, typing your name.

“Fuck!” he shouts, throwing the phone from across his bed. “Fuck, no, no, no.” He shuts his eyes close and pinches his nose. Why now? The Bear was in shambles. Richie hated him, Claire hated him, he hated himself. Was he only reaching out to you because he knew that he wouldn't feel the hatred?

“There were some problems with the renter of your house in Chicago,” you heard. You looked up from your office table and frowned.

“I thought that house was rented properly?” you asked. It’s been ten years since you went there. Or was it five? You couldn’t keep count anymore. That house was a house of horrors that you’d never want to revisit again. Hell, you never wanted to set foot in Chicago again.

“The renters want to meet up with you. They said that you purposely kept important information from them when you leased the house. They were complaining about the backyard and would not budge until you go there,” he says. You pinched your nose.

“Can’t we look for other interested renters?” you were annoyed. ”Or just give them a refund?”

”Sadly, nobody wants to rent the house anymore because it hasn’t been renovated for years,”

“Fuck,” you sighed. “Alright,”

Your flight to Chicago was long. Your college was quickly spent in New York. You decided not to stay there. You thought of your old house. It could have been sold ten years ago but you didn’t want to. Your uncles and aunts all agreed that if there were no renters, it was going to be sold. You couldn’t defy their demands, they all inherited the house with your mom from their father. You all shared the profits yearly and you didn’t want to sell the house. You couldn’t just leave everything behind entirely.

Stepping back in Chicago was…something. There was a rush of emotions that filled you and as you met up with your driver, you felt weak. You didn’t want to be back here but you had no other choice. You were tied down to that two storey house. You were just hoping that you won’t run into anyone. The plan was to stay here, four days at most and then leave before anyone else sees you. You didn’t want to make up stories in your head again about how you and him kept in contact when you knew that it wasn’t true. It wasn’t true. None of it was. You just wanted to be comforted by the lie that you tried so hard to believe.

The hotel was nice. You were thinking of driving outside of Chicago to check some matters before going to New York. The next morning, you decided to go out for a run and grab coffee. You wondered if your old favorite cafe still opened. It was fairly far from your old home and The Beef. You wondered if people still went there. It wasn’t hip and the food was greasy but their brewed coffee was heaven.

The city has changed a lot since the last time you’ve been here. You don’t remember the streets being this way. Vacant lots turned into buildings and skyscrapers. It was odd. You once knew every nook and cranny of the city but not anymore. That afternoon, when you arrived at your old house, you couldn’t even recognize the street. The old houses were torn to pieces and were built with modern houses. The only houses that remained exactly the same were yours and the Berzattos’. It seemed empty, though. It used to have cars and chaos but it was quiet. As if…it hasn’t been lived in. You paid it no mind and knocked on your old door, revealing the new tenants of the house.

They immediately showed you what their problem was. Fucking grass. You booked a flight and stayed at an expensive hotel for grass. It wasn’t the same as in the pictures. That was their main concern. You stood there, in your backyard, mouth pressed into a thin line in annoyance.

“I see,” you only nodded. “I can arrange landscaping services for you,”

“But that would be expensive. The only reason why we rented this old house is because we wanted to have a garden. Otherwise, we would’ve rented somewhere that’s actually…nicer,” the tenant says. Seeing your souring expression, she added, “This place is nice…homey. I can’t afford landscaping services,”

You only nodded, trying to think of someone who might know a landscaper.

“Can you give me until tomorrow to sort this out?”

“Sure,’

When you arrived at the hotel that night, you thought of the people you knew who had good lawns and backyards. Your agent can’t obviously do shit. You have to fire him soon. All the services in Chicago were way more expensive than you were willing to spend. Who had a good lawn…whose mother always had a manicured garden?

“Fak!”

The man rushes into the kitchen, looking at the ensemble of people gathered where Sydney and Carmy usually stood.

“The light,” Carmy pointed. “It’s doing that thing again,” The light buzzes and blinks, as if Carmy ordered it to do so. He had that ability sometimes. He can make the world move.

“I got it, I got it,” he says, going out and coming back soon with a ladder and his tool box. He listens to the crew made up of Richie, Tina, Sydney, Carmy, and Sugar bicker while he tries to fix it. They always bickered and it stresses him out most of the time. ”Ugh, you guys! Stop screaming at each other!”

They ignored him, Carmy was in a screaming contest with Richie while the others tried to pacify the situation. Their relationship hasn’t gone back to the way it was after the fridge incident.

”We’re closed today, right?” Fak asked, trying to tighten the screw.

“Yes, darling,” he hears Sugar.

“Great because Y/N asked me to come by their old house,” he says. He takes note of the sudden silence and takes it as his permission to continue. “She’s back in town and wanted me to check their lawn because she told me that she remembered how nice Ma’s garden was, remember? Anyways, she wanted me to check and get her a connect with a gardener or a landscaper,”

“Wh-what?” Carmy sputters. “What the fuck are you saying, Fak? Y/N hasn’t been here in-in-in fucking years,”

”Yeah but she’s here,” he shrugs. He climbs down the ladder with a smile on his face. “It’s a good thing I never changed my phone number. She wouldn’t have been able to call me if I did,”

Carmy visibly disintegrates before everyone in the kitchen. He stands there, memories of his abandonment haunting him and his eyes blinking rapidly. You were in town?

”When are you meeting her?”

“Today,”

Fuck. If only he didn’t promise himself to do something today. He needed to focus. He didn’t need you, right?

After treating Fak to a quick dinner, you immediately went home. He sadly told you that he wished you’d visit The Bear. Carmy was here now and he opened the restaurant. He told you that you’ll be welcome anytime as long as you tell him first so he can tell Richie. Richie was the front of house staff now and Fak said that Richie improved, like a lot. He showed you photos of Sugar’s cute baby. He told you that Eibra and Tina still worked there but most surprisingly, he told you that Mikey was dead.

That part shook you. You were never really close with him but he was always nice to you. Carmy idolized him and always sought his approval. It must have been hard for him. Hearing that he didn’t attend the funeral didn’t surprise you, though. You always imagined that Carmy will do some fucked up things if it really came down to it. Years of not knowing what Carment Berzatto became brought both a hollow feeling in your chest and assurance. You never had to know if he was better without you. You chewed on the hangnail on your perfectly manicured finger. Carmy was here again and so were you. Would it be so bad to see him again? Even if it was just a glimpse…would it be so bad to see how he was after all these years?

The night before left you with eyebags. The thought that you and Carmy were here woke you up all night. You didn’t know what to do. Does he know that you’re here too? You tried to cover the bags with a concealer you brought. You were on auto-pilot as you went to the basement to take your rental car. You were going to Aurora today to look over the shop. What was a drive anyway? You were in Aurora every other month for the business that you built when you were younger. It proved to be successful, though.

You arrived at your first business venture, The Alchemist. You were young and full of wonder when you named it. The Alchemist…you used to call your mother that because she made so many things in the kitchen with nothing. It was a way to remember her legacy and other mixes that she made when you were younger. Now, though, you asked chefs and homecooks to make recipes for pre-mixed spices for your business. You always went back to ‘Alchemy No. 1’, a spice blend made and frequently used by your mother when she was still alive.

You entered the store lined with jars of spices and flavored vinegars. The smell of herbs that you sourced from all over the world create an aroma that reminds you of home.

“How is everything?” you asked her.

“Mr. Lee just is about to close a deal with a promising restaurant,”

”He told me about it,” you told Dana. “Sorry if I can’t come here as often as I’d like,”

”That’s alright,” she assures you. You pick a packet of assorted tea bears that you give to the customers to sample and open it. Taking a pink one, you melted the bear in the paper cup with hot water to drink the raspberry and vanilla flavored tea. “Mr. Lee makes the job easier, really,”

”I’m glad,” you told her. “I heard there’s a meeting today?”

”Yes, ma’am,” she replied. “It’s about to start in thirty minutes, actually. Are you planning to join?”

”Yes,” you told her. “I hope they won’t mind,”

You were sitting on the chair in the meeting room when the door opened. Your heart drops for some reason. Your palms sweat and you suddenly couldn’t breathe. You stood up, looked towards the opened door and saw him. Carmy. Carmy was here. He stops his movement—even his breathing and lets go of the door knob. He clutches the folder in his hands and looks at you with wide eyes.

He’s aged. He looked tired and his face matured but his eyes were still as blue as ever, demanding you to open up to him.

You looked older but you looked content. The fine lines that he’s never seen on you before makes you look more beautiful than you’ve ever been.

He opens his mouth first but no words come out. You tried to do the same but you suddenly forgot all of the words that you could say. The pain in your lungs and the quiver in your voice manages to croak out something that snaps him out of his shock.

“Hey,” a wobbly smile graces your features and he steps forward. You weren’t sure if you wanted to step back but you didn’t.

He watches your hand tremble and he wonders if he could still hold them like he used to.

You watch him take shaky breaths and remember how you used to soothe his back to stop him.

“I can leave,” you said, looking down. He frowns and licks his lips.

”You don’t have to,”

”No, I’ll—“

”You don’t have to run away,”

”You ran away from me all those years ago,”

Snap. If you could break his bones with your words, you already would have.

”But…” you swallowed thickly. “but it doesn’t matter anymore,” you whispered. You resented yourself for bringing that up. You should be happy that he’s doing fine, right?

“Y/N—“

”Let it go,”

”Please,”

”Carmy,” you finally look at him. You still called him Carmy.

“I have to talk to you,”

”I understand, alright?” you grit. “I—I—“ you breathed in. “I can’t be here,”

”Y/N, please,” you hear him plead. His voice breaks and you do too. Maybe because you always had a soft spot for him. Maybe it was because you realized that you loved him. Maybe it was because you pitied him…either way, you couldn’t stop yourself from saying what you said next.

“The Peninsula,” you told him. “Under my last name. Tomorrow,”

It was all you said to him before you left him in the meeting room. A few minutes later, Mr. Lee greets him and they close the deal.

Today was Monday, which meant that Carmy had either the morning or after the restaurant closes to come to you. If he comes to The Peninsula after, you might leave thinking that he never cared. If he comes tomorrow, he might not be able to prepare. He thinks that he’s at his best and he knows that he wouldn’t be able to focus if he didn’t go to you. He’ll just fuck things up in the kitchen if he doesn’t go to you. So, at 5:30 a.m., he goes to your hotel and asks for your room number. It seemed like you’ve already informed the receptionist of your arrival and they let him come up.

He knocks the door erratically. You rouse from the bed, alarmed because who would knock at 5:30 a.m.? You couldn’t sleep no matter what you did. With a grip on the remote control of the TV, you peeped into the hole to find Carmy.

“Y/N?” he calls from the outside. You tossed the remote control away and opened the door.

“It’s not even six yet,” were the words you told him as he sees you in the robe. “Carmy?”

“Sorry but—but I,” he draws in a breath. “Sorry I just, I wanted to go here before anything else because…because I know that if I don’t, I’ll be thinking about it and I won’t be able to focus,”

“Come in,”

Carmy steps inside your hotel room and looks around. Fancy. You used to dream about going to a place like this when you were younger. He stands there awkwardly by the foyer and you motion for him to sit down on the couch. He does so and watches you lean on the wall, as far away from him as possible without it being really obvious but it was.

A beat passes with Carmy’s eyes trained on you. You’ve never felt out of touch in his life than now. He watches you with wide eyes while you look everywhere but his face. There were no stains in his shirt and his curls were messier than you remember. You purse your lips and Carmy sighs. Really, Chicago felt so suffocating for the both of you. Being trapped in the small hotel room made it harder to breathe. What could you say? What could he say? The last time you saw each other, you pushed him away. What if you do it again?

“I’m sorry,”

Your head snaps up to look at his face. You frowned.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he whispers, feeling ashamed of everything. Now that you’ve looked at him, he feels like he was under a microscope and he grew to hate the feeling of being studied like that. “I’m so, so, so, fucking sorry,”

He bows his head in shame just as you look away, to the window so he wouldn’t see you wiping your tears. The sun was about to rise and it pains you because you realized that you loved him more when you spent that sunset in the library.

“Why did—“ you stop yourself. “Why did you leave me, Carmy?”

His heart beats fast, his fists clenching on his lap. Why?

”I didn’t deserve that,” you told him. “I didn’t deserve that and you—you just pushed me away. You could’ve at least said goodbye before—before you left the country. Fuck. I spent the past years wondering what I did wrong, Carmy. Do you know how that feels? I followed you like a lost puppy every fucking day and you suddenly decided that you were done with-with-with me. With us,”

He frowns, he doesn’t remember your childhood like that. For him, he was always in the sideways. He was the one who always had to follow you.

“My mom thought that making you lunch was the only way for you to s-stay,” he tells you, looking down. He studies the cuts he earned in the kitchen. “I felt—I felt like that too, you know? Everybody liked you wherever you went and I only…I only had to catch up after you,”

”Carm, you don’t even like people,”

That stings him for some reason and he frowns deeper. He bites his lip and shakes his head. How would you understand? Everybody loved you and he was so hard to love that his brother decided that he was done with him.

“Why did you push me away? Why—“ you choke back a sob. “Why did you leave me?”

The string that you tied around his heart grips it tighter. Memories of you, him, Mikey, that Christmas with his mom, the first time he smoked a cigarette, and the last time he looked at your house comes rushing back to him.

“You know, I started—started smoking when I left,” he chuckled. “It made sense…once I arrived in Copenhagen, the next logical thing was to, uh, buy a pack of cigarettes,” He hopes you understood what he tried to say.

”I’m not your babysitter,”

”I know,” he says. He thinks and you do too. You realized that too much resentment and emotions will get you nowhere.

”Carmy, I know you’re sorry but…but for tonight, can-can we just pretend like you never left?” you asked. He looks at you now, the sunrise illuminating your face differently from that sunset you shared. “Can we..can we pretend like we just lost touch and-and that we’re catching up?”

You look at him sadly, with your mouth downturned slightly. There were so many things to say and emotions to be felt. You couldn’t afford to unpack everything in a day and you were unsure if you wanted him back in your life just yet. You missed him but you didn’t know if you could handle another person leaving you. You’ve had enough people leaving you in this lifetime. Maybe that’s why you were so lonely. Maybe that’s why you don’t have friends and maybe that’s why everyone else seemed to have had enough of you never letting them in. What was the point anyway? Everything’s going to end and love doesn’t last forever. Who would have thought that the two people you loved most can teach you such a harrowing lesson?

Besides, you were unsure if you were ready to let all the love you’ve had for Carmy come to the surface and overflow again. The last time he left, would be the last time he leaves.

“Y/N?” he calls, standing up from the couch to walk towards you. Maybe just for now, this is enough. You smile at him, just like you did when you were younger. Like everything was alright.

“Carmy,” you smile as you let his calloused hands wipe the tears away. “I’m sorry for crying,”

”I’m sorry for making you cry,” he tries to say but his stutter breaks out and he looks down in shame. You reach out to him, your hands clutching the sides of his white shirt. He tries again, this time his voice was much clearer. His head seemed to put everything in his backburner. He has to savor this moment because who knows what will happen? He decided that the last time he left would be the last time he leaves you. A sob threatens to rip his chest but he swallows it down. “How have you been?”

Your arms snake around his waist and you lay your head on his chest. You can hear his heart beating so fast. Does he hear yours too? He takes in your scent. You smell different now.

He caresses the back of your head and kisses it. You take in a sharp breath. He’s never done that before. He tightens his grip around you, afraid to let go.

“Did you achieve your dream?”

You’re both laying down on the bed. The tender moment you shared was interrupted by your alarm. You watch each other now, wondering who breaks the ice first. Carmy’s arms wrap around you while you snuggle closer in his chest, clinging onto every piece of hope left. Your forehead is tucked under his chin and you breathed.

“I became an actress for a while,” you started. The air feels heavy but you decided to push it aside. “but I decided not to continue.”

“Why?”

“I went to college after you—after high school. I stayed there for a semester before…before I dropped out,” you said. “Carmy, they were so much better than me—“

“That’s not true,”

“But it is,” you chuckled sadly. “That wasn’t even the main reason but…but remember mom was sick?” He nods. “Well, she got…she—she got sicker and we had to use the college fund for her treatment,” you said. You don’t try to hide the sniffles. “In the end…in the end, I never went back to college and she didn’t…she didn’t make it,” your voice broke. The images of your mom in her casket never seemed to leave your mind. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” you sobbed. “My mom and I—“ You shuddered, remembering the time when your mother had to personally refuse any more care. You knew that she didn’t want you to be in debt. It was hard to spend your college fund but she couldn’t leave you with debt that you’ll pay forever.

”I know,” he says. He couldn’t bear hearing your voice break again. His eyes were red and tears threatened to spill. Fuck. He wasn’t there when you needed him. He knew how close you and your mom were. He couldn’t even say sorry because you both didn’t want to and didn’t know how to address the elephant in the hotel room.

“But then…then, I tried to act,” you chuckled, wiping your cheeks with the sleeve of the white robe. Carmy hears the tiredness in your voice but doesn’t mention it. “I had an audition and I got lucky. I got a recurring role in a hit TV series. I thought I was happy. I thought—I thought that I finally got what I wanted but I felt so alone, Carm. I didn’t have my mom with me…she will never—she will never watch anything that I’ll do but I persisted,” the small circles he drew on your back soothed you. “But then…the producer wanted to meet with me and I—he said that if I removed my clothes, he’ll make me a star,” his grip tightened. ”I removed my shirt and sat in his office half naked. It didn’t bother me. I knew…I knew what I was getting into but he-he wanted more and I had to leave,”

Carmy lets go of the breath that he didn’t know he was holding.

“I was fine with sitting there…like…like I was some fucking object. He could look all he wanted and I didn’t fucking care but he tried—he tried to touch me and I pushed him away,” you cried. He was around your age and was already successful when you came to the picture. He made you trust him. “He had my name blacklisted. I could never…I couldn’t do shit about it. I couldn’t land a job before I realized that maybe…maybe acting wasn’t for me,” you whispered. “I was only there because…he wanted someone to take advantage of,”

You cry in his arms as you share your burden with him. You had nobody to talk to when it happened. You were alone. You were so, so, so alone.

”I opened The Alchemy with the money that I have left and my business grew from there,” you said after calming yourself down. “I have the money but…but I feel so, so, so alone,”

He cooes and you bury yourself deeper in his arms. He mutters things you couldn’t understand. Carmy lets his tears flow as you calm yourself down. How can he tell you all about him if you’re so frail? He didn’t want to burden you any longer.

He doesn’t know how many minutes passed before he heard your breath even itself out. He unwraps his arms around you as carefully as he could. You were fast asleep and didn’t want to wake you. It takes a lot for him to remove himself from the bed that you shared for a few hours but soon, he finds himself wearing his jacket, walking away from the Peninsula. He forgot to count the number of cigarettes he smoked ever since he stepped his foot outside. He forgot to take his heart with him when he left it with you.

He runs a hand through his hair and arrives at the kitchen with profound sadness that his staff has never seen him carry. He locks himself in the office and takes out the notebook he managed to find in his apartment the night before. The email address and the password that he tried so hard to remember glares at him before clicking on ‘Next’. Emails from his childhood pop up but one stands out. Who would have thought that his email address was as easy to remember as combining your names together?

He shakily clicks on your old email address and takes a sharp breath as he reads the last thing you’ve sent him.

Carmy,

I heard from Donna that you’re in Copenhagen now. I hope everything’s fine between us because the last time I tried, you refused to speak to me. I don’t mind. I hope we talk again someday because you’re the only person in the world who I can talk to without hiding anything. I hope you gave me the chance to say this. I was planning on telling you anyway before we enter college. I don’t know why I’m saying this now. Maybe I’m doing this because I’m selfish. I’m hoping that you’d come back or maybe talk to me again if I do. If you don’t reply, I’ll take it as a rejection and try to move on with my life. I’ll be happy for you either way.

I love you, Carmy. I love you so much and I hope that you’re out there, pursuing your dreams. I will always be rooting for you.

I love you.

He throws his phone on the floor. He’s positive that there’s another crack on the screen now. He screams profanities and ignores the urgent knocks that Sugar was making outside his door. His head falls in his hands and he sobs. You were right. If he read the message, he’d book the next flight home.

He only dreams to be loved and to love without anything holding him back but dreams have a way of appearing brighter when you’re younger.

END. A/N: Thank you so much for reading and for waiting for me! I hope this was worth it. I’m really proud of this and as always, don’t forget to reblog / comment / tell me what you think! Love you.

TAGLIST: @kpopgirlbtssvt@morgthemagpie@hal3ynicol3@1800-queen-trash @ummvengers @thottywizard

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto angst #carmen berzatto fluff #carmy berzatto x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto #angst #fluff #the bear #the bear fx #the bear s3

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princessbrunette · 7 months

Note

just thinkin about pope n innocent!reader,,, and her calling him daddy while he has her on her lap stuffing her w his fingers :( just thinking…

also, could i please be 📝 anon? :) i loovee ur writing

✧˖°.🩰✧˖°.

pope liked to reward good behaviour. he found positive reinforcement worked well with you, and was happy to use that to his advantage as it kept the two of you content.

if you were to make a good suggestion to the pogues, you were rewarded with something small and quiet as acknowledgement to your deed, like a kiss on the temple or a reassuring smile and nod. if you were to go out of your way to do something kind or helpful, like bringing him food when he’d forgotten to eat — or sewing up his shirt that got ripped on a pogue mission, you’d be rewarded with copious praise and affection, calling you his ‘good girl’ which seemed to be your favourite, melting like putty in his hands each and every time.

now these were things he did naturally, for nothing in return, purely because he wanted to. but it didn’t go unnoticed that the sweeter he was on his girl, the softer and more vulnerable you’d become — stripping you down to your most true self. he wanted you, wanted all of you— so he’d keep going, keep praising to work you out. you were popes favourite thing to study.

when you’d been consistently well behaved through the entire day, even when odds were against you — he’d often help you unwind with your favourite type of reward, having you on his lap with his long skilful fingers deep inside.

“i know, i know. how’s it feel when it rub you like this, hm? can you talk to me?” he used his softest tone on you, not the voice he uses to sark at jj or argue against john b’s outrageous plans. he was his softest, most relaxed with you — and he loved that you brought that out of him.

“i—i like it, m’gonna cum soon.” you wail but it’s muffled into the smooth skin of his shoulder muscle, the plane that had been bearing all of your pleased tears and sounds.

“thats good, bambie. gonna keep rubbing that pretty clit just like this okay?” he lilts his voice gently, tilting his head when you don’t respond, too focused on breathing out heavy breaths against him. he noses at your cheek, craning down to try and get your eyes on him. “okay?” he repeats and you screw your eyes shut, nodding.

“‘kay, daddy.” you release with a held breath. he’s kind of glad your eyes were shut, because it catches him off guard for a second, blinking down at you as he continues to work his fingers inside you, thumb resting over your button.

daddy.

he couldn’t say he was surprised that you were into that kind of thing, infact — jj had in a way predicted it in once when the two of them were out on the boat fishing. something along the lines of “nah dude she’s real sweet. i see why you like ‘er. got the whole innocent, ‘daddy please fuck me’ thing goin’ on, ‘ya know?” now at the time, pope had been too preoccupied with scolding jj over being vulgar about his girl to entertain the conversation, but now it was coming back to him and he realised he was right.

it definitely made sense. bad relationship with your own father which had wound you up in his arms— someone calm, nurturing, enforces gentle rules and guidance, teaches you new stuff. even away at college before he met you he was a magnet to a certain demographic of girl, one who needed a gentle demeanour and occasional firm hand.

he wracks his brain for what to say as he drops a long kiss to your forehead, blinking rapidly as thoughts fire off. he wants to please you, wants to be that for you— and for once he hadn’t done his ample research beforehand to really support you through it. he decides on something simple, trying it out.

“daddies right here, let it go for me, pretty girl.” he’s more of a natural than he realised, and as if he flipped some sort of switch— you gasp, clutching onto him hard as he feels you gush around his fingers in a water-fall like consistency.

you slur a bunch of nonsense against his skin as he shushes you kindly, ears pricking up and heat rising to his face and cock each time the word ‘daddy’ comes out muffled against his shoulder. if daddy was what you needed, daddy was what you’d get. he better get studying.

✧˖°.🩰✧˖°.

#📝 anon #pope heyward prompt #deer!reader

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nouearth · 9 months

Text

once upon an eggnog.

clark kent x male reader.

summary: there's nothing better than physical touch to sober reader up after a christmas party.

wc: 1.1k. warnings: fluff, holiday!season, drunk!reader, maws!clark, worried!clark, co-worker!au, reader doesn't know clark is superman, non-descriptive mention of reader throwing up, clark has very warm hands and is a simp because he wants to make reader happy.

The groan you let out was feeble. Your shadow trailed behind your sluggish steps as you foraged through neighboring street lights, gravel and pavement, for a stake of its emanating warmth.

“Hey—“ A voice called out from behind you, the blanket of snowflakes and cold dulling the panic in the man’s voice. You rested your body against the lamppost, finding the warmth to be exemplary over your frosted cheeks, but unbearable for your insides.

You let out a deep sigh. The longer you stood under the light, sweat droplets began to frame your face, followed by an overwhelming urge to cleanse your body from the inside out.

“I don’t feel…” You slurred in your speech, holding your stomach as you craned over until you slid onto your bottom, head exposed to the light as you faced the comforting snow.

“Wait up!” He called out to you several more times in midst of his trudge, his panting audibly close.

You began grumbling incoherent sounds in response as you clumsily whipped off your coat. Your mind was frosted like the windows on the cars lined down the street as you drew in the cold air with a greed to pacify the strange feeling in your stomach.

“(M/N), keep that on!”

“What are you…?! My mom—“ The constant shifting and turning of your body, all in an attempt to strip yourself of the restrictive wool of your vest and reindeer sweater, churned the bottom of your stomach until it was mush.

Absolute.

Mush.

It was funny how the human body worked because even in your drunken state, your natural instinct to find the nearest public trash can surfed through the flood of eggnog and booze, and you immediately emptied the toxins out of your body with several strong hurls.

“Geez, I told you not to run off…” A messenger bag and a familiar coat dropped near your foot, and the man did not spare a single second to come to your aid. “And also not to drink that much...” He rubbed your back in slow and soothing circles, then in vertical swipes as you coughed out the remaining poison. The strong bass pulsating into his palm as a special way of saying ‘thank you.’

“Clark, it was just a sip—“

“You had six cups….” Clark confessed and your immediate frown was telling in whether you were an innocent bystander, or the reason why the office was running low on drinks. Rummaging through his pockets, he then offered a handful of crumbled napkins that he took from the party.

“The last two didn’t count.” You slurred again, slowly regaining your strength as you stabilized yourself over the rim of the garbage can before wiping your mouth with the napkin. “I needed a drink with my food—“

“You barely touched your plate—“ He cut himself off as soon as he caught you staring at him, the eggnog stupefying you into a dazed state in which crickets and holiday festivities replaced coherent thoughts.

“We gotta get you home. It’s freezing.” He said, and you swayed in place as if you were a palm tree basking in the summer breeze. Or maybe like a giant marshmallow floating yet sinking in the warmth of hot cocoa.

Clark tried his best to fight the smile that was creeping upon him as he tidied your outerwear for the fourth time tonight, shielding you from the dusting of cold when he layered you with your coat.

His jaw clenched while he chewed back an adoration for your nearly frost-bitten visage, stalling the fixing of your reindeer headband to be closer to you a little while longer.

Though he couldn’t tell whether the deep flush of your skin was caused by the weather or the booze, it didn’t matter in the end because the winter of your skin magnetized a bravery in Clark that stilled you in place. Warmth sprouted over your cheeks like an approaching spring, and you closed your eyes peacefully.

Clark had put his bare hands over your cheeks, cupping them like a delicate bowl of snowflakes until they melted into his skin, until all he could feel was you and your equally delicate skin.

“Better?” Hesitantly, his thumbs followed the trail of your dark circles. It was something you’d always complain about yet ironically, your evident lack of sleep ranked high on his ‘favorite things about you’ list.

“Mhm. If only your hands were a little warmer.” You sighed again, the snowing melting into your hair and skin battling Clark’s warmth.

“Hm…” Clark held your cheeks closer, deepening his palms into you, and he closed his eyes, silently channeling his energy into his affectionate hold over you.

Maybe it was the booze playing tricks on you, or perhaps it was your body shutting down for the night, but you physically felt his hands heat up, warmer than his previous offer. Nonetheless, you gave him a nod of approval, and despite drowsiness approaching, your eyes opened bright to thank him with a smile.

“I’m guessing that’s why you don’t wear gloves?”

“Uh…” Clark laughed, an anxiousness you could point out, but you couldn’t exactly trust your judgement in your current state. “I guess you could say that’s why.”

“Well,” You said before a yawn slurred your speech even more, feeling the muscles in your body losing its strength by the second. “Remind me when you’re nearby so I can use you as a…”

“As a..?” There was a slight push to his palms, a strange sudden heaviness before Clark realized you were gradually leaning forward. “(M/N)—“

Gravity pulled your eyelids down, then your body forward, a striking contrast to the graceful dance of snow that dusted the ground. “As…”

And you completely slumped into Clark’s arms. Thankfully, his reflexes were quick to catch you before you could even feel the slightest breeze.

“Let’s get you home…” He smile mirrored the gentle frame of your body as you sunk into him.

And he held you close, accompanying your deep slumber with a warmth that surrounded and protected your body like a string of Christmas lights weaved through pine needles and tree branches.

A warmth that campaigned against the icier gale, the ego of a higher altitude, during Clark’s flight to take you back home.

And a warmth that was victorious when Clark tucked you into bed, a measly makeshift of comfort and peace you thought during your stir of sleep.

Because Clark’s warmth was a newfound establishment from this night onwards.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

#clark kent x reader #clark kent x male reader #clark kent x you #clark kent fanfic #clark kent x y/n #nou.fics

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baddiewiththebook · 3 months

Text

Over the Years | e.m x reader | Prologue

-> The origin story of Eddie Munson, and how he fell in love with the worst person he possibly could - his best friend.

-> eddie munson x you (she/her)

-> friends to lovers, slow burn, angst

-> warnings - strong language, suggestive themes, smut [18+]

-> a/n I hope you're ready for a long series. This will cover the life of Eddie Munson, growing up in a trailer park and perhaps falling in love with you. Of course, there's a few complications on the way (perhaps his friend steals his girl - or maybe he becomes a rockstar and moves away) and the series includes so many tropes that I've chosen to keep them hidden away, so you don't get spoiled for later chapters. Muahaha! This will include smut, so PLEASE for the love of God, if you're under 18 - go away! Longer chapters await my friends. xo

-> <-

August 1970

This chair is uncomfortable.

Well, it’s for sure plastic. The static is making Eddie’s shirt sit uncomfortably on his body like a magnet that tethers him by an invisible line of Velcro. It’s not even his shirt. It’s his father’s old beaten shirt from a few years ago when he went to a car show.

It’s been forever. Eddie cranes his neck to stare at the big clock on the wall that he cannot read. The big hand is on the two and the little one is at the top on the twelve. It’s terribly late for him to be up, but that’s also what he thought when his father shook him awake and shoved him in the backseat of their car.

Letting his feet swing below him, Eddie wrestles in the plastic seat. Not a lot is going on around him.

It isn’t like how he sees on the televisions through the video store windows where the bad guy gets taken down by the cop. Although, his dad sure did put up a fight trying to get away from the cop. That doesn’t mean his dad is a bad guy though, right?

There’s only one cop sitting at his desk with papers stacked around him. He’s darker in skin tone with a fair amount of hair missing on top of his head. Wrinkles press the crown of his head. Scribbling something on the official looking sheet of paper, the cop mutters under his breath when the phone blares out an obnoxious ringing.

“Hello?” His southern draw laces into the phone call. “Yeah, send him in.”

The telephone is set back down onto the base, and the officer tilts his head at the young child occupying the seat next to his desk.

Edward Munson is the unforgettable boy. The wild child has a father made of criminal infamy in Hawkins, Indiana. It would appear that this time the old bastard has really gotten himself stuck for the long haul. Prison time. Long sheets of paperwork include one particular document that lists Wayne Munson, the uncle, as the child’s dependent as of right now.

Wayne bursts through the door with the secretary from the front desk. Eyes scorching from an exhausting drive after a terribly unrewarding shift at the factory, Wayne lays his gaze upon his disheveled nephew. Eddie doesn’t even have a proper shirt draped over his body. There’s not a doubt in Wayne’s mind that Al, his brother and the boy’s father, refused to pay a dime for clothes to cover his child.

It’s been a terrible struggle to encourage Al Munson to step up and become a father to his son. After his wife, Elizabeth, died, Al latched onto slots to fill the hole inside of his chest. Slowly, sleepovers at Uncle Wayne’s became a lot more routine and a lot longer stay for little Eddie.

That’s not to suggest that Eddie minds. Uncle Wayne has some pretty cool toys at his trailer. And, Wayne has a bed for him - unlike his dad, who lets him have the backseat of the car.

Al Munson gambled away all of his savings, and the house was foreclosed by the bank. He’s been avoiding his debts by living in his car with five-year old Eddie. That only worked for so long. Eventually, the police caught up to him.

Tonight Al was arrested for possession of illegal substances and a warrant from some time ago, and he is awaiting a trial that will most likely keep him locked away for a while.

“Hey, Eddie,” uncle Wayne approaches the small boy by dropping into a squat that’s closer to Eddie’s height. “Are you alright?”

Eddie bobs his head up and down.

“Sir,” the officer calls his attention. “I just need you to sign a few things and then we can release him to you.”

The secretary does the same as his uncle had done, and squats to his height. She’s very pretty. Pinned hair sits atop her head in a bun that’s shaped like an egg. Eddie giggles at this, his baby cheeks turning pink.

“Hi, Eddie,” she says sweetly. “Would you like a candy bar? You’ve been doing such an amazing job waiting for your Uncle.”

Her teeth are as white as diamonds. Dimples press her fleshy cheeks up, as she holds out a small chocolate bar in her hand. Well, Eddie has been spoiled tonight. Not only is he up past his bedtime, the officer that brought him here stopped to get him a hamburger first. And, now?

Eddie does take the chocolate bar kicking his feet with glee. The secretary helps open up the bar of chocolate for him, and he gobbles it down fast before his Uncle Wayne could see. Wayne thinks sugar keeps Eddie up at night.

Eddie keeps Eddie up all night.

It’s mere moments when his uncle returns to him, and the secretary waltzes back to her duties at her desk. Uncle Wayne gives his nephew the tightest hug, while hiding his tears in Eddie's shirt. It’s never ideal to have a brother, who refuses to take care of his child. The least Wayne could do is keep Eddie safe and out of harms way.

Holding a copy of the terminated parental rights of Alan Munson with one hand, Wayne scoops the boy up with his other and keeps him holstered onto his hip.

“Hold on,” Wayne directs.

Eddie clings to the plaid fabric of his uncle’s shirt collar. Too soon, will Eddie be grown up to where Wayne can’t coddle him anymore.

The walk out of the precinct is short. Eddie waves goodbye to the officers and the secretary, who took care of him for the hour that Wayne prepared his home and drove out here to get his nephew.

Wayne drives extra slow that evening, even though the roads are clear. Feeling heavy for the loss of a father, Eddie must learn life skills from his uncle. Not being a father himself, Wayne is apprehensive at best. There’s not a thing he wouldn’t do for this boy. When Eddie came into the world, Wayne became the third person to ever hold him. That comes after his mother, and his father.

There is so much hope in a newborn baby. No one has broken them yet. There’s still so many firsts to explore the big wide world.

Slowing at a stop, Wayne cranes his head into his overhead mirror. Eddie is lopped over the seat bucket with a pile of drool coming from between his lips. His eyes flash underneath his eyelids.

What Wayne doesn’t know, is that Eddie hasn’t had a real sleep in days. Ever since they lost the house, Eddie has kept one eye open in the backseat of his father’s car. Sleeping outside isn’t exactly peaceful. Horns honking. Babies crying. Someone’s always yelling. Not to mention his dad snores. Loud.

Wayne decides not to wake the sleeping boy when he does eventually pull in to his humble trailer. Killing the engine, Wayne quiets for a moment. The soft snore from his lips eventually turns into a groan, and the young boy kicks his legs out. Sitting upright and sleeping cannot possibly be comfortable.

The thought of raising a child has never crossed Wayne's mind. After Eddie had been born, Wayne swore children were too much for him to handle. They cry all the time, then you have to feed them and you have to make sure they're clean and not to mention that when they keep crying for no reason - you can't kill 'em. 'Suppose in a way Wayne has gotten the parenting thing down because of Eddie anyway. Being an uncle to Eddie is the best thing that's ever happened to him.

Eddie took his first steps right on that front porch in front of his house. Elizabeth, Eddie's mom, was leaving Eddie for a couple of hours for work, and Eddie grabbed onto one of the couches before wobbling after her.

Oh, how Wayne misses her. She was a saint of a woman. When she got sick, Wayne saw a different person in Al. He's not too harsh on his brother. It can't be easy missing the love of your life like that. But, the boy - Eddie stretches out when Wayne opens the back passenger door - Eddie should have been enough of a reason for Al to keep going.

Wayne unbuckles the boy, who slumps forward. Catching his head, Wayne slides his other hand underneath the young boy's knees. Eddie stirs. Wayne holds in his breath and he freezes. Eddie tilts his head, eyes batting sleepily, then leans forward into his uncle's heavily beating chest.

"Alright," Wayne whispers into his curls, "Come on."

Carrying him up the steps, Wayne tries a few times to open the front door. Getting the key in the lock is one trick, but now to actually open the door? It would probably have worked best if he had done this before carrying a hefty sleeping five year old. Noted.

Eventually, he twists the knob and pulls. He pulls enough, so that he can wedge his foot in the door. Grunting, Wayne twists around and scoots into the home.

Eddie begins to slide from his grasp, and Wayne juggles him a bit before he can fall. Eddie’s quite long for a five year old. Or, so he assumes. His limbs splay out like a praying mantis.

There’s an extra bedroom in the back of the trailer. Little robots and figurines take up most of the space where Wayne’s collection of books once were. A rickety wood desk that’s peeling apart is home to a number of old train car toys that Eddie really liked out of Wayne’s collection.

Tucking Eddie in to the old twin bed he bought at the thrift store with nearly half his paycheck, the young child is surrounded by a plush layer of blankets and pillows. But, Eddie still clung to his uncle. Finally, someone who cares about him enough. Doubt scrambles Eddie’s mind and he wonders sleeplessly if his uncle would be there when he woke up.

It doesn’t take Wayne much convincing to slip into the tiny twin bed along side his nephew. Tiny mewls escape Eddie’s tired lips. Since he’s so scrawny and lengthy, Wayne has no trouble taking up the empty space in bed with him.

“You’re safe,” Wayne whispers into that wild mane of hair. “I’ve got you, now.”

-> <-

[June 1972]

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson slow burn

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