#digital always makes me wanna cry

[aldermos]

°. you are the dancing queen 💃

[dilpickle]

“I’m sorry. Forget me.”

“I won’t forget. Your Highness, I am forever your most devoted believer.”

“…I’ve already lost all my believers. Believing in me won’t do you any good, it might even bring disaster. Do you know? Even my friend has left me.”

“I won’t.”

“You will.”

“Believe me, Your Highness.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He no longer believed anyone, and he no longer believed in himself either.

[leawesomesloth]

Wanted to draw feng xin and alhaitham in this outfit too but no time right now sooooo here’s the two beautiful babies first!

Outfit reference

[ghoulphile]

wish you'd make me cry | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 2.3k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; rough, dom!cooper, frottage, sitting missionary, dirty talk, degradation kink, pet names, teasing, dacryphilia, bareback, drug/chem use (jet), shotgunning, high sex ➥ summary | "You’re such a needy fucking brat." :3c ➥ notes | drabble (that's no longer a drabble lol) request for @tearueful, thank you bby!! this one really got away from me... i had to stop myself from writing lol. un-beta'd atm. masterlist | feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | feedback is always appreciated ❤️

Setting up camp for the night in an abandoned warehouse, you and Cooper wait out a radstorm that blows in off the horizon. Because while he loves sitting outside with a smoke, soaking in the rads until he’s buzzing with frenetic energy, you don’t feel like hunting down RadAway tomorrow.

It’s quiet apart from the distant sound of super mutants and ferals roaming the city, the sporadic roar of thunder, and rain tinging off the sheet metal roof. There’s still hours left until daylight, and it doesn’t seem like the volatile weather will break soon.

Unfortunately, you’ve read all the Grognak comics you could get your grubby hands on three times over, and there’s not much else to pass the time besides scuff your boot along the concrete floor, and pluck at a stray thread hanging off your tattered sleeping bag.

Meanwhile, Cooper lounges on his side, unbothered. His hand - bare for once - props up his head, the unscarred skin of a commandeered digit stark against angry rad burns and ropey scars. Between the knuckles of his other hand, he rolls a vial of chem over and over in a mesmerizing flick of deft fingers.

A lantern sputters between you as the old battery struggles to keep it lit. Its jaundiced glow banishes the thick darkness; a fuzzy halo of light that elongates shadows and deepens the cuts of his face.

You kiss your teeth, and say, “Hey, you got any more Jet?”

Lazy eyes slide towards you. A hairless brow quirks. “And if I did,” he asks, the vial pausing between his fingers, “why you wanna know?”

“Dunno, I’m bored… wanna get high?”

“Well, shit,” he whistles, bares his teeth. A low, crackling laugh rumbles from his chest. “Why the fuck didn’t you ask sooner.”

You shrug and crack a knuckle.

To be honest, the idea hadn’t occurred to you at first. Now that it has, anticipation curls low in your belly. Not only has it been a long, long time since you last got high (the sensation a hazy, half-remembered dream of fuzzy warmth and whirling thoughts), you know Cooper always carries a top-notch stash.

The little chem fiend, you think fondly.

“So,” you prompt. “Wanna get high together or what?”

“Sure as shit, darlin’. Let’s party.”

He settles against the pockmarked wall beside you with a soft grunt, the grit of concrete digging into his back. Thigh to thigh, his body is a rad warm line of heat. A bloom of suffocating heat in the otherwise biting chill of a wasteland night. Gunpowder and smoke tickle your nose when he leans over to rifle through his bag, leather creaking.

Muted, mellow; everything fades into a silent companionship as you pass the red inhaler between you. With every puff, whorls of smoke curl from your mouths until a murky gray cloud hovers in the air; defining the edges of your crafted universe.

The acrid vapor of chem burns its way through your lungs and into your bloodstream. A bitter taste coats your fattened tongue, lips tingling as your palm smothers little coughs. A flood of static rushes down your nerve endings, sends your head spinning.

As your vision blurs, the tension leeches from rounded shoulders with a bone weary sigh. And with every slow clicking blink, colors spark to life in a distorted kaleidoscope. Head lolling to the side, you watch through heavy eyes as Cooper rattles the inhaler and takes a shallow hit.

When he exhales, little tendrils of smoke caress the plains of his cheek. Dance along the hollow nasal ridge. “Almost out.” He grunts, your fingers brushing when he passes the cartridge back. “Go on, now. Finish it.”

The kind gesture (for him) touches you.

Then a faraway thought flutters.

Snags - settles into a nebulous desire.

And before you can second guess yourself, a rumble of thunder shakes the building. Wipes away the last of your common sense, and reservations. After all, why not? He was nice enough to share. You can too.

To his credit, Cooper doesn’t startle when you slink into his lap - not that you expect him to, even without being chem-addled. He tracks your movements from beneath a heavy brow bone, the dark Nuka Cola of his eyes glittering like shattered glass in the wane light.

“Heh, this that kinda party then, darlin’?” he asks once you settle, your thighs draped over his hips and your ass flush with his crotch. “‘Cuz you’ll be wanting ta extricate yourself if it ain’t.”

—Before I do it for you.

Humming, you dip forward until your breasts brush over the wide expanse of his chest. Interest flickers to life behind your navel; cinders cracking and popping along your spine. While you’d never considered Cooper a sexual availability beforehand (what with his never-ending search for family), the laden weight of his gaze as it pauses on your chin before dropping lower sings through your blood.

Kickstarts your heart into a galloping stutter that thuds against your ribcage as longing hooks behind your navel, tugs sudden and sharp. The world spins.

Maybe, you think, peering at him from beneath the fan of your lashes. Maybe…

“Pervert,” you murmur, biting down on a small smile.

The knife-sharp smirk falls from his lips faster than a comedown from Psycho when your fingertips ghost over the curve of his jaw, turning his head towards you. Like this, you share breath, the scant space between you thrumming with energy.

So close you can see flecks of gold in the amber whiskey of his eyes.

Your forehead brushes over his; the rough drag of gnarled skin sending a shiver through your limbs. “Let’s share the last hit. S’only fair.”

Pausing, he considers you for several long moments.

His gaze bounces from yours to the playful curve of your mouth and back. A small eternity passes like this. And then - when you’re about to crawl away to lick your wounded pride - the most imperceptible of nods grants his assent.

There’s a hiss of aerosol, a lung burning inhale, and then you’re exhaling into the open gash of his mouth.

Wisps of smoke dance off your tongue onto his, the bow of your lips glancing off the swell of his top lip as you squirm closer. You feed him chem in a slow, steady stream until all the air has left you.

He groans - a wounded, low-throated sound.

Your eyes flutter open to find him already staring, his iris a thin ring around the Blackhole of his wide blown pupils. Hooded, hungry: a caged predator. You lick your lips, and in doing so, flick your tongue over his.

Your stomach swoops, “I --”

“You’re such a needy fuckin’ brat, y’know that, sweetheart?”

Whether it was an apology or some other retort stuck to the back of your teeth like hard candy, you’ll never know because in the next moment a rough hand knocks the Jet out of your hand. The inhaler cracks against the concrete with a plastic smack before skidding off into the darkness.

A burning palm curls around your wrist, calloused fingers digging into your fluttering pulse point. “Hey — hngg!”

He yanks you close, and you taste the violence in his kiss.

Harsh lips map out the softness of yours as teeth pinch and roll until your mouth is a swollen mess of tender flesh and smeared spit. Keeping up with the frenzied scrape of his tongue and the deep pulls of his kisses is like trying to weather a hurricane or fight off a Yao Guai with a single bullet.

“W-Wait,” you gasp, fingers twined through the lapels of his duster. “I don’t --”

“Shut up,” Cooper growls, worrying the swell of your bottom lip until a bead of blood bubbles to the surface. He sucks it away with a stifled moan, his hips kicking up against the plush of your ass.

“Shut the fuck up right now. You know what you was doing - trying ta act innocent when you’ve been gaggin’ for it.”

Flustered, you pull back, “No, that’s not true!”

It’s hard to keep your balance with chem pumping through your veins, and you sway to the side. The only thing keeping you upright is the bruising grip Cooper has on your wrist. “I haven’t been — you’re wr-rong.”

He spits out a mean spirited chuckle. “If that’s what you need ta tell yourself, sweetheart.” A critical eye drags down the pathetic sight you make, crumbled as you are in his lap. “But I know the truth. I felt you looking - pantin’ after me like a bitch in heat.”

“...”

Panic grips you by the throat, your pulse thundering against the thumb he strokes along the curve of your shoulder. You should’ve known better.

Of course, he’d notice.

He was The Ghoul after all - best bounty hunter from this coast to the next. It was his job to perceive everything around him, sus out friend from foe.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

What else can you say?

He brought you along (for whatever reason, fuck if you know why), and you’ve caused nothing but trouble every step of the way. It’s a wasteland miracle he hasn’t kicked your ass and left you bleeding in the dirt by now.

I have to fix this. Whatever it takes.

“I ain’t wanting you sorry.”

Gulping, you will away the sting of tears, and say, “Please, don’t kick me out.”

“Y’know, sometimes I think it’s a miracle you survived this long at all.”

“You don’t have to be so rude about it…” 

“Listen good and well, sugar,” he says with a roll of his eyes, that tender hand brushing over your neck turning into a collar as he drags you close. His lips whisper over yours with every word. “I didn’t go through all of this bullshit just ta get rid of you. Now--”

Hips rut up into you, dragging the firm line of his growing erection along the soft globes of your ass. “Stop teasin’ and make yourself useful,” he says. “Or you will be sorry.”

Everything after that flicks in and out of focus like a zoetrope: the burning clasp of hands, the slick glide of hungry mouths, the frantic rock of your hips as you both chase after dry friction with a desperation that borders on madness.

Your hands don’t know where to settle, fluttering from the nape of his neck to the breadth of his shoulders to the rippling muscle of his stomach as he rocks into you. Bites at any exposed skin that he can until his teeth leave marks you’ll carry for days.

All the while the hard edges of his body crash into your softness like waves against an eroding shore. Liquid fire blazes in your belly like a raging wildfire, scorching you from the inside out until you’re dumb and dripping.

The chem snaking through your body enhances the littlest of sensations until you feel like one giant exposed nerve. Slick drenched and sweaty, you moan weakly and rest your forehead against his cheek.

“Please,” you slur, thighs trembling where they squeeze at his live-wire hips. “S’not enough - need more. Wanna cum. Please, please, please. Make me cum.”

Cooper bites out a curse, his fingers biting into the fat of your ass. “Yeah, s’that right, sweetheart - d’you think you deserve it for bein’ such a lil brat?”

“Yes, yes, please, I’ll do anything. Just - hhahh, fuck!”

The fabric of your panties clings to your folds, and your pants chafe.

Your clit throbs with every thud of your heartbeat, every firm grind of his cock and low husk of his voice. Want him seated so deep inside you choke - your poor pussy struggling to take his cock as he rides you so hard you cry.

“Anything?” he asks with a breathless chuckle.

The devilish gleam of his eyes rattles your bones, shivers of electric anticipation fizzing through your veins like Quantum.

“Well, shit. Don’t come cryin’ ta me when you regret it. Now, take off those fucking pants and ride my cock like a good girl.”

And when he bullies his way inside, those thick ridges dragging along gummy walls, you almost swallow your tongue. He’s so big - the biggest you’ve ever had.

Every inch is a struggle, a victory. He’s not patient, he’s not kind. You don’t want it any other way, spread so wide your pussy flutters pathetically, trying to push him out.

Then the fat head grazes past the rough patch of your g-spot, sliding home to kiss your cervix. Your knees lock around his ribs, your head tossing back as a high-pitched whine punches its way out of your throat.

“A-Ah! I can’t — oh shit — you’re so,” you babble. “Too much!”

An ache spears deep, roots behind your navel.

“Heh, you asked for it, sweetheart. Look at me.” A scarred thumb wicks away a tear as you peel your eyes open with a sniffle. “That’s it. Shit, you look s’pretty when you cry.”

He licks his skin clean, uses his wet thumb to reach between you and roll the pad over your abused clit. You jump, sliding up on his shaft only for gravity to drag you back down with a solid smack of skin, your limbs jello soft.

The motion slams him deeper and slick drips from you in a sticky gush to soak his balls. You cry out, reedy thin.

Cooper grunts, warns, “You keep doing that and we’re not stoppin’ til you’re dripping cum.”

Though the thick haze of chem and syrupy sweet pleasure, you cobble together a grin and lick your way into his mouth. Tangle your tongues and suck as your hips arch into his. “Please, ruin me,” you breathe.

A possessive greed glints at you from the depths of his hangman eyes.

“Don’t go sayin’ I didn’t warn you, sweetheart,” he promises.

[bimbosandbubbles]

Thinking about men who love teasing their chubby little wife to tears and babbles

Warnings-mean/nice dom,yandereish but in a soft appealing way, fingering,humiliation done in a gentle way,degradation and praise and ofc hairy pussy mentions bcs it’s natural! Daddy kink!

“You’re so good to me baby,thank you so much for making me that delicious lunch!”

A soft kiss is placed on your chubby cheek—a cheek that’s stretched with a bright smile. You’ve always loved how your husband praised you,always appreciated whatever you’d do for him no matter how big or small.

It could be,”My angel,you look so cute today! That outfit you’re wearing makes me wanna kiss you all over!”

Or range to,”My pretty little wife is so good at listening to me,so perfect for me.I think you need a little reward,huh? What does my good wife think?” He smiles in a innocent way that would fool anyone except you, into thinking he had pure intentions. That hypothesis would be so wrong…because usually a promised reward leads to you you laying nude on the huge king size bed—legs parted to show the patch of hair covering your sopping cunt and your thighs shaking in knowing anticipation.

He’ll slot himself right in between the throbbing area—taunting you when he moves his big thigh against the lower half of your slit. “I know you’ve been such a good girl for me but you have show me how much you want this,okay sweetheart?” You know exactly what he wants so you give it to him. You compliment how good he makes you feel in and out the bedroom—coaxing him with honeyed words straight from the heart and the aching cunt pulsing to be touched.

“Tell me I’m the only one who can make you feel this good—I’m only one who can make you see shooting stars—go on,tell me pretty baby.” You do and emphasize each word by placing a pudgy hand onto his veiny one,making sure to squeeze just enough to let him know how much his effort means to you. “Good girl,thank you for telling daddy how much he means to you…but since you told it’s my turn to show.” He’ll say this and make it sound he’ll finally fuck you—finally free you from the shackles dubbed as excitement.

He doesn’t though instead his slender finger traces the opening and closing entrance—teasing the hole with the thought of fullness. “Tell me more,my sweet girl. Tell daddy how good he makes you feel.” You whine and moan—desperate voice cracking into teased tears that tumble down your cheeks in a way that your husband groans at. “You said I’m a good girl! I want m’ reward already. Please daddy.”

“Aww my good girl,you’re right. No need to be rude. Now tell me”—he pulls a strong hand away from your wet canal. “How bad do you want it?”

He’ll watch you babble and cry for minutes and minutes on end because his cute wife is just so irresistible. With your watery eyes,your trembling plump belly,your cooing and pleading lips—God and that desperate cunt of yours.

The torture and teasing only gets worse once he eases his two digits in you. He’ll often do this one maneuver where his other hand rubs and squeezes the fat of your belly even leaning down to give the pudgy flesh a few bites and marks. He does this all while fingering you til you see white. But once you do he’ll stop,over and over and over until you full on start crying for him to just fuck you.

“Yeah? You want daddy to fuck you? Are my fingers not good enough for you,greedy girl?” You tell him his fingers are oh so good but right now all you need is daddy’s fat cock in you. That’ll make him smile and kiss your little warm chubby face. “You’re such a good girl. Perfect baby—so worthy of daddy’s cum.”

He’ll have you folded to the point your cellulite ridden thighs are pushed all the way to your squish your plump belly so he can see your pretty pussy. He’ll stop and stare as he stokes his aching red cock to the view—he just adores barely getting a sneak peek of what your fat lips and hair covers. He loves being able to see your pubes get stuck to the pure slick everywhere.

When he finally puts it in you’re already telling him how thankful you are for his cock. “So good,my wife. So so so good. You deserve my cock all the time,don’t you?” He’ll have you say over and over that you do deserve his cock and that you love it so much. That no one can ever replace him and no one ever will.

He’s groaning and grunting,thrusting harder into your oh so welcoming pussy. But then he’ll stop,pull out,and force you to hold your legs back for him. He’s stroking his cock again and grinning at your tearful expression that he can barely see over your cute pudge. You look so sad—so empty and upset that his cock isn’t in you no more. But he’ll assure you that you’ll fuck you nice,long and hard to the point you’ll begging him for no more.

But despite the affirmation you’ll still whine and beg for him to just come back inside you. Because you need him,because your pulsing pussy is just so void without his fat cock plugging into it. And of course he gives into you—his sweet precious wife.

The whole night you’re left being edged and empty until finally he makes you see stars three separate times. But oh no—believe for a fact he’s never ever done teasing his wife because he could always make whine for more and more.

Characters

Nanami,Gyomei,Giorno,Taiju,Geto,Higuruma,Uzui,Douma, Eustass Kid,Luci,Aki,Toji,Hisoka,Chrollo,Uvogin, Doflamingo,Barou,Bachira.etc

Reblogs are greatly appreciated!<3

[utahimeow]

just gojo fingering you while you finger yourself :3

cw — squirting

“touch yourself for me, baby. wanna watch you make yourself feel good.”

when it comes to you, satoru may be a greedy man, but he’s also voyeuristic. he loves a show—only when you’re the star of it, of course. there’s nothing he loves more than seeing his pretty girl get herself off, knowing that it’s a sight reserved just for him.

so he kneels between your legs like a starving dog, eyes blazing as he watches your fingers slip between your folds. you’re soaked already, dripping from his soft touches and needy kisses that inevitably spiralled into an unbearably insatiable want within the both of you. satoru licks his lips at the sight of your arousal glistening like temptation. it takes every bone in his body and every fibre of his being to resist indulging in the taste—not yet. he needs to be patient.

he looks up and his gaze locks with yours and a shiver shoots down your spine. he looks at you like he wishes to devour you, licks his lips while drool spills from the sides of his mouth. it drives you crazy, seeing him turn to a rabid animal at just the tempting sight of you.

your fingertips drag over the opening of your cunt, through the slick that seeps out of you like honey. every movement you make is methodical—the glide of your fingertips over your clit feeds the bubbling pleasure in your gut, and the way you throw your head back and nibble at your bottom lip lets satoru know how good you feel. you want to make it indulgent, both for you and for him.

“why don’t you put a finger in for me, pretty?”

his voice is so sweet, it always is when he’s talking to you, yet it’s dripping with such lust that it makes your walls clench. you become cognisant of just how empty you are, and you can’t go another second being so empty, so you slide your middle finger into your hole and a moan springs from your throat.

satoru chuckles at you, airy and half-moaning and just a touch condescending. his pants are tightening over his crotch, and he won’t be able to hold off for much longer, but for the moment he behaves.

the sounds you make are shameless as you drag your single finger in and out of your hole. it’s hardly anything compared to satoru’s fingers—so much thicker and longer than yours. you dip a second finger inside in an attempt to give yourself something more, to replicate your boyfriend’s touch, and it helps, at least a little, to keep the boiling flame deep inside you going.

one of your hands moves to cup your exposed breast, fingers tugging and twisting at your nipple. you whine out satoru’s name, like the devil inviting him to hell, because you sound so sweet and lovely—

satoru is a greedy man. he’s also impatient, and indulgent, and you’re just so irresistible, his sweet little girlfriend, and he just can’t stop himself when he plunges his own two fingers into your needy little cunt that’s already occupied with your own.

“s-satoru!” you gasp at the stretch, your eyes rolling into the back of your head while satoru groans out at the way your warm walls wrap around his digits.

“sorry, angel, couldn’t help myself,” he says, rasping out a laugh. his crystal eyes have turned a dark, ocean blue, and they’re on fire now, swimming with want. “pretty little pussy was beggin’ for my fingers.”

there’s an obscene squelch as he angles his wrist and crooks his fingers until, along with yours, they’re pressed up against your sweet spot, the one that makes you cry out and buck your hips in a desperate search for more.

“go on, baby, keep making yourself feel good. i’ll help you,” he says, fangs bared as he smirks, voice dropping to an octave lower than usual. he knows precisely the effect it has on you, knowing how just his words are more than enough to get you worked up. he doesn’t miss the way you clench around him as he speaks, whining out a pleading little noise for him.

lightheaded, your fingers are weak as they move, though satoru doesn’t hesitate in the way he begins to drag his curled fingers in and out of you—he’s rough, jostling you along the mattress as he works your pussy open, but he’s never been good at controlling himself around you.

“such a spoiled girl, huh? letting me do all the work?” he coos, watching as you slowly fall apart for him. he’s teasing you, when really he loves getting you like this more than anything.

“feels better when you do it,” you whimper, and it’s those words that make his cock stir in his pants, make his tip weep. a reminder of how well he takes care of you, because he loves taking care of you, more than anything. you’re only spoiled because he spoils you, gives you everything you could ever want, makes you feel so good that nothing else matters except for you and for him.

and he’s so good with his fingers—after all, he has to be. not only is it his job but the very essence of his being revolves around using his hands. so of course it’s not long before your walls are clamping down on yours and his fingers, the hot band of pressure inside you threatening to snap.

“satoru, i’m-i’m close,” you manage through the never-ending string of moans that fall from your lips.

“i know, angel, i can feel you,” he says, half-laughing. then, like the cruel man he is, he presses his free hand into your abdomen, and you don’t stand a chance. “come for me.”

the wet sounds of your soaked cunt quickly come to a crescendo from the way he moves his wrist with abandon. as your walls clench, satoru’s fingers intertwine with yours, pressed up into your g-spot together, battering it over and over, and then—

you’re yelping. screaming with bliss. the muscles in your body seize up from the pleasure that takes over them, and a flood of your arousal splashes over satoru’s lap, and you’re sobbing out moans and the syllables of satoru’s name, coming all over your fingers and his. it’s unlike any orgasm you’ve ever felt.

“there you go, that’s it, pretty girl,” he sings, slowing his movements as you fall through your climax, his gaze fixed firmly upon your features as they contort with bliss. his chest always blooms with warmth when you come, fills with some kind of pride because you’re so beautiful and he gets to call you his.

he’s pressing kisses to your shaking thighs as you come back down, sliding his dripping fingers out of your warmth slowly and bringing them to his lips. he finally deserves a taste, he thinks. so he laps up your essence from his own fingers and yours, his eyes fluttering shut, letting out a moan as he indulges, shamelessly—that’s another thing that satoru is. shameless.

“you taste so sweet, baby,” he tells you, already growing hungry for more.

“that was so romantic, satoru,” you quip. “you held my hand inside of me?”

“yeah, well, you know i’m a romantic, baby.”

[chxrryhansen]

rafe with a gun kink??

-💋

you never disappoint with these asks bae!!🫶🏻 sorry i turned this so dark also kinda poetic?…

DARK CONTENT WARNING!!

₊♡₊˚ 🎀・₊✧

you yelped as your shoulder banged against the door frame, rafe shoved you into the bedroom, slamming the door closed.

his jealousy had hit, once again. some guy flirting with you his party had gotten him all riled up, as if the stranger didn’t know you belonged to rafe, everybody on the island did. you hadn’t even flirted back, of course you wouldn’t of, you simply told the man you were taken and that you were sorry…but rafe’s insecurity got the better of him, just as it always did. his need and want for validation from you towering over his sanity.

“r-rafe stop! you’re hurting me!” He shushed you by covering your mouth with his hand.

“shut the fuck up. apologising to the fuckin’ asshole. ‘i’m sorry i have a boyfriend’ what the fuck are you sorry for you slut, sorry you can’t fuck the guy? no chance.” he murmured, his mental state slipping as he pulled your pink mini skirt up against your hips, exposing your white cotton panties making you cry out.

you wished he could hear himself right now, he sounded insane. suddenly he reached behind you, grabbing something out of his drawer. your eyes widened in fear, the realisation of what the item was hitting you like a train.

rafe laughed at your expression “don’t look so scared baby, tell you what, you be fuckin’ quiet n’ stay still, and daddy won’t blow your brains out for being a dirty cheatin’ whore. how does that sound, hmm?”

the tears began to leave your waterline, droplets of salt pouring down your flustered cheeks as you sobbed. he had never gone this far before, i mean sure he’s threatened you plenty of times but never to this extent.

instead of taking your panties off like a normal person, rafe got down on his knees, tearing them off with his teeth. the cold air hitting your cunt left you breathless, yet the warm air from his breath filled your lungs once again. rafe slid a finger inbetween your slit, gathering your wetness and pulling back to show you his soaked digits.

“fuck, baby. who knew you were such a slut”

his laugh was dangerous.

“kidding, i knew. i fuckin’ knew you’d love this shit, cause’ your just such nasty little whore aren’t cha’. disgusting slut.” you whimpered at his cruel words, yet you couldn’t deny the sap leaking from your cunt. like honey oozing from bark. without even slipping a finger inside your pussy to stretch you out, rafe lifted the gun, pressing it against your entrance.

“your gonna’ be a good girl, and your gonna’ take daddys gun inside your pretty pussy like a cheap fuckin’ whore. if that’s how you wanna’ act thats how im gonna’ treat you.”

without warning he pushed the gun into your pussy, your cunt gripping it like a vice. you screamed as he penetrated you, the weapon hitting your cervix with his first movement as he rammed it into your hole.

“shh shh shh, it’s okay, sweet girl. let it all out.” he whispered, his tone still volatile.

there was no doubt the man from earlier could hear you, and everyone else downstairs. rafe made sure of it.

[flor4de4amor]

biting on abby muscles ESPECIALLY her thigh muscles I'm drooling

i also got super ahead of myself w this one... woopsies guys!

click for palestine | boycot tlou!! | read b4 engaging w me

warnings: smut, reader fingers abby, the two of you are friends w benefits (which i feel like is a trigger in itself so i'm being considerate in forewarning)

you get like this whenever you’re ovulating. abby thinks it’s cute. you’ve got an itch only she can scratch. her needy little girl, who cries her name when her thick fingers stretch out your cunt. who bounces on her plastic cock, like you’ll die if you stop and squirts all over her torso. who laps at her pussy like it’s fucking ambrosia. she loves it. she could never deny you. especially, you call her late into the night, while she’s supposed to be sleeping.

you’re a night owl and she’s an early bird. your relationship was doomed to fail, amongst other reasons. but it’s just sloppy sex every once and a while, so who cares? definitely not abby, and definitely not you. which is why whenever you call, she comes running. she’s never been dissatisfied by your acts of service. 

but now, you’re teasing her, and abby is growing both restless and agitated. she didn’t drag herself out of bed half asleep to be teased. she came over to, well, cum. your tongue licking over every exposed surface of her body, except where she wants needs you. her clit is throbbing with urgency. “baby,” she grimaces using the name, as you run your fingers over her toned stomach and kiss up her muscular thighs.

“hm?” you question with a hum looking up her without stopping your movements.

“you gonna fuck me tonight or what?” abby asks hastily with a scoff.

you smile against her salvia-coated quad. “are you gonna be mean to me?”

she sucks her teeth, which you see, despite your room only being illuminated by a low lamp. “maybe,” she replies.

you bite into the tender flesh of her meaty thigh in response. you moan while doing so, “i bet you taste so good,” you say aloud. she grunts at your action.

“i do,” abby says with a hint of desperation in her voice.

you hook both your index fingers into the waistband of her underwear, pulling them down to her ankles, and throw it to the other side of your room. your ring and middle finger, group to her slit and collect her slick. you lick your fingers, “you’re sweet alright.” you repeat the action of collection, before offering your fingers to the pale girl. “wanna try?” you don’t give her much choice as you gently prod her mouth open. her tongue circling around your digits with a moan. “do you think you’re sweet baby?” you ask before sucking on her thigh once more, adding another layer of bruises to her legs. marks for her to show off with those teasing biker shorts she always wears to the gym.

“uhuh,” she tells you while bucking her hips upward, in need of some contact. you place your forearm atop her lower torso. though the force doesn’t halt her, she lowers her hips in a forfeit.

“you want me to eat this pretty pussy abby?” the use of her name only makes her more needy. she nods her head eagerly. “she’s crying for me,” you mumble into the crease of her legs, nibbling once more. she huffs. the more you dig your canines into her, the more desperate she gets. you’re playing dirty. it’s no fair. that’s usually her job.

without warning, you thrust your fingers into her weeping cunt. she gasps at the motion. you giggle, as she squelches and squeezes around your fingers. “more,” she commands.

“i don’t negotiate with terrorists,” you grunt while increasing the speed of your fingers, as cream collects around them. you press a faint kiss to her clit. pressing your flat tongue to the bundle of nerves. she thrust upwards again, and you pull back. “you ruin it for yourself baby.” you look at her hooded eyes. she’s so sexy when she’s desperate. 

she slurs, “i’m sorry,” her toes clenching. her pretty freckled face all flushed out.

“you’re needier than i am,” you tease her, pressing your tongue on her clit once more. she moans your name while clenching around you. you suck on her soft clit, gently and carefully using your teeth. you know just how to make abby a mess.

“i’m close,” she tells you while wrapping her hands around your messy hair. those thick thighs you love so much, wrapping around your head, trapping you into the mound you cherish. you grunt into her soft cunt and grind against your bed sheets, sure for there to be proof of your desperation when you’re done. abby cums loudly, her head tossed back and eyes shut. you watch her intensely. while slightly overstimulating her as you still finger her relentlessly, but latch your mouth to her slick and sweaty thighs once more.

her hands wipe the sweat off your forehead with as much care as casual fucking will allow. “was it good?” you ask her, looking up at her with big wide eyes searching for approval.

“you’re a fucking succubus baby,” she gently slaps your face. you groan with pleasure, “was more than good.” she uses her rough hands in your hair to pull your face off her legs, “why don’t you come up here on my face so i can return the favor?” you grin, climbing up the sexy trunk of abby, ready to receive from her greedily.

[hannyoontify]

little stars - kwon soonyoung

member | non-idol!hoshi x illustrator!reader

genre | fluff, newly est. relationship

word count | 2k with some change

synopsis | soonyoung sees you without makeup for the first time, and he notices something he’s never seen before

warnings | reader wears makeup, reader has freckles on their face, reader is implied to have insomnia but it’s not prevalent to the plot, reader is ticklish, soonyoung has an extensive vocabulary of terms of endearment that borderline make me wanna hurl if they were used unironically, soonyoung makes a shrek reference

notes | i have freckles on the back of my hands and have always been insecure of them but i remembered how my ex used to kiss them and say they were beautiful

Soonyoung’s not a criminal. He knows that. The last time he committed a serious crime was back when he was seven years old when he stole a new pack of crayons from his sister’s friends’ house after a play date.

(Two seconds after leaving said friend's house and he could no longer handle the overwhelming and crushing guilt and ended up running to his mom and crying, calling himself a “tiger thief.”)

So when Soonyoung urgently texts your best friend to ask for the password to your apartment, he can’t help but feel a dull pang of guilt in his chest as he inputs the numbers he sees into the digital keypad. His hands are shaking as the door unlocks and he fumbles through the doorway and upon your quiet and dark apartment.

It’s well past noon now and yet, there wasn’t a single hint of you in the living room and kitchen. The sink was still empty, the drying rack was full, the throw pillows on the couch looked too pristine, and the curtains were still closed. Fearing the worst, Soonyoung quietly made his way to your closed bedroom door, his sock-covered feet padding along the floor. 

He softly knocks once. Then twice. “[Name]?” No response. 

“[Name]? Baby? Are you awake?” When he doesn’t get a response, Soonyoung pushes the door slightly open. “I’m coming in…” 

In the dark room, all Soonyoung could perceive was a lump amidst the lush pile of stuffed animals and blankets, your sleeping form slowly rising and falling. “Baby…” He pushed the door wider, letting the minimal light from the living room stream past your doorway, shedding light into your dark room.

The lump under the big fluffy duvet stirred, squirming around as Soonyoung approached the side of your bed. He turned on the mushroom lamp you had on your bedside table and you let out a loud groan. 

While you stirred in your sheets, Soonyoung glanced around your room. He’d only been to your apartment a couple times in the past few months but he was already familiar to the layout of your bedroom. In the corner, next to the window was your desk with your extensive, impressive PC set-up. Sheets of half-drawn and unfinished pencil drawings were strewn across your drawing board and your desk was a flurry of paper, reference photos, and pencils.

Soonyoung felt a pang in his chest at the realization that you had probably stayed up until ungodly hours trying to finish your illustrations. You were an artiste and you had a bad habit of working until you practically dropped dead when you were struck by a lightning of inspiration.

“[Name], love, it’s time to wake up. It’s already past 3 in the afternoon. Sleeping is for the nighttime.” You poked your head out of the blanket, the edge of the fluffy duvet resting right below your eyes and covering the rest of your face. 

You stared at him blankly with bloodshot eyes and Soonyoung swore he saw—and heard—the gears turning in your head. It took you a couple seconds to recognize your boyfriend. “Soonie?” You croaked out, your voice still hoarse having woken up just seconds before.

Soonyoung smiled at the nickname and affectionately patted your head. “Time to wake up, sleepy head. Don’t wanna ruin your sleep schedule. Late night, huh?”

You nodded and rubbed an eye. “Deadline was…” You yawned. “Last night. Couldn’t sleep either.”

Soonyoung nodded sympathetically. 

“What- what time is it?” You blinked at him with the blanket still covering the rest of your face. Your hair was a tussled mess that was fanned out on the pillow behind you.

“3 pm, baby. C’mon. Let’s get you out of bed.” Soonyoung gently pulled the blanket away, revealing the rest of your face and your matching tiger pajamas. Your boyfriend stared at your clothes, an ambiguous look in his eyes that made you unsure of whether he found your pajamas adorable, or if he simply coveted your clothes and hence boosting you up to top 3 on his rob list, next to his model friend, Joshua and his tiger striped patterned button-up.

(That button-up wasn’t even his, it was something his stylist had just put on him for one of his magazine photo shoots.)

Meanwhile, reality had finally begun to settle in for you as you just realized that your new, hot boyfriend was standing in your bedroom, fluffy hair galore. He was standing over you with a twinkling look in his eyes, clad in a pair of black sweatpants and a white tank top, his muscles flexing and rolling as he tugged the blanket off of you.

You then suddenly became painfully aware of your appearance. You were in your embarrassing tiger character pajamas and your face was painstakingly bare. Your hands flew up to your hands and you flipped over, burying your face into your pillow with a loud groan. 

“Soonie, can you wait outside for me?” Your voice was muffled by the fabric of your pillow. 

Soonyoung reached out for your shoulder and his eyebrows scrunched up with worry. “Why? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

With your hands still covering your face, you rolled back and peeked at your boyfriend through your fingers. “I’mmph mmm wmmph any mammphup.”

Soonyoung chuckled and gently grabbed your wrists. “Baby, I can’t understand what you’re saying.” 

“I’m not wearing any makeup,” you whined. “You’ve never seen me barefaced before, I’m embarrassed.”

“Nooooo, baby, lemme see your hot and sexy face,” When you wouldn’t budge, Soonyoung sighed in fake exasperation. “Then you leave me no choice.”

He crawled into the empty spot next to you in bed and wrapped his big arms around you, prying your hands away from your face. 

You giggled and wriggled away from Soonyoung, using everything within you to try and hide from your boyfriend who was now currently pinning you to the mattress jiu-jitsu style. You shrieked when Soonyoung’s cold fingers dug into your sides, causing you to writhe around under him, like a fish without water. You gasped for air as Soonyoung tickled you but your hands still firmly covered your face.

“Baby, babe, pookie bear, my sweet sugar plum, my snookum bear, honey bunch, sweet cheeks, pooh bear, pudding pie, my cutie patootie, snuggle bear,” Soonyoung gently grabbed your wrists again. “I don’t care if you’re the pretty princess version of Fiona or the ogre version. I’ll be the Shrek to whichever version you are, because,” Soonyoung placed a hand over his chest and spoke after a dramatic pause. “It’s the heart that truly matters.”

You snorted. 

“Are you laughing at me and my Shrek analogy? You know it took me a long time to think of that.” Soonyoung seemed to deflate and he pouted.

“Of course not baby. I think your Shrek analogy is genius,” You peeked through your fingers, just in time to see his chest swell again with pride–you had complimented his Shrek analogy! “But I’m still not showing you my face.”

“BABY NOOOOO,” Soonyoung dramatically threw himself against you, his fingers seeking refuge in your armpits this time, causing you to erupt into a fit of giggles. “LEMME SEE YO FACEEEEE.”

“Nooooo,” you whined. Despite your protests, you couldn’t help but giggle as Soonyoung tried different combinations of kissing and tickling to try and get you to open up.

Thanks to his stubbornness and his iron grip, he was finally able to pry your hands off your face and pinned them against the pillow next to you. In the midst of wrestling you, Soonyoung had ended up on top of you, his legs straddling your waist and he looked down at you with a triumphant grin. “Gotcha.”

His eyes were roaming around your face, evidently studying you as you tried to avoid eye contact. Your giggles slowly subsided, and you heard Soonyoung trying to catch his own breath. When he finally managed to lock his eyes with your own, there was a softness in his eyes in the way he looked at you that you had never seen before.

Breathless, Soonyoung spoke softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You… have freckles…”

“H-huh?” You felt your cheeks burning as your boyfriend timidly brought a hand up to your face. His fingertips softly grazed your skin, his touch so light and gentle, you would’ve thought it was just a light gust of wind if you hadn’t been paying attention. Soonyoung’s eyes stayed trained on your cheeks, his eyes examining each and every individual freckle with a gentleness you had never seen from him before.

You’ve always been aware of the freckles on your face, but they’ve never received this much attention from someone before. It felt awkward, but it also felt… intimate. It felt nice for your beauty marks to be appreciated, and your heart swelled with affection at the sweet gesture from your boyfriend. 

Soonyoung continued to study the freckles, his fingers lightly tracing your skin with a feather-like touch. As if he was trying to commit every single detail of you to memory. Finally, his eyes meet yours and the corner of his lip tugs up, hinting a smile. “You’re beautiful.”

You feel the heat on your cheeks spreading across your face to the tip of your ears and you become unsure of how to respond. Sure, you’ve received compliments before, but not like this. No compliment you’ve ever received has ever been this intimate or vulnerable. The way Soonyoung said those two words made it sound like a secret. A secret that he uttered quietly into the void, whispering it into existence, just for you to hear. A secret only the two of you would know.

You thought your heart was about to burst. 

Soonyoung cupped your face with both his hands and his thumbs rubbed gently against the soft skin on your cheekbones. You blinked up at him, watching his big, dark eyes roam around your face. The light of your mushroom lamp reflected in his eyes, sparkling and shining with a child-like wonder. 

Your room was dimly lit, the muted colors in your room solely provided by the small lamp on your bedside table. It had begun to rain at some point, the dull pitter-patter of the rain against your window replicating the beating of your heart. 

After what seems like forever, you finally speak up. “Soonie?”

Soonyoung begrudgingly tears his eyes away from your freckles and looks into your own, shining eyes. “Yes, baby?”

“I–” you faltered, unsure of what to say. You pursed your lips and stared at your boyfriend who gave you a soft, loving smile. “Are my freckles that interesting?”

Soonyoung’s grin grew into a boy-ish one and he reached over and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. “Yes, honey. I want to commit every part of you to memory. I want to learn the story behind every freckle and scar. I want to learn all of you.” 

You felt an unfamiliar warmth stir in your heart, that soon spread throughout the rest of your body, through your fingertips and every cell of your being. Your heart fluttered. Was this what poets and lyricists meant when they wrote of love

“They’re like… I mean, I’m not a poet but-” Soonyoung fumbles as he searches for the right words to describe the immeasurable admiration and love he felt for you. 

Your freckles were strikingly beautiful and Soonyoung felt the wind getting knocked out of him when he first saw the sweet brown sugar sprinkled on your nose and cheekbones. They were like April rain showers that sprinkle the green grass with yellow flowers and Soonyoung thought your face mimicked the night sky, your freckles glinting and gleaming like countless stars. 

“Your freckles… they remind me of beautiful constellations. They can create illustrations in the night sky by connecting the dots and they tell stories, your stories.” Soonyoung paused. “And I love them.”

Your breath catches in your throat. Was he-?

“I love you.”

Soonyoung gazed down at you with an uncertain look, his eyes searching your own for some kind of response. His heart hammered against his chest as he wondered if you felt the same way yet. 

You did. 

“I love you too, Soonyoung. And baby?”

“Hm?”

“That was so much better than your Shrek analogy.”

reblogs and feedback are always appreciated ^-^

[synnlyrose]

Cookies.

A:N// Toji is a pervert. Y/n is 19. MDNI!! (I don't know how to do proper trigger warnings.) If you'd like to teach me, my inbox is open. T H I S I S ✨SMUT✨ R.A.O.R 😁

~edited to the best of my humbled ability. It's 4 am, bare with me~

MOST IMPORTANTLY: E N J O Y 🤭

That smirk, that fucking smirk that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head as Toji continues to scissor your pussy open. Trying to pull an orgasm from you. Liquid has started to leak down his fingers and forearm as you desperately rode his fingers.

"Fuck...Mr. Fushiguro...m-more..more ." You whine, grinding yourself down as hard as you can, manuvering so desperately on his fingers. There is a deep chuckle that rumbles in Toji's throat as he watches in a complete lustful awe, as you this barely legal teen fucks yourself on his fingers, like you had never been touched before. But Toji knows this couldn't have been true by how you we're rocking yourself back against his large digits.

(It's what you get for showing up at his door in your girl scouts uniform, being a senior of course, just trying to sell cookies.)

Toji being the pervert he was couldn't pass up the opportunity to have such a young pussy- 19 years old and newly graduated.

"You like this don't you?" Toji asks his voice gruff as he felt his cock stiffen up even more, watching you get off on his fingers.

"Y-yes- fuck..gonna cum..." you moan, lying your head on his shoulder, placing small wet kisses on his neck. Your pussy squelching and sloppy with an orgasm fast approaching.

"Go on pretty girl...cum for me..." Toji almost growls, lifting your skirt up over your ass to watch it bounce as you continue to ride his fingers. He gives your soft squishy ass a hard smack causing a little yelp to escape your throat, but that smack had you cumming around his fingers.

"Ooo-f-fuck..." You cry out helplessly, throwing all your body weight onto Toji, as you come- hard.

Toji enjoys the feeling of your walls squeezing around his thick fingers. He could only imagine how tight they would feel, sucking his cock into you. Your body convulsing into a shaking mess for a few seconds. Your hair falling over out of the bun it was in, Toji still flexing his fingers in you for moment, before slowly pulling them out.

His fingers are completely covered in your slick and he snickers bringing them up to his lips to suck them clean. You were still lying against his chest, breathing hard, trying to catch your breath and regain your sense of self.

Toji rubs your back slightly, kissing your forehead. He enjoys watching you shiver and catch your breath- his cock was still stiff. The scent of your pussy and perfume invades his sense of smell, making him even more excited to have you.

"You're such a good girl, Y/n...you really wanna sell those cookies?" Toji asks, his hand sliding down towards your ass once more, lightly gripping your skirt that had ridden up again.

(Cookies...oh fuck the cookies the whole reason you were here in the first place.)

"Yes, Mr. Fushiguro...." You breath out, still hazy from the orgasm he gave you moments ago.

"Good" Toji chuckles, shifting a little to pull his sweatpants down. Your gaze shifts down towards his cock standing tall and proud and gulped.

He was huge.

Toji took note at how wide your eyes are and chuckled to himself; "Don't worry sweetheart, it'll fit." Toji rasps out, he was breathing heavily now- he was was getting more and more amped up. "It always does... " He wants to feel your sweet, young, tight little pussy around his shaft.

You nod your head absentmindedly and immediately position yourself to sink down into his cock. This took Toji by surprise, as he was going to lay you down, but the idea of you riding him was all the more alluring. He smirks up at you, he knew you were a little slut.

Deep down inside the idea of having him inside you excited you.

"Think you can take all this cock, pretty girl?" Toji questions, looking up at you.

You nod with a shy smile. "I-I want too..." You say, your face reddening a bit, your pussy was soaking and aching to be filled once more, Toji's thick length was the perfect plug. You feel a slight bit of embarrassment at how horny you were for Toji. But the more you stared at his cock...the more you were enticed into having it.

Toji laughs a little as he crosses his arms beneath his head, watching you. "Of course you do." He reachs up and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. This makes you blush and nod, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock, teasing your clit with the head as you position it at your entrance. His laid back and relaxed demeanor was perplexing to you. You would of thought this was an everyday occurrence for him. And it quite possibly was.

"No condom?" Toji asks, lifting his eye brows as if he was surprised but the grin that pulls at his lips was the give away that he was just teasing you.

"No sir. Is-is that okay?" You ask nervously, ceasing your movements, looking down at Toji through your lashes. You wanted to feel your juices slicking up his cock not some rubber. Besides, you were on birth control so pregnancy was out of the equation anyway.

Toji lays there, on his couch, his hands still behind his head, he was calm, too casual about it and all he does was shrug. He doesn't object or confirm he just shrugs, which makes you a bit uneasy, but before you could say anything, Toji's hips thrust upward causing the head of his cock to dip into your walls.

"Oh-oh-" you grunt out not expecting such an intrusion just yet but it is welcomed none the less. Your brain went numb as you fully slide down his shaft, taking all of him in at once.

You are stuffed to the brim completely full. Youu can feel your walls being stretched out more than ever before and the sweet burning sensation that flows through you makes you shutter.

"G-gosh...Mr.. Fushiguro...it's..you're so...b-big.."

Toji is in awe watching you react to taking his cock for the first time, he smirks watching you essentially freeze up then start shaking. "Too big, sweetheart?" He asks tilting his head to the side as if he was genuinely curious.

"No-No..." You try to stutter out, but you can feel him in your lower abdomen, it was such a new feeling. And it felt so fucking good, you didn't know that such a big cock could fit into you like this. Perhaps he is just a tad bit..too big for you, but it doesn't stop you. You are to dazed with horniness to even begin to think about caring. You're going to conquer this monster of cock Toji has been hiding.

"Well, come here..." Toji coaxes while grabbing you gently by the back, and pulling you down, so your chest was pressed to his, "Let me take care of you then..." He groans, the shifting of your body on his causes you to squeeze around him "Let me do all the work, pretty girl. You just relax and take my cock...like a good little girl..."

You aren't given proper time to object before Toji's hips start slowly moving up and down, pulling his length out and feeding it back into your needy walls, trying to get you to adjust to his size.

There is an undeniable knot that immediately forms in your stomach as he slowly fucks your cunt. Your cheek is pressed to his chest, you're staring at yourself in his dirty black TV screen. The sence is unholy, it is naughty and lewd. You are being fucked by your next door neighbor. It was so hot, especially with your little Scout's uniform on. You look so innocent and young, though you are of age. You watch his biceps flex as he wraps an arm around your lower back to keep you steady. You can smell the faint scent of coconut, presumably from his hair. The exposed skin from underneath his wife beater is clammy, and you instantly poke your tongue out to lick at his shoulder, the taste of his sweat is salty, yet addicting. You bite your lip for a moment, moaning softly into his shoulder.

Toji on the other hand, is holding himself back from fucking your brains out. Your cunt is rich, warm, and so tight. He is breathing heavily once more and you can feel his heart racing in his chest. He can smell the jasmine from your perfume, and yes seeing you dressed up like a girl scout was the hottest fucking thing he's seen in a long time. Plus the fact that you actually are a girl scout is all the more better. Toji feels you licking at his shoulder and a shiver moves through him.

Are you more naughtier than he thinks? Just what kind of girl are you? Toji really wants to know what kind of kinky things he could get himself tangled up in with you.

"Fuck pretty girl, you're...so..fucking tight-" he growls, pressing his hands into you lower back, making you arch slightly and whimper loudly. You are already adjusted to his size and like a needy slut, you want him to go faster, harder... deeper.

"P-please Mr. Fushiguro, go..f-faster w-an-need more..." You whine almost incoherently, trying to move your hips to gain the speed you want, you are already high on ecstasy.

"Stay fucking still-" Toji demands with a pant, he can feel himself growing excited again and after a moment he starts thrusting into you harder making you cry out. You wrap your little arms around his neck, clinging to him for dear life. Toji takes this as a sign that you wanted more- so he gives you just that.

In an instant, Toji is roughly plowing his hips into yours. The sensation is so overwhelming that you can't help but close your eyes, letting your tongue hang out, your cries are senseless, just babbling. Unfitting strings of curse word and "oh mys" and "please"... Toji is busy watching your ass over your back as you took his cock like the fucking champ you were. He finds your helpless whimpers and moans so adorable.

"You must of been quite popular with the boys in school huh?" Toji groans as he smacks your ass. He was enjoying this way too much. "You're taking this big cock like a champ because you know how to, uh? You're a naughty girl, Y/n." He taughts mercilessly, his words sounding sinister.

The words Toji are speaking to you only adda to your euphoria- making your head spin with pleasure and all you can do was choke out a measly "Y-yes..." You aren't sure to which question at this point. Cock was overloading your senses.

This made Toji chuckle darkly and suddenly he wants to see your cute little innocent face while he was giving you the best dick you've ever had. His hand grabs your bun harshly, forcing your head back a little, his other hand comes to grip you chin to make you look directly at him.

Your pussy clenches at the sudden feeling of him being careless with you and he starts fucking you harder. The sound of your skin slapping against his was overwhelming. There is a look in his eyes that was beyond nasty, it can only be described as demonically lustful and it almost makes you come.

"Oh? You fucking like this don't you, Y/n?" Toji quizzes while he lets go of your chin to run his finger over your tongue that you don't realize was still hanging out of your mouth until you feel his rough finger pads swipe over the soft flesh.

"You should see how your pretty face looks right now...look at you taking this big fucking cock like this...who knew the girl next door was such a slut for big cocks from older men?" Toji squalls as he smirks and pulls you down so he could finally kiss you.

When your lips meet his he immediately slips his tongue in, you can taste the faint but unmistakable taste of alcohol on his mouth and it only makes you moan louder right into his mouth, which he swallows greedily.

"Such...wet...pussy for me...pretty girl." Toji manages to sneak into you mouth as he moves his hands back to hold your ass, as he starts using his arms to pull you down to meet his maddening thrusts.

"Moan for me baby..." He urges, licking his lips. "Let Toji hear your pretty sounds..." You can hear the smugness in his voice it was undeniably there.

You oblige, crying out his name, as his dirty words make you clench around his shaft. You are positive you were gonna cum if he keeps it up.

"Shit... shit...I..." You started before suddenly Toji stands up, you immediately wrap your arms around him, opening your legs allowing him to bounce you on his cock. You feel the cool wall behind your back as Toji continues to rut into you. He holds you up with such ease like you weigh nothing to him.

He lets out a low throaty growl as he places his face into your neck. Encouraging you to rub your poor neglected clit. You don't hesitate as you slide you finger down to swirl it on your sensitive little bundle of nerves. It doesn't take much, you're already so worked up from this entire experience and when you feel Toji bite into your neck, you're coming.

"Oh, gosh...Toji...I.. fuck- cummin'..." You whine while feeling the muscles in your abdomen tightening along with the explosion of pleasure that rips through your body. Leaving you essentially limp in Toji's arms, as you rub at your clit trying to make the feeling last as long as possible.

"That's it...pretty girl, cum around my cock...like you did my fingers earlier..." Toji encourages all throughout your orgasm. He smirks as he feels your walls contract around his shaft. He is ready to fill you up his seed.

The sounds of you squealing, his name...is what makes Toji unload into you. With a few more short pumps of his hips, his seed seeps into you, and he held you against the wall, breathing heavily into your neck.

As your high manags to subside for a moment, you look down towards your pussy, to see the mix of your wetness and Toji's cum mix and leak down his shaft. It is the hottest fucking thing you've ever seen and it makes you giggle a little.

"Fuck, Y/n...look at that..." Toji chuckles as he was also looking at the mess on his cock. After a few more moments he puts you down. Your legs felt like jelly, and for a moment you had to lean on Toji for support.

"How much did you say a box of cookies was?" Toji asks gently, with a touch of lust in his voice.

Oh fuck...those damn cookies....

[cheolhub]

PRETTY WHEN YOU CRY — JOSHUA HONG ࿐

summary. joshua just loves how pretty you look when you’re in tears.

wc. 1.9k

warnings. soft dom!joshua who’s kinda mean?, sub f!reader, dacryphilia, LOTS of teasing, edging, unprotected s*x, reader is referred to as a pillow princess, praise, ridiculous amount of pet names [(pretty) baby, pretty girl, angel, good girl], heavy dom/sub dynamics 🫡 — MINORS DNI 18+

note. i wrote this 3 months ago while in HEAT listening to LDR and then i forgot about it lol. THIS IS FOR THE SHUA BIASES. UR TIME HAS COME.

hunger. desire. need. it’s all you’ve felt since waking up this morning. you need your boyfriend to come home. you need to be stuffed with his cock. you need to be fucked till you can’t remeber your last name. 

and you’ve voiced your thirst to your beloved boyfriend, sending him texts that read need u :( and wanna touch myself so bad :’((( to which he replied, be good.

and you know better. when joshua says that, it means that you’ll need to wait regardless of how unbearably horny you are. 

and you do wait. you try to distract yourself on your day off by attempting to clean even though your arousal soaks through your panties and threatens to drip down your leg at the utter thought of him. you try to cook something to eat, but your mind wanders to the time he fucked you over the kitchen island with your face pressed against the cool marble. you even go as far as taking a cold shower, but you can only think about him and his cock and his words and, god, this fucking sucks.

but, he does come home eventually. as soon as you hear the door unlock, you’re quickly padding over to the front entrance with a meek look on your face. he can immediately read you, drinking in the sight of you in one of his shirts that barely hides the fact that you’re only in a thin pair of lace panties. 

he can tell you’ve been sitting in your wetness all day with the way your thighs are squeezed together and your brows are furrowed in what almost looks like pain. 

“hi, baby,” he hums, a cheeky smile stretching across his face. “how was your day?” he asks knowingly as he approaches you, free hand coming to cup your cheek. the pad of his thumb brushes against the heated, flushed skin and you’re shuddering at the contact. 

“missed you,” you mumble, eyes shutting as you lean into his touch. at the mere contact, your breath hitches, growing uneven as the seconds pass. 

“mmm, you missed me?” he hums, thumb moving to brush over your plush lips. when you nod, your mouth opens to envelope his digit, doe eyes staring into his devilish ones. “that bad, huh?”

“yeah,” you reply honestly, though it’s muffled by his finger. “please…” you beg and joshua knows exactly what for with the way your eyes water. 

luckily, you don’t have to wait long. joshua immediately drags you to your bedroom with a deceiving smile on his face. that’s how you end up on your back with his length stirring you up and pleas slipping past your loose, puffy lips. 

“you feel so good, baby,” joshua coos, cock thrusting into you at possibly the slowest speed ever. “cunt always takes me so fucking well, like you were made for me yeah?”

you nod your head, wrapping your arms around his neck, “joshie, please…” your eyelids grow heavy and threaten to close, but joshua can’t have that. 

“uh-uh, eyes on me, pretty girl, or i’ll just use my hand.” he warns and the pretty whine that slips past your lips makes him smile at you. “tell me what you need.”

“faster… please, fuck me faster, shua,” you beg. “been needin’ it all day.”

“yeah?” he questions, voice dripping with dominance. so much so, it makes you clench tighter around him. “pretty baby wants me to go faster?”

all you can do is nod. he gives you another captivating smile before picking up the pace. his hands grab at your waist as he builds up to a comfortable, yet pleasurable speed.

your moans grow louder as he fucks you deeper and deeper into the mattress. you’re relishing in the fact that you may get the one thing you’ve actually been craving all day–release. you can’t help the way your eyes flutter close as you feel the bulbous head of his cock rubbing against your sweet spot. 

joshua halts, dick pressed deep inside of you and your eyes shoot open immediately. “w-why’d you stop?” you whimper, pussy pulsing around him. 

he smirks, a mean lie slipping out, “got tired.”

you’ve just about had it– after a whole day of sexual frustration and waiting for your lover to take care of you, you get edged? your eyes fill with tears and you’re incessantly shaking your head. “i-i-i’ll ride you! please… shua, please– i wanna cum,” you nearly sob. “i’ll do all the work! le-lemme ride you.”

he groans, cock twitching at how quick he reduced you to tears today. you’re so fucking pretty like this– he can’t resist how much harder he gets when he sees tears recede down your face and hears how desprate you start to sound with all of your sobs and hiccups and slurred words. you’re just so pretty when you cry. 

his voice is breathy now, asking, “really, baby? you’ll ride me?”

“y-es! yes!” you cry, big, teary doe eyes screaming please. 

and so he hums out an ‘ok’ before effortlessly flipping you over while keeping you nice and full of his cock.

now your hands are pressed flat against his abdomen and he can’t help but bite his lip at the sight of you on top of him like this. you’re still crying and he’s sure you won’t stop till you get your much needed orgasm. 

you’re not moving, just hiccuping and squeezing your walls tight around him. “baby? you wanna cum don’t you?” he asks with the slightest mocking tone in his voice. “you have to move if you really want to.”

you shudder, nodding your head. you finally push yourself off his before roughly slamming back down to his base making both of you moan out loudly. you continually do this with no steady tempo and feel yourself grow frustrated at the lack of pleasure. 

joshua knew this would happen. you’re a pillow princess through and through and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. he loves seeing every coherent thought leaving your pretty little head as he drives his cock into you. you’re his princess, he wouldn’t want that to change.

but you make attempts to take more than you can handle sometimes, and he thinks it’s really fucking adorable. like now, for example, he knew you couldn’t ride him– you’ve only done it a handful of times and every single time it’s ended with you on your back again while he does all the work– but he thinks it’s cute watching you cry and struggle. 

though, he thinks he should put you out of your misery because he can tell you’re giving up. he knows you’ve absolutely had it when you're not even picking up your hips anymore, instead, rutting and grinding against his cock while tired whines bubble up in the back of your throat. 

“are you tired, pretty girl?” he asks softly and you nod while more tears brim in your eyes. you feel like you’ve been at it for hours even though it hasn’t even been 10 minutes. you just want to cum. so bad. “‘m sorry, baby, do you want me to take over?”

“please, joshie,” you whimper. “please, please, please, need you s’bad.”

and he coos, whispering out, “‘s okay, angel, don’t cry. i’ll take good care of you.” his hands find your waist, lifting you off his length so he can take over, giving you an experimental thrust. 

you whimper letting your head fall back and hands press against his firm chest as he repeats. he quickly gains a fixed rhythm, cock plunging in and out of your soaked pussy. his hands hold your hips tight above his, adamant on keeping you there while he does all the work. 

he’s moaning out your name, repeatedly telling you how good you feel and how gorgeous you are with your tits bouncing like that. he looks between the two of you, where his cock meets your cunt, and he groans watching how you swallow him so nicely. 

it makes him speed up, bucking his hips up harder. faster. deeper. you can’t stop crying no matter how much you want to– you’re so sensitive and he’s hitting all the right spots without fail– the tears just keep falling down your face. 

and shua notices. notices the way your eyes have turned into a leaky faucet and how you have a never-ending flow of tears rolling down your wet, blushy cheeks. god, it has him close already, but he needs to give you what you want first. 

“so fucking pretty when you’re crying for my cock, baby.” he grits, a moan following the words. “like it that much?”

you’re choking on your words, practically gargling out, “love it! l-love your cock– shua, fuck, love it and you!”

he groans, squeezing your hips tighter, “yeah? tell me you love me again.”

“i-i love you!” you sob out, pussy wrapping tightly around him as you feel yourself grow closer to the edge. “love you, shua!”

your nails dig into his chest and he hisses, “fuck, such a good girl– i love you so much more, baby. you’re so good for me.” he profuses, voice slightly wavering as he feels his stomach tighten. “will you cum with me, baby? cum and let me fill you up?” he punctuates his words with his thrusts.

you gasp at his particularly sharp thrusts, nodding your head vigorously. “yes, yes, yes, fill me up please!” you echo and you’re pretty sure you sound embarrassing, but you’re not in the right mind to care. you feel the band in your tummy stretching and all you need is a bit more to completely push you over the edge. 

joshua follows through, ramming into you a few more times before slamming your hips down, filling you up with his cock completely. his particularly large load spurts inside of you, painting your walls creamy white while cursing and moaning. the warmth and feeling of his seed is just what you needed to let go. 

the tight band in the pit of your stomach snaps and you squeal as you feel yourself cum, finally releasing all over his cock. your jaw goes slack and your vision goes white and all you can hear is ringing in your ears while you experience an intense (and well deserved) orgasm. he guides your hips to grind on his cock to help you ride out your high while murmuring sweet praise to you.

when you do come down, you collapse on top of him, cock popping out of your pussy in the process. you whimper as you feel his cum leaking out of you and onto the sheets under you. 

“you came so much today, joshie,” you say softly with a bit of hoarseness to your voice while sniffling. 

he chuckles breathily at your observation, “did i?” 

you nod into the crook of his neck,“mhm, filled me up so well, thank you.”

“of course, baby… but are you okay? you were crying the whole time.” he asks, voice laced with slight concern as his hands soothe up and down your bare back. “know i said you looked pretty like that, but i just wanna make sure i didn’t hurt you.”

“no! no, just missed you, shua, i was really horny…” you mumble. “just wanted you to fuck me stupid all day long. was so miserable.”

he smirks, messy cock twitching a bit at your words, “well, i’m here now, baby, and i can make it happen if that’s what you still want?”

“really?”

“really.”

© cheolhub — all rights reserved, please refrain from copying, reposting, modifying or translating my work on any platform.

taglist : 🔖 @roe-sinning @hyuk4ngel @bowmonde @rckwithyou @5xiang

[her-favorite]

✧*̥˚ matt sturniolo *̥˚✧

“Y’look so pretty on your knees, baby.” You mutter as your dominant hand brushes through his soft hair. He practically purred at the feeling, immediately leaning into your soothing touch. A light pink hue blended into the pale skin of his cheeks, darkening the tips of his ears.

“Thank you, mommy.” Matt whispers back, stuttering slightly as he shyly looks up at you before glancing over at the camera in your hand that faced him. He swallows heavily at the attention, from both you and the camera lens.

Standing in front of his bed, you look down at the boy below you. He was stripped bare - per your demand - and so visibly needy. His fingers fidgeted in his lap, growing embarrassed as you watched his every move, becoming shy as his hard dick stood up straight, straining against his soft stomach. Pre-come leaked from his tip as desperation radiates off of him, needing something more from you. His chest rose and fell in a quick manner, his heart throwing itself against his chest as it pounded for your touch.

“P.. please, mommy. Please, just..” he swallows dryly again, looking up at you. “Please touch me.” He whispers, the words just barely audible to your ears. “‘M’so desperate for you; need you to touch me.” He rambles, his fingers slowly, hesitantly, reaching out to gently wrap around your calves. “I’ve been so patient, mommy.” His bottom lip quivers slightly as his throat becomes dry, all consequences of overwhelming emotions taking control of his body. “Been such a good boy for you.” Matt whines, a tear falling from his eyes as desperation consumes him whole.

“You have, baby.” You agree softly. He basically revels in the praise, your eyes following the way his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows heavily. “Such a good boy for mommy.” You say, your hand that was on the camera zooming in on his now tear-stained face. He whimpers at your words, his cock only seeming to grow even more sore at your teasing.

Traveling the lens down his body, you zoom out a little so it can take in his entire being. Matt lets out a small whine at your action, fighting the urge to cover his exposed cock. Your lips curl up into a smirk at his reaction, knowing all too well how shy he gets under your gaze, let alone bare in front of a camera like this.

“Be a good boy and stay still, sweetheart.” You say softly, though your demand is clear in your words. Matt nods, keeping still for you, wanting to be your good boy.

Your finger dials in the lens, zooming in on his aching cock, tip red and sore from lack of attention as he leaks with need. His thighs quiver barely under the attention he’s receiving, yet contrasted with no physical attention. You can subtly feel the way his fingers squeeze against your skin, trying his best to follow your orders and not move to cover his most private areas.

“You want mommy to touch you? S’that what’s got you so worked up?” You mutter, zooming the camera out to get his entire body in frame again. He nods pathetically at your question, his ears picking up every little sound you made eagerly.

“Yes! Mommy, please, wanna be your good boy.” Matt whines, sniffling softly. His eyes begin to line red at his tears, his lips becoming swollen from his crying. He could practically feel his pre-come stick to his thighs as he’s denied your touch this entire time. Matt knew the way he was acting was utterly embarrassing, but he wanted - needed - you.. and he didn’t care how he looked as long as he was pleasing you.

“So pathetic.” You whisper, noticing the way he shivers, silently hoping your digital camera picked it up. Your hand that was in his hair slowly makes its way down, gliding the pad of your thumb over his bottom lip gently. As you drag it down, your eyes meet his. The submissive look in his blue irises could’ve made you melt on the spot; he always looked so pretty when he was desperate for you.

Not being able to wait any longer, you say, “Open.” On command, Matt obeys as he parts his lips, already sticking his tongue out for you. Smirking softly at his reaction, already used to your demands, you place your thumb on his warm tongue, letting him envelop your finger in his mouth.

Zooming in on the area, your camera picks up the way his pretty cheeks hollow around your finger. Saliva coats his pink lips, only adding to his needy look. “Such a pretty boy.” You mutter.

Matt was in for it tonight.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

guys the part where chris filmed matt while he was getting changed in the vid today has legit been running through my mind this entire time and this is what came out of it

also these little blurb things are sooo fun to write so if anyone has any ideas for more, don’t be afraid to send some in!!

≈☆≈

[carmenized-onions]

Don't Say It. | Closing Out

logline; just say it in every way but the one way that makes it weird.

[!!!] series history; did y'all notice the banner rebrands? tell me you think they look nice and good and cool or i'll. start crying.

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. how is it more than 7 hours. my god.

portion; 14k was hoping we'd reenter our single digits era but we ball

possible allergies; two mentally ills battle it out (romantic).

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader almost certain there are gendered bits/pronouns but can't honestly completely remember.

(new!) kofi; I have one now! if you've enjoyed the series, perhaps you wanna tip!

moving into a new place literally in two days!! high stress. so thank you for waitin' as always pwease enjoy and pwease tell me what you think!

You take a good long breath, sitting on the counter in the bathroom. Right. Time is linear and you’re in New York again— Never left. Right. Carmen’s sitting across from you, it’s kind of a shock this floating sink counter hasn’t collapsed under the two of you yet. How long have you been here? Swapping stories took a long fucking time, and there’s still, disgustingly, a lot to unpack. 

“Any shoes left undropped?” You drum your hands against your knees, the question is as much for yourself as it is for him.

Carmen opts to open with a soft ball. “You called me Carmy?” Before you knew me, you called me Carmy?

“I called you a lot of things.”

“Like virgin Michelin Star chef?” He’s failing to hide the upturned corners of his mouth, when he says it. 

You snort and nod, “Like virgin Michelin Star chef, or Carmy, or Carm, or baby boy, baby bear, mister New York— Basically all Mikey’s, I think the only one I coined was Charmin.”

“Charmin?”

“Like the—” He finishes with you, “—Toilet paper bears.” and whether he should be or not, he cannot stop laughing, when you confess this. 

“I thought it was a good bit!” “Cause I’m a piece of shit?” “Bitch—Cause you clean up, and you’re a bear, and Carmen sounds like Charmin, and Charmin sounds like charming and I—”

You pause, cringing, parasocial relationship coming to a head now. When your best friend wants you to get with his hot talented brother living in the Big Apple, it’s hard not to fantasize about, alright? “...I found you very charming.”

God, it’s just far too easy for you to render him completely speechless. It’s really not fucking fair. Carmen looks like a deer in headlights, he looks how he did in your car, a month or so ago, when he bit the bullet and asked you out. Well, promised to ask you out. He swallows, no more glass in his throat, but it does feel a little scratchy, kinda like, like pop rocks?

Pop rocks, yeah. Sweet, salivating. “Do you still?”

You squint, like he’s a moron. He is. “Of course I do.” Cherry pop rocks. Yeah, that sort of spritz feeling, on the tongue, and the way it continues to simmer all the way down. “I don’t want you to stop being you, by the way, Carm.”

“Huh?” What’s that supposed to mean? Of course you want him to change, he sucks.

“I—” You’re quick to clarify, straightening your posture. “I think it’s great to— to do the work, and therapy and reading and self-care— That’s all— That’s very good, and you should do it— For you, not me, but I— One bad night is not how I’ll think of you— You’re— You’re not a bad person, is I guess all I’m trying to fuckin’ say.”

You’re sweet. Sweet but with depth, slowly developed, caramelized, tart. Maybe a fruity molasses.

Carmen swallows, it’s hard to digest the sweet. “I— I’m not a bad person, but I could be better.” Pomegranate molasses. It’s got an acidic kick. Sort of like balsamic.

“I could be better, too.” Could you? Please God, don’t try, he can’t compete. No, shit, hold on, stop pedestaling. “You kinda got my ass, with peoples’ princess.”

Carmen cringes, there’s the acid. “I should not have said—”

“I have a fucking saviour complex, Carm. And it’s just as bad for everyone else as it is for me.”

Bite, yet tender. You continue on. “I do need to work on that. And I should’ve explained more when we first met, it was just— You know… I know you know.” Medium rare, steak medallion— No— rectangle. 

Pomegranate molasses, thick—Nearly sorbet thick. Poured onto the plate, centered, perfect circle. Medium rare wagyu steak— A3, maybe; too much fat would ruin the composition. Rectangular, off center. Dust with cherry pop rocks. Bizarre, but it might actually be something. Bad, but something. Not tired or overdone, that’s for sure. Anything but dusty.

Carmen missed you for a lot of reasons this week, but it’s almost annoying how merely being in your presence for a few hours has given him more inspiration to work with than he has had in the last one-hundred and sixty-eight hours, without you. But who’s counting?

It’s easy to make things, when they’re for you. When they’re about you.

“I should’ve listened, when you were ready, but I got defensive and—I— I do that a lot, clearly, I just—” Carmen tries not to bite at his nails and fingers, because his therapist, Sara, said not to do that. What the fuck does she know? A lot, actually.

“That’s just kinda how— we’d do things. Like that’s how we—” Carmen frowns, memories dawning on him. “…I guess maybe we never really talked.”

You don’t need to ask who we is. His family didn’t particularly set Carmen up for success. And every figure after his family didn’t really lighten the load. There’s not much for you to say or do beyond, “I like talking to you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re allowed to still be mad at me.” Carmen reassures, he’s not sure why he feels the need to do so. “You can— You can tell me to go fuck myself.” 

You shake your head, shrugging. “You can tell me to go fuck myself.”

He shakes his head, immediately, squinting, like you’re a moron; you are. “I would never tell you to go fuck yourself.”

It’s a silent moment of exchanging hard stares and trying to glean something from the other. Once you gather your findings, you finally return to your era of speaking in sync again, with, “I don’t hate you.”

It's a hellish realization, that you thought it was possible, let alone certain, to hate you. He could cry again. “Why would you ever think I hate you?”

You raise your brows, because how could you not think Carmen hates you? “Because you said—”

“I didn’t mean a fucking word.”  He says it differently than he did before. Like it’s a final warning. He immediately recoils at his own voice and its aggression.

“I’m sorry.” Carmen scratches his nose, continuing for the both of you. What more can he say? He’s already said it a million times, so what’s one more? When you try to speak, he doesn’t let you. Because he knows you. He knows you’ll brush it off. “I don’t want you to forgive me, right now. I want to prove I earned it.”

“You don’t have to prove yourself to me.”

“Yeah, Sara said that, too. You’re both wrong.”

“Yeah, I don’t think your therapist can be wrong, in this scenario.”

“Please.” Carmen props his knee up on the counter, his hands, in some way, mimic a prayer. He holds eye contact, he thanks whoever is in charge that you’re holding it again, too. “Let me earn it.”

Carmen will learn that he doesn’t need to earn anything or prove anything to anyone eventually. He’ll need more than six therapy sessions crammed in during his lunch breaks, for that. But right now, he needs to prove this. Needs to earn you. For now, you'll give it to him. For now, you just nod. 

Carmen chews his bottom lip, he doesn’t want to say it but he has to. “When I said—” You failed Mikey. “—What I said— I didn’t mean it how I said it.”

You bring your legs up, criss crossing them. “How’d you mean it?” How else could he possibly mean it?

“I meant it like— Like— Of course he died.”

They’re Berzatto men, they’re doomed. “Nothing you could have done would have stopped him from dying— And I— It hurt cause it felt like— In—In that moment— In my head—” He puts a hand up, pausing to reassure, “Nothing you did. But I felt like I was ‘Round Two’ for you. Charity. I—”

Carmen swallows, looking down, can’t meet your eyes for the moment, but he points at you. “You didn’t fail Mikey— He failed to know he was worth saving.”

A wound closes up, a little bit, somewhere in your head and heart.  “I think in some ways, I was trying to make up for something—”

You’re quick to clarify, too. “But not cause you’re you— Cause I’m me.” Have to do it all. Have to fix it all. Have to save it all. “Like— I think I might have that edge of paranoia for like, like a long time, if not… forever?”

 You frown; what a bleak idea. “Fuck, I may need to go back to therapy, too.”

“You want Sara’s card?” “Sliding scale?” “Sliding scale.” “Is it weird to have the same therapist?” “Probably.” “I’ll look into it.”

You both laugh, the weighted blanket of tension over you both is finally lifting. Carmen’s capable of looking you in the eyes again. “You did literally everything someone could think of.”

You kiss your teeth, you could’ve done a couple more things. “I mean, location—”

“He never would’ve given it to you.” “That’s exactly it, though— I should’ve put my foot down more. I was never as strict as I was supposed to be.” “But if you were strict he wouldn’t let you help him.” “Sponsors are meant to be strict.” “Then he wouldn’t’ve let you be his sponsor.” “Then I shouldn’t have been his sponsor!” “Then he would’ve never joined the program!” “Well—” “It’s not your fucking fault!”

Carmen doesn’t hate you, Carmen doesn’t think you killed his brother. Heavy exhale of too many emotions and a touch of relief. But you can see yourself in his expression. You can see Richie in his expression. The guilt. The haunting. You swallow, “Not yours, either.”

“I could’ve called more.” “He wouldn’t have answered.” “I could’ve realized why.” “And how exactly could you have done that?” “...I dunno, could’ve— Could’ve been the guy, for him.” “Carmen you were the guy, for him.”

Carmen shakes his head. “You were the guy, for Mikey.”

“I— Okay—” You click your tongue, this is hard to explain. You shift on the sink counter, trying to get more comfortable. You won’t. It’s a fucking sink. “I was the guy, but the guy to another guy isn’t much— you—” You snap your fingers, pointing at him. “You’re not the guy, Carmen. Never will be.”

“Ouch.”

“No— You’re something much more important than the guy. You’re— You’re the, the cat.”

He can’t help but smile, confused. He’s so used to bear comparisons. “I’m the cat?”

“You’re—” You keep pointing at him, thinking the metaphor in your head through. “...The guy is— Is like the host of the house party. He keeps the jokes going, the room light, the drinks and food stocked— He talks people through panic attacks while they sit in the bathtub, he loses at beer pong on purpose to make the other team feel better, the guy makes everyone feel like they’re the center of the universe.”

“And the cat?”

“The cat is upstairs, locked in his room, because the cat will get all jittery if he’s around all that yelling and all those people. The cat doesn’t even like those people. And the guy doesn’t want his cat to go through that. But then, when the guy finally gets all jittery and can’t handle all those people himself—” You sigh, honestly stressed by your own metaphor, thinking of all the moments in your life you needed the cat and didn’t call.

“He’ll go upstairs, to his room, and the cat will be there, and he can talk to the cat— Because the cat likes him. And nothing will be solved, but it’ll still feel good and the cat will still think his guy’s perfect and wonderful even when the guy is just— just him— And the cat asks literally nothing of the guy— Unlike everyone else downstairs— and that’s exactly why the guy wants to give the cat everything over anyone else.”

God, you’ve been talking about cats and guys too much. “Not everyone needs a cat, but the guys that do, really do. And you’re… You’re the cat— Mikey’s and mine.”

Carmen can’t say I love you, because that would be an insane response. That would be weird and bad and too soon and stupid. But it’s the only thing he can think of. The only thing he can say besides that, is, “You’re very good to me.”

You’re not exclusively for Carmen, he knows that. You’re not made for him— You’re made for many things. But maybe you’re curated. The Bear wouldn’t exist without your advocacy. And it’s hard to believe, but there might’ve been even more broken shit at The Beef, if you hadn’t been there before Carmen got there. Mikey got to be your friend, before Carmen did. And you got to be Mikey’s friend, when Carmen didn’t. But you both kept him in mind, you told Mikey to text, you drew schematics for his restaurant, you said you’d talk to him. You thought he was charming. You still do. You’re Mikey’s pick, for Carmen. And it’s not like Mikey’s opinion matters that much, but it’s nice to have approval. Though he didn’t fucking ask for it.

“Such a cat response.” “Is that like being a Leo or some shit?” 

You both laugh. Ah, thank fuck, it’s you two, again. There’s a comfortable silence while you think for a second, before asking, “Can I add another thing to your non-negotiables?”

“Always.”

“I don’t want you to be different for me.” You think back to being in his kitchen, the way he tried to hold back, when you were around. “I get you, work you, home you— If you want me to be your fuckin’ mixologist, you’re gonna have to get comfortable working with me.”

“You still want to work for me?”

“I shook on it, didn’t I?”

He laughs through a deep sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God.”

“Damn,” You snort, “Are you only with me for my skills?”

“No, I’m with you because you’re— You.” The kitchen needs you, The Bear needs you, Carmen needs you. He’s the cat, he doesn’t need anything more than you. He can work on his codependency issues in therapy, okay? “I— I like having you around.”

You readjust your posture again, it’s hard to get comfortable on a sink. “Well, you better get paid soon, then.”

“‘Bout that.” Boy came prepared. He rifles through the pockets of his black jeans, and pulls out a folded slip of paper. He does a yoga class worthy stretch to hand it to you, from across the sink. A paystub, from The Bear, to Carmen. Officially on fucking payroll.

Yeah, turns out, just a bad week, last week. Being in the red doesn’t last forever. Neither does being in the green. There are ebbs and flows. Next week will probably be shit, and yet the wheel still turns. Carmen also might’ve very well plugged in half of the numbers wrong, according to Sugar, when she eventually got to looking at it. But that’s neither here nor there. So he’s reactive. What’s new? Should’ve believed the you in his head, when she said there will be good and bad weeks. He’s still working on being the only voice in his head. But you’re a good replacement for the other guy, for now.

You stare at it, like an ancient scroll. It’s real. He’s really getting paid— Pretty decent too, he could finally buy some fucking furniture, with this. “Okay.” You look up from the slip to him. He looks like he’s on fucking Shark Tank, anxiously awaiting your approval. “And you’ll act like you?”

“I will act like me.” Even when he doesn’t want you to see it, Carmen will act like Carmen. 

And that’s all you could ask for, really. You’re about to approve the deal, but then you think again, frowning. “The Exec.”

“Ah.” Carmen shuts his eyes, embarrassed by his own brain. “I know.”

“So you thought about it?”

“I didn’t think about— It—” Carmen doubted his own conviction, because he doubts all of himself. But it really was not ever on the table, to give your number…That said— “I thought about loopholes.”

“Catfishing him?” You guess, and he affirms. “Catfishing him.” Hey, great minds think alike. Doesn’t make Carmen feel any less scummy, for considering abusing your likeness for sake of approval. 

“Did you go through with it?” 

It’s Carmen’s turn, to blink, slow to realize that you actually don’t know. “Richie didn’t tell you?” You still live in a world where Carmen isn’t completely batshit. 

You tilt your head, “Did Richie catfish him?”

“No, uhm—” He seems suddenly sheepish now. Can’t look you in the eyes, again. He nods and points to your pockets. “You got your phone?”

“Uh, yeah—” You pull it out, haven’t gotten any sudden creepshow texts, to your knowledge. “Should I be scared?”

Carmen shakes his head. “Nothin’ worse than what you’ve already seen.” He snaps his fingers at your phone, “Look up uh— I think it’s— Chicago Bear on Yankee Chef turf, or some shit.”

You have to take a moment, before typing, to just look at him with genuine pause. “...What?”

“Just do it.” “Did you kill someone?” “I do not have blood on my hands, the Tribune is just dramatic—” “The fucking Tribune?! Shut the fuck up, Carmy.”

Absolutely no way he’s in the Chicago Tribune.

Okay. Upon searching. Absolutely yes way he’s in the Chicago Tribune. Carmen’s trending on Twitter— Or rather, Chicago, The Bear, Bear, Carmy, Michelin Beef, Fuck the Yanks, and a million other keywords are trending— Local trending, but still trending. Chicago Tribune’s made an article archiving a handful of reaction tweets, summarizing whatever the fuck happened. Alright, this is taking too long, maybe you should just ask the man in front of you— “Oh my fucking God, there’s a video.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t watch—” Carmen is interrupted by his own voice coming through your phone. “—And what kind of fucking Chef doesn’t like black pepper? I’m white and overdone, but you’re an entire other goddamn beast—” “...That.”

It’s a screen recording of some patron’s Facebook Live at some New York restaurant David owns or whatever. Empire? That’s what the blurry signs in the video’s background seem to say. What’s his title at this point, anymore? Doesn’t matter.

It’s nice to see his blurry little face around ten to twenty feet from the camera get yelled at by a Carmen that is also many feet away, but his voice seems to be projecting throughout the whole restaurant; enough to be heard clearly through recording, anyways. “And it’d be enough to just be an asshole— But you’re a creep too— Never fuckin’ pray on my— my— bar staff, or I swear on my life—”

“Can’t make direct threats in New York, Cousin! Penal code!” You laugh when you hear Richie’s voice ringing out in the background. Thank God for whoever’s filming, because they pivot their phone to catch Richie, pretty much next to their table, calling out to Carmen. “It’s a fine!”

He looks tired but wired; they must’ve taken a pitstop here, before heading to the hotel. What a fun road trip finale. Richie is such a motherfucker for not telling you all of this first thing while you put on his cufflinks— This is not dirty details, this is front page shit! Literally! God, he buries the lead like it’s his fucking day job.

“Who gives a fuck about a fine? Everyone—” And back to Carmen. “This is David Fields, he’s the head of the head of the head, in their heads— He’s a fantastic chef, I don’t think he eats or sleeps or knows what another person’s hands feel like— He is fuckin’ brilliant at making the same three fuckin’ plates every fuckin’ day— With the most minute differences— And—And—And— He doesn’t even make them! He takes dishes from prozac riddled fucks like me, makes them worse and then puts his name on it! Unoriginal, a narcissist, and fucking bad at it!”

You don’t look up from your phone, eyes glued to the screen. “Holy fuck, Carmen.”

“Yeah, I’m aware.” “Is this good marketing?” “Wait for it, I guess.” “...Are you actually on prozac?” “No. I kind of blacked out. Made a point though, right?” “Yeah, I’d say so.”

“Sorry, miss. Could I—” …Fak? Guess he did third wheel on the road trip to New York. He grabs the streamer’s phone. There’s a ‘what the—fuckin— excuse me?’ from behind the camera as Fak pivots the recording to himself. 

“Hey World, I’m Neil, that’s my best friend Carmy the Bear, over there.”

“Jesus Christ.” You look up from your phone to Carm, who was at first embarrassed and is now just trying to hold a straight face, hand over his mouth. “I’m aware.” He repeats. 

You squint, thinking.“...Best friend?” “...I guess he is?” “That’s— Okay— I don’t— Alright, we’ll come back to that.” And return to your phone.

Fak continues, taking advantage of the sudden screen time. “He’s a really good Chef, knows his shit, if you ever want to see how he does it, please come eat— Dine— Dine with us at The Bear, we’re in Chicago— on North Orleans and Huron— You can— Can book with us at The Bear dot—”

“Don’t have the site yet.” Richie interrupts the impromptu ad, hovering over Fak’s shoulder, barely whispering. “Still The Beef.”

Neil nods and continues. “The Beef dot squarespace—”

“It’s Wix.” “It’s fucking Wix?” “Your problem isn’t with the lack of a domain?”

“It’s Google Sites, actually.” You correct for no one, really, looking up from your phone to Carmen, again. “I made him change it so it wouldn’t have that ugly freemium bar.” 

Carmen snorts, shaking his head. Of course you did. “D’you design it?”

You let out a loud, “Ha!” before turning back down to the screen. “I think web design might be the one trade I can’t do.” But you’re willing to learn, if he needs.

Ah, the videographer managed to foist her phone back, returning to catch the very end of the Carmen Show. And it’s a wonderful finale, from Carm.

“—Fuck your two elements, fuck your face— Fuck everything about you— I cannot believe we gave you service— Let alone our best— For a guy in hospitality, you have no fucking right treating my host and somme like that. Fuck you—”

“Fuck you—” Finally a response from David, though it’s quickly interrupted, as Carmen finally starts to back away, not wanting a genuine fight if he doesn’t have to do it, but he certainly wants the last word. “No, fuck you—”

“Fuck you.” “—Chef— Stay in your fucking city— Stay in your fucking city— New Yorks great! Stay in it! We don't play in Chicago— Fuck you!”

Carmen comes back to his road trip squad, he notices the woman recording, and walks up to the camera. For a second, you genuinely think he’s going to square up with her— You’re pretty sure he at least thought about it. “Is she recording?”

“Streaming.” Answers Fak. “It’s the new thing.”

 Carmy opts to use his words, possibly because he could maybe get arrested. “Sorry, sorry— I just want to make it clear—”

He gestures to the fucker in the background, bouncers seems to be approaching. Carmen keeps going, face red but calming down, chasing his own breath. “This man worked— and works with wonderful Chefs who I learned a lot under— And— And— I have all the respect for them, and always will— But-But— when it comes to David Fields specifically—”

Your cherry and lamb dish was perfect. David’s palate is just not worth appealing to. Carmen won’t make that mistake again.

“—What he serves is consistently vapid, dusty, and dead on arrival— like his heart— And—And— When you pay him, dine with him, work with him, you are lining the pockets of some fuckin’ creep that pulls rank on honest cooks and servers. So. Decide if you want that. And uhm— Uh— Tip your servers. Don’t ask for their numbers— Like he does. Be normal. Thank you.”

“Carmen Berzatto, folks! Come— Come to The Bear!” Yells out Neil, as security finally seems to be coming for the Chicagoans.

Richie grabs Fak by the back of his coat, knowing when to bounce, shouting, “No legal names! Godssake— This has been Carmichael Burrowski, folks! Don’t call no one—!”

The screen recording ends, not long after that. You’re going to need maybe a… fifty minute nap, to process that. Maybe, somehow, this is good publicity— Maybe in some way, this is putting The Bear on the center stage. But one thing is fact, Carmen completely abandoned the idea of keeping appearances and getting a star through kissing ass. He completely abandoned the idea of being appealing to the man in his head. 

And he did that for you— And Richie— Which, honestly, makes it mean even more. Carmen’s a good boss. Not always. Definitely not always. But when it fucking counts, he is. Carmen's a good man. A good friend. A good not-quite boyfriend. Ugh, boyfriend? What kind of word is ‘boyfriend’? That's fucked.

You put your phone away, quietly nodding and thinking, not looking at Carmen. You shrug, attempting to be nonchalant. “Contract and I’ll be your mixologist.”

“Yeah?” There’s such a brightness, to the way Carmen asks. Like a spritz. “Okay. I’ll— I’ll send you a Docusign.” Aperol spritz. There’s more to it, than that though. 

You’re so zoned out, looking at the sinks instead of Carmen, he starts to get worried. He just got eye contact back, come on. Was the yelling too much in the video? He was loud and mean. He always is. He told you not to watch. 

“Tony?” What kind of bitters suit him? A slice of grapefruit might be nice. Bright but acquired.

“Are you good?”

“Wha—” You shake your head out of it, turning your gaze to Carmen. He jumped off the counter to stand by you. His hand hovers by your head— He considers grazing your hair, and chickens out. But he can’t put it down.  “Sorry, was— I was uh— Just thinking of what we could put on a cocktail menu, that’s all.” Yeah, that’s all.

“Don’t work on it, without me.” It’s with a, dare you say, panicked quickness, that he requests this. “Cocktail menu, coffee menu, we should— Should do R and D, together.”

“Yeah, f’sure.” Fucking Chefs, so particular about their menus. “I think it’d be good to uhm— Build it around the main menu, anyways. Sorta match stuff up.” Thankfully, you like particular.

He really needs to not be standing this close, though. Your brain keeps zoning in and out— It’s really not the time to be feeling any sort of type of way about Carmen cursing out that fucking chef and going to therapy for himself and you and he smells nice and he’s reading books and he worked bar all night with you and he looks so nice in bartender black in lieu of his Chef whites and he is trying so hard and— And you cannot say you love him because that would be weird. That would be weird and bad and too soon and stupid. 

And you can’t forgive him either— Well, not aloud, because Carmen wants to prove that he’s done the work— Wants to prove that he’s going to keep doing the work. He’s rendered you with nearly zero options here, to show your affection. 

“Yeah, that’s— That’d be good. I was thinkin’ we’d put your station by Marcus.” Why is he still talking about work? He’s so stupid. He’s wonderful. This is the worst. This is hell. “Coffee machine’s already there, and you’ll tend to share a lot of elements, anyway— I think.”

You shift your butt on the counter, turning to face him head on, he’s just slightly between your knees as your legs dangle off the counter. “Carmen.”

“Yeah?” “I’m going to kiss you.” “Yeah, okay.”

Light, nervous, sweet, lifting, soft— A delicate kick to it. Pink peppercorn bitters. That’s it.

Aperol— Vibrantly orange liqueur, derived from bitter rhubarb. It’s an acquired taste. Some say it’s citrusy and herbal, others say it tastes like cough syrup. Either way, it’s awakening. Then prosecco. A splash of soda— Lemon-lime would be best. Aperol spritz. It’s an Italian cocktail. It sparkles. Everything in it fizzes, almost competing with each other. It’s meant to be enjoyed before dinner. It’s refreshing. Pink peppercorns and grapefruit would only add to that brightness, that light. It’s not for everyone, but it is everything to some. That’s Carmen. That’s your Carmen. Oh, maybe a syrup on the rim?

You try to be delicate, the way you put the palm of your hand on the back of his head and pull him in, but it’s just not possible. It’s the first time in a fucking month you’ve initiated— It's been one-hundred and sixty-eight hours since you've seen his face, let alone touched it— It’s just not possible to be kind.

Thankfully, based on the way he’s leaning you back on the counter, hands on your waist, it doesn’t seem like Carmen wants kind. There's a sigh of relief, to just kiss you. He’s fine with the touch of hair pulling, on your part— Possibly more than fine. Possibly way more than fine. The faint whining and pulling your hips to his seem to indicate it’s a lot fucking more than fine.

It would be weird and bad and stupid and too soon to say I love you, but you can mouth the words against him and he can’t tell what you’re wording but at least you know. It’s funny that he can do the same to you, and despite knowing the trick, you can’t tell either. 

Carmen pulls back, just a centimeter, or two. He wants to say something. He’s opening his mouth to say something. He's all dopey and half-lidded. Man, he’s pretty. He knows that right? Yeah, he knows that. “You’re so pretty.” You tell him anyway, speaking into his half open mouth. 

Whatever thought he had, it’s dead now.“—Jesus fucking Christ.” He moves his hands to hold your face. It’s nice. It’s nice to get peppered with kisses— Yeah, pink pepper fits perfectly with him. 

Carm’s voice is heavier now. Maybe from the lack of oxygen. He’s fighting to revive his brain. He’s so serious, when he firmly kisses you, forehead against yours, lips still grazing, saying, “I’m not a fucking virgin.”

You laugh way too fucking hard for his ego. Your hands untangle from his hair, but your arms continue to rest on his shoulders. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He’s still amped, too bad you’re you, and you have to ruin the mood to poke at him.

“That a recent development?” “Shut the fuck up—” “I’m just wondering, if he was accurate at the time—” “Why are you doing this to me?” “Did you have a tantric affair in Denmark, the people wanna know!” “I— There was no time, alright? It got away from me—” “Remember when you had your first kind of girlfriend like a month and a week ago?” “It was a recent development, okay?” “Darn. Sorry I was late.”

He pauses the banter to just stare at you, take in your features, take in that you’re here and real and half underneath him. “Not forgiven.” You should’ve shown up sooner. You should’ve injected yourself so completely in Carmen’s life eons ago, and made yourself intrinsically impossible to remove. Absolutely not forgiven, for being late.

“Yeah?” Your eyes upturn, deeply amused. Carmen really is the baby brother. Entitled, bratty, cute. You’re planning to say something coy, something playful like ‘Ohoho, how do I earn your forgiveness?’ But you remember something Carmen said, when he was summarizing his Friday night for you— And for Carmen, what you opt to say is so much worse than hot banter, for his brain. 

“I don’t think your mouth tastes bad.” It’s your turn to take in his face and all its features. “I think it’s nice. It’s like the only way I can try cigarettes without getting a headache.”

“I wanna fly you to Paris.” It’s so quick, from Carmen. Choked quick— Like he fought to hold it down but you’ve just opened the Pandora’s box that is his mouth. He keeps going. Your surprised face firmly smushed in his hands.  

“I’ve wanted to take you to Paris since I asked you to run bar— I’ve— I’ve wanted to take you to Paris since you washed my hair— I—I—” Too much affection to contain in words, he has to kiss you, and then he has to keep going, and then kiss you between the ‘ands’, and then keep going. Like a shot and a chaser and a shot and a chaser and a—

“I want you to be permanent and carved in my tables and I want you to wear my jackets and I want you in my kitchen and in my menu and in every dumb fucking conversation I have at Christmas tellin’ family what the fuck I’m doing— I want you in every sentence.”

It’s not ‘I love you’. Because saying I love you would be weird and bad and stupid and too soon. But it might very well be more than that. Trying to avoid saying it might be forcing you both to say something that means more than that.

It’s hard to generate a response as poignant as that. Especially because your cognitive abilities seem to have gone completely offline. Your brain is telling you to kill the moment so you don’t have to face the feeling, telling you to say something stupid like, ‘Why Paris?’, because if you don't, you might say it. But you can’t. You’re totally speechless. 

Eventually, you manage to choke out, “I would like that.”

“Yeah?” “Yeah.”

“Good.” Ah, a smile from Carmen with teeth. What a rare gift you’ve been bestowed. He tries to celebrate this occasion with another kiss that will inevitably lead to a million more but when he goes for his classic move of sticking his head in the crook of your neck to bite you like a cannibal— You get the chance to look somewhere other than Carmen’s face, and realize you are both still very much so in a fucking bathroom at a fucking wedding in New York. 

“Fak is still outside, I’m pretty sure.”

Carmen groans, there’s no way you’re doing this to him again, come on, neither of you have to go this time, you have all the time in the world, in this bathroom. Time isn’t real here. That’s how bathrooms work. “He’s not.”

“Carmy’s right, I’m not.” Says definitely totally not Fak, behind the door. “You guys kissin’ yet?”

“Christ.” You put a hand on Carm’s chest, pushing him back from you as you push yourself up with your other hand. “Mood dead.”

“No—” He grabs your wrist, holding your hand in place against him. “Mood not dead— Mood present and alive—”

There’s some fumbling behind the door. “Wait— Are they?” Oh, so Richie’s here, too? Good. That’s great. “Ain’t no fuckin’ way— Cousin, be a gentleman—”

Carmen leans over and all but screams into your shoulder. “I am being a fuckin’ gentleman, Richard!”

You kiss your teeth, shaking your head, shrugging. “Yeah, it’s dead.” Them’s the breaks. 

A slow, heavy, arduous exhale, from Carmen, coming up to lean his forehead to yours for a second. Enjoying the liminal space before it’s permanently ripped out of your hands. “I hate my family.”

You smile, pressing your forehead firmer against his, nuzzling noses. “You love your family.”

“I love my family.” He sighs. He gives you one last kiss, soft, sweet, perfect. “Thank you for taking care of them.” 

You shrug. “They’re mine, too.”

God, you’re so quick and mind-bending, he has to go for another kiss, come the fuck on— “Mood’s dead.” You laugh, so cruel, jumping off the counter, maneuvering past Carmen, but you’re sweet— Cruel but sweet— Carefully switching his hold on your wrist to holding your hand, dragging him with you. 

You might be leaving the bathroom together, but Carmen’s pretty sure a part of him is going to stay there, like a ghost of a feeling, for the rest of time.

“Okay— Is everyone waiting to piss?” Is your first question, for the crowd awaiting you and Carmy outside the bathroom. Not strangers, though—Well, mostly not strangers. Richie, Syd, Fak, some guy that looks like Fak. There’s no way they all need to piss, there were three other bathrooms available, it's not like you were hogging. “Is fuckin’ anyone runnin’ bar right now?”

“Marcus is.” Syd answers, hurriedly, as she runs up on you, immediately enveloping you— Practically an attack. It’s not in her nature to hug, but you’ve forced her hand here. Carmen hasn’t even exited the doorway behind you yet before you’re stumbling back into him from the force of her. 

“Squ—”

The words come out of her like a flood, no spacing between the words. “I’m-sorry-I—  We-finished-serving-and-listened-in-on-everything-super-invasive-couldn’t-help-it— You should’ve called me.”

This— These motherfuckers. Oh well, saves you the trip to Denny’s. And frankly, you would hate to re-explain all that. You return the hug with your free hand, the other one still in Carmen’s. You put your chin on her shoulder. “I know.”

There were so many times where you could’ve just gone upstairs. So many times you could’ve just called your old cat. Should’ve just called Syd. She would have been there. Maybe that’s exactly why you didn’t call. 

“I should’ve called you.” Maybe that’s exactly why Syd never called her guy, when she needed you, too. 

“Well,” You pull her back by her shoulders, “We will next time.”

You can’t let the moment stay sincere for long though, shit-eating grin growing on your face, “You’d give up a star for me?” Nuzzling your face into Syd’s cheek as she desperately tries to get away from you now— Oh how the tables turn.

“Get fucked—” “You love me— I’m all you got, Syd? Woww—” “After my dad I said! After my dad!” “A single widdle tear from me isn’t worth a star?” “It was not widdle— Little— Fuck—”

“This is cute princesses but everyone get the fuck out of the way before I clog an artery.” Richie unnecessarily shoves his way between the Faks to get to you. 

You release Syd to face the man, pensive, waiting for a slap, honestly. Richie just looks at you, now that he’s in front of you he’s dumbfounded, awkward. He knows he wants to say something or wants you to say something but neither of you know what that is. What it should be.

Before he can figure it out, you do. “I should’ve told you.” Besides your therapist, Carmen is the only person you told about the phone call— Well, intentionally, that is. 

That doesn’t really seem to be the thing he cares about. He’s not going to slap you, and you don’t need to grovel. “Am I dead, to you?”

Your brows furrow, for a second. “Wha—”

Richie grabs your free hand, pressing it to his neck. “Check my pulse, am I dead, t’you?”

“First of all, wrong placement.” You have to wiggle your hand out of his grip to take his pulse correctly. “It’s under the chin, align it with your eye—”

“Do I have one?” “Yes, Richie, you have a pulse.” “So I’m not dead?” “You’re not dead—” “Then call me.”

When your breath hitches, he continues. “I’m not a ghost. I’m here. When shit happens, you call me.”

“I know.” Is the only thing you can say without your voice cracking. “I will call next time.”

“You will fucking call, next time.” Richie grabs your face, smushed in his hands. “And you’ll answer my calls, next time.” He forces you to nod— Not that you wouldn’t, but wants to make sure. “Am I heard?”

“You're heard.”

Richie can see over your head, so he barks at Carmen, who’s very innocently behind you, still holding your hand. “Get your weird little hands off my Chip, you perv—”

“I don’t have weird little hands—” 

Syd pipes in, squinting. “Why is that the thing you refute—”

“Why does God let these moments happen to me?” You grumble, words muffled with your face still compacted by Richie’s hands. 

“I think it’s beautiful, actually.” Says some guy that looks like Fak. You just stare at him with your partially forced closed eyes. “Just the vibes, so— like— tender.”

“Who the fuck is this guy?” You deadpan, pointing at Other Fak. “Has this guy just learned shit I haven’t even told my own father?”

“We definitely just got here.” Lies Fak, next to Other Fak. He continues, “We didn’t hear anything about the really sad way you both actually did attend the funeral but didn’t—”

Other Fak astutely interrupts to add, sniffing. “But if we did it’d be like, like really meaningful that you both like, did that.” Is he tearing up? Richie needs to check your pulse, are you dying?

“Everyone please back the fuck up?” Carmen sighs, behind you, then beside you, letting go of your hand to put it on your shoulder. “Like maybe give two solitary fuckin’ seconds?”

There’s a stuttering of apologies as everyone realizes yeah, maybe a bit much to immediately jump you. Richie drops your face, everyone takes a step back.

You keep staring at Other Fak. Squinting, you point to him. “Ted?” Guy who they called instead of you?

He nods, “Hi—”

“No.” You wave your hand in front of his face, cutting him off. You turn to Carmen, just shaking your head plainly. “No.”

“Heard.”

“Y’know how going to a different barber is like cheating—?”

“No, like I got it—”

“This is like times a thousand—”

“I am hearing the note—”

“Fak can— Neil can fix shit, I took his spot, it’s fair— Outsourcing someone though—?”

“Won’t do it again.”

“No, you won’t.”

“It was— Should I have called you back in?”

“No, you should have had a broken light until we talked it out or let it be broken for the rest of your life.” There is not much you could ever find yourself getting genuinely jealous about— This, however, is a knife to the heart. Another handyman is a child out of wedlock, practically.

“Heard.”

“I spent way too long stalking you.” Interrupts Syd, she’s looking at her phone, a jumble of aggravated misspelled texts coming from the work group chat. “Fuck, I’ve gotta help Tina with clean up— We’ll—” She sticks a hand out, you reach out and hold it, for a moment. “You’re still— We’re still sharing, right?”

You tilt your head, confused, oh— “I’m still gonna sleep in our room, Syd. You weird pervert.”

Syd lets go of your hand, shaking her own hands around her head, talking just as fast as she speed walks away to the kitchen. “I am not a weird pervert, I’m sexually normal, don’t be weird, goodbye! Love you, fuck you, see you later!”

Richie claps his hands, “We’re closing out, so I’ve gotta go pick up vases or some shit— Faks, c’mon—”

“Y’know we’re just regular guests, right?” Says Ted. They let Fak come on the road trip despite not doing a job? Medals of Valor need to be doled out.

“Pbbt, come the fuck on, here boy.” Richie starts to walk off, and the whistling is condescending, but they listen anyway. Rich looks over his shoulder, snapping his fingers at Carmen. “Probationary forgiveness.”

Carmen nods, “Thank you, Chef.”

“Dee-Dee’s here, by the way.”

Carmen’s relaxed posture immediately pulls into a taught physique, he’s considering chasing Richie to get more details. “Isn’t Sug here, too?”

“Yessir!”

“Have they—” “They got grouped at the same table. Unc and Stevie have been keepin’ the peace.” “How’s that going?”

“Your guess is as good as mine!” And with that Richie fades into the crowd of straggling guests and clean up crews. 

You don’t know much about Donna, which was a very intentional choice on Mikey’s part. And that kinda tells you all you need to know. You turn to Carmen, pensive. “You wanna go find out?”

He itches at his collar, thinking. “I think if I say I don’t, I’m a bad son.”

“You didn’t ask to be her son.”

“Oh, fuck, okay.” He stumbles for a second, you immediately cover your mouth. 

“Sorry! I just—” Inside thought got outside. “I just meant— That was a lot. It’s just like, I dunno, you can’t be bad at something you never opted in for, y’know?”

“No, yeah, that— That’s kind of… a good thought.” He nods, looking at the ground, swallowing the words. “I— I should be a good brother—and—and Uncle, at least. Say hi to Nat.”

You don’t start walking until he starts walking, intent to follow his lead. You’ll stroll casually, until they crop up, making no deliberate effort to find them. You’re both silently hoping you don't. Carmen brings his head back up to you. “You ever meet Mom—? Donna?”

You shake your head, “No, that was kinda one of our few red lines. For Mikey and me. He’d like—” You gesture with your hands as you explain. “He’d talk about her, and I saw like… photos of them from babyhood, but I never met her or heard details— Never like, came over to the house. It was just kinda like a silent agreement. Hard for him and hard for me with the whole— Uh—”

“Drinking thing.”

You nod. “It’s uh— I’m not easily triggered anymore, though, so I think I’m fine.”

Carmen sniffs, scratching his nose. “Well, if you end up not being fine, we can not— Like not talk to her.”

He’s sweet, he’s smart, he’s the cat. You nod. “You don’t have to talk to her either, y’know. Could just text Nat—” “She’s right there.”

You whip your head up in tandem with him saying, “Don’t look fas— Fuck.”

You put the back of your hand on Carm’s chest, you both stop walking. “That’s Dee-Dee?”

“Yeah, with the—the leopard print belt and the floral dress.” Carmen’s been growing meeker with each step. You’d think his biggest fear is clashing patterns. This is not the same bear in the Chicago Tribune. “Why, you— You do know her?”

“She looks fuckin’ familiar…” You kiss your teeth, trying to roll back in your memory— Come on, you don’t forget shit, where is she from? You’ve seen photos but those were blurry and she was so much younger. You remember this version of Donna, you remember her from somewhere.

“Fuckin’ — Something with Pete— I saw her with Pete— Nat’s husband—” You point to him, across from Donna, at the table. “Him, yeah.”

“Just them?” Carmen gently pulls your arm down, you’ve gotta remember your manners.

“Yeah, I was— Oh, I was—” You squint. “Did Donna come to your opening?”

“No, she was invited, but she didn’t show.”

“Okay— So, she did, actually.” “Huh—?”

“She was— She was outside, when you were in the walk-in.” You nod to yourself, still thinking through the memory. “Yeah, she was outside— I thought Pete was like her son— It looked like they were fighting or crying so I just kinda— Kinda let it be. You were locked in a fucking freezer so I chose my battles.”

“Oh.” Carmen nods, trying to make it seem normal in his head. It’s not. And he can’t seem to force it. “He definitely didn’t tell Nat.” Because Nat would’ve told him.

You hum, rocking on your heels. “Yeah there's no chance we're going to go say hi now, is there?”

“Yeah, that might be best.”

You fold your lips in a line, still staring at Donna, she looks normal, which makes it feel even less normal. Way too much to unpack, if you go over there. Instead, you’ll stand here in the middle of the banquet hall, and unpack the carry-on luggage, so to speak. “Christmas is in a week.”

It’s a freight train of realization, Carmen drags his hand down his face. “Fuck me.”

“I know.”

“I have to go, don’t I?”

You frown, turning your head to him, not wanting to say what you’re going to say. “Do you think she’ll plan anything?” First Christmas without Mikey. Will she have the willpower to plan something, like she usually does?

“Oh, fuck me.”

“I know.”

Carmen holds his hand over his mouth, words somewhat muffled. “I’ll ask Nat, see what she’s doing. Baby’s first Christmas, or whatever. That’s a thing, right?”

“Baby’s do traditionally experience time, yeah.” “You n’ that smart mou—”

Despite staring at their table, the two of you did not notice Natalie approaching you, baby Michaela swaddled in her arms. “Oh my God, I haven’t seen normal human beings that aren’t screaming or shitting constantly in so long— Please— Say something normal and fun.”

You pucker your lips, trying to come up with something. “Ah— Fuck, I can’t think of anything— Oh fuck, sorry I said fuck— God— I’m just gonna stop talking.”

Nat lifts her hand up for a moment to wave you off before re-supporting her baby. “No! No, don’t! Say fuck so much. Say it all the time. She can’t understand, she doesn’t care. I wish I was her.”

“Will do.” You just nod, holding a hand up to Michaela, waving. She grabs one of your fingers, holding on tight. You can’t help but coo. “Hey, baby! Have you been fuckin’ with your mom’s sleep schedule? Awe, yes you have! Yes you have!”

Nat laughs and hums, “Richie told me you used to babysit Eva.” 

“He’s exaggerating.” You leave your hand with Michaela, but look up to Nat. “There were just some weekends he was working and daycare wasn’t running so I’d take her around the city for a couple hours— More like playdates than actual babysitting.”

“That just sounds like you’re a fun babysitter.” Carmen rebukes, Nat nods. 

“I’m good when you only need a second.” You sigh, half taking the compliment. You glance over Nat’s fatigued face. “You need a second?”

“Yes, fuck, could you?” In the same breath, she’s handing you baby Michaela. “She has in fact been fucking with mommy’s sleep schedule— And no one tells you— ‘mommy strength’ or whatever, needs to be developed— My lats— I think they’re lats? Are insane now. Just from holding her!”

You bounce the baby in your arms, sidling her on your hip. She’s a grabber, that’s for sure. Grabbing your hair, your top, Mikey’s chip— No longer tucked under your clothes. You let her. Well— Not the hair— She could cut off her circulation— Relax, EMS. You’re off duty. “How’s it going with—”

Nat knows what you’re asking before you finish the question. “Better than normal, which makes it feel worse. Does that make sense?”

You nod, “Completely and utterly.”

Carmen’s staring at Pete. He’s not typically a snitch but this is his sister, “Did Pete tell you—?”

“That mom was there on our fucking opening and he told her we were having a baby? Yes, about five minutes before she sat down.” Nat says it with a perfectly practiced smile and a simmering anger.

Your hands slip just slightly, you readjust your grip on Mickey. You and Carmen speak together, “He what?” 

Nat doesn't mean to ignore your both but she does, “How'd you find out?”

“I just told him.” You pipe up, guilt covers your face. “I saw them when I came that night. Sorry, I didn't realize that was your mom— Or husband, for that matter.”

Sug shakes her head, waving off the apology. “Not your fault, his.”

“Yeah.” Carmen nods, “Back to that, by the way?”

“Yeah, he realized it was kind of a hard lie to uphold— Because mom sucks at acting surprised.” She sighs, “She’s taking it well publicly but I’m expecting a full blown meltdown in the bathroom of which I can’t escape, so. Beautiful wedding.”

“Yeah, those are kind of unavoidable.” You just had one yourself. “Fingers crossed you make it out alive?”

“Oh, I’m making it the fuck out, it’s her you should pray for.”

You have to respect the power in that. “Damn.”

“I didn’t ask to be her daughter! If she hands it to me I’m handing it fucking back—” Nat’s brain is always running like a faucet, she cuts off her own thoughts with a new one. “Christmas is in a week.”

“We know.”

“Fuck me.” She sighs so hard it blows strands of hair out of her face. “What the fuck are we gonna do, Carmy?”

“Was gonna ask you.” Carm’s distracting himself with Michaela, she reaches for his hand, she doesn’t grab a finger, she traces his tattoos. God, babies are cute sometimes. “Can we figure it out later?”

“Yeah, like everything else we do, I guess.” Sug groans. But she just as equally doesn’t want to think about it as him. And honestly, she’s just happy to see him acting like a fucking uncle for once.  “Tony, will I see you at work on Monday? You’re onboarding, right?”

You don’t notice the way Carmen’s face stones up, like a secret has been revealed. He’s been preparing for you to say yes. He’s got that Docusign in his inbox, ready to send. Had Nat budget you in. But you don’t seem to be upset about it— Or maybe you just didn’t catch that Carmen selfishly was hoping you’d come right back to him. Maybe it’s just that you don’t think it’s selfish.

“Oh— Uh, yeah, I guess you will.” Michaela starts to smack you for not giving her attention for more than seven seconds. You turn your head to her, bouncing her again, “Pbbt—Pbbbt— Mat leave over?”

“Gonna need to be.” Nat laughs when she says it, like you’re both on some sort of inside joke. Yeah, The Bear’s kind of a nightmare, of course Nat’s always needed. You laugh back, though there wasn’t really a joke anywhere in there.

“Make sure you get your rest.” Sug scoops Michaela out of your arms, rejuvenated from her second of peace. “Your boss is kind of an ass.”

Unfair drive-by, Carmen waves a hand like a white flag, “Alright—”

“I know, I like him anyways.” “Gross.” “I know, it sucks.”

“Okay, okay,” It’s way too obvious how happy Nat is that her brother has someone. “Both of you get the fuck out of here before she sees you, I told her you’d be too busy in the kitchen to say hi.”

She knows her brother, and Carmen’s grateful for it, but, “Are you sure? I can—” 

“I love you, Bear.” Nat gives him a kiss on the cheek, and you a quick hug. “But fucking run, seriously.”

Carmen nods, “Heard. Love you, Bear.”

You quickly dash off together, blending into crowds to go unnoticed. Mumbling plans out as you sprint. “I’ve gotta help Marcus close out the bar.”

“I’ve gotta pack up our equipment.” “You’re on the fifth floor too, right?” “Yeah, you’re rooming with Syd?” “Yeah, you and Richie?”

“I got my own room.” “Okay, rich boy.” “I— It’s a fuckin’ Holiday Inn, it’s not that bad—” “Oooh, Charmin gets his first paycheck suddenly he’s all that—” “You wanna come up to my room or not?”

“Oh?” You practically skirt on your heels when you suddenly stop walking, “He’s bold now—”

“I— That’s not— Like we—” He can’t dig himself out of this one, and his darting eyeline is giving him away. “You told Syd you’d still sleep in your room— I just meant like— Like we could— hang out.”

“We could hang out?” “Stop—” “I’d love to hang out, dude.” “We can watch a movie or somethin’—”

You gasp, thought occurring to you. “Yeah, let’s watch a movie. I wanna watch a movie.”

“I don’t like the look that just happened in your eyes.” 

“Yes, you do.” Your turn to smush Carmen’s face in your hands, kissing him with a comical, all too wet, and in no way seductive muah—

Which somehow just makes it all the more entrancing, for him.  “Yes, I do.”

You smile, letting him go, splitting off from Carmy in favour of your bar. “I’ll meet you in the lobby, go be a good boss.”

“Yes, Chef.”

“How are they not seeing him fuck up the soup— That— A whole pot—” “You’re literally saying exactly what Remy is saying right now—” “I— Good. I’m still mad about the five star thing.”

Carmen likes Ratatouille. Likes it enough to nitpick. He relates to the weird rat with a complex family dynamic and having a brother that means well but fucks with him so much. He relates to the no credit, the starving, the death and desire of feeding the ego, Carmen relates to feeling like a freak in his own kitchen. 

It is weird to feel seen by a rat. 

But it’s nice to have you in his room, in his bed, watching some dinky little red-head try to survive in a French kitchen. It’s nice to occasionally watch you instead, out of the corner of his eye. He thought of roughly… fourteen more recipes since leaving the bathroom with you? Who would’ve thought that watching someone use a makeup cleansing balm would be inspiring?

What? It melted beautifully. Or maybe you’re just beautiful? Whatever. You emulsified it in your hands. Emulsion? Coconut emulsion would be interesting; very similar creme texture. On top of a souffle? Delicate. But it still needs zip. The glitter from your eyeshadow makes him think of zesting. Lemon zest. Needs more scent, though. Oh, maybe Kaffir limes. That’s a weird dish. That’s never gonna work. He has to get better at subtracting around you. 

He’s doing pretty good at not saying I love you, though, so, that’s something. 

“The houndstooth pants are cute.” You hum, as Linguini finally kisses Collette— Though by a rat’s volition. A win is a win. You lean into Carmen’s side, watching the movie pirated on his laptop, because hotel tv pay-per-view was so overpriced for no reason. “Oh, fuck, what’s my uniform gonna be?”

“Chef whites, no?” His arm is around your shoulder, it’s nice. “I can get you a jacket—”

“Well, your servers wear black— And I’m gonna be like, like both right?” You turn your head to him. Bad idea. He’s still very pretty, if not prettier in pajamas. “Like, making drinks in the back and then acting as somme out front. So all black?”

“Hm.” Carmen tries not to frown. Tries not to see you wearing black as you being on the other team. “I guess.”

“Richie’s not getting me in a fuckin’ button up, though.” You don’t notice his expression’s minute faltering, crossing your arms, thinking. “Sleeveless black turtleneck? Maybe black palazzo pants, could do what fuckin— Linguini’s doin—”

You point at the screen. “The bright red converse? Could do all black and then bright blue converse? Would that be cute or is that deeply unprofessional?”

Carmen tilts his head back and forth, trying to let you down easy, “I wouldn’t call it deeply unpr—”

“Heard. Okay, maybe like— Like a red bottom heel—” You kick your foot up in the air, for no real reason. A shoe isn’t suddenly going to appear on it for display. “Like not actual ones, duh— Like a black boot and I paint the sole blue—” 

“What’s with you and blue?” He's deeply amused, or maybe that's just Carmen's constant state, right now, twirling his fingers through your hair without a care in the world.

“It’s like, Bear colours. You do blue. Aprons, baskets— I guess I’m thinking of The Beef, but like, your lighting is kinda blue.” You shrug. “I wanna match.”

He nods, eyes on the movie, thinking far too much— Well, for the average person. For Carmy it’s a perfectly normal amount of thinking. “All black, blue sole, blue earrings, maybe? White apron for when you’re in the back?” 

Please say yes to the white apron. Please say yes to his team. He'll get your initials monogrammed and everything.

“Yeah, that’s a cute look. As long as it’s easy to take off.” You hum. “Oh, y’know, Richie wanted to—” 

Speak of the Devil, and he shall call you for the fifth fucking time. “Fuckin— Pause it, hold on—”

Carmen pauses the wonderful rat chef in tandem with you answering the phone with, “I’m not fuckin’ comin’ to pool, Cousin!”

In one ear, out the other. “Fuck you! When are you getting here?” 

“I am not getting out of bed to play pool— A game I have not played— With a bunch of fuckin—”

“If you’re not down here in five minutes, Chip, on God—” “I’m gonna fuckin’ hang up again you motherfucker—” “And what? You’ll just answer again, won’t you?”

Richie’s tone gives him away. He’s giggling, bubbly, absolutely tanked on dirty shirleys. But there’s a very genuine joy to it. You’ve answered his stupid meaningless calls every time, the last four times, despite knowing they are in fact, stupid and meaningless. And that is rife with meaning. 

You sigh, but you’re smiling. “Yeah. I’ll answer.”

“Good.” You can hear his smile mirrored through the phone. “Sell your Greyhound ticket to Fak.”

“Bitch, fuck no—” “We can go aroun’ the city tommorow! We’re closed! C’mon have some fuckin’ fun before you start working in hell!” ��We’re gonna be stupid New York tourists?” “Eva wanted me to get her face on some m and m’s—” “You want me to come with you to the fucking Time Square M and M store?”

That’s when Carmen shoots up, shoulder against yours, panickedly muttering into the phone, “We cannot go to Time Square a week out from Christmas.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. When you realize why there’s a pause, you shut your eyes tight, knowing exactly what you’re gonna get. Carmen realizes after watching your face scrunch up, he puts his face in his hands, “Shit—”

“You’re fucking Carmen!”

“No—” “You said you’re in bed! His bed?!” “We’re watching Ratatouille—” “Without me? You’re coming to the fucking M and M store— Also that big ass toy store—” “This is not a betrayal—” “Matter of fact, we’re gonna go see that big fuckin’ tree, too—” “You just want me to drive us home because you’re gonna be too hungover.”

“No, I want you to drive us home because I love you.” Richie’s slurring when he says it, like it’s some sort of gotcha. “So fuck you, actually.”

Carmen bites back laughter next to you, you just shake your head, tutting. “I love you, too, Cousin.”

“If you loved me you’d come play pool.” “I don’t fuckin’ know how to play pool!” “We’ll fuckin’ learn you somethin’ then!” “Fuck off! I’m already coming to fucking Time Square with you, don’t be whiny.” 

“You’ll come?”

You massage your brow bone, “Syd’s not gonna wanna sit next to Fak on the bus, you got room for four?”

“Yeah, but someone’s gonna have to sit on the console.” “I nominate Carmen.” “I second the nom.”

Carmen, now with two votes to sit on the console up front, presses his face into your shoulder. “What the fuck—” You peer down at him and whisper, “We’ll do shifts, don’t worry.”

“Put me on speaker phone.” “You’re talking so loud that Carmen can very clearly hear you.”

“Put me! On speaker phone!”

You put Richie on speaker phone. Carmen clears his throat, gruff, “Yo, Rich, can we finish the fuckin’ movie?”

“Patience is a virtue, or some shit. D’you see the resos?”

You mouth to Carmen, ‘Reservations?’ Carmen nods. “Yeah, I saw.”

“Gonna be fucked.” You frown when you hear that, but don’t want to interrupt. You silently word, ‘What happened?’ Carmen puts a finger over his mouth, he’ll explain in a second. 

“Gonna be fucked, yeah.” Carmen sniffs, swiping at his nose. “Good kind, though.”

“Yeah. Good kind.” There’s a sigh from Richie on the other end, that heavy sigh. Practically sobering up with just one sentence. “Christmas is in a week.”

“I know.” Carmen kisses his teeth. This is going to be the worst, for all of you. The missing link is going to be all too apparent.  “Good time to be busy.” 

“Good time to be busy.” Richie echoes. “Only way out is through.”

“Heard.” Carmen nods, what else is there to say? “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Aright. Don’t fuck in a fuckin’ Holiday Inn Chip’s worth mo—” 

That’s when you interrupt, “Alright, what a wonderful phone call this has been goodbye, fuck you, love you, don’t call again, be safe!” You hang up before Richie can reply, head flopping over.

There’s a long silence before Carmen speaks again. “...I’m not tryna do that by the way—”

“No, I know, I’m worth more than a Holiday Inn.”

Snorts of laughter fill the stale air of this shitty little Holiday Inn one bed. Carmen pulls you back into him, arm on your waist. Before you can start the movie again, though, you have to ask. “Reservations fucked?”

He hums, tucking your hair back so he can see the side of your face better. “We started taking reservations last week— Just to test it out. N’ it was goin’ smooth but ‘tuh…” He squints. “Trending today with the whole uh— Chef thing. We’re kinda booked full ‘til the end of the year. And January.”

“Oh shit.” Word on the street is true. Any advertising is good advertising. Even when promoting the wrong fucking website. 

“Yeah, good kinda fucked, but like. Fucked.” Carmy nods, and after a second, grabs your hand. “But Christmas— Christmas Eve ‘n Christmas is off— And New Years— So, so you won’t be overwhelmed, hopefully.”

Your brain is already shooting miles ahead, you’re mentally back in Chicago, already. “We really gotta get on that cocktail menu.” There’s so much to do. New job, new menu, Christmas—

“And coffee.” Carmen sounds calm when he says it, which is deeply unlike him.

“And coffee.” You echo, eyes distant. You shoot back up. “Fuck, road trip is gonna be such a time sink. Okay— Well, okay— We’ll just— I’ll make a list tonight—”

 You’ve gotta figure out your hours. You don’t want to lose Chicago’s Kindest completely— Can’t be available 24/7 anymore, though. Mattina Tony’s gonna hate that. But he’ll be happy for you. Gotta tell Eden’s Club you’re not going to pick up shifts anymore. They’ll say they’re happy about it, but curse you behind your back. That’s fine. 

“List for what?”

“Christmas shopping.” Your eyes flick to him, still thinking. “I win Christmas every year.”

You’re getting Richie new cufflinks— But what of? Can’t just do initials, that’s lame. Fuck, what do you get Carmen? Can’t just do something cooking related— That’s lamer. But it’s also like— His only hobby.

“Don’t think that’s how Christmas works.”

“It fully is. And being in Time Square is gonna widen the fuck out of my search radius. Fuck what do I do for Syd? Fancy knife? They sell fancy knives here?”

Carmen shrugs, “I know a guy in the area.”

“Fantastic. I’ll get a list, you’ll help me out with stores. We’ll get coloured pencils at FAO, we’ll draft up a rough menu on the way home—” “Hey—” “It’s twelve hours of driving, so I think we can get a good chunk done. And then test out and finish on Monday—” “Baby—” “I was thinking we could do a section of house cocktails and coffees named after Chefs—” “I said don’t work on it—” “So like, each one would be themed after what I think of when I think of you—” 

Carmen grabs your face with both hands. “Tony.”

“Carmy.”

“Cannot believe I’m saying this to another person, but loosen your grip.” He strokes your cheekbones with his thumb. It’s nice. “You don’t have to do it all.”

It's a long silence of just staring back at him, so much so Carmy’s worried he has failed at this whole self-help thing. But then, you say, “Sara’s a good fucking therapist.”

“She’s got a pretty flexible schedule, too.”

Your face is still in his hands, you’re basically unblinking. “I think you’re a pink pepper aperol spritz with a slice of grapefruit. Maybe like a cherry syrup rim? Or is that too much? That might be too much.”

Carmen sighs in a way that sounds like a laugh. “How many drinks have you made in your head?”

“Just that one. But I think Richie would be something with whiskey and peaches— And somethin’ about Syd makes me think about figs, I don’t know why, which would go good with—”

Carm pinches your cheek, frowning, though there’s an admiration to it. “I said don’t work on it.” 

You push his hands away, “I haven’t written anything down! I can’t stop my brain from thinking! How many fuckin’ plates do you have in your head?”

He thinks, tilting his head back and forth. “A couple.” It’s a lot more than a couple. “They’re all bad, though.” 

“Bad, how?” 

“Bad, like weird.” Carmen gestures to the dimming screen of his laptop. You shake the touchpad awake. Rat chef is inspiring, and a good reminder of what he's meant to do, as are you. “It’s uh, it’s a good movie. It’s good to make new shit. But like, I need to be controlled.”

You tilt your head, “I don’t think so.”

“No?” Despite the fact that you’re disagreeing with him, there’s a happy hum, in Carmen’s voice.

“No. I think we should make really bad weird shit. At least in like, R and D.” You lean back down, against him. “Gotta try it before you brush off the idea. That’s the fun thing about art, y’know? Might work, might not.”

“I think that’s life.”

“Life is art, art is life, food is both.” 

“Woah.” “That was kind of a bar, wasn’t it!?” “Kinda tough.” “What’s your bad weird idea?”

“Steak with pop rocks.”

“Oh my god.” Your eyes go wide, but with a smile. Shocked but delighted. It's absolutely going in Carmen's top five favourite expressions of yours. You lean into him further, back of your hand slapping his chest. 

“I know, but I was thinking the sugar would be good—”

“Like a sort of maple or sugar curing thing?” God, you just get it. And you give a shit about getting it.

“Exactly, n’ then it makes you like— Like salivate.” “I don’t think it’s that crazy an idea.”

He’s so excited to have someone encourage his ideas, for once. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod assuredly. “We should do it. Try it, at least.”

“Okay. Cool.” Carmen tries and fails to not light up at the prospect of ‘we’. “You’ve still got a hard out at twelve?”

“Syd said she will be knocking violently if I’m not back at midnight on the dot, yeah.” You unpause the movie. “And she’s gonna be pissed when I tell her I’ve volunteered us for a tourist spree, so I gotta be on her good side.”

Carmen shrugs, turning his attention back to the movie, arm around your shoulder. “It’ll be fun, if you’re there.”

It gives you both away.

Every sentence gives you both away. The way you speak, the way you act, the way you pose. It gives you both away. The way he moves your hair out of your face so you can see the movie clearly. The way you lift your head so he can tuck his arm under the pillow, so it doesn’t go numb under you. All without asking. The way you see each other, the way you are constantly doting and thinking of the next thing you can make the other—All without checking in. The Berf shirt you wear for pajamas, your refilled toiletries in his hotel shower. The domesticity comes all too easy to both of you. It gives you both away.

“Remy kinda sounds like Carmy, y’know—” “Don’t.” “My petit chef!”

You say I love you in every way but the way that makes it weird and bad and stupid and too soon. 

“Good God.” Is the first thing Sydney says, when you return to your shared hotel room. Face and voice filled with disgust, that is really only half sarcastic. “You’re beyond saving.”

You push past her, bumping shoulders as you do, smiling all the while. It’s nice that she can see you again. Even if she’s seeing that you’re down bad. “I didn’t even say anything—”

“Yeah, no, it’s that face on your face— God, it’s over—” “Baby, just say you’re happy for me.”

“I—” Syd blinks, rapid, hands in the air. “I’m happy for you— Tentatively.” Pending Carmen. Probationary forgiveness. 

“Thank you. I’ll take it.” You squat down to grab a water bottle from the mini fridge, when you do, you’re able to give Syd a once over.

She’s adorned in an old jazz club shirt from your highschool, boxers, and a long bonnet so old you recognize it. You recognize all of it. It’s nearly enough to make you cry. 

Funny, she’s thinking the same thing. Together, you speak. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

“Jinx!”

“Double jinx!”

“Triple Jinx!” It’s on the third one that you decide to let her win and not say it a fourth time. 

It’s on the fourth one that Syd decides she doesn’t want to win. “Quadr— Man, this sucks.”

You know exactly what she means. You fall out of your squat, sitting on your butt with a frown. “It literally would’ve just taken one phone call.” You could’ve been doing this for years.

She sits down next to you, back against the front of the bed. “There were a lot of moments, where I thought to call you, honestly.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like uhm—” Syd’s face scrunches up her face, she’s already opened her mouth so she has to tell you, but she’s realizing she probably shouldn’t tell you. “There was this fucked day at The Beef, where we set up online orders, and I forgot to tick off pre-order—”

You unscrew the bottle cap, squinting. “I feel like that should automatically be off.” 

“That’s what I’m fucking saying!” She slaps your knee with the back of her hand, “But uh, no it was fucking on— And we got like— Like fucked— Said that already. Hundreds of orders. And it was so much and and— Richie was, at the time, kind of a dick—” 

“You don’t have to mince, I know what he was.” You take a sip of water, nodding. He’s a work in progress, as are you all.

“He was being a bitch and— And— I might’ve maybe lowkey stabbed him.”

“Holy fuck?!” You have to laugh, out of sheer shock. You choke on your water. “Syd?!”

“It— Swear to God—” Syd raises one hand, and puts the other over her heart. “Was an accident. Like— Like I was saying I would, and also I was like—  Thinking about it— But I didn’t mean to actually do it— Like he walked into it—”

“Jesus Christ, Manslaughter Sydney—!” “No! …A little. On occasion.”

“You ever wanna stab Carmy?” “Oh, all the fucking time.”

“Fair.” You hand her your water bottle when you spot her looking at it. You see each other, you take care of each other, without being asked. 

“And after a brutal stabbing—” “It was barely a graze, to his ass.” “—You thought to call me?”

“Yeah. You’re like. I dunno. I—” She sighs, taking a beat. “I’ve heard people talk about like— When they’re in a life or death scenario, or panicking, their first thought is like ‘I gotta call my mom’.” Syd clutches onto the water bottle like it’s a life preserver. “But I like— Like I don’t have that instinct, duh, dead mom club— But like, like my instinct when I’m scared is to call you.”

“You should’ve.” You want to take her hand, but don’t. Still working on that hesitation. You’ll both get there.

“You should’ve, too.” Syd lightly punches your knee. She tucks her lips in a line, thinking. “I would’ve been there.”

“I think I kinda got stuck in the same thought Mikey had, with Carmen.” You prop your knee up, hugging it to you. “Didn’t wanna drag you down with me. Didn’t want you to know I— That I’m not really uhm— That I’m not all that great.”

“I didn’t ask you to be great.” Syd says it before she thinks it, and it’s enough to make your eyes water. In a good way. She continues. “I didn’t ask you to be my somme, either. I always thought you were cool. I would always think you’re cool.”

“I…” You clear your throat, controlling your micro-expressions poorly. “I— I know. I think I just… Always do too much? Like I do everything to make myself like— Needed.”

If they need you, they can’t leave you. Though, that didn’t really stop you two from growing apart, so there goes that theory. 

“You are needed.” Syd nearly rolls her eyes at you, but realizes that might be insensitive.

Syd could’ve called Terry, when the walk-in door broke. She called you. Syd could’ve called Claire— They’re not all that close, but she could’ve, when Nat went into labour. She called you. Syd could’ve called Fak, when Carmen’s oven broke. She called you. It’s insane that you’d ever think you weren’t her lifeline. 

But she clarifies anyway, “Not that— Not that you need to be needed though, for me to want you around.”

You snatch the water bottle from her. “Well, I know that now.”

“Good.”

You all but chug the water, God you’re dehydrated. Syd laughs, “It’s not gonna fucking run away from you.”

“We don’t know that for sure.” You grin, screwing the cap back on. Sniffing, you sober up a little. “We’re never not gonna be friends again.”

“Yes, Chef.”

“Lest you go full on He Had it Comin’ on your fuckin’ co-workers again.”

She scoffs. “I promise to try to not stab someone in your presence.” 

“Deal.” You both laugh. You put your hand out to her, and without confirmation, do a handshake that must be more than a decade old. Dap, up-down, jellyfish out. Though, for your purposes, squid out. 

Incredible, you’ve hit Syd with love and nostalgia, she has to say yes now. “We’re roadtripping with Richie and Carmen instead of taking the Greyhound.”

“It’s so crazy that you think that’s gonna happen—” “It will be fun—” “Define fun for me, right now—” “We can get Christmas shopping done—”

“Fuck. Christmas is in a week.” “I know!” 

Syd scrunches up her nose. “What do I get my dad?”

“Sounds like you need to do some window shopping.” You could probably recommend something if you thought about it for two more seconds, but then you wouldn’t have an excuse to drag her along. “We could go to a Tiffany’s or something.”

“What and get him a locket?” “I’m honestly just naming stores, at this point.”

She’s thinking about it, really thinking about it. “...Could go to the MET, go through the gift shop. He’s a tchotchke guy.”

You hum, nodding. You can get her to fold. “Look at some expos, get some artistic inspiration?”

Syd’s eyes roll back, and she rolls her head back with them, head on the edge of the bed, in dismay. “...Are we doing gifts?” 

You shrug, “Was thinking I’d get you a little something.”

“So super over the top and extravagant?” “What’s the fun in telling?” “I hate you.” “So you’ll come?”

She sighs, husky. “Yeah…” She says it like she’s upset but you both know Syd is a little excited. 

You pump your fist, delighted. A win.

A comfortable silence fills the room. You flop your back down on the floor, laying on the carpet. “Thank you for helping Carmy.”

“Didn’t do much.” Syd shrugs, lazily turning her head on the bed to you. “He just needs pushing, sometimes.”

You hum, nodding. “Well, thank you for pushing.”

“You’re so welcome, dude.” You both laugh, and after another long gap of silence, she kicks you. “Stop lying on the dirty ass hotel floor, we paid for a bed.” 

“There’s something about laying on the floor, man.” You shake your head. “Get down here. I can see the scope of the universe from down here, actually.”

With a profoundly deep sigh, Syd rolls over to you. Your shoulders touch as you both stare at the ceiling. She hums, pointing to the popcorn tiles. “Oh yeah, secrets of the universe, right there.”

“I told you.” You nod, wisely. You frown. “...When do you think it’s like, too soon, to say ‘I love you’?”

“Oh my fucking God it’s that bad—” “Just answer!” “Definitely right now is too fucking soon!” “Well, yeah, I fuckin’ figured—!” “I’d say like, another month or two, minimum.”

“I think I might explode, by then, if I’m being honest.” You turn your head to her. “I’m really worried I’m gonna forget I haven’t already said it and I’m gonna say it at a stupid moment and it’s gonna be lame and embarrassing and bad.”

Syd turns her head to you. “Yeah, that’s probably what’s gonna happen.”

“Okay, so you’re no fuckin’ help.” You snort. 

“What do you want me to say? You love to the point of embarrassment.” She shrugs, smiling at your demise. But then Syd sobers up a little, turning her body to face you, leaning her head on her hand. “Are you sure, though?”

“I think so, yeah.” You cross your arms, nodding, assuring yourself, practically. “I feel what I think can only be described as emotionally violent— affectionately. And I think that’s what love is. Pretty sure.”

“Hm.” Syd watches you watch her. You’re absolutely getting lost in your own brain. She pokes the space between your eyebrows, you wake back up. “What’s in there?”

You blink, “Thinking of all the worst ways I could say it.” In front of everyone, accidentally while saying goodbye, off-handedly while hanging up, over text, and so on and so forth.

“Okay, that sounds awful and unproductive so let’s go to bed, huh?” Syd grunts, sitting up. She reaches for your hand to help you stand up with her. “Just try saying it normal.”

You take a breath, looking her in the eyes, say it normal. “Love you.”

“Yeah, just say it like that.”

“Oh, so I can say it—” “In two months.”

“Wait, is one more month hard off the table now—” “Now it’s three.” “Fuck, it’s gaining interest?!”

Just try to make it to next year without saying it, you’d take that happily. Just make it to Christmas. Okay, maybe just make it until you get back to Chicago…Maybe just take a vow of silence. 

You shake your head, coming back to reality.

“Wait, what the fuck, Syd, say it back!”

wooooo

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Next Part

[coryosbaby]

anal / rimming with coryo? skip if you don’t feel comfortable!

♡ Content Warning . 18+ mdni !! Switch but mainly sub coryo <3

— Coryo’s got his hands plastered at his sides, blonde curls sticking to his forehead in sticky strands. He’s so whiny, regardless of the dominance over you, as he watches you take the tip of his cock into your mouth. Your tongue laves over the underside of his cock, tasting the stringy precum soaking his aching cockhead. He breathes out a heavy sigh, his head tilted back against the headboard.

“Feels so good,” he murmurs, licking his lips sweetly. “Feels so, so good, baby. Keep doing it juuust like that.”

You hum, and teasingly you pull your tongue away. He lets out a gasp of breath, his hand threading in your hair as he tries to shove you back down onto him. You grab his hand, quick to shove it down beside his lean hips. He chuckles, something low and dark, and heat creeps up your neck.

“What? You wanna try and be the one in charge this time? Go ahead, sweetheart, you won’t last a second.”

Your jaw clenches. Coryo knows you’ll throw him into subspace as quick as lightening. His challenge doesn’t go unnoticed to you, and you reach down to grasp his balls in your hand. His lashes flutter, a surprised gasp escaping him, as you move your mouth over them, too. You nuzzle your face into him, breathe in his scent with a deep sigh.

“You think I won’t make you beg, Coryo?” You murmur softly to him. “Cmon, beg.”

“N-Not that easy,” he huffs, a small smile playing on his lips. “Try harder.”

“Hm.”

You bite your lip, leaving soft kisses on his inner thighs and his heavy sack. Your tongue moves lower, past the space behind his balls. Your hands grab his legs and pull him up, just a bit, to spread him out more. Your tongue presses in between his cheeks.

The boy suddenly whines, sweet and sultry, his mouth open into an o and his pale skin turning dusty pink.

“W-Wait—“ he stutters out, but you just grin. If he didn’t want this, he’d use the safe word. And as of right now, he isn’t.

“No, no. Have to try harder, right?”

“You’re so mean.” He says, pouting. His dominance has faded, as it always does. All it takes is one little swipe of your tongue against his hole to make him a whimpering, bratty mess.

“Oh? I am?”

You make a faux gesture of pulling away, but Coryo lets out a pathetic cry.

“No! No, please come back, mommy, ‘m sorry…”

And just like that, that name spilling past his lips, you know you’ve got him in your clutches.

You smile, your index finger trailing up in between his legs to touch that special place he’s reserved just for you. You tease his hole with your fingertip, not quite slipping it in yet because it isn’t wet enough— but you still have fun watching the boy squirm.

“Please, mommy,” he pleads. “Stick your fingers in me, please.”

Your fingers lave over his lips.

“Get them wet for me, sweet boy.”

He suckles the digit onto his pretty tongue, drooling all over them with ferocity and impatience. You pull them out and tease one over his hole again. You push in slowly, as to not hurt him, and you crook your finger just how he likes it. Watching his hole swallow your finger so greedily makes slick drip down your thighs.

“Oh,” he whines out, when you add another finger. “Baby. Baby baby baby…”

It’s all he can say, as you fingerfuck his tight little asshole with your mouth, whispering vulgar phrases against his ear. He groans when your head travels back down.

You pull out your fingers, much to his dismay, but not before you’re using your thumbs to pull his cheeks apart and expose his clenching hole. Your tongue lolls out, licking a long stripe up the skin there, and his legs shake.

“Mommy..” he cries, his hands burying themselves in your hair once again. You begin to prod at his hole with the warm, wet muscle, sliding in one finger beside your tongue so you can hit that special spot inside him that has him keening. Rubbing up against his rim, pushing your tongue back in— in and out, in and out. Coryo’s thighs practically wrap around your head like a girl, and you wonder how a powerful, usually dominant man can be reduced to such a whiny, needy slut.

His cock isn’t being touched, but it’s twitching against his stomach, red and flushed. He watches with fluttering lashes as pleasure courses through him and he cums, squirting weak ropes of spend all over his tummy.

And he’s so cute like that, cumming all over himself from just your tongue on his tight little hole <3 he just loses it whenever you touch him there.

[riki-riks-chick]

Edging Jungwon till he cries?

Milk ┃Y.JW

sub!jungwon x dom!reader

yn punishes jungwon for touching himself

cw: handjobs, orgasm denial/delay, edging, kissing, mommy kink, yn calls jw kitten, cum eating, crying, over stimulating, dacryphillia, cock rings.

wdct: 530

i rlly didn't know how to make a full fic out of this so it's rlly short. sorry 😔

═════════════

Third Person POV~

"M-Mommy please... I've been so good.. Let me cum.." Jungwon is pent beneath you, you're straddling his thighs and his wrists are tied to the headboard with your favorite blue silk ties. You've probably been here for only fifteen minutes now, and Jungwon's already a whining mess, squirming and begging beneath you.

"Oh, but kitten we're just getting started." You laughed seductively, making Jungwon shiver. You trail the coffin shaped length of your nail down his length, running over the baby blue cock ring that's sitting prettily against his rosy flesh.

You're fully clothed, having just come straight home from work, pantsuit now slightly wrinkled from the position you're sitting in. You found Jungwon playing with himself and you decided to punish him just for fun.

Now he was begging to cum, and you weren't planning on letting him any time soon.

You wrapped your hand around his length, stroking him with a slightly fast pace, the melodic sounds of your silver bracelets clinking echoing with every flick of your wrist.

He squirmed beneath you, wanting to move his legs but being unable to with your weight on top of him. His cock is dripping precum, and the rosy red color of his tip reflects his need to cum.

Everytime he gets even remotely close, you stop, and it's unbearable. "Mommy... Please.. I wanna cum.." He's near tears and it turns you on even more. The way he's pulling against the silk ties, the way his cock is twitching against the air, and the way his hair falls into his eyes. It's all so hot.

"Jungwon... Baby, your begging is useless.. Bad boys get punished don't they?.." He nods at your question, though he's still sniffling. It's clear he's in shambles.

You continue tugging at his aching erection and he moans loud, writhing beneath you. "Mmm.. fuck.." He whines, bucking his hips into your hand as you pull away yet again, ripping him from yet another orgasm.

He cries this time, fat streams of tears rolling down his cheeks as he sobs, his cock twitching pitifully. "Please... I can't take it anymore.. It hurts.. Let me cum, please.." He's now pleading and your heart is hurting watching him cry.

"Oh, my precious kitten... You're so pitiful, baby.." You smile, leaning down to kiss him as he kisses back eagerly, whimpering against your lips.

"You wanna cum that bad? Hm?" You ask as he nods. "Yes, please mommy.. Wanna cum so bad."

You smile at his earnest, wiping his tears as you take his length into your hold once more, fisting his tip as you rub it mercilessly, watching him buck against you.

"I-I'm gonna c-cum..." He sobs, moaning loudly as you stroke him faster, watching his load shoot from his blushed tip, landing either on your hand or his abdomen. "Good boy.. So much cum, kitten..."

You pull your hand away, dragging your fingers through his cum before sliding them into his mouth. He moans around your digits, sucking them clean.

"Perfect.. Good kittens always finish their milk.."

═════════════

im not into mommy/daddy kinks but i felt like this might be fitting idk. hope this was okay.

[baby-tini]

i present my idea ✨knife kink dabi✨

TW: knife play, toxic relationship, Dabi hits her once, blood, threats, licking of said blood.

It was a weird request at first, he'll admit that. Then again, he's asked worst from you. His handprint branded into your ass proves so. While he does give you a little side-eye, he's absolutely not opposed to holding a sharp little thing to your throat while plead for him to not press down so hard. His pretty little princess wants him to hold a knife to their throat? Say less.

"Which one you wanna use, angel- actually, I probably shouldn't call you an angel anymore, huh? I think masochistic slut fits better, yeah?" Your lips form into a little pout, eyebrows furrowing as you pull on his coat. He chuckles at that, fingers fisting in your hair to pull your head back. His right thumb gliding over your little pout, index tapping your lips and slipping in to press down on your tongue. Sticky drool running down his hand as he finger fucks your mouth. Slipping his wet digit out to gloss your lips with your own spit.

"Why are you so mean Dabi," he scoffs at that. With a flick of his wrist, you're left with a stinging cheek and your head looking to the right. There's an immediate cry that's rips itself out of your throat, feet stumbling back. Quickly snatching your arm before you could fall, he brings you over to the set of knives he has laid out for you. "I won't ask again, either choose one or I will, and trust me... you won't like my choice. I promise you that."

With a meek nod, you glance at the assortment of switch blades, there's pretty black one with blue flames on it that you're positive Dabi would've chosen. But your mind's already made when you see a black steel-blade with rubies embedded into the handle. Pretty vermillion glare at you from its place on the counter. You slide your thumb over it at first, finger playing with the pretty gems. Picking it up to test the weight, you glide your palm over the blade. Sharp. So very sharp, Dabi could kill, given he presses deep enough.

"That one? The blue one is so much prettier," he finishes with a scoff as he pouts. You ignore his comment, nodding your head, you hand it over to him. Taking it from you, he gestures to the bedroom, twirling the deadly blade around his fingers as he stares you down. Glancing at him in uncertainty, you walk past him towards the room.

The room is warm, remnants of Dabis heat still trapped in the comforter, smells like him too, strongly of ash and cigarette smoke. It makes your brain foggy, he always smells so good, his musk is a comforting scent. There's the harsh sound of combat boots walking towards you, eyes snapping to the door, in a first-hand witness to his taunting eyes.

"You look shy doll, I couldn't possibly understand why, you came to me with this request, 'member?" You give a nod, inhaling a shaky breath as you lie on your back. He coos at you in faux sympathy, stepping closer and closer, like a lion, hunting, prowling.. but Dabi isn't one to lie and wait for very long. Especially when you look so innocent, like a helpless fawn who isn't yet aware of dangers like him. You're basically teasing him at this point, eyes too wide for to not think about fucking you, destroying you 'till there's nothing left.

You blink for a second, only for a second. It's quick, no- he's quick. The blade feels cold against your throat, sharp tip pressing a little too deep into your jugular for comfort. The smooth metal running down your throat to your tits, smoothing it over your nipples, perked for attention for the sharp tip. Your skin lifting in goosebumps, hair standing at the back of your neck when he twirls it around your left nipple.

"...I wonder, what do you think would happen if I just-" he presses the blade down harder in-between your breasts, "- ah, well.. would you look at that, hm? You're just as pretty inside as you are on the outside, oh how lucky I am." It doesn't hurt, just stings a little. The sticky scarlet immediately staining your clothes, dripping down your chest in little rain-drops. He eyes the wound for a minute before leaning down and licking it off your tits.

He hums, pulling back to look you in the eyes, "better then I thought, but not nearly as good as that little cunt I love so much." There's blood staining his teeth- your blood at that. The tip of his tongue licking away the remainder on your chest as he moves the tip of the handle of the blade to press into your clit.

There's an immediate jump-back, hand shooting down to grab onto his own, and he doesn't like that. Not even a little. "What? You got a problem with this but not when I'm lickin' blood off your tits? Some priorities you got, huh?" He swats away your hand as he presses the handle back into your clit, sliding it down over your underwear to press into your slit.

"I'm gonna fuck you with this blade, you know? See if it makes you cum quicker then my cock." You want to close your legs but he swats at them before you can even think to do so. "Try an' close 'em, and your chest won't be the only thing leaking pretty red for me." Your eyes twitch close when you feel the solid press into you, fucking you through your panties.

"Ahh, there we go, got that pussy leaking real pretty for me now, huh slut? You like this shit? 'Course you do, you're my bitch after all, ain't that right?"