thecapricunt1616

[thecapricunt1616]

“English isn’t my first language” is your warning it’s gonna eat.

HIS FAVOURITE POSITIONS . CLARK KENT

contains : smut ‧ established relationship ‧ fem!reader ‧ soft dom!clark ‧ unprotected p in v ‧ headcanons | MDNI 18+ note. english is not my first language, ignore typos

missionary is his default—and without question, his favourite. no, not from laziness or lack of imagination. clark could fuck you standing, airborne, even upside-down against the ceiling if you asked. but this position offers him something else entirely: clarity. an unfiltered view of you, beautiful and beneath him, offering up every tell: the slight quiver of your lashes, the stuttering syllables that break apart upon your tongue. the reedy hitch in your breath each time he angles his hips just right.

he presses your wrists into the mattress, spanning both with a single hand. the other slips beneath your lower back, lifting you slightly to angle you just so, tilting your pelvis until your body yields, and the thick head of his cock slides past resistance and into that aching, receptive place that only he can reach. he leans down and fucks into you even deeper, barely needing leverage. and the stretch burns in the sweetest way, your velvety walls fluttering helplessly around him as he settles fully inside. he touches where your own fingers couldn’t dream of reaching, and you swear you can feel him in your stomach—though the rational part of your brain insists that’s impossible. the whole time, his sky-blue gaze never strays from yours. clark never looks more in love than when he’s fucking you face-to-face.

prone bone is his answer to your worst behavior. when you’re riding the edge of insolence—petulant, flashing him that do-something-about-it-mr-superman smile as if the hero in question isn’t already thinking about fucking the brattiness out of you. he simply hauls you to the bedroom and lays you flat, one palm braced between your shoulder blades, the impossible weight of his body blanketing yours. you squirm halfheartedly, a little breathy clark slipping from your throat that sounds more performative than penitent. he lowers his chest to your back, mouthing kisses along the cartilage of your ear. you feel the flex of his abdomen each time his hips grind forward, cockhead sliding slick through your folds—leisurely, almost casual. this is the position where you feel all of him. your body opens by instinct, pussy yielding to the stinging pressure of his cock pushing in, deeper, deeper—until your lower belly tightens under the stretch. he’s merciless. slow, yes, but also inexorable. every thrust carefully angled to keep you just on the brink without ever letting you fall. his cock pressed flush to that tender spot inside you that aches when he withdraws and throbs when he returns. you’re caught in the exquisite ache of it, the slow torture of being filled past capacity and held there. because you asked for this. clark never withholds what you need.

mating press is for when he’s been gone too long. off-world emergencies, global catastrophes. days—sometimes entire weeks—where he’s had to wear the mantle of saviour instead of simply being your lover. and when he finally returns, he folds you beneath him, knees pulled tight to your chest, ankles resting over his shoulders like a promise he’s come back for good. his cock pushes in sinfully deep, every inch filling you in a familiar way that resonates through your whole body—stealing the air from your lungs and thus robbing your voice before you can form a sound. you lose track of how many times you’ve cum, and still, clark holds your thighs apart as he fucks the loneliness out of himself. hips pounding into the mess between your legs, his brow furrowed in grief because hurts to be away from you that long. his voice breaks when he tells you how he missed you. words fail to reach your lips because you’re fucked so deep it feels cervical, whole galaxies exploding behind your eyes. when he cums, it’s a guttural, raw release—spilling inside you, just as your walls fluttering and sucking him deeper, pulsing in perfect, thunderous synchrony with his own hammering heart. clark can never bear being away from you for too long.

 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑-𝐈𝐒-𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content. ꕀ

[thecapricunt1616]

IM ACTUALLY GONNA GO FUCKING INSANEE

You say ask me anything so here it is. I am indulging bc I’ve been a writing machine for the past month in a request (that doesn’t mean pressure I’m just allowing myself to ask something finally!)

Please, Please, Please x Carmy!!!!!

So him Omgg. Literally readers friends being like ‘this…this is the guy?!’ And R is like

“Guys PLEASE it’s just his culture!!!”

🫶✨💋🥹 Please Please Please 🥺💋✨🫶

i’m so, so, so, sooooo fucking sorry this took me so long. i had it rotting in my drafts and i even made a color-coded outline of how i wanted to write the story for it and i just kept putting it off because i wanted it to be perfect since it’s you AND sabrina 😭 i know this is so very late, but i hope you’re around to enjoy it and i hope everyone enjoys it as well 🩵 (cause it was a fucking bitch to write)

o. s. don’t embarrass me, [redacted]

summary: there's something you silently beg of your boyfriend. he won't embarrass you in front of your peers too badly, will he? (carmen berzatto x fem!reader)

reflection: this... this fucking story... it took me so long to get to and then it took me so long to write. i had to rewrite the beginning since i lost part of it copying and pasting shit back and forth. it had complications as well during the editing process. so i'm glad it's DONE cause i will not be looking at this again for a very long time.

take heed: cursing, meddling friends, established relationship, tyrant!carmy, fluff, discussions of red flags, s3!carmy (since this is when i started this), richie and carmen beef, fighting, arguing, mentions and depictions of physical violence, fluff, soft!carmy, carmy in love, referenced and implied sex, police, carmen and richie get arrested, handcuffs, subby!carmy, needy!carmy, smut, lack of as well as effective communication, praise, creampie.

word count: 8,224

I know I have good judgment, I know I have good taste. It’s funny and it’s ironic that only I feel that way. I promise ‘em that you’re different and everyone makes mistakes. But just… don’t.

A racing bead slides down your glass of water, condensation creating a slight ring on your coaster, the ice clattering as it sinks further into the instrument. The lemon perched on the rim isn’t all that interesting, but that’s where your gaze rests as Christie complains about her boyfriend and his complete lack of romance in her relationship. Emily reassures her, how she’s too good for him, how she needs to have a talk with her incompetent boyfriend of three years. Julie’s the only one actually eating, cutting into her steak, carefree as can be.

You’re hyper aware of Carmen’s hand on your thigh, his thumb stroking back and forth. You steal a single glance to see he’s trying to focus on what she’s saying, but he has his other hand over his mouth, his eyes half-lidded. You’re pretty sure he’s close to falling asleep, but he’s doing his best to be polite for your sake.

Just then, a few chimes startle you, giving a slight jump. It ceases Christie’s ranting, heads shifting in unison, spotlighting you and Carmen. That’s the last thing you want.

“S’me, sorry,” Carmen mumbles, removing his hand from your thigh to retrieve his phone from his pocket. He looks down at his device, eyebrows knitting together.

“Gotta take this. Be right back.”

He stands up from the table, phone in hand, and offers the girls a small smile and a wave. Then he kisses your cheek and leaves towards the exit of the restaurant. His absence weighs heavy as you follow his path all the way until he’s out the door. Instantly, you feel eyes on you, mapping them from your peripheral vision.

Bracing yourself, you slowly turn back. Christie and Emily are staring your way, Julie still locked in on finishing her food. As a means to hold off their impending attack, you grab your water and drink from it, keeping your eyes on the table. The cool liquid helps soothe your throat, which feels a bit itchy from the nerves creeping up your body.

You lower the glass, tapping the side of it. You flicker your eyes up, and yes, they are still looking at you.

“Oh come on, don’t start,” you huff, immediately on the defense.

“Are you kidding? Him? Really?” Christie utters, seemingly ready to do just that.

“He’s a good guy! I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You feign ignorance and shrug your shoulders for good measure.

“Did he have to send your plate back three times?” Christie argues regardless.

“Well… He has his own restaurant, so he has high standards.”

Just by looking at your cut, he could tell that the cook was off. It wasn’t what you ordered so it makes sense to you that he’d pick up on it and tell the waiter to have the cooks get it right. Carmen merely wanted you to have what you wanted in the first place… that’s a considerate trait!

“Doesn’t excuse his shitty manners with the waiter,” Emily adds. You do cringe a little at that.

“Red flag,” Christie says, to which Emily nods along, her expression pitying.

Carmen wasn’t rude to the waiter exactly, more so responding to the visible agitation forming on the server’s face in continuously returning only to be told of another issue. That would irritate anybody, but you’re somewhat stuck on how you can word this explanation without sounding like you’re in denial of what they’re trying to tell you. You can’t help but wonder if this is what other women sound like with shitty boyfriends, if there’s something you refuse to pick up on.

You swallow thickly as you look at Christie and then at Emily, and then back at Christie, and back to Emily. You need to speak and stop them from verbally stoning your man and do so without rejecting their worries entirely.

Seeing your indecisive panic, Julie lifts her head.

“I like that he spoke up for you,” Julie chimes, a little muffled from the piece of steak she places into her mouth.

You glance at her in relief, a small smile forming itself onto your lips. At least she’s not joining in on your crucifixion.

“Thank you, Julie,” you state graciously.

“Sure, but something’s gotta be wrong if the most he’s talked is to complain about the food and service,” Christie bites back.

Emily snaps her fingers and points to Christie in an annoying physical gesture of agreement. It’s not fair. They’re judging Carmen rather harshly. He has his quirks, but it doesn’t mean he’s a bad guy. He looks out for you. He cares about you. He wouldn’t make a fuss over nothing.

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me right now, Nat? That’s great. Oh so fuckin’ great, just what I needed,” Carmen’s muffled voice breaches past the glass of the window next to your table with the girls. Their heads fly up and stare at him and then at you.

Fuck.

“The one night I’m not there. S’all goin’ to shit!”

“He’s… he’s a chef. That’s how they talk sometimes,” you murmur in a small, less confident tone than before. Even Julie scratches the side of her face awkwardly without coming to your cover.

“Nah, fuck you! I’m on my way. Don’t do anythin’ stupid.”

You merely take another long sip from your glass of water. You hate the knowing looks on Christie and Emily’s faces. But what probably aches more is the sympathy etched on Julie’s.

I heard that you’re an actor, so act like a stand-up guy. Whatever devil’s inside you, don’t let him out tonight. I tell them it’s just your culture and everyone rolls their eyes. Yeah, I know. All I’m asking, baby—

After the fiasco at dinner a week ago with your friends, you haven’t talked to any of them. There’s too much triumph in Christie and Emily and the last thing you want is to hear them gloat about how right they were about your new guy. It’s why you were so hesitant to introduce him in the first place. It’s not that Carmen isn’t a good boyfriend because he really is sweet with you, but you know there’s traits to him that would turn others off if they didn’t know him like you do.

It was his insistence to tag along on the outing with your friends, illustrating how important they are to you, and therefore he wanted to go. You knew you should’ve just cancelled on the girls, but you also couldn’t think of an excuse to tell Carmen. He didn’t budge when you attempted to persuade him to stay in. He took it as you being ashamed for a moment and while you do have your doubts, you hate the idea of hurting him more than anything else.

Julie’s disappointment, however, has sat with you since then. Carmen hasn’t contacted you since that night when you dropped him off at the restaurant while he spewed soft apologies and kissed your lips through the window. You hang onto that moment through the red flags Julie laid out for you in a text you read but didn’t answer. None of them saw how he didn’t want to go into work. None of them saw his mouth stained with your lipstick. None of them saw him going back for more, his thumb fix the smudged pigment, his frame lingering longer against your car door than he should’ve with his kitchen in need of him.

None of them saw him in need of you despite his responsibilities.

Conflicted, you fall backward into your bed and stare up at the ceiling. A familiar sting floats throughout your eyes, admittedly missing your man and simultaneously giving weight to the concerns of your friends in his absence. That’s when your phone chimes, a text on your lock screen.

Hey, baby. Have you eaten? Want to come down to the restaurant?

Please, please, please don’t prove I’m right. And please, please, please don’t bring me to tears when I just did my makeup so nice. Heartbreak is one thing, my ego’s another. I beg you don’t embarrass me, motherfucker.

The crescendo of chaos escalates steadily with every step you take into the tumultuous state of the kitchen ahead. Hesitation prohibits you from walking confidently in, cringing from the mix of sounds, from pots clanging to voices growing louder and louder. You recognize the various personalities and you hate how easily you pinpoint the distinct tone of Carmen’s in the cacophony you join into.

“Just get him the fuck out of here before he pisses me the fuck off!” Carmen grits, close to screaming from the volume he adopts.

“And this is you calm, jagoff? He was tryin’ to help your sorry ass. Forgot you don’t know how to accept that shit,” Richie gripes back.

“You wanna do this now? Here? In the middle of fuckin’ service? Don’t you have a fuckin’ circus to host or somethin’ out there to make us all look like clowns? Go do whatever the fuck it is you do.” Carmen is seething, unbridled anger and passion pouring out of him in waves.

“Fuck you, you fuckin’ baby,” Richie shoots. He places a hand onto Fak’s shoulder. You notice Fak’s befallen expression, most likely the reason Carmen and Richie are arguing the way they are as Sydney maintains enough composure to not snap her pen in half.

Speaking of baby—

“Baby, you came,” Carmen gentles his speech, immediately approaching you with the fire absent in his voice. The way he saunters towards you indicates the shift in character.

“The drive alright? No trouble?”

He greets you with a peck onto the corner of your mouth. The closer he becomes, the more you smell ingredients on him. Something savory, something bitter, the underlying hint of sweat, oil, grease, cologne you bought him. His hand envelopes yours, his long digits occupying the spaces between yours like they belong there. They mold like they always have.

“No trouble,” you confirm slowly. You can’t help but think back to all the things your friends said, but then again, he’s being so delicate with you. Glass in his hold in the midst of clashing horns and bullheaded egos.

“You’ll run into trouble messin’ with him,” Richie gruffs as he navigates Fak to the swinging door connecting to the dining area, “good to see you, sweetheart.”

Carmen rolls his eyes.

“Don’t call her that,” he blurts in agitation.

“Ignore him. C’mere,” again softening his voice as he starts to lead you away from the mess of the kitchen.

You follow him into his office, sit down into the chair he guides you into. As he steps back, he pushes a dry hand anxiously through his slick curls, then it joins the other on his hips. There’s papers sprawled on top of his desk, the eyes of food critics watching you both, but he focuses on you alone.

“The Faks put those up,” he explains firstly.

“I have a new dish for you to try. It’s a fuckin’ mess out there, but the food’s good, I promise.”

He departs before you can ask what it is, how he’s been, where he’s been for that matter. You understand he’s in work mode, transitioning back and forth between being your doting boyfriend and a stressed, manic chef.

You twiddle your thumbs in your lonesome as you observe the disorganized papers, his messy scrawling in the margins, the flickering table lamp hanging on by its last legs of the bulb’s life. You try to ignore the feeling being here gives, the intense one of being watched, the many eyes of the critics above haunting you in a way you can’t describe. It makes you wonder how much they stress Carmen out.

“Door!” Carmen robotically calls as he enters back into the office. For a moment, the kitchen’s volume reaches your ears, and then it fades to a gentle hum once the door closes again.

“Here, beautiful. Tell me what you think. Honest opinions only.”

He sets the plate of food into the space in front of you, stepping back to let you have it. You glance at the concoction below, steam simmering from the top of the delicately prepared fish and a sauce you don’t recognize. Actually, a lot of what Carmen cooks and talks about tends to fly over your head, nodding along as you sit pretty on his counter at his apartment and he yaps over what ingredients go well together and how to improve dishes. You love watching him in his element, with his passion, and he’s good at this shit; you trust his skill and judgment.

As you reach for your fork, he suddenly jolts to the plate.

“Fuck, hold on,” he mutters.

He wipes the sauce off the rim of the plate with his thumb, observing it for any other blemishes before he nods and steps away once more.

“There. It’s perfect now, go ahead.”

Is this because Carmen is a perfectionist? Is it an obsessive tendency of his? Or is it because he wants everything to be perfect for you? Is that naive to think? Shit, your friends have gotten too much to your head.

You wait an additional five seconds, offering him the interlude to create another change if he needs it. He sheepishly tilts his chin in acknowledgment, realization dawning on him of his tedious action. You grin at him in amusement to dispel any worries, and like clockwork, the lines in his forehead lessen.

You then cut a piece of the fish, your fork sliding through the tender meat easily, like melted butter. Dousing it in the accommodating sauce, you lift it and then take your official bite. Flavors dance in your mouth as you chew, your tongue satisfied with your choices, your belly appeasing the soft growling it undertook before you came here.

“It’s amazing, Carmy,” you say once you swallow.

“Really?” he asks. You love how much he values your opinion, how he seems to light up with your validation.

“I love it,” you confirm with a nod, already cutting another portion for yourself. He eyes the next piece you deliver into your mouth, an eased smile forming on his lips as he sees your mirthful expression.

“Think we can add it, then. S’got your approval.” He leans over and presses a kiss onto the top of your head. Tingly, fluttering swarms of wings brush your stomach.

Carmen presses his back to the wall as you continue to eat, doing so with more enthusiasm now that he’s not completely focused on watching you eat out of respect. He does, however, steal his not-so-sneaky glances as you make work of finishing his dish.

“So, uh, Richie was talkin’ about this bar,” Carmen begins to say. You look up with a mouthful of food, your hand hovering above your lips as you chew, unsure of where he’s going with this.

“And I know neither of us are that big on drinkin’, but… since I bailed on you and your friends the other day, maybe we can go next Sunday ‘fore the holiday and invite them?”

That’s not what you expected from him whatsoever. You even chew your food slower as you stare at him, attempting to hide the disbelief, and the nerves scattering throughout your system. Your friends didn’t exactly have a good impression of him, and he ignored you for a week since then, so you’re conflicted for a number of reasons. Your creased eyebrows must convey some of that conflict.

“I didn’t mean to leave like that and I should’ve called you the day after, but it slipped my mind. You know how bad I am at usin’ my phone,” he explains at a quicker pace than his suggestion’s slow utterance.

You sigh, placing your fork down as you clear the food from your mouth.

“Carmy—”

“Shh, shh, shh, no Carmy,” he defends, hands raising.

“Lemme make it up to you. You can tell them that drinks’ll be on me and… and I’ll be better ‘bout callin’ and textin’. I’ll fuckin’ annoy you if I have to.”

Ugh. When he says things like this, with those pleading eyes, it’s hard to listen to logic. You didn’t plan on addressing it, Carmen being the one to bring it up. You wonder how long he’s thought about it, if he realized his mistake early, and spent a majority of the week characteristically worrying if he fucked up, in turn not calling or messaging you.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry,” he goes on when you don’t readily respond.

“Let’s have a nice night. You can get all dressed up and do your makeup and your friends’ll be taken care of—I’ll take care of you. I’ll text you every day, I’ll call in the middle of a rush, just… let me fix it. I can fix it.”

The apology you waited for is presented to you almost with a neat bow as Carmen fidgets, visibly distressed by the idea of you being upset with him. The corners of his inner eyebrows are turned upwards, his muscles seemingly vibrating from his inability to hold still, and he shifts from one foot to the next, back and forth, his nerves frayed. While you’re skeptical, this can be advantageous.

This may be an opportunity to rectify your friends’ judgement of Carmen. A do over. A way to show them what a great guy he really is.

He did, after all, make you a really good meal, and he commonly does this for you. Not a lot of men cook, and not a lot of people are as good at it as Carmen is. His temper may flare, but he’s still sweet and affectionate. He lingers for more of your kisses, he apologized, and he’s promising to do better. This is the one you’re head over heels for.

Why did you ever have any doubts?

“… Okay, okay. We can go. I’ll message the group chat. I don’t think any of them will turn down free drinks.”

His smile breaks loose, stilling his jostling body. Then he surges forward and plants kisses all over your face as you laugh.

“Thanks, for trustin’ me. You won’t regret it,” he expresses with a relieved sigh.

“I better not,” you murmur as he continues to kiss your forehead, your eyebrow, your cheekbone.

He works his way down to your mouth. You want to protest because of the sea bass, but he doesn’t care, muffling your words through attaching your mouths together. It’s a string of kisses first, celebratory pecks, and then each one grows in length. He eventually seals his mouth over yours with purpose, indulging in a deeper connection, nose bumping yours as your heads shift.

This is more like it. Your faith in Carmen feels rewarded and endorsed. All in all, he’s a good boyfriend. You tend to remind yourself of how new to this he is, having previously explained to you how he never had a relationship as serious as this one. It’s where some of your grace comes from. Because he’s trying his best. Your friends will see exactly how amazing he—

A knock on the door disrupts your heavy kissing with Carmen. Carmen breaks away with a disgruntled sound.

“What?” he shouts, your ears ringing from the sudden raise in volume, his anger of being interrupted prominent.

“You gonna come back to work, dickhead? Sugar’s lookin’ for ya’,” Richie grumbles through the door.

Carmen rolls his eyes, obtaining one more peck for the road.

“Keep eatin’. Come get me when you’re done. Marcus’s dessert today’s fire.”

He backs off and you watch as he reenters work mode, opening the door.

“I can’t have five fuckin’ minutes to myself,” he heaves as the door swings closed.

Please, please, please.

“Do you want to go out for breakfast?” Carmen asks, in the middle of kissing up your neck. Each one sends tremors throughout your body, almost erasing your thoughts in the early morning.

He spent the night, rushed to your place as soon as he got off work, intending to be glued to your side as much as he can be now that he’s back in your good graces. It’s his day off and tonight, you’re both supposed to meet up with your friends as well as Richie, Gary, Sydney, Marcus, and hopefully only one Fak.

Although breakfast at a restaurant sounds nice, your head travels back to the outing with your friends when Carmen sent the food back numerous times. Does that mean he’ll do that this morning? No, but you also have no idea what his behavior will be like tonight, so you’d much rather stay in where it’s just you and him, keeping him all to yourself.

“Let’s stay here,” you say, hands cupping his face to regain his attention before he descends and spends a long time with his mouth on your breasts.

“You sure?”

“Uh huh. I have toaster waffles.”

He laughs at that, grasping your wrists, and then kissing both of your palms. You enjoy the sound of Carmen’s laughter immensely. If anyone should feel at ease and well within mirth, it’s him. His job is so demanding and he tends to stress at every turn.

“Or we can have actual homemade waffles. Got a waffle iron?”

Leave it to Carmen to reject the easy suggestion for you to eat. You’re positive you’ve seen the same toaster waffles in his freezer. He frets because it’s you, a fact that garners a fuzziness in your head and chest simultaneously, a fever of sentiment.

“You shouldn’t cook on your day off,” you mumble.

“You gonna do it?”

You huff a little. A grin spreads onto your features. You cook for yourself all the time, but you shy away from cooking for Carmen. You’re scared of his reaction and what he might say, if he’ll judge you too hard.

“… We should go out for breakfast,” he repeats after you don’t respond right away. He starts to get up off your body.

You groan, reach for his shoulders, and push him onto his back. The sudden switch in positions alerts him, grasping your hips as you wind up straddling him. There’s zero fight in him in this transition of events, pliant beneath you, curious as he observes you from where he is.

“We’re going to go out later. So we should stay in.”

“What? There a limitation on how many times we can go out today?” He asks in amusement.

“No… but I don’t want to get ready yet,” you further excuse.

“But if you get ready now, you’ll be ready for later. Probably just have to change.”

“And wear a full face of makeup for almost twelve hours straight?” You groan in response. Carmen playfully rolls his eyes.

He cups one side of your face, his thumb petting your cheek. It’s the way he looks at you that calms the anxiety inside of you. It’s reverent, admiring, tranquil. Reserved for you alone.

“We can get somethin’ fast. Don’t gotta wear any makeup. I’ll let you wear my sunglasses and the hoodie you stole.”

You offer a sheepish expression at the mention of his hoodie. He’s not buying it, his grin morphing into a smirk.

“It’s too hot out to wear my hoodie,” you mutter, purposely referring to his hoodie as yours with great emphasis. By the grip that tightens on your hip, you think he’s debating flipping your positions again.

“Startin’ to think you’re avoidin’ goin’ out with me.”

You do your best to deadpan, guilt pooling in your stomach at his teasing, and yet painfully accurate accusation. It’s about damage control. You still have the unknown of tonight to face so you don’t want to confront anything similar until then if you can help it. But you can’t tell Carmen any of this. It would end up hurting his feelings and you have to configure your currently wavering faith in his character first. You hope tonight will offer that clarity.

By doing it this way, there’s a strong chance a negative perception will really challenge the way you see Carmen. That’s scary to think about because even with the possible prediction, you’re not ready to let go of Carmen whatsoever. He’s a good boyfriend and you care about him deeply. Who knows what tonight will entail.

For now, you fix your face, take his wrist from your cheek, kiss the inside of his hand, grasp his other wrist from your hip, and then slowly pin his arms above his head. At the gradual motion, his eyebrows raise, and his smirk lessens into a line that ultimately parts in anticipation.

“Can’t a girl keep her man to herself for a little longer?” You ask in a whisper, a sultry note possessing your thought-out words.

“W-What about b-breakfast?” He stutters, affected and tensing as you begin to kiss down his neck. His reactions when you turn things on him are always so visceral.

“I do have a waffle iron. We can cook after.”

The allusion causes his breath to hitch, or maybe it’s how you’re nipping at his pulse point, soothing the ache with your tongue. The beats against the pink muscle steadily increase.

“After…?” He asks with a knowing gulp, surrendering in seconds, if his head tilting back to grant you further access isn’t any indication.

“After.”

Well, I have a fun idea, babe. Maybe just stay inside. I know you’re craving some fresh air, but the ceiling fan is so nice. And we could live so happily if no one knows that you’re with me. I’m just kidding… kinda, but really, really—

Red and blue flash back and forth on your downfallen face, highlighting the pretty gloss on your lips, ping ponging from one side to the next, flirting with the idea of mixing into indigo. Your arms are crossed against your chest as if it’ll shield you from the disappointment festering within you, but the sting is sharp and internal, and a thick knot expands in your throat that you can’t seem to swallow. People are watching you. They’re looking at the spectacle, passing snide remarks back and forth, laughing unabashedly at your expense since a majority are drunk. You do your best to ignore it, keep your gaze ahead as they cuff Carmen and lead him towards the police vehicle.

He meets your gaze, one eye swollen, but both are remorseful. Carmen looks like he wants to say something, but he seems defeated, and you’re sure it has to do with the despondency written on your features. He drops it, hangs his head, slumps his shoulders, and lacks any sign of resistance as he steps into the back of the car and the officer closes it up behind him.

You feel the presence of your friends nearby, their eyes on the back of your head. Things had been going so well, from dancing and laughing to the drinks shared, Carmen much more comfortable with his own friends there to help him relax. That is until he walked off with Richie to get more drinks and then suddenly they were fighting with some men at the bar, the cops were called, and now you’re praying neither of them have to spend a night in jail.

But you can’t avoid this forever. You slowly turn around to face your friends. The only one not smirking at you is Julie, who looks genuinely sympathetic.

“… Go ahead,” you say. Your voice, despite the few tears that slipped from your eyes, is solid.

“Look, we hate to say we told you so,” Christie states, seemingly jumping at the opportunity to do just that. Emily nods her bobble head along with her words.

“Can you guys not do this right now? He’s still in the fucking car,” Julie huffs. You appreciate her defense. Especially since your own fight is currently dimming from how ridiculous you feel.

Embarrassment swirls in your stomach along with the revolting churn of anxiety and fear. You don’t know what’s going to happen, you hate how hurt Carmen is, physically from the violence and visibly emotional from your demeanor. You hate that they were right… and how much you want to march up to the officers and argue for Carmen’s immediate release.

“We didn’t tell her to date a criminal!” Emily jabs back. Somehow, you don’t flinch from how she put it, too worn out to do so.

Julie, on the other hand, is reaching up for her earrings.

Sydney lightly jogs her way over to where you are. She places a hand onto your arm.

“Hey, we’re gonna split up the cars and drive down to the station. Do you wanna ride with me?”

Sydney’s appearance quells the impending tension. Julie lowers her hands from her right ear, glaring at Christie and Emily who seemed just as ready for an altercation despite the cops still being so close by.

Turning away from them to fully face Sydney, you inhale a deep breath. Your shoulders are high in the air as you hold it and debate on what you should say to her, warring in your mind between anger and consideration and some excuse. She lifts an eyebrow at your hesitation.

“Uh… I… I don’t know if… I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

Sydney straightens up, tilting her head. She seems to think about what she’s about to say and how she’s going to say it from how she pauses to regard you.

“Why not?”

Because it’s fucking complicated. You’ve defended Carmen to your friends on more than one occasion and on their second outing with him, he gets arrested. They’ve told you how he has his red flags, how he doesn’t appear to have longevity in terms of your relationship lasting. You don’t want to grant any of it any merit, but you were already worried about tonight. Even in your worse case scenario, you didn’t see this coming. The unpredictable nature of it is another element for you to consider.

Yet, you care about Carmen so much. You don’t know why he got into that fight. You do, however, know that he’s bruised and injured, and he had every intention of making tonight better than his initial meeting with your friends.

It doesn’t make any sense. He’s so sweet to you. He’s not a perfect boyfriend, but he always tries his best. He learns from his mistakes and he promises to do better—to be better for you.

“What did you tell the cop?” You ask, needing to stray from her inquiry. She had, after all, recounted her story from seeing it go down.

“Um… Basically that the asshole with the mullet was saying something about his friend who almost died ‘cause of something Richie did in the past, Carm and Richie tried to calm shit down, and then mullet-asshole threw the first punch,” she explains quickly, like she just wants to hit the key points.

“I don’t know, they asked me a lot of questions about it. I just want to go and make sure they’re okay. Are you coming with or not?”

You understand her impatience with the situation. Her friends are locked up in the back of a police vehicle and she has to retell what she told the cop after standing around with him for twenty minutes, almost the full half hour. But now that you have more details, you feel relief overtake your system.

You steal a glance back at your “friends” and Julie. Christie and Emily seem to have heard it loud and clear since they avoid your gaze and look away with annoyed expressions. Julie’s the only one smirking.

Turning back to Sydney, you decide it’s time to stop being on the fence. You should’ve known Carmen wouldn’t start a physical fight out of the blue without reason.

“I’m coming.”

If you wanna go and be stupid, don’t do it in front of me. If you don’t wanna cry to my music, don’t make me hate you prolifically.

“You’re not mad?” Carmen asks quietly, boyish as he shifts in his seat.

“No. I get it. You were helping your family.”

You, Sydney, Gary, Marcus, and Fak put the money together on the spot to bail out Carmen and Richie since there weren’t any severe injuries obtained and mullet-asshole, as so affectionately nicknamed by Sydney, corroborated with what Sydney told the officers and what Carmen and Richie defended themselves with. The car ride back was rather quiet, and you know Carmen was simply processing everything, but you held onto his hand for the entirety. He slowly relaxed and even held onto you tighter a quarter of the way in.

“And if I wasn’t?”

Carmen’s bruised eye twitches as your gaze meets his. He appears to be so vulnerable right now, and not just because of your current positions. His question could mean a lot of things, but you’re sure it’s in inference to the way you were looking at him as the police took him in.

“… I should’ve stuck by you tonight, I’m sorry. You needed me and I was shutting down because…”

“Because…?”

You play with the metal in your hands, shifting it back and forth. Carmen’s eyes flick to them in anticipation and then back to your features.

“Because I let my friends’ judgement of you get to me,” you say slowly, incredibly reluctant since you don’t want to upset him.

His shoulders sag a little, looking down into his lap. Thought writes itself on his face, what he debates on saying aloud. Carmen is an expert at living in his head. You really hope tonight doesn’t make him think he has to draw back into his shell that was already difficult to penetrate.

“Oh… Yeah, yeah, they don’t like me very much, do they?”

You step close, the revelation intriguing you.

“You knew?”

“Saw the looks they gave you at dinner before you took me to the restaurant. Didn’t look very approvin’.”

It dawns on you, Carmen’s absence after that night. He waited to get back in touch with you and now you’re positive it’s because of the dampened impression he left on your friends, and not just because of his bad habit of using his phone. That’s probably why he insisted on inviting them.

Not only was it a do over for you, it was a do over for him.

“Oh, baby… I’m so sorry. I should’ve told you.”

Something possesses you in that moment, against rhyme and reason, prematurely sliding yourself into his lap. With the addition of your body straddling him and obstructing his previous view, he looks at you with a shake of his head. His arms wind around your waist and he pulls you in closer.

“S’okay, seriously. I get why you didn’t. Truth sucks sometimes.”

You sigh, giving your head a shake of your own.

“No, fuck that. It was stupid of me to ever doubt you. I don’t care what they think. You’re an amazing guy and I’m so fucking lucky to have you in my life.”

Carmen seems shocked to hear your defense of him. But his lips curve upwards at the corners, his smile slight, but all the more impactful.

“Besides, Julie likes you. Should’ve seen how she was about to fight Christie and Emily like you did tonight,” you muse, pecking the tip of his nose. The chuckle that comes from him helps ease the ache in your chest for putting him in this mindset.

“Then she’s my favorite of your friends. I can do without the other two.”

He’s not the only one. If this experience tells you anything, it’s how you don’t need to hang out with certain people anymore, and that doesn’t include Carmen.

“Believe me, they’re not my friends.”

His smile fades a bit. Thought crosses his features as he draws circles on the small of your back with his index and middle fingers.

“You sure? I don’t want you to lose out on people ‘cause of me.”

Sincerity embeds his tone. It’s sweet. Christie and Emily talked down on his character and he wavers to see if you’ll give them another chance. Carmen trusts what you think and it’s very clear he wants you to be happy, even if he doesn’t always show that correctly. His intentions have always been pure.

Your head comes forward and you peck kisses onto his lips. He kisses you back after the first, maintaining as much of a connection as he possibly can between every one. His breath pets you, his mouth chases, parts for more of what you have to give. If you wanted to, you could distract him from this conversation, completely deter him from the heavy speech to what he asked for before you started talking like this.

“The only way I’d be losing out is if I lost you,” you whisper.

It’s the truest thing you can utter at this moment. You don’t mind losing fake friends. You can do that without a doubt or regret and losing Carmen would be the biggest of all.

The corners of his eyes crinkle, his grin reforming, dimples evident. He lifts his hands to cup your face as he pulls you in for another kiss. This one is not short-lived, deepening from the tilts of your heads, the tantalizing feeling of your tongues entering with satisfied hums. His starts from his chest, rumbles, reverberates up his throat to your mouth.

“Still want to play…?” you ask breathlessly.

He peers at you from under his rising upper eyelids, not answering you with his words, but his grip on your face loosens. You follow his queue and accept the reins, the transition of control, shifting your thighs open wider to adjust your position on top of him. As you do, you grasp his wrist and guide it behind the chair. He saves you the trouble of putting the other one there, joining that hand, both waiting for your next action.

He’s so fucking good for you, you can’t help but surge for another kiss. It’s messier, includes more tongue, your teeth on his lips so you can elicit groans and needier sounds from him. They rise in pitch as your hips undulate into his, his clothed erection pressed against your center, and despite the layers of clothing separating the two of you, there’s heat from his swollen length that screams of his inner desire.

You reach behind him with the aforementioned metal and then you begin to slide the pieces into place. One cool loop around his wrist, blindly winding, a ticking noise, and then the definitive click. Carmen slides lower in his seat to buck his hips up into yours. At the same time, the second click resounds, his handcuffs officially on and subduing him to the chair.

And there’s only word that leaves his lips in a groan against yours.

Please, please, please (please).

If there’s one thing Carmen has trouble doing, it’s relinquishing control. Back in the car, once you parked, he asked for you to take it from him, trust in the sea of his irises as he awaited a response. You momentarily debated declining his request because of everything that went down, with him and his complex emotions of the night in mind, but it’s hard to say no to someone with a gaze that intense, that beckoning, that loving. You hadn’t even talked about anything yet and he was willing to ask for something he wanted—needed from you. And after all this time you’ve spent wrongfully doubting him, your acceptance came from a place of offering him what he deserved.

You never should’ve doubted him. This is your repentance.

“F-fuck,” he gasps, nails digging into his palms.

“Why’re y’so tight?” He slurs his words, automatically moving his lips against yours when you initiate soft kisses.

As you do, a pleasant burn radiates across your thighs, splayed wide open atop his lap. He expands further while lodged inside of you, his girth pulsing, inches nudging your walls past their limit of give. You don’t move, smiling against his lips as he whimpers, holding still as you continue to kiss him so gently that you hear the clink of his rustling cuffs behind him. This is Carmen being obedient, needing you to give more, but you’re just getting started. He knows better than to be so greedy straight out the gate. He has to thoughtfully pick his battles, saving his voice that strains in noises as you purposely clamp on him, clutch him tighter. He attempts to hide his punched out sound by sucking your bottom lip, head moving forward, eager for what’s promised.

“I wasn’t this tight this morning?” You ask as you retract your mouth from his. He makes another sound, no longer able to veil himself using a kiss.

“You were. Don’t know how you still are.”

You grin and start to deliberately roll your hips. His tip is right where it needs, notched up into a spot that has you moan as you reunite with his cock and slide down. Carmen inhales sharply, the veins in his arms protruding beneath his raised skin like a snake slithering across the floor, muscles rendered useless in their efforts of pulling on the requested restraints. The breath in his lungs departs from his lips in the same fashion of the smoke he takes in after a difficult shift: relieved, soothed, and searching for the next puff. While you’re not made of nicotine, he chases after your mouth like you are, growing in volume as you pull it away and leave him vulnerable to the noises he can’t suppress. The pinch between his brows displays pain, but as his lips part further and he struggles to keep his eyes open, you know it’s not that. It’s pleasure he’s desperately trying to accept.

“You’re killin’ me, oh fuck—”

Please, please, please (please).

Because you won’t let him kiss you, his head falls into your neck, the tip of his nose lighting up the sensitive flesh with grazes, drawing into your skin what he can’t utter at this moment besides “mmgg,” “uh,” and “fuck.” You undulate faster as a response, pull another terse whimper from the pit of his chest, increasing the throb in his cock. Inches expand and contract, molding your walls to take him. The ache is a dichotomy of fulfillment and need, satisfaction and addiction, the more you fuck yourself on his dick welcoming ecstasy, but signaling how fast it can end, how soon demise is, and how neither of you can stop. He stretches you out to a mind-numbing fullness you’ve never achieved with anyone else, and that’s because Carmen is yours. Any reality where he’s not is one you reject.

“You’re so, so warm. Can you… Can you…?”

Whatever Carmen is asking for continues to be disrupted by the moans vibrating against your neck. It’s not like it’s any easier for you to speak at the moment as you ride him, so you attempt to rack your brain for what he wants without having to think too much. This is wiping your brain of coherence, your quivering thighs and his perfectly spearing cock digging deep to the point of where your head feels dizzy. But you register how he continues to nuzzle his face into your neck, not kissing or biting it like he normally would to last or hike your sensation. At first, you assume it’s to conceal the obscene sounds rocking his toned frame, maybe hide the fragility of his features twisting in careening pleasure, but it hits you as he hooks himself to the crook and whines, his mouth flush to your skin without gnawing.

Carmy wants to be held.

You wrap your arms around him, not pausing in your rise and fall, fingers sliding into his curls to cradle him. He gratefully kisses your neck, pants hot breaths, celebrates your successful interpretation with a hushed god, yes.

“I got you. Feel it, baby, feel it…” You coo.

Please (please), please (please), please.

The more this continues, the more antsy Carmen becomes. Down to his last particulate, he shoves his hips up for more friction, attempting to get himself to the finish line. His strength is jarring. If you weren’t holding onto him like you are, he might’ve thrust you right out of his lap. You jostle from the motion, squeak out your own howls of need from how he tramples into that trigger inside that pushes you closer to where he’s at. But this isn’t how it’s supposed to go and Carmen knows that.

Sensing your impending scold, he whines as you pull his face away from your neck. His pupils are blown, lips slick and parted, his poor eye swollen and almost closed, but he maintains his heady, lust-drunk gaze with yours.

“Carmy…” You begin, trying to find it in you to tell him what he’s supposed to do.

But he surprises you.

“Can I cum? Please? Please? I gotta cum, please let me cum, baby,” he stammers out, his upper body sagging forward for your touch.

He barely sounds like the man you see in the kitchen. He’s without anger, without burden, without walls that took time to break down. He’s sans grief, even for a moment, willingly in a haze you induced. He asked for this. He craves this. He’s begging you for this. He’s at the cusp, desperately hanging on as your hips undulate, as his jerk, greedily taking more from your body in every sense. It can be over at any second. He exacerbates his ability to remain on the ledge, but he’s single-minded, reaching for the stars before the fall.

“Yes, you can cum. Cum in me, be good and fill your pussy up, Carmy.”

A millisecond later, as soon as he hears yes come from your mouth, he erupts. He strains against his cuffs as he spouts your name, spouts ropes of cum into your cunt, whimpers from the rest of your sentence. You maintain your hold on his face as you bring him to euphoria, to the pinnacle, his body coming to a trembling stop beneath you. You slow your hips and finally allow him to occupy your neck once more. He messily kisses your flesh, wet from spit, from the accumulation of drool, slurring out his praises.

You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

I can’t lose you.

Don’t ever leave.

You’re my everything.

You embrace him close, kiss his temple, let him get everything he needs out. When he’s done, you’ll reassure him. You’ll remind him who you belong to, if you haven’t convinced him already. You’ll sweet talk him to shy smiles and uncuff him.

And because he’s Carmen, he’ll return the favor and give you a mind blowing orgasm, pick up where you left off.

He’s not like the other motherfuckers who’ve embarrassed you. Not at all.

(Ah)…

[thecapricunt1616]

This movie changed me & so did this one shot

Honey.

helping clark housesit for his parents leads to: 1. lots of teasing, and 2. getting very familiar with his childhood bedroom (aka fucking in clark's childhood bed)

a/n: watched superman (2025) like 10 hours ago and my childhood crush is soooo back i need him bad, went into a different plane of existence and wrote this in a two-hour-old gdoc, first dc fic!!

cw: clark kent x fem!reader, established relationship, smut mdni, banter, fingering, praise, lowkey size kink he's HUGE, slightttt dumbification but not really by clark, unprotected piv, he almost breaks the headboard, defiling clark's childhood bedroom, you want each other badddd

wc: 2.8k

mlist

(reblogs are the only way to promote fics on tumblr! please reblog if you enjoyed it :) )

“So, this is where Clark Kent grew up, huh? I can see it now, you’re running in that field, yelling at your dad on the porch, sneaking a nudie mag in your backpack through that door—”

A large palm flattens over your mouth, muffling your next words. Slumping your shoulders dramatically, you look up with mirth in your eyes. 

Clark is standing in front of you, his expression defeated. It’s clear he’s half-regretting inviting you to house-sit for his parents with him for the week, but the flush on his cheeks indicates that your teasing isn’t all bad. 

“I’ll have you know I never had any magazines that weren’t PG-13.”

He speaks with a mock-injured tone, hand slipping down to rest on your back as he guides you through the screen door into the old-fashioned living room. 

“What kind of degenerate do you think I am? Ma raised me right.”

You should be teasing him further. If you had your wits about you, you would. It’s unfortunate that the feeling of Clark’s hand on your lower back makes you go a little loopy. You’re lucky he hasn’t caught on to what his touch does to you, or you’d be screwed. 

Flushing slightly, you dance out of his grip, running a finger over the shelves. 

“So, are you gonna, um, give me a tour? Lots of anecdotes, I want the true Clark Kent experience.”

His low chuckle is indulgent, a finger hooking into your belt loop as a means of tugging you towards the door. 

“If you want it, you’ll get it. Just don’t be mad at the tour guide when this takes a while.”

You have to shake the daze from your eyes before you can hear the story he’s telling about accidentally cracking the kitchen countertop.

The Kent house is exactly how you’d expect it. It’s quaint, the decor reflecting the cozy tastes of his parents. Each room has a reminder of Clark though, whether intentional or not. 

The doorway to the bathroom has markings of his growing height in childhood, including the five-month period where he went from 5'8" to 6’3”. The office has a dent in the wall, where Clark sheepishly tells you he kicked a soccer ball by accident when he was ten. It leaves you feeling as if you knew him when he was young, by proxy of the many scrapes he got himself into. 

Nothing does it like his bedroom, though. The final stop on his tour, Clark forgoes any preamble, simply opening the door and letting you wander in. 

It’s a stark contrast to the rest of the house, the brown paneled walls plastered with various posters and pictures. You can’t help but grin, seeing the trophy case with all his football awards near the window. 

“Wow, Kent. Didn’t realise you were Boy Wonder, too,”

You cross the room, immediately fiddling with the academic awards that are hanging on the far wall. 

“I mean, is it even fair at this point?”

You can hear him huff out a deep breath, picturing how he’s surely lifting one large hand to rub the back of his neck, his flannel straining against the bulge of his bicep and—

“It really wasn’t that big a deal, Smallville’s got a pretty good high school for the area.”

His voice cuts through the static in your brain, the barely-there heat of his chest radiating towards your back snapping you into reality at once. Humble bastard.

Turning to face him, you step as close as you can, hands finding their rightful place on his shoulders. 

“I think you’re selling yourself short. Besides, it’s better for me if you’re exceptional. I get to pat myself on the back for locking you down.”

You go in for a quick peck, pressing your lips to his slightly-chapped ones for a brief moment. Parting from him, the two of you seem transfixed by each other’s eyes, Clark leaning back in for another when a distinctive poster catches your eye, making you turn your head.

Clark’s lips land on your cheek as you rile yourself up for more teasing. 

“Clark! The Mighty Crabjoys? Are you kidding?”

He lets out a groan, hands settling at your waist as he attempts to turn you back toward him. 

“Yes I did listen to them, yes I was an insufferable poser as a kid, yes you would have mocked me relentlessly, now please?”

His lips seek yours, molding against you for another moment before you pull back again. 

“No, wait, don’t distract me. That’s there unironically? Like, you listened to them, and listened to them so much that you just had to—”

You’re cut off again, tasting the cornbread you’d had earlier on his tongue as he laves it over your bottom lip. Suddenly you’re not all that bothered with the poster anymore. 

It’s his turn to talk now, it seems.

“Can we please stop talking about the poster?”

His voice has deepened a few octaves, sounding eerily similar to his Superman voice. It’s doing bad things for your panties, feeling your thighs rub together involuntarily. You’re rendered mute, nodding wordlessly up at him. 

A self-satisfied smile settles on his face, using his grip on you to walk you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the bed. 

“Thank you, honey.”

He’s pushing you down softly, lowering you until you settle against the plaid sheets. You’re given absolutely no time to register anything else about the bed, not when he’s settling over you, all broad chest and thick thighs and beautiful face. 

“Clark…”

“Yeah? What is it?”

It seems like he’s relishing the opportunity to get you back for all your teasing, leaning on an elbow resting near your head as his other hand slips down to grip your hip. It’s unfair how he gets to you. 

“I want… You know what I want.”

You can barely stand to look at him, his eyes are so big and kind. You could get lost in him, drawn in by his gravitational pull. 

“Yeah, I do know, don't I? You want your clothes off, sweetheart?”

Your head begins to nod before you even register it, making Clark laugh as he sits up to tug off your clothes. 

Once you’re sufficiently undressed, you’re feeling a little unfair. He’s still wearing so much. Clumsy hands fly to the hem of his shirt, pushing it up gently. 

“You too, Clark. Not going to let me be the only one in their birthday suit, right?”

He blushes, but follows the movements of your hands, shucking off his shirt and jeans, although the black boxers he’s got on remain there, much to your dismay. The moment he’s bare enough, he’s climbing right back over you, lips pressing to yours with insistence. 

Clark generally lets you take the lead with kissing, letting you explore his mouth with as much zeal and vigour you can muster. He’s content to moan into your mouth, hands running wild over all the newly-exposed skin at his disposal. 

Rough fingertips travel up to your hair, smoothing it back as your tongue brushes against his. A soft squeeze to your breast when you gasp for air before diving right back in. Slowly, slowly, he begins to make his way down your body.

You falter a little as he lingers over your stomach, rubbing a thumb over your lower belly, feeling yourself ache for him. Your own hands spring into action, caressing over the planes of his abdomen as you move lower and lower. 

However, a hand encircles your wrist before you can reach his boxers, Clark’s abashed face looking at you.

“Not yet, baby. Can’t—oh, gosh,”

He throws his head back in pleasure when you forge forward, boldly gripping him through the thin fabric. 

“Clark, please. You said you’d give me what I wanted.”

He seems to falter, but his touch doesn’t move, redirecting your hand to rest on his shoulder. 

“You know we can’t… yet. I don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart.”

Damn it. Damn his big fucking eyes and his honeyed voice. You can’t complain, no matter how much you’d want to. Not when he’s looking at you like that. 

With a sigh, you slump a little, voice slightly petulant. 

“Fine.”

He sees right through it, of course he does. 

“Oh, I know. It’s so hard, isn’t it, letting me touch you?”

You’d have a cutting reply on the tip of your tongue if his hands weren’t roaming again, his left cupping the back of your head as the right makes its way down to where you’re dripping. 

Your legs spread automatically, letting his fingers brush against your soaked folds. You have to moan, the feeling of his larger fingers always overwhelming at first. 

He swipes through your folds, once, twice, until his index finger is covered in slick. You’d be embarrassed, but it’s hard to feel anything but pleasure when Clark is touching you. Slowly, he brings his index up to your hooded clit, pressing down on it with practised precision. 

It’s like he’s feeling it too, the way he starts to pant at the sight of you getting enveloped in bliss. This is a part of your routine because you need to be worked open, yes, but it’s also selfishly for Clark’s own satisfaction, you both know it. 

The pleasure arcing up your spine has you arching your back, right leg jerking involuntarily. It only seems to spur him on, index leaving your clit. 

Acknowledging your whine with a kiss to the temple, Clark moves his hand slightly, positioning his finger a little lower. 

“Here we go, honey.”

He pushes further, thick finger brushing your gummy walls deliciously. Every time Clark fingers you, you worry that you’ll never be able to go back to your own fingers again. His are like the rest of him, broad, work-worn and skilled. The way he slowly increases the pace of his movements have you squirming under him, hands scrabbling at his shoulders. 

“Doing so good for me, baby. Take it like a champ, every time.”

His hushed praises are sent straight to your core, hot breath fanning over your cheek as he adds another impossibly large finger to the mix. 

The stretch burns, in the way that has you gushing around his digits. You’re openmouthed, unable to stop the endless torrent of moans and whimpers that leave you. 

“Clark—!”

He smiles a little, watching how your hips are starting to grind down on his palm. 

“Yeah, honey? Feeling good?”

You nod frantically, staring wide-eyed up at him.

One more finger joins the two already plunging in and out of you, and the staggering onslaught of sensations pushes you over the edge. 

A final brush of his palm against your clit and you fall apart, choked moans spilling into the air as your hips stutter.

“Oh my god, ohmygod, Clark!”

He knows to work you through it, slowing his pace until the wave has crested, and you’re looking up at him with big, wet eyes. 

Pulling his hand away from you, he dips down, capturing your lips with his. 

“How’re you feeling, honey? Want to stop?”

You’d rather die. You tell him so, reveling in the shock on his face. He seems to forget how badly you want him until it's shoved in his face, so you do just that.

Snaking a hand between your bodies, you brush the waistband of his boxers again. 

“Please, Clark? You know I can take it. Just wanna feel you.”

He’s a sucker for you, you both know it.

That’s what has him shoving down his boxers with graceless hands, what has him blushing when you compliment his cock for the umpteenth time. 

He’s hovering back over you, the mattress dipping by your head and hip, where he’s braced himself with a hand and knee. His other hand has found purchase on your thigh, kneading at the plush flesh idly. 

You wonder absentmindedly if there will be any marks left later. He’d be mortified. You’d love it.

“Sweetheart, you ready? Gotta take this slow,”

He’s let go of your thigh, gripping his cock at the base so he can swipe through your folds. You both let out guttural moans, laughing at each other when the pleasure subsides. 

“Yeah, Clark. I want it.”

He’s embarrassed by your confession, like he always is, but that doesn’t stop him from pressing his hips forward a fraction. The blunt tip of his cock pushes past your entrance, the stretch causing another moan from the both of you. 

You’ll never get used to it, the all-encompassing pleasure that comes with the first few inches of him. 

He’s slow, taking his time as he groans word salad into your ear. 

“Feels so—so good, baby. Always so good for me, aren’t you? Does it— oh, god— you feeling okay?”

His voice is hoarse, as if he’s been yelling for days. You can’t help but feel a little satisfaction at how thoroughly you seem to wreck the Man of Steel. 

“Yeah, Clark… Keep going.”

He nods, pushing even further. The tip of him reaches somewhere deep in you, somewhere only he’s ever been. The heady haze in your mind can’t dissipate, not when he’s making you feel like this. 

It feels like an eternity, but finally, his hips meet yours. You’re feeling obscenely full, like you could never live without him in you like this. It has you whining sharply when he pulls himself out slightly. 

However, the feeling of him pushing back in sends any thought of complaining flying out of your head. He’s swift in finding that perfect pace — somewhere between stuffing you as full as you can be and providing the friction he craves. 

Throwing your head back, you see his right hand hover in the air, as if he’s unsure what to do with it. It seems as though he’s decided when it grips the headboard behind your head, but a splintering sound has you pushing past the daze to warn him.

“Can’t— Don’t break the headboard—” You’re cut off by a moan, unable to stop yourself. He seems suitably chastised though, his hand balling into a fist and pressing into the mattress instead. You feel a distant hope that he won’t punch through that, somehow. It’d be a hell of a story to tell his parents why you had to replace it.

His left arm has slid under your shoulders in the meantime, holding you as close to his chest as possible. You’re sure he gets some pleasure out of it, but you know he does this for you. 

He knows you like to be overwhelmed by him, surrounded by his touch and smell and words until every thought’s been chased from your mind but him. He won’t let you run away from the excruciating pleasure, and you’re grateful. It’s even more wonderful here, in this single bed that forces you even closer to him than normal.

The brutal pace he’s set has you floating up to the sky in no time, head in the clouds as you let him hold you close. 

It could be a lot of things, but you’re getting close after only a few short minutes. It could be the deep groans that he’s letting loose in the air between your mouths. It could be the tight grip he’s got you in. It’s probably the incessant grinding of his pelvis against your clit when he drives home. 

Whatever it is, your arms around his neck tighten as you attempt to tell him. 

“Clark— Clark, m’gonna…”

He nods, smiling breathlessly down at you, knowing you want reassurance. 

“Me too, baby. Go ahead, you can come.”

Something about his gasped-out words has you spiralling, your climax hitting you at once. Walls spasming around him, his hips falter in their speed, slowing to a more languid, leisurely pace as he works you through it. 

“Good— good girl, honey. Feel so good.”

He lets you pull him in for a filthy, openmouthed kiss, pressing his pelvis against yours. 

One final grinding motion, and he’s gasping into your mouth. The blooming heat inside you has you shuddering with an aftershock of pleasure, moaning one final time. 

He remains pressed against you for some time, his arm holding you slightly off the bed as your chests heave. Only once he catches his breath (annoyingly quickly) does he settle you back against the sheets.

The next few moments are a blur, Clark kissing you one moment, softly wiping at your pussy with a cloth the next, and finally bringing a glass of water to your lips. 

“Feeling okay? Tired?”

“Yeah, a little, but a quick nap, and I’ll be ready.”

He looks at you quizzically, tilting his head in a way that reminds you of Krypto.

“What, you don’t have more in you? C’mon, Superman, we’ve got to wear you out at some point.”

He’s blushing again.

[thecapricunt1616]

I’m screaming yall I think Capri is about to make a comeback with these banners I’m INSPIRED.

Hi there! I absolutely LOVE your work- like, I seriously believe one of the reasons that my blog has grown so much is because I've made like an ... MO? a look? with your banners and borders stuff! I specifically use this one for my one shots, & i've been told people like it because they know that its my work when they see it. I try to tag all my work #borders&bannersbysaradika because they really are ALL by you (you're the best thats why)

but I came to request... I havent ever requested from you because you have some amazing fricken work so i felt a little selfish asking for more, but could you make borders for The Bear on hulu? Could be cute little bears, or even spin off of the Bear animal like alternating bears & honey pots *I am selfish and say this because I have a fic called The Bear & his Honey* but that would ultimately make me die and be so perfect, anywho - even if you don't do this request I am wishing you all the love and also thank you for all you do xoxoxoxo

ahh that is so cool to hear 🥺💖!! like that it’s part of your vibe, I am so happy you’ve found dividers that spoke to you like that! and omg yes I’d love to make some for the bear!

I hope these will be okay! so sorry these took me a while 💖 and thank you so much for the kind words and request!

[Free] Masterlist Headers & Dividers!

Please consider liking or reblogging if you use 💕

[thecapricunt1616]

Worm and another home run

My wormy friend if you can find it in you - Frank castle birthday smut would feed my soul (especially today 😉)

But I don’t mean Frank treating his girl nice because we all know he would. I mean his girl treating him for his birthday. Ik he’d be all flustered if he woke up to head and be all

‘Woah- woah what did I do to get so lucky today mmm?’

And his girls just like “take another trip around the sun. Happy birthday babe”

And he’s just like all giddy because he didn’t even remember it was his birthday bc he doesn’t care about it (but he def cares when he wakes up to sloppy top and homemade pancakes he got to watch his girl make naked for him yk?)

a/n: frank castle save me little blurb bc…meow. -🪱

cws: 18+ smut, read the ask. frank being an old man…

—————————

frank doesn’t know when holidays are. he was so used to being on his feet — dialing in on a singular task that he barely realizes it’s thanksgiving until he’s met with a big pikachu float on 34th street.

let alone his birthday.

he wakes up to open mouthed kisses on his scarred abdomen, stab wounds and even a bandage still present from the last hit he took.

“mm? woah, woah. sweet’eart-“ his voice is still laced with sleep, gruffer than usual which you usually deemed practically impossible.

“t’s your birthday.” she informs, licking a stripe from his naval down to his sharp v-line that framed his half hard cock stirring in his boxers.

he doesn’t have time to reply, his bear claw of a hand instantly moving to the top of his girl’s head. pushing her down until her nose is flush with his skin. the messy noises of drool and suction filling the walls of their bedroom.

“attagirl. tha’s it. goddamn.” his praises are strewn out, his jaw slack and his head tilted back. hand fisted in her hair and resisting the urge to thrust up and make her gag around it.

he finishes embarrassingly quick. admittedly it’s been awhile since they’d both had…free time. how strings of arousal shooting to the back of her throat as he let out a groan. smiling and breathlessly laughing as his body goes limp. patting her on the cheek with his dick still in her mouth.

[thecapricunt1616]

Im sorry I know my following is mostly for the bear but I am CRACKING up. If you watch criminal minds you know exactly why

[thecapricunt1616]

Sydney, a week into the job: So I may have noticed, picked up on, if you will, that this entire place and your sanity are hanging on by a shoelace. Would you like some help with that? Or—?

[thecapricunt1616]

Hi hello my lovelies I’m not back but here to outcry for my editors in the bear fandom okay hi hello I don’t know if you’ve seen the bitter sweet symphony trend going on with actors you know the “I’m a million different people from one day to the next” okay following ?

PLEASE DO IT WITH EBON OR JEREMY PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE Ebon has been acting so long you could get so many different clips!!!!! Please and Jeremy too!!! Please please please please please please okay that’s all love you guys dipping back out

(I’m watching though, always watching.)

[thecapricunt1616]

Little sonia / smol Sonia is my angel baby to protect 👼🏻

I will now only be going by “little sonia” now 😁

@thecapricunt1616

[thecapricunt1616]

Capri life updates ( the reason I haven’t been around ) tldr this is just for the people who want details on why I’ve been gone. More BTC

Hey friends in my phone just wanted to let you know why I haven’t been around as much so a few life updates for you

-as you may know I have been looking for a job since April. I finally found one & started the last week of October.

-due to being out of a job it caused my already preexisting mental health conditions to be exacerbated & my coping skills have been shit which has just made my mental health worse.

-started said new job & initially thought it was going to be fantastic but over the last 2 weeks my new boss (owner of company I work at) is an overbearing control freak

-I have yet to be paid. I have been working here 3 weeks (my unemployment ran out the first week of October) so I have had no money, none at all, since the first week of October. When I brought up that she hasn’t paid me, she snapped at me and told me it “wasn’t pertaining to my job duties I need to schedule a time to speak with her off the clock.” (This makes no sense to me) After she said this I clocked out told her I did so and requested to have time to speak with her- she hasn’t replied to that text (I sent it yesterday afternoon her time.)

-on top of me not being paid, everything is breaking on me. My personal laptop (that I have to use for work now which I also didn’t expect) keys are sticking. My glasses broke. I backed my mom’s car into my mailbox like a total dumb ass and dented it and now she’s even more mad at me because that’s just even more money I owe her. My owala water bottle broke (I use this all day every day). When it rains, it fucking pours.

-to top the cake, it is my birthday Saturday (11/16) and my only irl friend is stuck working out of state. My brothers are sick. And my mom is having a hard time with school and needs to study (I understand it’s really important to her). So I’m going to be stuck at home by myself essentially beside my dogs and cat with no money to ring in 24, yay me 🙃 (this has also been making me very very sad.)

I don’t know when I will be back. I may just spend tomorrow writing blurbs if I can even find it in me but honestly I feel like anything I write right now would be total dog shit.

I’m sorry this isnt the update you wanted. I’m sorry I haven’t been putting out fics. I’m sorry I built this blog up just to let you all down. I’m sorry.

I really hope things get better soon so I have the heart to come back. If you made it this far I want to say thank you for caring about me, and you friends in my phone mean a lot to me.

Xoxo,

Capri🌻

[thecapricunt1616]

*screams and runs in circles*

#mouseshot500 can I have an order of “I didn’t expect you to be this bold, but I’m not complaining." With our lover Richie Jerimovich?

meow

"I didn’t expect you to be this bold, but I’m not complaining." — from ; nsfw sentences & quotes

content tags: smut btc, fem reader, age gap

come celebrate with me! 🪩 → mouse's 500

You'd started working at The Beef not long after Carmy took over, as a favour to him, since you were old friends. Honestly, you'd forgotten all about Richie being there— you hadn't seen him since you and Carmy graduated high school.

"Look at you, sweetheart! You are a sight for sore eyes!" He exclaimed, pulling you into a hug.

You laughed softly. "It's good to see you too, Richie!"

It didn't take long to rekindle that crush you'd had on him when you were younger— it returned tenfold.

After the busy day at The Beef, you and Richie decided to catch up over drinks at a nearby bar. Not necessarily a club, just a bar. Then after some time spent catching up, Richie, ever the gentleman, walked you up to your apartment door.

"So... do you wanna... come inside?" You asked, twisting a strand of hair with your finger.

Richie smirked a little at you. "I didn’t expect you to be this bold, but I’m not complaining."

"Oh my god, all I did was ask you inside!" You muttered, feeling your face flush.

"I know what it means when a girl asks you inside," Richie teased as you led him into your apartment.

"Oh? And what does that mean, huh?" You asked, looking up at Richie as he grinned. Of course you knew what he was talking about.

"You gonna show me your bedroom or what, sweetheart?"

┈

Soon enough, you found yourself sprawled out on your bed, naked, Richie between your thighs, absolutely going to town on you. You were being sent into your second orgasm by his tongue and fingers alone.

"Fuck me, sweetheart," He groaned against your soaked cunt. "You taste so fuckin' sweet."

This was better than you could've ever imagined, better than your wildest dreams.

"You need a break?" Richie asked as he sat up. "Or you want me to keep going?"

"Please keep going," You pleaded breathlessly. "Need you."

Richie didn't need to be told twice. Within seconds, his belt flew off and he hurriedly pulled down his jeans and boxers, and pounced on you like a predator to its prey.

You could only hope it could be like this every night from now on— or, at least, most nights.

[thecapricunt1616]

Omg! Thank you i love you all I never thought I’d hit 100 followers let alone 700+ 😊

Btw sorry I’ve been super behind on promptober haven’t really been feeling myself lately I hope to get back to writing soon 💕

[thecapricunt1616]

This series is so close to my heart omg I love it smmm mouse you killed it

Nicotine & Tangerines | Carmandy | Chapter Three

previous chapter | masterlist | playlist | pinterest board | next chapter

Chapter Summary: Picnics are a wonderful way to spend time together and bond, and it's a deciding factor for Mandy. Carmy and Richie meet the brigade of Milkoviches, including Ian, and another romance begins to blossom too. Between her and Carmy becoming closer, and finally catching up with her family, Mandy decides maybe it's time she actually move back to Chicago. | Carmy Berzatto x Mandy Milkovich — The Bear x Shameless Crossover (part of my Shameless Bear Universe!)

Content Tags: a little bit of Lip slander (i'm sorry), very brief Claire mention, Mickey being Mickey... actually all of the Milkoviches being Milkoviches, mentions of Mikey's death. also Carmy eating pussy like he's starving + fingering okay bye

Important Info: at this point, Ian and Mickey are living in the Gallagher house. Debs and Sandy are currently broken up. Macie and Carl are not an item yet. also Lip and Tami's second child is mentioned. okay? okay!

Quick A/N: yes i am aware that according to the shameless wiki that Mandy's full name is Amanda but given that Mickey's is Mikhailo it didn't make sense to me or Capri (plus a few others) and Capri gave me the name Amaliya! thanks bae<3

Chapter Three: Don't Embarrass Me, Motherfucker

Word Count: 3k

"Okay, your turn," Carmy said.

They were both laying across a blanket in a secluded area of a park. Carmy had made basically a gourmet picnic for a date with Mandy. Delicately crafted finger sandwiches on homemade bread, carrot slices cut into different intricate shapes, homemade potato chips, green grapes, and chocolate dipped strawberries. To top it all off, Carmy had packed a bottle of wine that Mikey had apparently been saving— a 1995 red wine from Italy. Nobody knew why Mikey was saving it exactly, there was no note, no significant dates or anything, so Carmy decided it'd be the perfect thing to bring on his picnic date with Mandy.

"Okay, um..." Mandy hummed, popping a grape into her mouth. "Why's your nickname Bear?"

"Well, the way my last name is pronounced, yknow, Berzatto," Carmy started. "And Mikey always treated us siblings like a pack of bears, me, him, and Sugar. Strong, smart, protective of our own... but also ridiculously introverted."

Mandy giggled a little at Carmy's explanation. "I guess that does make you like a bear."

He smiled softly, shrugging a little as he took a strawberry to eat. "Yeah, they usually called me that the most... still do. Richie does too, so do the fuckin' Faks."

"I still have yet to meet more than Neil," She grinned, poking Carmy's shoulder.

"Oh my god, trust me, you don't want to," Carmy laughed, rolling his eyes.

"Trust me, if there's as many Faks as Milkoviches, I'm sure I'll survive!" Mandy giggled a little, rolling her eyes too. "Okay, it's your turn again."

"Alright, alright," He laughed before starting to think. "What's Mandy short for? My guess is Amanda."

"Wrong," Mandy smirked. "It's short for Amaliya."

Carmy raised his eyebrow, intrigue sparkling in his eyes as he tilted his head like a curious puppy. God, he was so cute.

"When Mick 'n I started school, nobody could pronounce my name correctly. Everything from Amelia to Amanda to Emily, and I just decided one day that I liked the sound of Mandy," She explained. "Mickey's is short for Mikhailo, some teachers struggled with that too but not as badly as mine."

"I like that name, Amaliya," Carmy murmured softly. "But Mandy definitely suits you. Both names do."

"Yeah?" Mandy asked with a little smile. "Thanks."

"Okay, um, it's your turn again," He hummed after a moment of silence, smiling a little at her again.

She let out a thoughtful hum, taking a bite of a chocolate covered strawberry for herself. "Where was your favourite place to go? Like, of all your cooking adventures."

"Copenhagen," Carmy answered immediately. "It's just... it's so beautiful there, yknow? It's beautiful, and... it was peaceful. I felt like... anything was possible there. I also kinda liked staying on the boat."

"That's really beautiful," Mandy smiled softly. "Yknow, I've never actually been there."

"I'd love to take you— I mean, um, like, s-someday—" Carmy stammered.

Oh, the smile on Mandy's face only grew wider. That was so sweet.

"That sounds... really wonderful," She smiled softly. "Nicest place Lip ever took me was one of those Pizza Huts with the salad bar. We had to dine 'n dash."

"This, uh, Lip guy... he sounds like... he was a real piece of work," Carmy commented.

"Tell me about it," Mandy groaned, laying back on the blanket. "I know I wasn't perfect, I mean... I know I'm not fucking perfect. But it's like... nothing I ever did was good enough for him. I plagiarized fucking essays to try and get him into college cus he was being a stubborn ass. Yknow what he did in college? Fucked his professor."

"He fucked his professor?" Carmy asked in disbelief.

"Yeah, Ian told me all about what a fuckin' disaster it was," Mandy groaned. "But, enough about that. I doubt you'll ever meet him, Mickey said his baby mama's trying to get him to movie to Milwaukee."

"Who the fuck wants to live in Milwaukee?" He asked, scrunching up his nose.

That made Mandy laugh loudly. "Apparently this Tami chick."

Huh. That name sounded... strangely familiar, a name Claire had mentioned a few times, maybe? Who knew.

┈

After they'd packed up, Carmy went to the restaurant to get some prep done at the restaurant, and Mandy went to meet up with Richie.

"So, why'd you wanna meet me, sweetheart?" Richie asked, lighting up a cigarette as he and Mandy sat on the balcony of her hotel suite.

"I don't... wanna get paid to be Carmy's companion anymore," Mandy muttered softly.

Richie's eyes went wide as he listened to her words. She what? "What did he fuckin' say to you? I swear to fuckin'—"

"No, no, no!" She dismissed quickly. "You're misunderstanding! I don't wanna get paid anymore cus I just... I like him. I... like him enough to wanna give up the whole escorting thing altogether."

Richie quickly calmed down, and couldn't help smiling just a little bit at that. "Y'like him, huh? Well, uh... that's... that's real sweet. I gotta say, wasn't expectin' that. Carmy can be... a little bit of a pain in the ass."

Mandy laughed softly, shaking her head. "I think he's... sweet. In his own way."

"Well, I'll stop payin' ya after this week. Sound fair?" He asked, holding out his hand to shake on it.

"Sounds fair," Mandy smiled softly, shaking Richie's hand. "Man... I guess I gotta start looking for an apartment."

┈

A few days later, Mandy had arranged for her siblings, plus Sandy and Ian, to come to The Bear to finally see her and catch up... and maybe for a soft launch of Carmy as well, even though they weren't anything official.

Mickey, Sandy, and Macie had kept a surprise from Mandy as well— Molly had finally gotten away from her mother for good, and was now sharing a place with Macie for the time being.

They'd arrived there early so Mandy could introduce everybody to Richie, and maybe Carmy if he wasn't too busy. Thankfully, all the Milkoviches, and Ian, cleaned up quite nicely.

"Oh my god— you guys didn't tell me you were bringing Molly!" Mandy gasped as the group arrived, hugging her second youngest sister first. "Holy shit."

"Well, it would've ruined the fuckin' surprise!" Mickey blurted out, crossing his arms.

Mandy laughed softly, rolling her eyes before she hugged Mickey, then everybody else. "I missed everybody."

Macie clung to the hug the longest and tightest, having missed her older sister greatly. "I missed you a lot."

"Missed you too, kiddo," Mandy muttered as she hugged Macie back.

Mandy hugged Ian tightly when Macie finally let her go, finding comfort in seeing her best friend after so many years.

"Good to see ya," He murmured as he gave her a little squeeze.

"You too," She murmured. "I'm gonna assume, um... someone doesn't know I'm back in Chicago?"

"Yeah, um, no... he has no idea. He's a little too preoccupied with Tami and the kids," Ian muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Kids? Plural?" Mandy asked, clearly astounded.

"Yeah! Freddie and Kimmie... Freddie's older, and Kimmie's almost a year old," He nodded. "It's kinda weird, watching him be a dad to his own actual kids instead of like Debs, and Carl, and Liam..."

"Well, speaking of those three, I'll have to come see them sometime," Mandy muttered with a soft smile.

"Sandy would've brought Debbie, but they're broken up, again," Macie groaned, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, shut the fuck up," Sandy bit back. "You would've invited Carl if you'd ever grow a pair and admit you liked him."

"Fuck you!" Macie whined.

"Okay! Okay, remember, this is a nice restaurant, so try to tone down the Milkovichness by at least like... fifty percent. Can you do that?" Mandy asked.

"First of all, fuck you," Mickey stated bluntly. "Second of all, yes we can."

After all the greetings and conversations were out of the way, Mandy finally brought everybody inside. Richie awaited them with a large grin on his face.

"So, this must be the big family I've been hearin' about, huh?" He laughed to Mandy.

Mandy nodded with a soft laugh, then pointed everybody out as she introduced them. "This is my older brother Mickey, my little sisters Molly and Macie, my cousin Sandy, and Mickey's husband who is also my best friend, Ian!" She then gestured to Richie afterwards. "Guys, this is Richie."

Richie struggled to keep himself together when he laid eyes on the tallest Milkovich— Molly, the gorgeous blonde that towered even a few inches above Mandy, especially with both of them wearing heels. He cleared his throat, then shook hands with each of them, including Ian.

"Well, right this way," Richie said with a polite smile, gesturing for the group to follow him to their table. He and Mandy had arranged for them to have that table all night— The Bear could sacrifice it just this once.

"Thanks, Richie," Mandy smiled softly as everybody sat down.

Part of her debated going to see Carmy on her own before he was bombarded with the many Milkoviches— the restaurant wasn't gonna be open for another little bit, so it's not like she didn't have time. But, it was too late, because there was Carmy, poking his head out of the kitchen door.

"Mandy!" He muttered, a little smile gracing his lips as he approached the table.

"Oh boy," Mandy thought to herself as Carmy got closer. She could already sense the look on her family's faces when they saw him, she had entirely failed to mention the... similarities he and Lip shared.

Carmy looked at the five dumbfounded faces next to Mandy, then looked at her with a little laugh. "You didn't tell them, did you?"

"Didn't tell us that you look damn near identical to my older brother?" Ian asked. "No, no she did not."

"So, funny story, the first time I met him I took out my switchblade cus I thought Lip was playing some kind of sick joke on me," Mandy confessed with an awkward laugh.

"Classic," Mickey laughed. He took another look at Carmy, a long look.

"It's not polite to stare, Mick," Macie scolded, nudging her older brother with her elbow.

"This is fuckin' weird, I think I'm allowed to stare!" Mickey fired back, crossing his arms over his chest. He kept eyes on Carmy, making him shift uncomfortably.

"Okay, Mickey, that's enough," Mandy muttered. "You're gonna freak him out."

"No, no, um, I'm sure it's... weird..." Carmy muttered. "I look like the guy who hurt his little sister. I'm sure if Sugar had started seeing someone who looked like one of her high school exes, I'd be freaking out too."

"Sugar?" Mickey questioned.

"Oh, um, my sister," Carmy answered in a soft voice, smiling a little.

"Hey, Mick, did you know this place used to be The Beef? And Carmy's brother owned it?" Mandy told him, hoping to maybe change the subject slightly.

"What?! No fuckin' way!" Mickey responded, looking at his sister in disbelief, then back at Carmy.

"Yeah, um, Mikey was my brother... Mandy said one time you guys came here and he gave you guys some food on the house," Carmy mentioned with a prideful smile. He knew his brother had his issues, but he could be a pretty stand up guy, especially to kids who grew up rough.

"That's so fuckin' cool!" Mickey exclaimed.

"Jesus, Mick, calm down," Ian laughed softly.

"So, where's he now? Your brother?" Mickey asked Carmy curiously.

"Oh, um... he... he passed away..." Carmy muttered softly, lowering his head for a moment.

"Ah, shit... I'm... I'm sorry..." Mickey stammered awkwardly.

"We all miss him," Richie piped up finally, having been listening to the conversation and being entertained by the previously shocked Milkovich faces.

"He seemed like a cool guy," Mickey commented. "Hot too."

"Mickey!" Ian and Mandy simultaneously scolded.

Mandy looked at Carmy with an apologetic expression written all over her face— but he was smiling. He was laughing. He liked her family.

┈

The family lingered in the restaurant shortly after close, and of course, Mickey had to pipe up once more.

"So, we gonna talk about the big ass elephant in the room?" He asked.

"What are you talking about?" Mandy groaned.

"You've got a fuckin' type!" He exclaimed.

"I do not have a type!" She defended.

"Kinda seems like you have a type," Ian commented.

Mandy put her face in her hands, letting out a frustrated groan. "Okay, I get it, he kinda looks like Lip, but they could not be more different. Carmy's... he's so much softer. Trust me, when you get to know him... they're very different."

"Does he drink?" Ian asked curiously.

"Rarely, social, only if he's up to it, mostly for special occasions," Mandy muttered. "And he just quit smoking a few weeks ago. Trying to convince me to do the same."

"Yeah fuckin' right, you've been smoking since you were like 10!" Mickey laughed.

"So have you, asshole!" She commented with an eye roll. "Seriously guys, I... I really, really like him."

Mickey sighed a little bit, then put his arm around his sister, giving her a gentle squeeze. "Alright... I get it," He muttered. "But I hope you know that if he hurts you, he's dead. Just cus you've gotten classier don't mean I have."

"We'll help hide the body! Right Molls?" Macie commented before nudging Molly, who nodded in agreement.

Mandy giggled a little bit, poking Mickey in the ribs. "Thank you."

After that, Carmy and Richie both came out of the kitchen, each seeming like they were about ready to head out.

"Okay, I love you guys, we'll hang out again soon, promise," Mandy said with a little smile, sliding out of the booth to sidle up beside Carmy, who led her out of the restaurant.

As Ian and the other Milkoviches got ready to head out, Richie stopped Molly before she headed to the door.

"Um, y'can say no if y'think this is... weird... or y'think I'm a creepy old man or somethin'..." He started nervously, eye level with the tall blonde in her heels. "But would... would you wanna grab a coffee or somethin' sometime?"

Molly smiled a little in surprise, quickly taking out her phone and handing it to Richie to put his number in. "Sure. Sounds nice."

"Oh Christ," Mickey groaned.

"Leave her alone, she's well over 18 and she can date who she wants," Ian scolded.

"No! No, not that. Just another one of my sisters goin' for one of these near yuppie motherfuckers—" Mickey was quickly cut off.

"Actually, grew up on the south side myself, and helped Mikey run The Beef back in the day. I just wasn't gonna leave this whole buildin' to Carmy," Richie commented with a grin. "Ain't no fuckin' yuppies here except for the customers sometimes."

Mickey looked a little taken aback. "Cool. Okay then."

Molly giggled a little bit, shaking her head. "Night, Richie. I'll text you."

"Night, sweetheart," Richie muttered with a little grin as the group left the restaurant. Mentally, he was celebrating.

┈

Once more, Carmy whisked Mandy back to his tiny, denim clad apartment.

"So, my family didn't scare you too much?" She asked, tone laced with a hint of nervousness.

"Not at all, actually," He reassured, giving a little smile since he could hear the nerves. "I thought they were a riot. Your brother seems, um... very..."

"Shameless?" Mandy laughed. "No filter?"

"Yes, that," Carmy laughed too, nodding a little. "Exactly."

As they shared the laughter, they managed to get to the couch where they both took a seat. Mandy turned her head, smiling at Carmy.

"You're a really great guy, yknow that?"

Carmy looked a little surprised at that statement. "Really? I don't... always feel like one."

"Well, I think you are, if that counts for anything," She muttered softly.

"No, um, i-it definitely does..." He nodded, looking down for a moment before his eyes met hers again. "I just... guess I'm not so used to hearin' that these days."

Mandy gently reached out, cupping Carmy's cheek while running a thumb over his cheekbone. "As long as I'm around, I'm gonna make sure you know it."

The moment of eye contact lingered, Carmy felt as if his heart were fucking soaring. How was this girl real? Even after everything he'd found out she had gone through, she was still so sweet towards him.

He didn't even know the half of what she'd gone through yet though. And what made him, his gentleness, so special to her.

After the lingering moment, Carmy found himself leaning in, he planted his lips on Mandy's in a gentle kiss. Honestly, his gentle nature towards her was such a refreshing perspective than almost every other man she'd encountered in her life.

Of course, that wasn't to say Carmy was always gentle, and she was quickly learning that— after the kiss got more heated, the pair soon found themselves in a different position. Mandy's panties were long gone, Carmy was kneeling in front of the couch, and he was about to display his other talents.

Mandy had received good head before, sure, but good lord, Carmy was eating her cunt like it was his last fucking meal. His tongue worked its magic, from her leaking entrance all the way to her aching clit.

"Oh, fuck, Carm—" She whimpered. Her long, slender fingers laced through his curls and latching onto them.

Carmy was completely focused on the task at hand. Two tattooed fingers slipped into her weepy hole, almost immediately curling against that sweet spot, making her clench around them. His expert tongue kept working on and teasing her clit all the while, thank god she was sitting because she was getting weak in the fucking knees.

"F-Fuck, Carm, 'm gonna—" Mandy warned between strangled whimpers.

Carmy's mouth, chin, and fingers were completely soaked. He looked up from her thighs with a grin before sucking her slick from his digits.

Mandy panted, letting her head fall back for a moment as she caught her breath.

"You good?" He asked softly, gentle demeanor returning once more.

She nodded slowly, then looked at Carmy with a little smile. "Do it again."

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

tags ; @thecapricunt1616 @buzzcutlip @luveediary @dearpyramus @thestarsanthemoon @mykinkiscarmy @teddygrahamslam @henlo17 @jessv9607

click here if you'd like to be tagged in any future updates of my work!

[thecapricunt1616]

I’m - I. I. I.

꒷꒷꒦꒷ WORMTOBER: DAY SEVEN - LUCA (THE BEAR FX) ꒷꒦꒷꒷

a/n: 7/31 of promptober!! linked is my schedule. POSTING A LITTLE EARLY SORRY!! too excited,, cws: SMUT BTC! 18+. scream mask rp (obvi). oral (m). graphic descriptions you’ve been warned. first luca fic!! tw (british /j). wc: 403

“love. i was trying to scare you.”

luca’s a bit…clueless. realistically, more than a bit. it took months for him to realize you were flirting with him, and god knows it was only the night you bluntly said “lu, i want you to fuck me.” the synapses in his brain fired.

“luca, with all due respect — this, isn’t scary. if anything, it’s kinda hot?” she replies more as a question, than a statement. scared of judgement, for whatever reason. lifting the scream mask to give him a kiss. the way he’s smirking not missed.

“yeah?” he asks for reassurance, pushing it back down to cover his features. his mind and heart suddenly racing at the possibilities of it all.

she nods, and luca can see it through the mesh of the eye holes. he’d been standing in their bedroom for what felt like hours, just trying to startle her a little.

this was a much better outcome.

“god, i love you.” he scoffs, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking down. silently asking her to get on her knees, and attend to his aching cock resting under his sweats. a pulse starting to grow at the tip, stirring and begging for attention.

“love you too, lu.” she can’t help but reply with a little giggle, kissing the imprint of his erection through the heather gray material. playing with his waistband a little, before pushing them down just enough to let his erection spring free.

“so big, lu.” she praises, knowing her complimenting words dizzy him. smiling to herself as he looks down at her in that god forsaken mask, luca’s grip on her strands almost painful.

it’s not long before he’s pushing her head down until the tip of her nose is flush with his pubic bone. the gagging and slick noises filling the room, bouncing off their bedroom walls. his words are muffled by the mask — but not fully.

“shit. i’mgonnacome. take me out of your mouth, darling. i, oh-“ he rushes out as you obey, him fisting his cock once or twice before his seed leaks out with a loud groan.

coming out in spurts, with and thick. painting her cheeks and face. her mouth wide open, barely minding the way his come weaved through her lashes.

luca finally takes the mask off. chest heaving as he caught his breath, that same goofy smile plastered on his face.

“i was gonna say i wanted to come inside you.”

dt: @thecapricunt1616 , @l4long-winded , @maggiesarchives , @carmenberzattosgf , @mouseymilkovich

[thecapricunt1616]

Bro? Bro. Bro.

.⋆🃖 WORMTOBER: DAY ELEVEN - LUCA (THE BEAR FX) 🃁⋆.

a/n: 11/31 of promptober!! linked is my schedule. finally on track again!! yipee!! cws: SMUT! 18+. foreplay. wc: 442

“lu, not here.”

of course that’s how it started. luca pouted in retaliation — he hated these things with a passion.

sure, if it was his kind of work thing he’d probably be able to yap about pastries to some poor guy. her kind of work things? it was all business.

“love, i don’t know how you expect me to behave when you look like this.” he countered, whispering lowly in his ear. his accent thick as his hand splayed on her thigh, reaching out and squeezing the plush softly.

“my boss is over there. literally, right over there. can you relax?” she tries her best to sound stern. emphasis on tries.

“i’ll be quick. promise.” he preens, smiling wide as his hands danced all that higher. fingertips brushing her clothed core, grin only getting wider when he feels how soaked the lace had gotten.

“now what do we have here, hm?” he teased, only getting a huff of annoyance out of her.

“lu, just- fuck, fine. quick.”

she looks around at all the people in black tie walking in and out. swirling flutes of champagne, while luca pushed her panties to the side.

he swore his mouth watered at just the sheer feel of her. pretending to look around too as he kept his hand under the table, collecting her slick before thumbing at her clit with a shake of his head.

in disbelief they were really doing this.

“be quiet, love. those sounds are just f’me, remember?” he reminded when he heard a hushed whine escape her, stilling his movements for just a second to double down.

“i remember, lu.” she nodded enthusiastically. throat bobbing as she gulped her last breath, holding it once luca’s fingers curled up perfectly — nudging at the spongy spot inside repeatedly and with ease.

her thighs are shaking under the tablecloth, only adding to her boyfriend’s amusement.

his eyebrows raising in surprise for just a moment, not stopping the shakes from his wrist as he felt her cunt clench around the digits.

“close already hm? that’s it. good girl.” he sounded like he was talking to a damn dog.

and hell if she was going to be mad at that, not when the pleasure he was giving her was mind numbingly good.

“lu. shit-“ her eyes screw shut in pleasure. leaning her head on her hand. elbow on the table, biting down on her palm to silence a loud cry.

his fingers exit her entrance, a string of arousal and a ring of creamy white around the base of them. patting her core lightly as if to silently say ‘he won’, laughing cockily under his breath yet again.

“now, can we go?”

dt: @thecapricunt1616 , @l4long-winded , @maggiesarchives , @carmenberzattosgf , @mouseymilkovich , @notsonian <3

[thecapricunt1616]

What if I DIED

❦ ⊹˚₊ WORMTOBER: DAY THIRTEEN - LIP GALLAGHER ₊˚⊹ ❦

a/n: 13/31 of promptober!! linked is my schedule. yeah it’s like 5am the insomnia is back but at least wormtober is too!!! cws: SMUT BTC! 18+. roughdom!lip. established relationship. wc: 350

lip gallagher has a rough exterior.

he’s unapologetic, amongst other things. says what was on his mind 24/7. wasn’t afraid to fight someone over a take.

whether that be physical, or verbal.

lip was gentle with the ones he loved, though. even unsure of himself, sometimes.

that’s why it takes him by complete and utter surprise when she grabs his hand mid-hookup, leading him towards her neck.

he tried to be gentle with her. he swore. tried to not make the same mistake he’d done with other girls in his (embarrassingly) convoluted past.

you could argue it was the heat of the moment, but god, she knew what she was doing. knew he couldn’t possibly say no to her while she was wrapped around his dick — all pretty and braindead.

“shit. somebody likes that.” he preens, all cocky and smiley as he hovered above her. sending a little squeeze around her trachea her way, letting her mind go fuzzier than it already had been from his cock stretching her out the past 2 hours, give or take.

lip’s lost count on all the times he’d made her come on it. all the positions he’d had her in. it’s all a blur.

“mn. mhm.” is all she can muster to reply with, voice shattered and high pitched as she panted like a dog under his grip. breathless and eager, just the way he liked her.

“gonna fill y’u up full soon, bunny. promise. been such a good girl t’night. such a good girl.” he coos, leaning down in her ear with his hand still wrapped around her throat — biting gently on her earlobe for emphasis.

picking her neck up, and lightly pressing it back down onto the pillow behind her.

just reminding her who’s in charge.

“please. pleasepleaseplease. i want it. want it so bad, lip.” there’s tears pricking in the corners of her eyes now. the girth of him never failing to surprise her, even when he bullies himself inside her time and time again. fucks her nightly like no one ever has.

“y’ll get it bunny. fuck, you will. tha’s a fuckin’ promise.”

dt: @thecapricunt1616 , @l4long-winded , @maggiesarchives , @carmenberzattosgf , @mouseymilkovich , @notsonian <3

[thecapricunt1616]

REEEEEEEEEEEEE MY HUBS

⊹˚₊ WORMTOBER: DAY FOURTEEN - LIP GALLAGHER ⁺˚🧣⋆°✩₊

a/n: 14/31 of promptober!! linked is my schedule. on schedule omg!!! cws: fluff. established relationship. wc: 252

“‘ey baby? have you seen my…sweater.” lip started his sentence as a question, cutting it short when he caught view of her curled up on the couch.

wearing the grey and black striped pullover he’d been tearing up the house for.

“sorry. smells like you.” she weakly defends, looking up at him as he caught his breath from running around. a puff of laughter escaping his nose.

“you could’ve just asked. fuck, i just tore into carl ‘bout that damn thing.” lip scoffs defeatedly, plopping down next to her and not taking a second thought as he situated his head into her lap. her fingers instinctively running through his hair, scratching at his scalp.

“there’s a hole in the sleeve, y’know.” she informs him, just gaining a roll of his eyes. lip kissing the top of her kneecap gently before replying.

“yea. you try smokin’ a cig with your hands still out there. fuckin’ freezing now.” he sighed, not really caring if anyone would see him being all soft with her. it wouldn’t be a surprise, either way. everyone knew he was practically wrapped around her little finger.

“i’ll patch it up for you. wouldn’t want you to throw this thing out anyway. it’s my favorite.” she admits with a small smile. lip’s chest fluttering as he looked up at her, committing the sight of her with his clothes on her back to memory.

“yea? that right? we share it then. what’s yours ‘s mine.”

he could get more than used to that.

dt: @thecapricunt1616 , @l4long-winded , @maggiesarchives , @carmenberzattosgf , @mouseymilkovich , @notsonian <3