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put-me-through-the-wall · 2 days

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Girl Next Door- Pt. 2

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x reader

Word count: 3k

Summary: Simon finally accept your offer for dinner. Did you mention you can cook?

A/N: I was a little slow on this but the idea of them getting close was stressing me out, okay? Also my MIL was in town and I couldn't get in the groove. All the support so far is amazing, thank you guys so much! If y'all like it there will be more to come. Warning: still slow burning

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Part I

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Simon sits across from you at your tiny dining table pressed against the wall of your cramped kitchen. You managed to lure him in with a fairly nice bottle of unopened scotch you found in the back of your cabinet that had potentially fallen into one of your own boxes when moving from your ex's house.

He looks around your quaint little one bedroom apartment. It was a lot different than his own. The literal layout was the same. No extra rooms or walls but you’d done something different in here. The whole space had a cozy feeling to it. Every surface was decorated with useless gadgets and trinkets that he didn't understand the purpose of. Lots of blankets, pillows, soft things. You had music quietly playing through your TV speakers in the living room. A few lamps fill the dim room creating a subtle yellow glow that hits the high points of your face, softening your tired features.

"Do you think there's something wrong with me?" you suddenly blurt out.

"S'cuse me?" Simon asks, caught off guard by the question.

"Lately I've been feeling like there's something inside of me that attracts horrible guys. Like, is there a beacon coming out my head that says 'hey, come over here. I'm vulnerable and easy'."

Simon pauses, unsure how to respond. He watches your face closely. You're sad eyes looking to him for an answer he doesn't have. "I think you're...nice," but he has a feeling that's not what you wanted to hear.

"nice?" You let out a humorless laugh. "Maybe that's the problem. Nice must translate to doormat," You sigh and drop your head into your hands.

Simon takes a sip of his drink. He's growing concerned this is entering too friendly territory. Then you pop your head back up.

"So, how much did you hear?"

"Not much"

"Yeah right," You toss him a coy smile. “Can I tell you what happened?”

“Sure,”

“Alright, so” you take a sip of your own drink and a deep breath before recounting your story. "I met him at work. He was really nice and offered to pick me up a coffee on his way in one day. I haven’t made any friends at work yet so it was nice just to chat over a coffee. Then we started having lunch together. Nothing serious just in the break room but it felt good to hear about something other than notes from my editor. I wasn’t looking for anything serious, I mean I moved here to focus on myself not continue dating more crappy guys. So of course he started texting me and he was really sweet. He complimented my outfits and thought all my jokes were hilarious apparently. I really wasn’t trying to get involved with this guy though. He said something about hearing I can cook and of course I said I do. It’s part of my job, duh. He’s giving my shit about it so I invited him over for dinner. I made this creamy potato gnocchi with Italian sausage that I got from that great butcher on the corner. I even hand rolled the gnocchi. I mean, who wouldn't kill for an authentic Italian meal?"

"He's sounds like some guy"

"Not really, I was testing out a new recipe for the column so, two birds one stone. Anyways, he comes up and we have some wine and listen to some music. It was going really well so far. Then I go to bring out a nice charcuterie board for an appetizer while the pasta finishes baking. While I'm bringing it to him I can see he's on his phone, texting someone and literally giggling. I walk up behind him and he is sexting. On my couch!" you throw you hands up incredulously. "Well, I thought he was. He’s looking at a picture of some girl bent over then I realize it’s me. He took a picture of my ass, while I was making him dinner. I couldn't fucking believe it. What kind of a scumbag does that to a woman preparing a fucking meal for him? Now, this is not something I'm proud of so let the record show this is very out of character for me but these were extraordinary circumstances. So, I dropped the fig chutney on his head. Right in his stupid quaffed hair. He jumps up and he's all mad and starts yelling and I'm yelling back. He calls me a crazy bitch then I call him a perv. After that he left." you conclude with a shrug.

"Wow" Simon responds, truly taken aback by the series of events.

"Yeah, then you know the rest from there. I don't know what came over me. I guess after my last breakup I haven't felt very good about myself and this guy made me feel, I don't know- fun? That feels silly to say. I should’ve known better from a guy that works the celebrity gossip section. I probably looked like a big baby out there, how dramatic. I'm sorry about that, again."

"You don't need to apologize."

"After I moved here I thought things would be different. I thought guys in the city were classier I guess. Turns out all guys are the same. Just take what they want and go. Do you want another drink?" You point to his now empty glass.

"Sure." You snag his cup and stand. He watches you walk over to the counter in your silky slip dress. The sleek fabric clings to your waist. Flaring around your hips and down your thighs. The warm light reflects on the shiny material, shifting with each step you take. It tightens perfectly about your waist and cinched with a neat little bow in the back. He wonders why you would wear a dress like that for this guy.

"So, do you date?" you question in a seemingly casual tone.

"No"

"Yeah right," you laugh and look over your shoulder to see his stoney expression and your smile fades. "Oh, sorry, I just- I find that hard to believe."

"Why is that?" He tilts his head and you focus back on filling his glass.

"It's just, you're a good looking guy. I would think you'd get plenty of female attention," You pivot back around and place the glass before him. You lean on the table with one hand and prop the other on your waist.

"'M not interested," his gaze stays fixed on the brown liquid, grabbing it and taking another sip. He doesn't miss the way you deflated the slightest bit.

"Maybe I should take a page out of your book, as in maybe swearing off men completely" The oven timer dings. "Oh! pasta!" You jump over and grab your oven mitts. You drop the oven door and slide out the sizzling dish. An aroma of cheese and basil fills the air. Your stomach audibly growls.

You pull down two plates from your cabinet. You serve up the steaming pasta, sprinkling parmesan and fresh chopped herbs for garnish. You proudly carry over the two dishes and place them carefully on the table. You place your hands on your hips while gazing down at the platter.

"This looks...great." Simon is truly taken aback by the incredible looking dish.

"Wait, don't eat yet. Let me get a picture." You scamper into your living room, grabbing your phone off the coffee table and scurrying back. You hold your phone high above for a birds eye view. Simon scoots his chair back to avoid the gaze of the lens. The camera clicks with a flash. You examine the photo, seeming satisfied with the quality and finally taking a seat in your own chair. "It was okay if you were in the picture. I don't mind."

"I do," he says simply.

To anyone else, Simon comes off as rude or callous but you, you never seem to let his shortness affect you. You take his words and just keep going. You don't mind his lack of conversation. It seems you are totally satisfied with having someone there to listen. He was starting to think he didn't mind listening so much.

"Oh," You shift uncomfortably in your chair. "Sorry then. Well, let me know what you think. Try to be detailed with your feelings about it if you can. You're my guinea pig and be honest. I don't want to put this out when it's garbage."

He proceeds to take a forkful in his mouth. He cannot control the groan that escapes his throat as the bold flavor hits his tongue. This is far cry from his usual take away food. He can't remember the last time he had a home cooked meal now that he thinks about it.

"This is quite good." He grumbled between bites. Not caring to finish chewing before he's stabbing at the pasta on the plate once again.

"Really? You don't need to be nice to spare my feelings. I don't mind criticism."

He shoves more in his mouth. "I’m serious"

"Thank you" You giggle watching him scarf down the still steaming hot meal.

The two of you finish your respective plates without much more conversation to be had. On your last few bites you meet Simon's eyes as he reclines back in the creaky wooden chair, hands laying across his stomach. His head tips back with a satisfied grumble making a proud smile play across your lips. This may be the first time you've seen him express a true human emotion in your presence.

"There's more if you want?"

"No, I'm stuffed."

If you know one thing as a part time chef, food is the way to a man's heart. You knew if Simon tasted what you could make his ice exterior would melt away. You stand up and walk to the fridge.

"Too stuffed for dessert?" you pull out a glass bowl filled with layers of custard, strawberries, cake, and whipped cream. "I made a traditional English trifle. Y'know for the holidays coming up and who doesn't love custard?" you shrug while carrying the bowl over to the table. You hurry back to the kitchen to grab two saucers and plate up the dessert.

"If I didn't know any better I'd say you're trying to butter me up." he comments, intently watching as you carefully slice through the layers. "What do you know about English food?"

"Not much, which is why this is a special occasion. I can get some insight from a genuine Englishman," you slide the saucer to him. "Everything happens for a reason, I guess you were meant to be here tonight" you don’t realize how weird that comment is until it's already left your mouth. You suppress the feeling and internally cringe. You take a seat with your own plate and try a bite. "Hey, that's not too bad. I think Gordon Ramsey would be proud"

Simon actually chuckles when you compliment yourself making you giggle in return. This whole night is very different than you expected. Not that you were complaining.

Your leg bumps his underneath the narrow table. Your bare foot brushing up the edge of his pant leg for the briefest moment. A deep blush rises to your cheeks the second you realize it's his leg instead of the table's.

"Oh, sorry!" you quickly draw your legs underneath your chair. Simon pauses his eating and meets your gaze.

"S'alright," he slowly slides his long leg across the distance and nudges the shin of your tucked legs with the toe of his boot. "You scared?"

"What?" you allow your legs to relax, your calves sitting on either side of his outstretched leg. It felt natural, almost domestic. "You don't scare me." you're lying paired with an anxious laugh.

"No?" As he says this his foot shifts underneath the supports of your chair and yanks it forward causing your chair to skid a few inches across the tile, pressing you further into the table as you let you a surprised yelp. Hands brace against the edge of the table. Simon maintains his calm composure. "Are you sure?" he takes another bite of the fluffy dessert.

You weren't sure if it was the liquor going to your head or the rush of adrenaline but you felt bold. You rest your cheek on your propped up hand, offering the most innocent eyes you can muster, as you delicately slide your foot along the smooth leather of his boot. Simon swallows and gently places his fork back on the table.

"What do you think of it?" you question in a hushed tone. your foot travels further up his ankle, dipping under his pant leg to feel his hot skin underneath.

"It's sweet," He states simply but his words roll off his tongue smooth as butter.

"Not too sweet?" You tilt your head the slightest bit.

"Hm," he hums in contemplation. Your eyes drift down to watch his hands grasp his drink. He grips the glass in his large palm. The rolled sleeves of his long sleeve reveal the muscles in his arm shifting when he raises the glass to his mouth. For the first time you notice a faint raised scar cutting through the outer corner of his lip and stopping just shy of the edge of his nose. He takes a long swig of the brown liquid, not quite finishing the drink. As he pulls back his lips glisten in the warm light. "Not bad when it's paired with a stiff drink," his tongue is quick to swipe across, collecting the residue.

"I'll be sure to make a note of that." you smile sweetly. "Can I get you another drink?" You look down at the last sip coating the bottom of the glass. You make sure to flutter your lashes when you look back up at him.

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" A smirk raises the corner of his mouth.

"No," you laugh. "Why, do you want me to?"

He releases a deep gravelly laugh that makes your stomach stir. Then he glances at his watch and your stomach drops.

"I need to get going." He mumbles. He pulls his leg away from yours and rises out of his chair.

"Wait," you rush to stand, almost knocking your seat over in the process. "Can I- uh- get you a bit of pasta to go? There’s plenty left" Trying to think of any excuse to keep him here a moment longer.

"S'okay, save it. Maybe I'll come by another time." He turns and steps out of your kitchen and into the hallway leading to your front door in only a few wide strides.

"Are you sure?" You don't intend for your voice to come out as needy as it does. You follow on his heels like a lost puppy.

"I've got an early morning." Before he reaches the door he turns, seemingly surprised by how close you are to him. He looks down at your big round eyes.

"Okay," you smile trying not to look defeated. "Well, you're welcome over anytime. I mean it, just knock and I'll probably be home. I'm gonna try writing at home more. Try to avoid that guy." You let out a halfhearted chuckle. "Maybe, you should get my number. Y'know, in case you want to check if I'm home."

"I'm alright, I'll just knock" His hand finds the doorknob. "Thanks for dinner, it was nice" Then he turns to go. Closing the door politely behind him.

You rush to the peephole, watching his distorted figure step out of sight followed by the sound of his own door shutting. You rest your hot forehead against the cool wood grain of your door.

You step back in the kitchen and begin putting away the leftovers. Piling the pasta into tupperware, rinsing the plates, collecting silverware. His glass remains in place with a sliver of scotch leftover. You hold the glass up in the light and see a faint smudge on its rim. You twist the cup around so your own mouth lines up with the imprint he left. You swallow the last bit slowly, savoring the way the sharp burn eases into a smooth, smoky aftertaste. You never liked scotch, but now you are starting to understand the meaning of an acquired taste.

The low atmospheric music is abruptly interrupted by an ad loudly cutting through the calm space. You rush into the living room to find the remote, hiding among the cushions and various throw pillows. Growing frustrated you end up walking over and manually hitting the power button. The silence that replaces it isn’t much better though. You step back and let your weak legs carry you until you collapse onto the comfort of your couch. The wine followed by the glass of scotch you polished off makes your head feel light but your limbs so heavy. You turn from your back to your side, realizing the used glass is still clutched in your hand.

You reach across the gap and set it down on the coffee table with a thud. Your hand retreats back to rest under your head. You stare at it, taking in all the imperfections left on its reflective surface. Your eyes trace the rim once again looking for the smudge. On the corner you see the shadow of an impression peeking out underneath the red lipstick mark you have smeared over it.

𝜗𝜚

Across the wall Simon falls back on his own couch. He looks around his dull apartment wondering what you have done differently to make your place look so welcoming. He never minded the minimal decorations he had. A photo frame with his team that his buddy gifted him and a couple of books always seemed like enough. After comparison though it just feels empty.

He can hear you stomp across your floor. Footstep rushing from the kitchen until you're straight ahead. The sound of your TV turning off bathes the room in sudden silence. Only thing he can hear now is the rushing of his air conditioning unit. He considered your music annoying but now he couldn’t deny the way it added an unconscious energy to the small unit. Now sitting here, the cool tone of the overhead kitchen light illuminating into the living room he feels as though something is missing. Maybe a nice lamp would help.

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@azkza @neurolept @contractedcriteria @hidden-treasures21 @sprokat @stark-red19

#call of duty #cod x reader #cod #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley fic #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost mw2

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wtfsteveharrington · 10 hours

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c l o s e t o y o u | carmen berzatto x reader

we've got so much history baby

description: set months after your breakup, you and carmen navigate what it means to be separated. you're trying to move on but waves always return to the ocean.

warnings: kinda angsty but also hurt/comfort. mutual pining even tho you're both trying to pretend it isn't there. miscommunication. kinda mentions of cheating if you squint but not really. no one has cheated but what to call this vibe irdk so! also mentions of using the bathroom if that bothers you!! it's quick!

smut warnings: oral/fingering reader receiving, spanking, dirty talk, hints of dom!carmy, unprotected sex but backshots for 'safety', sexting, semi public sex, lots of hickies/bruises talk bc carmy's a lil shit, multiple mentions of masturbation for both, reader has a drunk bar make out phase post breakup. reader is afab but no major descriptors used.

word count: almost 9.2k. the longest thing i've written so far!

a/n: dare i say this might be my favorite thing i've written possibly. aiming to make this a three part series but possibly could go longer.... i hope you enjoy <3

maybe you and i were meant to be / maybe i'm crazy

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Carmen’s eyes are trained on you from the second your front door opens. His hands stalled halfway through taking off his jacket, only one shoe clattering across your entryway.

“Where’ve you been tonight?”

Which you have no choice but to shoot him a warning glance in response. It was late, you didn’t have the energy for a fight and that’s the complete opposite reason of why you texted him to come over. “I was on a date, Carmen.”

He physically deflated at your answer. “Oh.”

You can’t meet his eye, can’t risk seeing his reaction. Would he be upset? Indifferent? It’s hard to decide which would be worse.

When you had broken up a few months ago the roles were clear - A case of ‘right person, wrong time’. He was busy, so endlessly busy. Working late into the night and heading in randomly during the morning or afternoon if he was needed. Which he could easily decide he was.

For as long as you could remember Carmen always took Tuesdays off to spend with you and get life in order. That way he had Monday to help the restaurant recover from the weekend and could trust them to handle what was, usually, an easier day. It was a tradition you took seriously and the two of you regularly made plans together every single Tuesday. Date nights, day trips, a mixture of adventures. It didn't matter what you were doing together so long as you had Tuesday to look forward to and help get you through the week.

Yet things started picking up. More celebrity dining requests, more magazine and tv interviews, more, more, more.

And it wasn’t that you misunderstood how important the restaurant was. Far from it. There were many nights where Carmen would come home a ball of anxiety because it took an hour longer than he anticipated and he knew it wasn’t fair to you. There would be a mess of apologies as he barreled in the door, bracing himself for a fight or to see your disappointed face. All of which you happily soothed by repeating constant mantras - The restaurant was his baby; you weren’t upset; take a deep breath; we’re okay.

Then eventually you stopped saying you weren’t upset, stopped saying you two were okay. Eventually you stopped waiting up for him at all. At first Carmen would shower and climb into bed, confused if he should attempt to hold you or not. Your sleeping (Fine, sometimes you faked being asleep too) frame with your back turned to him. The blankets pulled tight around your body acting like a shield.

Finally he just started sleeping on the couch.

So yeah, the fall apart came quick. It was an avalanche neither of you could control nor did either of you want. There was still love between the two of you - But again it’s the right person, wrong time.

You avoided each other for the following weeks. Carmen threw himself even more into work and you took a week of PTO to go visit one of your friends. He wondered if you were safe, you wondered why none of the people in the bar tasted the way he did. Your friend encouraged you with every sloppy make out conquest but it always ended there. You wanted to get Carmen out of your mind but weren’t ready for him to not be the last person who fully touched you.

It didn’t work but does it ever?

Carmen watched your Insta far more than he should have. Risking way too many glances down at his phone during his free time to see if there were any updates about how you were doing. As if you’d post photos with long captions that mimicked a therapy session but he didn’t know where else to go. Sydney would report back what your story shows no matter how much Carm insisted he didn’t care.

Because he didn’t, okay? He was fine. He knew it was for the best. Right?

And then you posted a photo of yourself in a low cut top laughing in a bookstore. He zoomed in to see what titles you had in your arms as if they were clues and his eyes definitely didn’t linger on the swell of your cleavage. He didn’t think about how many nights he took for granted watching as your back arched up under him and you begged for more. He didn’t think about the way you’d crawl into bed at night and his mind would instantly rid itself of anything but you. He didn’t jack off to memories of you in the shower every morning because thinking about someone else, watching porn of other people, it didn’t feel wrong. No, that wasn’t the case at all.

You, on the other hand, turned on Google alerts for anything relating to The Bear or Carmen “Carmy” Berzatto. Most of it was just good Yelp! ratings or fluff pieces from the local papers. He wasn’t one for posting on social media, in fact you weren’t sure he used it at all but you still posted like he was, but sometimes you’d find yourself scrolling through Sydney’s feed to see if she was giving you any crumbs. Sometimes, if you were really desperate, you’d find yourself in Richie’s feed even. It was pathetic but you can’t help it.

One late night you came across an Instagram story post Sydney had up. Carmen leaning against a pinball machine at some gaming bar downtown. His hair was pushed back, eyes crinkled up with laughter. He looked at ease, peaceful. You wondered if anyone there felt the same… Was someone whispering to their friends and trying to build the encouragement up to go talk to him? Would he respond?

Right, it wasn’t your place to care anymore. Yet you still cried yourself to sleep and yearned for when things felt so much easier.

Yeah, the breakup wasn’t exactly going well.

A few weeks ago you came across Carmen at the grocery store of all places. Both of you had gotten so used to doing the shopping Tuesday mornings and, logically, you were both comfortable going to the location just like you had been weekly for months. Your breath caught in your throat and God he looked better than you remembered. The first thing out of his mouth was, “Great sale on gouda this week.” And the only thing your brain could conjure up was, “Well that’s gouda.”

You both stayed silent for a moment before bursting out in laughter.

Laughter turned to getting lunch around the corner.

Lunch turned into you straddling Carmen’s waist in the car while parked in the very back corner of the parking lot and riding him until your eyes watered and you couldn’t focus long enough to keep a rhythm. He wrapped his arms, such strong arms, around your waist and fucked up into you for all that he was worth. Trying to prove himself in whatever capacity you allowed.

If he couldn’t love you like he wanted, he could at least fuck you better than anyone else would.

Once you two broke the seal of seeing each other it was hard to stop. There was almost a forbidden aspect to your relationship now that caused a small thrill to run down your spine every time you saw him late at night. You were pretty sure no one knew you started… Seeing each other again and you were both content keeping it a secret.

So that’s how you ended up here. Standing across from him at 11 o’clock at night on a random Wednesday. You try not to wonder if he left ‘early’ the second you reached out, instead convincing yourself that it just so happened to work out he was ready to go within minutes of you sending your ‘My place tonight?’ text during this horrific blind date your co-worker set up.

Jonathan, 6’1, finance major turned CPA for his family’s company. He was… Fine. Just fine. You left on good terms in case you wanted to call on him for back up one lonely night. The problem was no one else was Carmen no matter how hard you tried to look for him in the people that passed by.

And there he stood across from you with hair falling into his face and his eyes looking up at you like you’re crafted from Heaven. A skirt, thin tinted tights, a shirt that exposed just enough skin but not too much. The soft shimmer across your eyelids and glossy lips from the lip balm you’ve been continuously applying since you knew he was on the way. The last time he saw you like this was when you were fighting because Carmen accidentally showed up 15 minutes past when you were supposed to leave for a birthday party at your friend’s house and that night ended with you locking him out of the bedroom while he had to pretend he couldn’t hear you crying in the next room. He really didn’t mean to be late. Sometimes the nights just got taken away from him.

Carmen hated that you were dressed up for someone else but he pretends you just threw this on for him.

Your arms cross your chest, totally not attempting to push up your breasts, and you let out a sigh while you stare at Carmen. “This has to be the last time.” His face is stoic, a perfect poker face. The last time? Break up or not he couldn’t imagine there being a last time he saw you. Half the time he forgets, still referring to you as his partner while brushing it off and refusing to correct himself. Then there’s times where he comes home to his empty apartment and realizes you weren’t there to light the long forgotten candles on the coffee table or open up the windows to air the place out.

He closes the space between the two of you and stares at your face. Searching for answers he’s too scared to ask for. Your resolve is breaking, cracking under the weight of having him so close. Beautiful eyes staring at you, the way he smells like the cologne you bought for your last anniversary and clean laundry. If you weren’t so drunk on the sight of him you would have put it together that Carmen kept clean clothes at the Bear to make sure he could change before he came to see you.

You’re both silent for a moment before there’s two hands wrapping around either side of your neck and Carmen’s dragging you two together for a kiss. God, he couldn’t stand the idea of someone else kissing you. Would they even do it right? Do they know the way you moan when he licks into your mouth or the way you always grab ahold of his wrists when he cups your face? Do they know the way you forget to breathe sometimes when you’re lost in it? He’d have to pull back in order to give you a second to gasp in a rush of air. Does whoever you were with tonight know any of that?

You pull away from Carmen with a broken out moan, silva connecting your mouths and the faint taste of cigarettes on your tongue from him. Clamping your hands on his shoulders you just faintly push the two of you apart, trying desperately to collect your thoughts. Carmen crying during the break up, sobbing in your bed, living on autopilot for weeks, the way he kisses you like he’s scared it’s the last time anymore because it very well just might be. Everything coming back to you in flashes as he stands before you once again.

“I called you here for a reason, Carm.” His eyebrow is cocked, eyes flickering down to the bulge in his jeans that started growing the second he kissed you. “Uh - Yeah? Isn’t that what… I thought that’s what we were doing?” Carmen’s leaning in again, letting his lips connect to your neck. Warm kisses being pressed in a path up to just below your ear. “No uh, oh, remember how you let me keep the cast iron?” He hums in response, teeth nipping at your earlobe while broad hands start grabbing at your waist. “Yeah, uh huh, the cast iron skillet.” Fuck the stupid cast iron. He’s much more concerned with hooking fingers in the waistband of your skirt, attempting to pull it down while you’re fighting to stay focused.

“Well my friends came over the other night and oh Jesus.” He’s licking a strip up your neck now, only half focused on your story. “Carm, please, they were helping me clean up and someone left it soaking in hot water overnight.” That’s finally got him freezing in place, his aroused little sounds quickly turning into a groan of annoyance. “Fuck. That ruined-… I mean, the seasoning has to be ruined. Assuming it rusted?” You nod helpless, fingers dragging along his chest while Carmen stares over your shoulder.

His eye twitches involuntarily.

There’s a deep sigh coming from his body as he steps around you, finally kicking off his long forgotten second shoe before walking further into the apartment to head towards the kitchen.

And listen, it wasn’t that you were necessarily concerned so much with the pan. Sure the two of you had purchased it together during the first few weeks of talking. Carmen cooked breakfast with it every Tuesday morning and showed you how to care for this damn pan. It was the closest you two came to owning a pet just… In the form of a nine inch cast iron skillet. You were more curious if he would care. A simple way of testing the waters to see if he just cared about getting laid or still cared about you. The answer should have been obvious but you still had to know.

You follow behind him and wince at the stream of expletives that easily fall from his tongue at the sight of the pan in the sink. It wasn’t horrible but wasn’t ideal. “Y’know, crazy thing is I’m pretty sure I can guess who did this. They kept trying to convince me cast iron wasn’t any different from a standard pan no matter how many times I tried convincing them that just wasn’t the case.” He’s grumbling to himself while crouching down to fish out supplies from under the sink, easily navigating your apartment from memory. The two of you had bounced between your places and talked about moving in together once his lease was up. Going as far as touring a few locations but the conversation was long forgotten once the tensions started building.

As much as Carmen claims he didn’t see it coming, he resigned his lease almost two weeks before the break up officially happened.

You hop up onto the counter next to the sink and watch as Carmen gets to work restoring your poor pan. “Think It’’s gonna make it though? I can't believe this is how it might end for the poor thing. All because I wanted to make your chicken piccata.” A few of his recipes had stuck with you and sometimes you find yourself making them when you’re missing him extra at night.

“Nah, it’ll be fine. Just some surface damage s’all.” You watch as the muscles in Carmen’s arm move with the scrubbing motion, your lips itching to kiss over every exposed tattoo. Snap out of it! This is just sex between two consenting adults trying to let off some steam. That’s all. You’re both just comfortable and it would take way too much effort for someone random like Jonathan to learn what you like.

Carmen catches you staring at him, not that you were being subtle about it, and feels heat blooming in his chest. He grabs one of your kitchen towels and gives the skillet a good pat down before sitting it upside down to dry off. It’s not perfect, not yet at least, but he’s pretty sure he’ll explode if it takes any longer to finally get his hands on you.

“You look pretty tonight.” He’s coming to stand between your knees, reaching up to you with the hem of your skirt as you hum out a small “Thank you.” It seems like every time you see him lately you forget just how blue his eyes are. So easy to get lost in them especially from this close. Your hands come up to gently trace the features of his face. Just the ghost of a touch but Carmen’s soaking up the affection. He tilts his head in order to press a kiss to your palm.

His hands are dragging up your thighs, feeling the material of your tights under his touch. “Know how much you hate wearing these.” Your heartbeat is picking up so much it’s making you jittery, hands wrapping around the edge of the countertop to grip it as hard as you can. Keeping yourself steady. “Help me take ‘em off?” You arch your hips up off the counter as an invitation for Carmen. He’s wasting no time grabbing ahold of the waistband and dragging them down your body, groaning to himself as inch by inch your skin gets exposed to him.

Neither of you miss the way you press your thighs together once they’re freed, hips twitching in anticipation. The tights are getting tossed across your apartment and left to be tomorrow’s problem. Carmen falls to his knees in front of you, letting them dig into the harsh tile of your kitchen while in pursuit of making his mark on you. He’s grabbing ahold of your ankles, bringing one of your legs over his shoulder while the other is brought up to his lips.

Your eyes fall closed as Carmen starts trailing a string of delicate kisses along the length of your calf. His lips ghosting across your knee until he reaches the fleshy part of your thigh. While your hands finally escape the countertop and find their way laced into Carmen’s hair, he wraps his lips down against your thigh to start sucking a small bruise into your skin. “Carmy,” You hiss out, “What if I see Jonathan again? How am I gonna explain these?” But you’re not pulling his head away, instead doing quite the opposite by keeping his head in place.

Carmen practically growls against your skin, a low and guttural sound coming from the man. His grip on you tights while he mumbles against you, “Fuck Jonathan.” You scrub your fingers against his scalp as Carmen finds another patch of skin on the opposite thigh to begin sucking a bruise into. His head ducking lower and lower under your skirt, the material finally getting you to pull your hands away from him.

Against all better judgment your thighs fall more open as he works his way down your thighs. There’s a series of small moans and whimpers coming out of you with no control as he reaches the top of your thigh, his nose dragging along the cloth covering your core. “D’you wear these for him? Or did you put them on knowing you’d end up texting me.” It’s impossible to answer when you feel his tongue drag along you, your hips rocking up towards his mouth. He’s bringing his hands up under your skirt now too and grabbing handfuls of where your thighs meet your hips to hold you down in place.

“They’re purple, aren’t they?” A color Carmen had long ago decided he liked best on you. Something about the way the color compliments your skin… In all honesty, you were pretty sure he had purchased the exact pair you were wearing. You started the night with no intention of your date getting anywhere near your bed but instead being under the frame of the man who was exactly where you wanted him.

He guides you to scoot you closer towards the edge of the counter, making sure you’re comfortable before mouthing over you once again. Hot, open mouth kisses being pressed almost exactly where you need them. One of his hands comes around your frame to grab a handful of the fleshy part of your ass while the other hooks a finger into your underwear, pulling the material to the side to expose you.

There’s cool air being blown against your overheated body and your hands fly back to clutch at his back, his neck, the hair that’s exposed from under your skirt. Whatever inch of him you can find is being clung to like a lifeboat. He’s kissing the skin where your thigh meets your center, lips ghosting along the outer side of your folds. It only takes a few more pathetic whimpers before he finally takes pity on you and you feel his tongue go flat at the base of your hole, dragging up long and slow all the way to your clit.

He groans into your core and the vibrations make you start to lose your mind. “Fuck. Fuck!” Carmen’s got your clit between his lips now, bobbing his head just slightly while he goes right to sucking on the sensitive bundle of nerves. If you didn’t want to be teased then he’d give you everything you wanted. One of his hands comes up under his chin now, a finger pressing into your tight entrance as his tongue works to lap at your clit, your folds, even dipping into you whenever his finger pulls all the way out.

A second finger slides into you while his attention focuses back to making out with your clit. You can’t keep track of the way he alternates between kissing and licking at you while his fingers push in as deep as he can get them. “So good, Baby.” Baby. It comes out of you by force of habit and it makes him twitch in his boxes. If you weren’t so drunk on him you probably would have started overthinking but he’s making sure your focus is on nothing else but his mouth for now. Carmen’s chin is slick with everything you’re giving him as he eats you out as if he’s a dying man and this is his last source of solace in the world.

“C’mon Honey.” He’s cooing against you, fingers crooked just how he knows you like it. There’s sloppy licks being delivered to your clit as his fingers pump in and out. His hand finally leaves it’s grip on your ass to apply a gentle pressure to the top of your mound, pressing down against the flesh to add yet another sensation. “Can feel how tight you’re getting. You wanna come for me so bad, don’t you? Be good for me.”

Your hands fist around Carmen’s hair, hips rocking up against him and it doesn’t take long for an orgasm to wash over your body. You seize up at the feeling, thighs clamping around Carmen’s head as he licks you through it. He’s only giving you a moment to recover when you feel his fingers slide out of your sensitive body and he can’t help but go back to licking out the mess you’ve made.

“Gonna fuckin’ kill me, Carmen.”

He’s smirking against you but taking the hint. Your thighs shaking as he pulls back from under your skirt, taking a moment to appreciate the handiwork that was the bruises covering your thighs while you take a moment to recover. The way your pussy looks so pretty covered in the mixture of your arousal and his spit. Carmen can’t help himself but to swirl his thumb around your clit, your hips jolting up as you reach out to grab ahold of his wrist. “Need a minute please.”

Carmen nods and stands up, wasting no time making work of unbuckling his belt. You collect your thoughts well enough to start unbuttoning his jeans for him, letting your fingers linger on his jean clad hardened length. “You, uh -” You won’t meet his eye, opting instead to start pulling his pants down his toned thighs. “You still okay not using a condom?” A roundabout way of saying ‘I’m clean, are you?’. Carmen nods as if it’s the most insane question in the world. Even if he’s not with you anymore, it’s still only you for him for as long as he can see coming. “No one but you.”

You can’t meet his eye, a wave of guilt washing over you concerning your earlier date with Jonanthan that quickly gets pushed away when Carmy grabs ahold of your jaw and brings you in for a haphazard kiss. Mindless, heavenly kissing. The two of you getting lost in the way your tongues know just how to navigate one another while your hand slides into his boxes and begins lazily

“Gotta fuck you or I’m gonna cum on your hand like a fuckin’ teenager.” You giggle into his mouth but slide yourself off the counter nonetheless. Giving him one more tender kiss before turning around to bend yourself over the counter. It’s not the most gracious process but you’re tugging your shirt over your head on the way down, pitching it somewhere else to deal with later.

He’s looking at every inch of you. Underwear still pulled to the side, the way the lace of your bra looks against your back. Memorizing every detail he possibly can just in case you wise up and stop letting him come over to defile you like this at night.

Carmen is dragging the head of his cock through your folds, tapping it against your clit while you whine and rut back against him. The weight of his jeans and belt resting heavy against his ankles and keeping him grounded enough to not spill his load before he even makes it inside of you. You weren’t used to taking him all the time anymore, a thought Carmen can’t dwell on, so he goes inch by inch and gives you time to adjust to the girth of him. He was thicker than anyone you’d been with before and every random hookup together lately reminds you of the first time you felt him stretch you out.

It burns in the best way possible and he’s so tender while you get adjusted. Waiting until you start fucking yourself against his length to take that as his sign you were finally ready for him. Carmen still starts slow, a teasing pace of pulling himself nearly all the way out before sinking right back in. “Pussy’s like heaven.” It makes you oddly proud to hear him call that out. To know you still have an affect on him after all this time.

“Think about fuckin’ you all the time.” He’s picking up speed now, “Think about how good you feel stretched around me. Such a good slut for me, aren’t you? Bending over and practically begging for it.” His words, once again, make your head spin. It was a common theme with Carmen. Your fingers lace in your own hair, desperate to grab ahold of something. “Always wanting you to fuck me, Carm. Dream about how good you make me feel.” Like you two were meant to fit together perfectly.

There’s a lewd clapping noise coming from the way your ass smacks against his frame with each deep thrust. Eventually your arms give out, torso falling flat against the shockingly still cool countertop while Carmen fucks into you for all he’s worth. A firm slap is being delivered to your ass that causes you to yelp out, rolling your hips back against him at the same time as an act of encouragement.

His mind is taken up with how good you feel. You’re perfectly stretched around him and leaking out around his base. So wet, so beautiful, so perfect. There’s a hand sliding up your back until it’s fisting around your hair, gently tugging at it and the new sensation has these pornstar worthy moans escaping you. Your loud and needy brain is completely empty as Carmen destroys you the way he knows how.

“D’you think about me fucking you while you were sitting across from some asshole all night? Poor little pussy almost got fucked by someone who doesn’t know how to treat it.” His words are so casually spoken with just the right amount of bite that it’s causing your brain to melt. Jonathan didn’t stand a chance of getting within two feet of your panties, just another mindless date in your series of attempted ways to ‘get over Carmen’ which clearly wasn’t going well. He bottoms out in you, every inch of his length pressed as firmly as he can into your core. It’s so much, so full and he’s got you pinned in place. Unable to do anything but be used by him, just how you both know you love to be. “Or did you go just to make me jealous? Put on your slutty little panties and went to dinner knowing you’d text me to come fuck you tonight.”

He’s grinding his hips into you on the impossible quest to get even deeper. It’s possessive, claiming, and you’d probably even be a little annoyed by his behavior if you were in a better state of mind. For now you’re bent over the counter with bruises blooming all over your thighs and enjoying an odd jealous streak coming from someone who, technically, has no right to be jealous. It’s making you feel dizzy and your heart throb and your pussy clenching around him. “You gonna keep talking or you gonna fuck me, Carm? ‘Cause if not I’ll call him to finish the job.”

You liked riling him up.

Another sharp smack is being dealt to your ass when Carmen starts to pick the pace back up. His hands are tight on your hips and his pace is brutal. There’s grunts coming from behind you that are making your head spin and if you were more coherent you’d be a bit more embarrassed about the drool sliding from the corner of your mouth as your boyfrie-….. Well, as Carmen takes care of you. He’s admiring the bloom of his handprint on your skin, brushing his hand along it before pressing firmly down to help soothe the buzzing sting of pain.

He wasn’t fucking you as often, didn’t have you nearly as well trained anymore. These bi-weekly meetings are not doing nearly enough for your body. He used to be able to fuck you right through an orgasm and you’d keep going. So used to him working your oversensitive clit to his liking. Now you whine while grabbing his wrist and whimper out pleas for him to give you a few minutes. He hates not knowing your body as well as he used to even if he still knows you pretty damn well.

So when he feels you getting closer, he’s taking note. Keeping his pace exactly the same and letting his hand crash down against the tender flesh of your ass again. “You gonna give me another? C’mon, Honey. Can feel how bad you need it.” And you do. God you need every orgasm you’re lucky enough to get from him.

Your hips buck and twitch and you let out a series of uncontrolled moans as your orgasm starts to wash over your body. If Carmen wasn’t between your legs then your thighs would have snapped shut while your toes curled and your heart started beating faster. You could practically hear it beating in your own ears. “S’good, so good. Thank you, thank you. Shit, thank you.” A mess but you couldn’t judge yourself.

Carmen’s pulling out when he’s close after just a few more strokes, frantically jerking off his length to keep the sensation going. You’re rolling your hips back and riding out the waves of your own orgasm, glancing back over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of Camren with his head tossed back and brows knitted together in concentration. “Come on me, Baby. Wanna feel every drip on my skin. Maybe I’ll let you take a picture of it dripping down all the pretty bruises you gave me.”

That’s all it takes for him to come undone. Warm spurts of cum landing along your back, your thighs, some of it dripping down your folds. The feeling is pulling wanton moans from your mouth that send Carmen into orbit. God, he doesn’t want to come back down to Earth. Collecting his breath and trying to keep himself upright while the aftershocks of his orgasm wrack through his body. How was he supposed to stay away from you when it felt like this? Especially when you just kept calling him baby.

He stopped cumming inside of you since the breakup. It made sense, kinda. But you hated it. Felt like a waste even though you wouldn’t overstep and ask for him to go back to finishing inside of you. He would, by the way. Without a second thought he’d bury himself in until he couldn’t go any further and fuck his cum into you as deep as possible.

You feel a finger swiping up some of his cum off your backside and soon enough it’s pressed to your lips. Without a second thought you take the digit into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it while licking him clean. He wants some of it inside of you one way or another. A subtle way of still putting his claim on you.

The two of you take a moment to recover after Carmen pops his finger out of your mouth. His hands are running a circuit up and down the side of your thighs and torso, still enjoying the view of your body relaxed against the counter in front of him. The tile was starting to become painful as your stomach bent over it but you couldn’t bring yourself to move just yet. You didn’t fully trust your legs to support your weight without the counter for support.

Carmen’s rustling around behind you now. Reaching down to pull up just his boxes but kick his jeans the rest of the way off finally. He’s not ready for the stimulation of such a heavy material against his sensitive skin yet. There’s a clattering from the sink area as he retrieves another towel to get wet for you and a cup to fill with water. Your eyes feel heavy. Mind’s at ease having Carmen around again, not that you’ll admit it, and your body feeling languid after being fucked so well.

There’s a glass of water being sat in front of you. “Drink.” So you prop yourself up on your elbows and nurse small sips of the water while the cool rag gets to work wiping down your backside from the mess he made. His fingers ghost along the tender flesh of your ass where he was spanking, “Feeling alright?” You hum into the cup, giving him a small waggle of your behind to reassure any concerns he had.

He gets you cleaned up in silence, letting the both of you enjoy the simple moment. Carmen always prided himself on taking care of you. There’s warm hands, still damp from cleaning you up, rubbing up the sides of your torso before wrapping around the tops of your shoulders. His hips rub along your backside and you just feel so warm, so safe like this. “We gotta get you to bed.”

You just sigh and scrub your hands over your face. A beat of silence passes while you collect your thoughts. “Carm, I don’t think I can stand up.” Your legs are still slightly shaking and your mind has yet to catch up with your body.

Laughter’s coming from behind you as he delivers a playful swat to your ass. “C’mon I’ll get you there.” This feels so simple. You find yourself questioning why the two of you even broke up to begin with when the good moments were this good. Easy, content, safe. Would you ever be able to find this again? Would he?

He’s grabbing ahold of your waist while pulling you back into his chest. Your head falls back against his shoulder and Carmen allows his lips to once again find your exposed neck. A series of gentle kisses being placed as his arms snake tighter around your body. “Still feeling okay?” You let out a content hum and allow yourself to be held by him. “Feel better than I have all week. Thank you, Carm.” You feel him smile against your skin as he places another delicate kiss. “Always.”

The two of you stay intertwined until Carmen starts to encourage the shuffle towards your bedroom. He makes sure you get cleaned up and ready for bed. Brings you one of your sleep shirts while you brush your teeth and tries to not overthink when you offer him a toothbrush of his own because you just so happened to have an extra. Gives you privacy when you complain about needing to pee and you find it odd there’s a tug at your chest when he ducked out of the room. Part of you hated being that couple who left the door open or used the restroom while the other showered, yadda yadda. It was a sign of comfort and the door being pulled shut behind Carmen was a sign that comfort was long gone.

Not that you cared. Totally didn’t care at all.

He’s going to just tuck you in at first until you’re clutching at his frame and pulling him into bed next to you. Carmen never could say no when it came to you, especially when he feels his back sinking into your soft bed and your warm body curling up along his side. He should go. Get home before it’s too late and try to get some sleep. He’s already planning on getting to work early to avoid having too much free time to think about tonight in detail.

But his clothes feel so far away and the long day is starting to finally hit him. You can practically hear him thinking over his options and your breathing starts skipping as you feel him begin to pull away.

“Carmen.” Your grip on his chest tightens and it pulls directly at his heart. Since this whole… Situation started he never stayed the night when your meetings would run this late. Always picking his clothes up out of piles on the floor and mumbling something about needing to get home to get stuff together from work. You never asked him to stay anyway. Neither of you knew if that would make an already weird and complicated situation even worse.

But tonight was different.

There were hints of a storm in the distance you start telling yourself. If you focused you could hear thunder, somewhere, out there and you just wanted Carmen safe for his sake. That’s all. So you pathetically cling to him and hope you don’t kick yourself out of embarrassment in the morning. It takes just a moment of him looking down at you to understand what you can’t say and he’s giving you a little nod in response. His arms wrap around your shoulders, leaning in to press a kiss to the top of your head. Kissing every inch of you had to be one of his greatest pleasures in life.

“Remind me to season that skillet in the morning.”

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊✮‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

Carmen, shockingly, sleeps through the night. The warmth of your body next to him coupled with your excellent sleeping experience. A comfortable bed with good pillows, a white noise machine in the corner of your room (the ice maker in the fridge at Carmy’s would constantly go off so you got used to sleeping with background noise to cover it up), it was the best night of rest he’s had in months.

Your sheets smell like home.

He’s slowly waking up now and his first thought is how much he misses the weight of your breast in his hand. Second thought is how much he needs to pee but damn your bed is comfortable.

Carmen allows his body to wake up slowly. Stretching his arms out above his head and letting out a satisfied grunt at the feeling of his well rested muscles. Blinking his eyes awake just enough to take in the sight of all the trinkets and items that covered your space. There’s some things he notices that he knows for a fact he purchased you. Bottles of perfume, books you keep telling yourself you need to read, cups you constantly forget to bring back into the kitchen until you’re fully out of them.

Did you keep any of the pictures? Photo strips from Navy Pier and the holiday market at Wrigley Field. Everything from the disposable camera you brought along on road trips and vacations. The polaroids that once littered a cork board in your living room that the two of you added pictures to so often. If he looked around enough would he find them tucked away safely in a box or did you pitch them when you knew the two of you were through.

Carmen still has one. You took most of them while you packed up your things from his place and refused to let him carry any of the boxes downstairs. So stubborn, so full of hurt pride. He just spent most of the day trying to stand out of your way but always available in case you finally admitted that you needed help. Maybe a small part of him hoped that as you packed up so many memories it would trigger a ‘What are we doing?’ reaction and you’d go running into his arms.

You never did.

But you did take one trip down to your car with an overstuffed Ikea bag over your shoulder and balancing a box on your hip. Carmen knew he didn’t have long, and it kind of felt like stealing, but he rushed over to the box you just started packing up and rifles through the photos as fast as he possibly could. It took a moment of digging before there it was. A polaroid photo someone took of the two of you on New Year’s Eve. You’re wearing some cheesy headband and he has those tacky sunglasses on that show off the incoming year on them. His arms are wrapped low around your waist as he stands behind you, one of your hands resting on top of his while the other is reaching up and back to cup his jaw. You’re both grinning and laughing in the photos and nothing bad has happened yet.

He hears you shuffling back up the stairs so he’s quickly throwing the box back together after sliding the photo into his pocket and rushing back to stand in the kitchen. Acting like nothing was happening. You didn’t even look over at him so it wasn’t like he had to put up much of a show anway.

It’s still safely tucked into his wallet.

The sound of the front door opening and hushed whispers are finally pulling him from his half asleep, reflective state. It looks like this day is getting started if he wants it to or not. He’s tilting his head to press it into the pillow underneath him, allowing one last deep inhale to remind himself exactly what your scent smells like before forcing his body to be pushed out of your bed.

Carmen turns the corner in just his boxer briefs and you’re not convinced you aren’t still dreaming because fuck he looks good. His hair’s a mess from the combination of you playing with it all night and him sleeping so well. One of his hands is scratching low on his hips while he takes in the sight of you in the kitchen.

Maybe he shouldn’t be so comfortable walking around your apartment half dressed still but God is this relationship situation getting messier since the day since the two of you reconnected.

“Ordered some breakfast from Yolk. Figured you were hungry and I’m sure you have to run off this morning but I uh-…. I just wanted to make sure you were fed.” You nod to yourself. Giving him an out as you start popping open food boxes. There was just over an hour until you had to get to work too so there were multiple excuses possible for this morning to end as early as it needed to.

In an odd, roundabout, time to head back to therapy kind of way it almost feels like you’re dating your ex.

“Yeah.” He nods to himself and desperately wishes he had deodorant, cologne, fuck even Axe body spray. Something to make himself smell better or feel more presentable for you. “Richie actually tried installing fuckin’ bidets to the toilets last night. Kept on running his mouth about how prestigious they are and he, obviously, doesn’t know how to install bidets. So the bathrooms are a little-“ He waves his hands through the air.

“Shitty?”

Second questionable pun you’ve made lately. Pull it together.

There’s a breathy little laugh coming out, “Yeah, shitty.” Carmen’s peeking over your shoulder as you plate up breakfast, sneaking a piece of bacon from under your arm before pressing a kiss to the top of your ear. “Thank you for ordering this.”

You nod and try to pretend you didn’t stop breathing having him so close to you under the soft morning light.

He leaves $60 tucked under a vase on your dining table to cover breakfast.

————

11:52 am

[DO NOT ANSWER]: Richie put his foot down and we’re stuck getting the bidets

[DO NOT ANSWER]: If you’re wondering how my day is going

12:17 pm

Shockingly my day is much less toilet related. I hope it’s going well.

4:39 pm

[DO NOT ANSWER]: I know so much about bathrooms now

————

You laugh a little too loud as the alert illuminates your phone. There’s a fond tugging at your heart as the ‘normal’ conversations fills your chat history instead of the short “My place tn” or “I still can’t find my jacket. You have to have it”. Maybe saving him as do not answer seemed too harsh but having his contact show up as a photo of you two cuddled up with the Chicago skyline in the background, an innocent and horrifically cheesy “Baby Boy 💙” contact name modeled after Richie saying you baby him too much one night. Every time it flashed across your screen and Richie saw he gave you guys an endless amount of shit. It became a constant bit that none of you got tired of at the time.

You were trying to separate yourself from your past with him as much as possible at first but now those lines just keep getting more and more blurred.

One of your coworkers grabs your attention away from your phone thus leaving Carmen’s message on read. He tries to pretend it doesn’t bother him as he gets to work prepping for tonight’s service. Who wants to talk about bathrooms with their… Fuck buddy? Ex? God that’s still so weird to say.

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊✮‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

Your mind was haunted by thoughts of Carmen Berzatto all day.

No matter how many busy tasks you assigned yourself he always seemed to creep back in. You’d look around for him when a joke landed well at work and the group you were with erupted into laughter. Could easily picture his head thrown back as he scrubs over his face in an attempt to muffle the sound. When you were standing alone your mind wandered off to the way he treated you last night. So claiming. Expertly working your body the way only he could after so much time of getting to know it.

The bed feels so much

You throw the blanket away from your frame and watch as it bundles up beside you. Is this crazy? It feels crazy. You shake out the nerves, fluffing up your shorts and primping yourself for the photo. It takes one, two, seven pictures to get just the right angle. An image of your thighs against the bedding and your oversized sleep shorts bunched up all the way down your legs. Taking a deep breath you steel your spine and pull up Carmen’s contact.

————

11:28 pm

Headed to bed

ONE IMAGE ATTACHED

11:29 pm

[DO NOT ANSWER]: Fuck.

11:31 pm

Goodnight Carmen <3

2:12 am

[DO NOT ANSWER]: Can’t stop thinking about you

ONE VIDEO ATTACHED

————

The sun is warm against your skin as it slowly wakes you up. There’s an air purifier rattling in the corner that acts half as white noise while you sleep, half to soak up the smells of Chicago. Sometimes when Carmen’s especially exhausted you have to bring out the big boy and ask your Google home to play sleep sounds to mask him snoring all night. You typically didn’t mind the sound, knowing it’s a sign of just how badly he needed a good night’s rest.

You’re fishing your phone out of the comforter in a haste to click off the horrific sound of the alarm and your eyes are barely open when you see the alert. A preview image popping up and you can just barely a blurry image of - “Holy fuck!”

Your free hand flies up to clamp over your mouth as a mix of gasps and ‘no fucking way’ come out of you with zero control. With shaking hands you open up the video, half tempted to pinch yourself with a video of Carmen fills your screen. His hand rubbing over the bulge in his boxers and there’s a mess of shaky breathing coming from behind the phone. You can’t get the volume turned all the way up fast enough and you’re terrified to miss a single sound.

And there he is.

Fishing his cock out of his boxers and stroking himself for you. Illuminated by the lamp on his bedside table and his hand over lubricated to mimic how wet you get for him. He’s a mess of filthy moans, bucking hips, are you dreaming?

The combination of the sun beating in and the way this video is making your body go hot is too much. You’re overheating, kicking the blankets away from you while your hand goes into your shorts on instinct. Toying with your clit even though you don’t have much time to spare as you watch Carmen get off for you.

————

8:04 am

HEART REACTED TO A VIDEO

Mine tonight?

Fuck you sound so good

Wish I would have been there to clean you up

Say my name more next time please

How am I supposed to go to work now

————

No response. You aren’t surprised, he’s typically busy in the morning.

So you go along your day and let yourself enjoy the thought of Carmen coming back over tonight to take care of you. You had thought letting him back in was a risky move but things seemed fine so far. Settling into the new version of what normal was going to look like. Maybe things would end up being some version of alright after all.

A chirp from your phone catches your attention and you’re instantly uninvested in whatever task was at hand. It might be a little pathetic how excited you were but that is besides the point.

————

10:32 am

[CARMEN]: Busy tonight

————

Busy tonight? Go fuck yourself Carmen!

You waited all morning and THAT’S the response you get? Were the multiple texts too much? Did you come off too clingy? Sure he just stayed the night, was two times in one week where he drew the line?

So you leave him on read and take away the heart from his video. Change his name back to DO NOT ANSWER and instantly feel the urge to get off tonight leaving your body. Replaced by a subtle anger that only he can bring out of you.

The workday seems to go by so much quicker as you have this internal argument with yourself and mentally pick a battle with Carmen. Maybe you were silly to think things would… What? Go back to the way they were? No, of course not.

Ugh!

Carmen who, by the way, truly was slammed. Got stuck hosting an event for an old family friend that he barely knew but was convinced it’d be good for business. He’s overwhelmed by work and anxious with his relationship with you. The breakup was horrific. One of the worst things he’s had to experience so far which certainly says a lot. At the very least - It made sense. This though? Sleeping together, fucking when you have shitty dates and he’s your second choice for the night, taking pictures of dumb things he sees during the day because it made him think of you but never actually sending them, it made zero sense.

If only there was something the two of you could do to figure this whole mess out.

But alas.

You bring home a salad that’s far healthier than anything you’ve eaten all week accompanied by some fresh pressed green juice nonsense you lie to yourself and mentally say is delicious. The boy detox starts now.

The shower you take that night must last an hour. Every inch of your body gets scrubbed, your face and hair both get a mixture of treatments and masks. You primp and polish yourself up and convince yourself that this is all for you and not so you look better than ever and Carmen will have to regret his stupid and shitty ‘Busy tonight’ text because you were also just like so, so busy and -

Fuck Carmen Berzatto.

You decide you could go the rest of your life without hearing from him and be just fine. It was his loss. You’re funny, beautiful, and excellent in the bedroom. There’s thousands of people out there dreaming about finding someone like you!

This internal argument keeps going. And you know what’s annoying? The second you fling yourself into bed you realize he left his scent all over your sheets still. It hasn’t gone away - Cologne mixed with Carmen. And you 100% aren’t hunting out the scent nor are you hunting out a reason to stay annoyed with him. Not at all. So you get back out of bed and grab the fabric freshener to spray your sheets back down with, giving it a minute to dry before falling face first into the mattress with an annoyed huff.

So yeah, fuck him. You hope you never hear from him again and toss your phone on the other side of the bed. Forcing your eyes shut and making your mind go blank because otherwise you’ll stew all night thus continuing this Carmen induced spiral.

————

1:47 am

[DO NOT ANSWER]: Hey

————

Fuck.

#♡: c.b.#carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto smut #carmy berzatto smut #the bear #the bear fic #the bear smut #carmy x reader #carmy smut #carmy the bear #carmy bearzatto x you

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makeste · 2 days

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BnHA Chapter 424: Detroit Tears

Previously on BnHA: You know what, fandom is way too heated about this still so we’re just going to leave that be that for now and not get involved. I have some conflicted feelings about it, but this is not the place or time. This is a happy post.

Today on BnHA: Oh right, Horikoshi still owns the rights to my soul. And I’ve just been reminded of why I willingly signed them over to him so freely.

Quick heads up that this isn’t going to be my usual style of chapter reaction post, in that it’s really just going to be a ton of rambling about That One Scene. Partly because I’m only halfway caught up with stuff, but mostly because tbh, this is the only thing that matters to me right at this moment.

Also this is your friendly neighborhood spoiler warning that I’m posting about a chapter which hasn’t officially been released yet! So proceed at your own discretion. This reaction is based on @pikahlua’s excellent spoiler translation writeup here. I’ve officially lost all of my fucks about spoilers and it’s extremely liberating.

I’m glad that Kacchan’s arm isn’t just magically better and that he’s never going to be 100% again. and also that the doctor mentions him needing to rest his heart as well. because I did feel like there needed to be at least a few lasting consequences from him LITERALLY DYING AND UNDERGOING OPEN-HEART SURGERY IN THE MIDDLE OF THE BATTLEFIELD. but I’m also glad they established that it wasn’t career-ending or anything. he’ll probably have some chronic pain and occasionally aggravate his old injuries while fighting, all of which is great for angst purposes. but it was good to see him being calmly accepting of that while also being determined to put the work in to rehab it as much as possible.

also enjoyed the doctor summing up Kacchan’s highly improbable main character resurrection and subsequent antics as basically being some wild bullshit that nobody can explain. lampshaded the shit out of it. “I don’t really understand” lol. nobody understands. in truth it’s that his secondary quirk is bending reality to his will in order to kick ass.

moving on to the main event now! so Kacchan and Izuku’s reunion was obviously the highlight of this chapter and of my life, probably. I’m not gonna sit here and pretend like it wasn’t. y’all know how it is.

what really made this scene for me was Kacchan being more upset at Izuku’s loss than Izuku himself. all those callbacks and all that guilt. that careful selection of flashback panels. the fact that Kacchan’s past bullying of the quirkless Izuku wasn’t glossed over or forgotten, and in fact is the emotional core that fuels Kacchan’s reaction here. Horikoshi didn't have to cut that deep, but he knows what he's about.

and then the crying. I need to write a lot of words about this right the fuck now. first off, having Kacchan just flat out sob while Izuku for once is the calm one (at least until All Might goes in for the emotional kill later on), is such a beautiful reversal and really shows how far they’ve come. even better is that none of it was even remotely out of character. I’m always appreciative when an author can produce top tier emotional hurt/comfort like this and have it feel earned and authentic rather than forced. well done.

also, “Na--cchan!!” fuck yeah Izuku. we’ll never let him live this down. (but also, him later trying to reconcile his forever-tough image of Kacchan with the crying, hiccupping version standing in front of him, by blaming it on Kacchan’s weakened physical state... oh, Izuku.)

also the fact that Kacchan so easily reverts to this smol crying boy even after defeating the world’s greatest evil pretty much activated every protective instinct that I have. he’s seventeen. he’s practically a man now. he’s objectively one of the strongest and toughest people in the entire world. and yet his eyes still go so wide and his face is still so young and Horikoshi still draws him so tiny and vulnerable whenever he’s like this. goddamn gets me EVERY single time. let’s be real, it’s been this way ever since the “you looked like you needed saving” scene back in the literal first chapter. just, omg. he’s still just a kid and he’s too small to contain all these feelings SOMEONE HELP HIM.

anyway so NEEDLESS TO SAY, Kacchan full on mourning in between sobs because he wanted to keep being rivals with Izuku cut me to my core. I cried too, goddammit. because in Katsuki’s mind it’s like. he wasted a dozen years of potential friendship by being a giant asshole. and they were only able to start getting things back on track less than a year ago. and that was probably the best year of both of their lives. and that rivalry meant so much to both of them. pursuing their dreams together as equals. and he wanted it to continue!! he missed out on so much, and it was his own damn fault, and now it’s all being taken away again maybe!!

and I think it’s especially devastating to Katsuki because he was trying so hard to make up for how he treated Izuku, and then this comes along and now he’s worried it was all for nothing. he’s scared that Izuku will maybe have to quit being a hero. (we know that won’t happen, obviously, but Katsuki is living this and not just reading it. he’s never met narrator!Deku and doesn’t have the benefit of all that foreshadowing and stuff.) but even more than that, I think he’s scared that it will undo all of their progress toward mending their relationship. not because Katsuki thinks any less of Izuku now, quirk or no quirk; but because of how Izuku might feel about being quirkless again, and because of the memories it might bring flooding back to the surface. I don’t think Katsuki fully believes that Izuku has forgiven him. so that’s a major fear potentially rearing its ugly head once more now.

and of course, he’s also just sad and upset on Izuku’s behalf, because he knows Izuku is sad about it too, even if he’ll never show it and will just downplay it because of his selfless nature. it’s a major loss, and one deserving of tears being shed, even if Izuku won’t shed any of his.

so yeah. it’s a lot. in Katsuki’s mind it’s the potential loss of a partner (if Izuku quits heroics), and a friend (if Izuku does cool toward Katsuki as a result of being quirkless again), and a dream (of them reaching the highest heights together), and his friend’s dream. so it makes perfect sense that all of that would overwhelm him. all of this is stuff that’s broken him down on past occasions as well.

so anyway it’s going be very cathartic when all those fears prove to be unfounded (because they better be unfounded lol). but in the meantime it’s a very moving reminder of how much he really does care and how far the both of them have come.

also Horikoshi really couldn’t resist giving Nobu one last chance to destroy everyone when this scene rolls up in the anime. that’s so reckless of him. there will be no survivors.

All Might telling both of them they’d become the greatest heroes was also the perfect chef’s kiss moment on top of everything else. we already knew it, of course. but it was good to hear him say it. and they needed him to say it. they needed and deserved to hear it.

and I really love that the qualities he specifically praised them for were the same things that each of them had struggled with the most in their respective journeys. he tells Izuku, who had such a difficult time learning how to tell the world “I am here!!”, that he inspires everyone and has become everyone’s hero. and he reminds Katsuki, who struggled with learning how to save people, and has especially struggled with his guilt over what happened to All Might at Kamino, that he saved All Might’s life and is the reason he’s able to still be there with them. both of them just really needed to hear that acknowledgement and encouragement, and it was such a powerful passing of the torch moment. All Might gets so much shit from the fandom, but he really is a phenomenal mentor when he’s in the zone, and I’ll die on that hill.

also a nice touch keeping the focus of those panels on the two boys and their reactions. even though I would have liked to see All Might’s face when he thanked them at the end, it definitely felt deliberate. this is their moment. their soft little tearful smiles afterwards punted my heart off a cliff and then picked it up and held it gently.

lastly, let it be known that I’m still convinced Katsuki has OFA (All Might vestige explanation when??), and it’s not lost on me that that would be a mighty convenient way for Izuku to potentially still go on a-quirkin’ in the end, if that’s how Horikoshi wants to play it. I'm just saying.

also before I forget, just a quick shoutout to Horikoshi for FINALLY showing all three members of the Bakufam in a scene together in which they finally managed to not be completely dysfunctional lol. my deepest darkest BnHA secret is that Mitsuki is secretly super high up on my list of favorite characters. and she was great in this chapter, and I love how she was just “WHAT THE FUCK” aghast at Katsuki using his main character powers to continuously ignore his injuries. and then she and Masaru kind of silently agreeing to step outside the room and let the boys and All Might have their moment. while still secretly listening in. because you know they were. good for them.

lastly for reals, I just want you all to remember that as great as this chapter was, the one thing that it was STILL missing which we have STILL not gotten is a HUG. we demand HUGS. I’m not leaving this manga till I get a bkdk hug goddammit. I will stay here all night if I have to.

#bnha 424 #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #bnha meta #bakugou meta #bakudeku meta #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #horikoshi I am putting my faith in you to write the rest of the characters' epilogues with as much care as this one #that 'this is not the type of manga that can immediately end after the fighting is done' statement is one I'm gonna hold you to sir #I told myself I'd be happy with whatever we got but the truth is I still have Expectations #our fates are in your hands

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ladykailitha · 2 days

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Paper Hearts Part 5

I have no restraint. I have NO restraint. I HAVE NO RESTRAINT!!! So guess who starting writing a SEQUEL to this because she was feeling too sad to write Sweet Home Indiana? Yup! I would apologize, but this story is too cute for words.

We have a mild panic attack about the ending of the chapter from Steve, Eddie's plan, and Steve accepting an offer that made mostly in jest, but also in deep earnest.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

TAG LIST IS CLOSED!!!

But if the people on my list that haven't interacted on my stuff lately don't reply by Sunday slots may open up. So don't despair just yet if you want to be on the list and can't.

****

Steve banged his head on his locker in frustration. Why did he do that? Why did he tell Eddie he was interested in boys, too? Why did he trust the other boy to have his back? Especially when no one else seemed to.

He sighed.

He wrenched open his locker and a little pink heart fluttered to the floor. He frowned as he picked it up.

They weren’t going to hand out the hearts until Valentine’s Day so what was this then?

-Stevie

I like the way you’re kind even when it doesn’t benefit you.

Kas

Steve blinked down at the little heart in confusion. It wasn’t the exactly the same color as the hearts they were going to give out for the holiday. But it was close. He rubbed his thumb over the sender’s name.

Kas.

He knew it wasn’t a real name, having recently poured over the yearbook. So it had to be a reference to something, but what he didn’t know. He stuck it in his jacket pocket and grabbed what he needed for his next class, vowing to worry about it later.

As he sat in his chemistry class waiting for it to start he pulled it out of his pocket to look at it again. The pen was red ink and bold. Steve found himself smiling at the strange little pink heart.

Suddenly it was ripped out of his hand.

His head snapped up to see Tommy H. standing there with it in his hand. “Someone is sending Harrington Valentine’s hearts?”

“Give it back, Tommy,” Steve growled. “It’s none of your business. Not anymore.”

Tommy looked him in the eye before tossing it to the ground and walking off. “Whatever.”

Steve bent over to pick it up.

“Some girl named Kassy or whatever,” Tommy was telling Nicole. “Could be anyone from the younger grades.”

“I suppose so,” she said, tossing her red hair over her shoulder. “But anyone with sense would know he’s the plague now.”

Tina rolled her eyes. “Just because he refuses to suck either of you two off doesn’t mean he’s still not the hottest guy in school.”

Tommy rounded on her and called her a bitch.

She just scoffed and swung back around just as the teacher walked into the room. The tardy bell rang and he called the class to order, effectively squashing all gossip.

Steve ducked his head to hide his smile. He might feel a bit bitter that it was her party that Nancy threw their relationship in his face at, but it wasn’t her fault his girlfriend had gotten so pissed drunk that she lost her ironclad control. And right now he was feeling especially grateful to her for that comment.

He managed to get through his class just from riding that high alone.

His last class was algebra and it really should have been made illegal by now. The way the numbers and letters seemed to float off of the page as he struggled to parse their meaning. He just had to pass one quarter of this shit and he could graduate.

So he put his head down to learn and just suffer through it.

After school, he got to his locker and knelt down to open it.

Again a pink heart fluttered out of it. But this time it had a couple of friends. Steve stuck them in his jacket pocket again and exchanged books. He grabbed his English and history homework so that he could get them done for tomorrow.

He opened the back door of his car and threw in his backpack. He went to open his door when Eddie was suddenly at his side.

He leaned up against the door, preventing Steve from opening it.

“So the king swings for both teams?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Steve looked around, but they were alone for the most part, so he just shrugged. “Some guys are hot and for some reason I can’t fathom, I trust you not have it all over the school by lunch tomorrow.”

Eddie chuckled and crossed his legs at the ankles. “I wouldn’t do that to ya.”

“Yeah and why would that be?” Steve asked turning around and sticking his hands in his front pockets.

“That would be because it would be hypocritical of me to go spreading around the school someone likes guys,” he said, bumping their shoulders together.

Steve looked at him for a long time before he nodded. “You know by now I don’t put much stock into rumors. I did that once and got my shit rocked for it. Lesson learned, man.”

“I heard about the infamous Byers left hook,” Eddie agreed. “That was some pretty major shit rocking.”

The jock rolled his eyes. “I’m pretty sure he was my first concussion.”

The older boy looked up at the sky as he thought about it and then nodded. “Billy Hargrove would be round two, I’m assuming?”

Steve nodded and then threw his head back. “This year has gone from bad to worse and I’m barely keeping my head above water.”

Eddie hummed his agreement. It really has seemed like Steve couldn’t catch a break. “I feel that. I’m really struggling this year. Last year I didn’t graduate because I so focused on getting out of here, making it with my music that I forgot the promise I made to my mom that I would. Graduate I mean. But this year is just hell.”

“That sucks, Eds,” he agreed.

“You think you’re going to graduate?”

“God, I hope so,” Steve murmured, collapsing against the side of his car. “I just want to get out of this town.”

Eddie chuckled and shook his head. “Where would you even go, man?”

“I’d pick a direction and just drive for as long as I could,” he admitted softly. “I just need to be as far away from this place as I can.”

The metalhead nodded. “If we both graduate we should hop into my van and just run for the coast.”

Steve smiled fondly. “I think I’d like that.”

Eddie pushed himself off the car and then waved Steve goodbye.

The younger boy got into his car with a sigh of relief. Not only did Eddie promise not to out him, he came out to Steve, too. Now it was mutually assured destruction.

Steve smiled and started the car for home. Maybe this year was starting to get a little better.

****

Eddie shoved his hands in his back pockets as he made his way to his van. He didn’t know what possessed him to ask Steve to runaway with him or what possessed Steve to agree but it left a warm fuzzy feeling in his chest.

He hauled himself into the van and sat there for a moment just thinking about it. Of course that meant graduating himself, so he would have to focus on that. His van roared to life and he drove off.

It took him a couple of tries but he finally found the construction paper he needed. He had even found some black construction paper that he was going to use to make little paper bats to tape on the inside of his locker to make it less miserable.

Especially as he was told he couldn’t have his metal band posters up in there. They were too “evil” and “Satanic” and he should be more “Christ like” as if they were epitome of Christian virtue with all the hate they had for anyone not like them.

But Eddie got down to work and started making as many pink hearts as he could. He had thought briefly about adding a couple of red hearts in the mix, but he thought that was a step too far. He didn’t want to get Steve’s hopes up that he had multiple crushes on him if that wasn’t true.

He still planned on giving Steve his one red heart that he had bought. That wasn’t in question. He had already filled it out and returned it to the great big baskets that had been in the main hall.

It simply read:

Stevie,

You make being in this town worth living in,

Love,

Kas

He let out a slow shuddering breath. That was one of the scariest things he had to do since choosing to live with an uncle he had only met twice his entire life over being in the system. He knew his life was infinitely greater being with Uncle Wayne and he hoped this would yield a similar result.

Because he had made a promise and with all signs pointing toward Steve at least being receptive to a date, he had to shoot his shot and hope for the best.

He had made roughly fifty or so of the pink hearts and set about dividing them into four piles. With Jeff, Gareth, and Brian offering to help with the friendship hearts he wanted to make sure everyone got a few of them. Plus it made it easier to come up with things. Because even if they came up with similar ideas, they at least would be phrased slightly different so Steve wouldn’t figure it out.

He also had the idea of using pseudonyms so that it wasn’t all anonymous and initials, though there would some of those too.

But it was time for band practice, so he gathered up his things and the hearts and trotted off to his van, a wave and goodbye to Wayne on his way out.

****

Steve finally opened the other three hearts. Two were anonymous but the third surprisingly was from Tina.

It read it in the tiniest print that was still legible:

Steve,

I know we’re supposed to turn these in or whatever,

But I just wanted to say you’re still A-OK in my book.

-Tina

He blushed. That was nice of her and after she stuck up for him in chemistry, he was feeling a little better about himself.

The other two were just as sweet if a tad unusual in their delivery. The first one said:

Steve,

I’m sorry you lost your crown,

you kept the bullies from being their worst selves.

And the other read:

Steve,

You are a good dude.

Sorry people are shit right now.

Steve shook his head. They were well-tended, he had no doubt but they were odd. Like they were trying to find something nice to say and didn’t know how to word it.

Which, fair.

He knew he had a hard time coming up with complements for the twenty girls he’d picked out for his little project. He had to make sure the message wasn’t creepy or would come across as stalker-y.

He smiled down at the messages. He pulled out a little notebook that he had used to collect all the little things that the kids had given him over the past couple years and put the hearts on their own little page. He carefully put the book back, hidden between two textbooks from his freshman year.

“Steven!” his mom called. “We’re home!”

“Coming, Mom!” he cried, hurrying down the stairs.

****

Tag List: Closed

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

@spectrum-spectre @slv-333 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie

@chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666

@goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

@vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer

@yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @cinnamon-mushroomabomination

@dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual

@fullpoetrybread @disrespectedgoatman @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @moonshadows-13

@swimmingbirdrunningrock @croatoan-like-its-hot @lolawonsstuff @lololol-1234 @dotdot-wierdlife

@ravenfrog @dauntlessdiva @thelittleclare @steddieyourself @dam28lh

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #post season 2 #valentine's fic

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panboiiibish · 1 day

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Thinking about monsters right now. More specifically shark mer and his little scuba diver human. Again as they are just too cute not to write about.

It's been hours into your slow ride back to the land and hes shifted you two back into a comfortable position. At least for him. As your sat knelt down with your thighs pinned by his heavy head using you as a pillow while his barrel like arms wrap around your lower half.

The crew not wanting to jostle the hanging cage too much desided that maybe being dipped back into the water would hopefully shoo off the shark mer. So they lowered the two of you back into the cool sea just enough so your lap and half of his face was submerged. It seemed to make him pleased as a content sigh left his parted lips but other then that he made no sign of leaving.

You where now stuck with the world's most dangerous weighted blanket slowly being tugged through the sea. It wouldn't have been so bad if he didn't seem to enjoy scaring the life out of you. With little too firm grips to your soft sides. Testing the thin skin with his much too sharp claws or nuzzling his face into your plush belly. While his parted lips allowed those perky white razor sharp teeth to skim over your flesh just barely mising nicking your flesh.

The teasing always enticed a sharp whimper or jolt out of you and in turn he made almost happy sounding thrills and purrs. How could he not!? Having such a silly little thing in his arms making the most silly of chirps made his tail wigge.

It was only when a pretty daring sailor desided "fuck it" and napped one of their long handled nets. He took off the net part and used the handle to start poking at the cage making the metal against metal clang loudly.

"Shoo! Get yah wild thing!" He starts yelling. The other sailors started getting onto him for getting so loud. They where trying to keep the diver alive not get her caught up in a wild mers rampage. Though they didnt do much to stop him other then yelling and watching. In all honesty they all where scared shitless, it was one thing being near sharks but shark mers and a great white one at that ment trouble. And they where not payed enough to deal with that.

This was when your fear spiked past what the mer had started. The loud noises and jostling of the cage made your breath shutter and body tremble. This also seemed to rise an reaction out of the mer, seeing his cute little human becoming so stressed from something he didn't do made the hairs on his neck raise and his head lifted from your lap.

his head lifted up over your hunched form, your hands clenched to your chest as an attempt to keep them from shaking too much. But when the shooting and clanging abruptly stopped curiosity pulled you to peek up at the mers face. His face almost made your heart stop. Eyes narrowed into a deep glare and his lips pulled back in the largest snarl you've ever seen on a human like face.

It just reminded you how much he wasn't human along with his sharp teeth showing, the many rows just peeking out as he started up a low rumbling growl at the cocky sailor. Just daring him fo attempt that again and find out what he can truly do.

The sailor backed off, with a wounded pride and loud hazing from the others. Somehow seeing the mer calm back down and lean back to hovering his race right at eye height of yours with those softened eyes seemed to calm back down your gasping breaths and tremoring hands. He let you relax back into a calm cold sweat before nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. The heat of his breath finally calmed you into hesitantly wrapping your arms around his torso.

A sweet little calm after that sudden storm made the perfect distraction before a sudden yelp escaped your lips. It came from a sharp pain enveloping your shoulder before the mer pulled back with a shit eating grin that showed his now blood tipped teeth.

Maybe it was the fear or enticing scent coming from your small frame. Whatever it was he just needed a taste, just to know if he would have to worry about getting sudden hungers for his sweet little human. Thankfully your blood didn't taste any better then others. But that adorable little sound that came from you really made his gills flare before leaning back down to rest his head on your lap.

You couldn't even check the wound as he immediately went to fiddling with your fingers. Bending them and rubbing his pads against the blunt of your nails making it impossible to pull them away and touch at the dull stinging coming from your shoulder.

At least it didn't hurt too bad, maybe only stinging so much from the dried sea salt stuck to your skin. But it did remind you that you where dealing with a wild animal here. No matter how intelligent he showed to be. He was still a creature of ths sea and not to be played with as if some kind of house pet.

Its Pan! I'm so happy that this little idea exploded so much. XD Really makes me happy seeing my ideas being liked and my ideas being explored a bit. Though Iv never really been good at long fics without ideas and prompts from others. Xp If yall have any questions about Shark boi and his little diver go ahead and ask! I'm open for any questions and am happy to answer >w< Anyways have a nice night!

#idk wtf im doing #ideas #monster x reader #x reader #thinking about #monster boyfriend #monster fucker #monster lover #mermay #merman #shark boi

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lumea-art · 23 hours

Text

Hey, guys! I'd like to address a personal issue which actually concerns everyone in this fandom. Please, read and react somehow🙏 For those on the bojere fanbook server, that's going to be pretty much the same as what you read yesterday. If I'm too direct or accidentally overshare, sorry, keep in mind that I'm autistic

So for quite a long time I felt secretly disliked in the fandom. I am a very anxious person, I hang on every piece of feedback that I get so it bothered me a lot. I wasn't allowed to participate in the Käärijä zine and they never explained why and I almost didn't get in the bojere fanbook as well but at least the mods were kind enough to communicate the issue

So the mods told me yesterday that people felt uncomfortable about me taking part in this and having me on the server. I felt very down the whole day and didn't understand shit until Moko and Due gave me the explanation. The issue was "radfem" in my bio on Twitter. They explained to me how my associating with radfem made them think I was potentially threatening to other people on the server, especially the queer folk. But the thing is I turned out to be quite different. I consider myself to be radfem cause I've had a lot of traumatic experience with men (SA, abusive relationship), I don't want any other women to go through something like I had to experience, I am with women, I'm fighting for our comfort and against the patriarchy. Also I am from Kazakhstan and we have big issues with women's rights here including all kinds of abuse and femicide for which men tend to not get in jail. You might have heard how our ex minister of Economics abused and k*lled his wife and didn't get in jail until the case reached the news. That's all, that's what it means TO ME to be radfem. So I guess this radfem is different to the one you're used to. I am not transphobic and I have never thought my views had anything to do with queer people. I have always been nothing but respectful towards queer people, online or irl. I have nonbinary friends who are comfortable with communicating with me. As a cis person, I may not understand something, but we tend to talk anything through in order to understand each other better, not waiting for any of us get hurt accidentally. So I suggest the same - if you need further clarification, you can ask me questions in reblog or dms and I'll answer. Also I'm open to literature suggestions to get to understand you guys better💕

Also regarding Russian-Ukranian issue in case anyone has a problem with it

Since I'm openly Russian speaking (though being from Kazakhstan and half Ukrainian myself), Ukrainians might have an issue with me and I perfectly understand why so I try not to bother them. However, some of them didn't want to leave me and my friends alone. You might have seen this big Russian-Ukranian fight on twitter in April, mostly taking place in JO fandom. The thing is that (again) people don't dig deep and assume I am pro Russian since I speak Russian and happen to not be able to speak Ukrainian or Kazakh (in Kazakhstan we mostly speak Russian). Me and my Russian speaking friends were bullied, our personal info was leaked without our permission and one of us got threatened to be physically hurt once she arrives to a JO gig we are all going to. Of course I protected my friends and myself, maybe not in the best way possible. Luckily, we were able to talk everything through with the guys and no one means to hurt anyone anymore. I suggested doing commissions for donations and I still do that if you're interested. I am pro Ukrainian and pro Palestinian and genocides suck

If someone doesn't want to communicate with me for whatever reason, just don't, what's the problem. But don't limit a person before clarifying things, I beg you. Please, I really want to be on good terms with everyone. I wish peace to everyone 🙏

#the tags are to attract attention #käärijä #joker out #bojan cvjetićanin #jere pöyhönen #bojere

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agirlcandream84 · 2 days

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Hey doll! I love the way you write Frank so much! You nail his sexy tough guy attitude and the way he speaks, as well as his caring side who's a softy teddy bear for his girl. 🥰

Not sure if this would fall under a headcanon or request for a drabble, but this idea keeps popping in my head and thought you'd be great to write it... What if you're with Frank, but you finally meet Karen and/or Madani (who are just friends with Frank) They are gorgeous women who seem to have some sort of history with him, and suddenly you feel super self-conscious, unworthy, or jealous...? Comparing yourself to her/them. Frank being a *man* may not get what's happening with you at first? How would he react when he realizes? If you'd like to run with that in any way, I'd LOVE to see it! Because Oof I love angsty Frank Castle... 🫠🖤

Oooooo I love this! Thank you so much for the suggestion!

How Boyfriend!Frank Would Respond to You Being Jealous of Karen

"You gonna tell me what's wrong?" Frank asks, eyes still on the road.

"Nothing, just tired," you lie, choosing isolation instead of confrontation. The truth felt too mortifying anyway.

"Nah, that's not it," he replies, somehow like an order, and you know the issue won't resolve on it's own because Frank won't let it.

"Frank, it's nothing. If it were something I would tell you," you lie with maybe a little too much desperate pleading in your voice. A silent scream to please just drop it.

"Yeah, like when you were starvin' yourself. Like that time sweetheart?" he asks, sarcasm coloring every word.

"That's not.... come on... it's not like..." you fumble for words but come up with nothing because it was sort of exactly like that.

It had felt monumental but you were trying so hard to play it cool at first. Frank was introducing you to Karen. THE Karen. The Karen who was like one of five people Frank really trusted and adored and thought of as family. He kept a tight-night circle and protected the hell outta them and you were equal parts giddy and anxious to finally be introduced to someone so close to him. This was a milestone in your relationship and you were desperate for Karen to like you.

And by all accounts, it went great! Karen was warm and wonderful and it was obvious why she meant a great deal to Frank. And that would be good if she weren't also alarmingly stunning-- all angles and golden hair and clear blue eyes that seemed to bore into Frank and anticipate his moves and needs as if they had a lifetime of history between them. Which they did-- one you weren't a part of and couldn't dare amount to.

And intellectually, you knew this was good for Frank -- to have such a nurturing relationship with someone after having suffered so much loss. And intellectually, you knew that their bond wasn't based on romance but in deep mutual care and respect. And intellectually, you knew Frank loved and adored YOU-- proudly and happily.

But emotionally, you just... couldn't shake it. That insurmountable feeling of inferiority. You're no Karen -- all poise and grace and stunning intellect. You felt shrunk in her presence, suddenly so keenly aware of the caliber of woman Frank kept close. Maybe you were a fraud. Maybe you'd managed to fool Frank all along and this meeting with Karen would bring the reality-- the reality of YOU-- slamming into clear focus.

"I see the way you're pickin' at your fingernails. Don't tell me it's nothin' sweetheart," he responds, maybe some anger in his tone but you knew concern was what had him so persistent.

You shove your hands under your thighs to stop from picking and let out a long sigh. Your head drops low as you contemplate how to navigate the conversation.

"I'm not Karen," you say plainly.

"Yeah no shit," he scoffs.

You gulp and nod, tears pricking at your eyes at his confirmation. "So then... we don't have to.... Listen, I get it if tonight was eye-opening. It was for me. I would understand," you respond.

"Understand what doll?" has asks, his brows stitched in confusion as he ventures a quick glance to the passenger seat.

"Understand if you feel like, I dunno, you have regrets or something," you stutter out.

He pauses, his eyes scanning the road before he checks his rear view and pulls over to the shoulder, puts the truck in park and smashes his finger into the button to turn on the hazards.

"Frank what are--" you start but you're cut off.

"You mind tellin' me what exactly I'd be having regrets about?" he asks, shifting in his chair to face you.

"Well... you know..." you answer, gesturing sort of vaguely at yourself.

"No, I don't think I do know. Why don't you be specific," he says unblinking, his eyes bored into yours, feeling like you were on the other end of an interrogation.

"About me, Frank. I'm not like her. Not even close. Like, she's so damn perfect and you guys together are so-" you blurt out, stopping yourself before you regretted it.

"So wrong, sweetheart. Karen and I are wrong together. I don't love her, not like that at least," he answers with conviction.

"But-" your sputter.

"But what? You gonna tell me how I feel now?" he retorts, raising his brows in question.

"Well no but the way you two are.... it's just special. And she's so, just so gorgeous and kind and..." you reply, your sentence fizzling into the air like mist as his brows furrow again.

He shakes his head at your reply and huffs air out of his nose before reaching across to your seat belt and unlatching it, tugging you across the seat of the truck cab and firmly into his lap. Two calloused hands land on either side of your face and his warm brown eyes scan your face as he brushes a stray hair from your forehead.

"We gotta get you glasses sweetheart," he murmurs.

You contort your face in confusion, muttering "what are you talking about Frank?"

"Cuz you don't see what I see," he answers and you roll your eyes a little at his dad joke.

"I don't think they make glasses like that," you joke back, but the complicated feelings were still stuck, their little grippers dug deep into your feelings.

"Nah I mean it. You really don't see it and that's a problem," he adds, your face flashing to him in concern before he continues, "that I'll consider my duty to solve."

"Unless you're a licensed therapist, you may regret that," you reply flatly. His hands leave your face to land on your hips and he tugs you an inch closer, your chest pressed to his.

"Then I'll happily die tryin' doll," he replies, using a hand to nudge your chin up and meet your eyes again. He plants a tender kiss on your lips then another and another and another until he feels you melt a fraction in his arms.

You pull away for a moment, lip gloss smudged on your face and his, pupils already blown as you feel the pads of his fingers sink into your fleshy hips and you say, "You kisses are no match for my cripplingly low self esteem."

At this he barks out a laugh and responds, "Well fuck sweetheart, I'll guess we'll have try more than kisses then huh?"

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle x you #frank castle fanfic #frank castle smut #frank castle x y/n #frank castle fluff #frank castle x anxious reader #frank castle x jealous reader

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justalittletotheleft · 2 days

Text

i’ve had a very. humbling. day today. feel obligated to blog about it.

i don’t know why, but i decided to listen to hypno literally all of last night. just track after track playing in headphones while i went about my night. even while i was doing homework, i put a subliminal on super low volume as “study music” (𖦹 . 𖦹)

it definitely didn’t help that i was high as a kite, but the trances just felt so deep. i genuinely felt like i had no control…

needless to say, i woke up in an absolutely soaked diaper. so full in fact, i leaked all over my pjs and my bedsheet. meaning i had to do pissy laundry for the third time this week. fml.

i got changed, threw in laundry, then started to tidy up and make my bed. i bent down to grab something and felt the urge to mess, i wanted to wait a little, like this diaper only and a few dribbles in it so far, so i tried clenching down. and it didn’t work. the mess just slid out of me, and it was a lot. so within maybe 10mins of putting on this diaper, i’d completely packed it with last nights dinner (ಡωಡ)

it was so gross and smelly, that i just changed immediately. i hadn’t even done proper diaper prep, so i would’ve definitely gotten a rash if i sat in it.

against any better judgement though, i put on a pull-up.

i had an internship interview and there was no way i’d feel professional or smart in a diaper! i told myself i’d just go to the interview, and come straight home, leaving no time for leaks or anything.

the interview didn’t go great, that’s fine is wasn’t a great position anyway. but! i kept my pull-up dry! the entire interview! so i got a little cocky…

i had to grocery shop today, so why not just do it while i’m out? save some gas, then i can stay at home and relax the rest of the day! so off i went to the grocery store.

kinda having accepted my (temporary!!!) toilet troubles, i’d put a lot of stuff on my grocery list for going 24/7. i’d already ordered 3 cases of high capacity diapers online, but i needed stuff like more wipes, bed pads (cause of last night), more pull-ups, etc. i know it should be normalized and not embarrassing to buy incontinence products, but i was just so flustered pushing a cart full of pull-ups and baby powder. like this isn’t a medical issue for me, it’s something i trained my body to do apparently cause i’m too horny (⌒_⌒;)

i felt a few leaks happen while shopping, so big deal, my pull-up can take it. by the time i’d gotten checked out and back to my car, it was pretty wet though. as i was putting my groceries in my trunk though, i felt my bladder twinge. weird. could’ve sworn i’d just leaked a few minutes ago, but who cares, pull-up can take a little more. so i pushed.

bent over the trunk of my car, i proceeded to not only soak, but also mess my pull-up ╥﹏╥

i leaked through to the front of my pants, very obvious wet spot on my crotch, plus the strong smell of shit that now surrounded me…

i drove home, windows down, sitting in my own shit and wet pants. thank god i have leather seats. also, no one was around when i brought in groceries in wet pants, so dodged a bullet there too.

it’s just been. such a day.

having to fill up my old underwear drawer with thick diapers, texting my fwbs and telling them i can’t hookup this summer (cause no one wants to fuck someone who sits in their own piss all day), even just going out in diapers! 24/7 seemed so elusive and fun, but it’s wayyy more embarrassing then i could’ve even imagined (*/ω＼)

even to add insult to injury, i had to shave my cunt tonight! after i’d showered, my pussy still smelt like stale piss and powder. i’d been told that hair holds scent a lot, but i didn’t believe it. i’d just gotten my bush to the length i like after shaving it clean back in february (cause i was horny, what can ya do?) and was so happy about it. having hair down there just feels so much more masculine, but if i’m going to be in diapers all summer, it had to go for just sanitary reasons.

it smells and feels much better now that it’s shaved, made powdering up a lot less messy. i even got to look at my bottom growth better, it’s almost a full inch! does feel incredibly infantile that i have to cover it in baby powder and thick pampers everyday though (/ε＼*)

anyways, i’m nice in padded in one of my last abdl diapers until my shipment comes, gonna take that nightly edible and probably listen to more hypnosis and play stardew. these little updates don’t do as well as my captions, but i still feel obligated to post them. i did put myself back in diapers, might as well live blog the journey for y’all to get off to 💕

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trippinsorrows · 1 day

Text

with me + part eight

authors note: wow, you guys just keep on amazing me. all of the kind comments really do make my day, you have no idea. the beginning of this one is heavy, but i'm gradually working towards exposing more of reader and joe's backstories!!!

song inspo: with me by destiny's child

status: in progress // masterlist

warnings: angst (parental neglect, abandonment) language, suggestive themes

words: 6k

taglist: @pixiedust4000 @southerngirl41 @yolobloggers @msbigredmachine @wanderingreigns

“It’s been almost a year, babe.” His tone is the perfect combination of understanding yet frustrated, like he’s trying his best to be patient but his needs are getting the best of him. “You still not ready?”

You wanted someone to talk to for the drive, even if it was only an hour, but at this moment, you’re regretting choosing your boyfriend.

“I just….I want to be really sure, okay?”

This has been the latest conversation between the two of you, more a point of contention. You care about Amir, you love him, but there’s something about letting him take your virginity you’re still a bit unsure about. Maybe it’s the fact that you just turned 16 three months ago and still feel like you’re a bit on the young side to take that next step. Or maybe it’s the fact that you guys have been rocky, almost since the beginning, having your fair share of arguments, even makeups and breakups.

But, you also know that even with the ups and downs, a year deep for a high school relationship is almost unheard of. That has to mean something.

“I love you, and you love me, right?”

You check the rearview mirror and switch lanes. “Of course.”

“So let’s seal the deal.”

A glance at the navigation makes you aware that you’re roughly ten minutes away from your destination. Instantly, your stomach begins to twist and knot. And like many with anxiety, it comes out as anger.

“Look, can you please just stop pressuring me?” You snap. “I feel like that’s all you ever want to talk about.”

“Whoa, whoa, where’s all this attitude coming from?” He, understandably, becomes defensive. A small part of you feels bad, taking your nerves out on him, even if it’s not entirely undeserved. It has become an annoying, frequent hot topic. “Am I wrong for wanting to be close to my girlfriend?”

“Bullshit. You just want to get your dick wet.”

“If that was the case, I wouldn’t be asking you,” he retorts, arrogantly. “I can get pussy anywhere.”

That’s the wrong thing to say, obviously, because you angrily fire back, “fine, then go do that and leave me and my pussy alone!”

He sucks his teeth on the other side. “I’ll talk to you when you not in one of your bitch moods. Must be on your period or something.”

“Fuck you, Amir.”

The phone disconnects.

He hung up.

Frustrated, for a lot of reasons, you squeeze the steering wheel and curse, loudly. This isn’t what you needed. You’re regretting not calling Mariah instead. You’re starting to regret this decision altogether but work to remind yourself why you’re doing it, why you want to do it. Amir and his shit be damned. He’ll always be there, and you’ll figure the shit out, like you always do.

Right now though, you need to focus on yourself and your plan.

So, you spend the rest of your time driving by feeding positive mantras into yourself in an attempt to bleed out the negativity.

It’s especially needed when you finally arrive at your destination, parking your car as far back in the parking lot as you can. You blow out a big, deep breath, keeping your hands on the steering wheel as it really sets in that you’re doing this, finally doing something you’ve wanted since you got your license but have been too scared to follow through on.

It’s going to be a daunting task no matter what, but it’s what you want, and you’ve come too far to back out now.

Shaky hands reach to pull down the sun visor so you can use the mirror to assess your makeup and hair. You’d saved up your paychecks to afford this 14k gold necklace the local jeweler had gotten in stock and kindly agreed to hold until you could afford it. You just wanted to look your best.

You needed to look your best.

Blowing out another breath, you reach to spray another layer of your trial size perfume. It was some expensive ass designer fragrance that smelled sinfully sweet, but the trial one was all you could afford.

Climbing out of the car with your best bag, you make sure to lock the door and start heading toward the entrance, offering a few small smiles to the cops you pass by.

Stepping into the precent, you march right up to the front desk with your head held high.

“Hi,” you breathe, pasting on that rehearsed smile. “I—umm, is Captain Wilson available?”

“Uhhhh.” She stands up and looks back, most likely where his office is. “I believe so, can I ask what this is in regards to?”

Crap. You hadn’t thought about what to say, how to explain how you knew him. Quickly, you settle on, “old family friend.”

She assesses you, probably wondering why their police captain is family friends with a high schooler.

Thankfully, she nods and moves from behind the desk to escort you. “Follow me.”

You’re briefly relieved that the first part is done, far from the hardest but necessary for you to actually get to the hard part.

She knocks on the open door. “Captain?”

He looks up, and your stomach drops.

Years.

It’s been years since you’ve seen him, been this close in proximity. He’s older, obviously, but still very similar to how you remembered him all those years ago. He looks at you for a second, clearly confused and then at the woman.

“She said she’s a family friend.”

Nervous that this will mess up your plan, you interrupt, “I—I need to speak with you, please.”

The woman turns to you. “I thought you said—”

He lifts his hand, standing up. “It’s fine, Yang.” He motions to the door. “Leave us.”

You can feel her distasteful expression on you, but she follows his command, closing the door behind you.

“Well, how can I help you, young lady?”

It's such a loaded question, but you came prepared, ready to jump right to the point. Don't want to waste any time.

"I, well, I'm—" Chuckling, you reach into your bag and pull out the old picture of your mom you kept in your locker. Opening and showing it to him, you watch his entire facial expression shift from friendly to shocked. "I'm your—"

“What are you doing here?” There’s a sudden change in his tone, even in his body posture, less friendly, more hostile. Clearly, he recognizes you.

“I—” The answer is simple yet difficult to get out, but you manage. “I wanted to meet my father.”

He suddenly asks, accusingly. “Did your mother put you up to this?”

“What?” Frowning, you explain, “no, no, she—she doesn’t even know I’m here. No one does.”

“Good,” he mutters. “Listen—”

“I’m 16 now,” you interject, suddenly remembering the list of things you wanted to share with him, wanted him to know about you. “And I’m—I’m captain of my school’s cheerleading squad. Took my team to state last year. I’ve had a couple of scouts from colleges reach out already.”

“Listen—”

“And I just got my SAT scores back. I got a 1400. A 32 on my ACT. That puts me in the top 10% of the nation for both of them.”

“Is there a reason you’re telling me all of this?”

“I thought—” This is going the complete opposite of how you planned, how you hoped. You expected him to be confused and surprised, but you didn’t expect this level of disinterest and aggravation. Like you’re annoying him. Like you’re bothering him. “I thought if—if you saw me, if you met me and see I’m not a bad kid that—that maybe you’d want a relationship with me.”

“A relationship?” He scoffs, actually fucking scoffs. “Why would I want a relationship with you? You’re not even supposed to exist.”

Of all the things to say—cruel, hurtful, mean—you’re not sure just what to label this. Because it’s almost inconceivable to you that he could say such a thing while looking directly at you, as if you’re not his blood. As if you’re not his daughter.

“I—” Any hope or confidence you had is all but squashed underneath the weight of his cruelty. “I’m your daughter.”

“No, you are a mistake that I paid your mother to take care of.” He turns away, one hand on his hip, the other running his hand over his face. “Biggest waste of money I ever spent.”

Devastated. It’s the closest word you can use to describe what you’re feeling right now, all over, in every crevice of your body. You never knew a person could feel so much pain at one time.

That a heart could feel so heavy.

“How—”

“Honey—”

Turning your head, you see a woman dressed in fine clothes, adorned in real, 14k or more jewelry, and a smile that doesn’t meet her eyes when she sees the Captain isn’t alone. “I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?”

You’re unsure how to answer, especially when you notice the big rock on her finger. It doesn’t take much to realize this must be his wife. The same woman he cheated on with your mother and unintentionally created you.

“Not at all,” he answers with a chuckle. You watch with a twisted stomach as she walks over to him, kissing his cheek. He smiles at her with such adoration, such happiness, a complete contrast with the disgust and disdain he sent your way. “I was just telling this young lady there’s nothing we can do for her.”

Young lady. That’s all you are to him, and it was stupid of you to trick yourself into believing otherwise. If he could go sixteen years without once asking or inquiring about you, he could go another sixteen. Another 100. You weren’t a part of his world, didn’t exist there, and you never would.

“Dad, Elijah won’t get out of the car. I swear, you should have kept me an only—” Another person enters the room and also stops mid-sentence. “---child.” An identical set of brown eyes land on you, eyes that he has, that you have. The similarities don’t stop there. Nose, lips, even bone structure to some extent, age. “Oh, my bad. Dad, who’s—”

You never give her the chance to finish or yourself the chance to hear the rest of her question. Rushing past her as well as the other cops in the precinct who surprisingly don’t try to stop you, you don’t allow your feet to rest until you’re in the safety of your car.

And that’s when it finally comes out.

The guttural, vulnerable scream that you’ve been holding in. You beat at the steering wheel, narrowly avoiding the horn. You beat at that thing until your wrist aches and fist grows tired. Nearly hyperventilating, the sob erupts from your throat, almost your entire body shaking from the intensity. You’ve never felt so awful in your life, so empty, so unwanted and unloved.

It’s the kind of pain that’s so visceral you can only understand if you’ve felt it, and no one deserves to feel this.

Stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

You feel it, and more, for bringing yourself down here and making a fool of yourself.

A family.

He has a whole family. He already has children, has a daughter who’s close in age. A daughter he loves and whose life he wants to be involved in.

And it’s not you.

It’s never been you, and it’ll never be you.

Finally, you understand why your mom always shot down or redirected any attempt you made to ask about your dad. It was for this reason. This is what she was trying to protect you from, and you idiotically ran right into the line of fire.

Immensely grateful you had the wherewithal to park as far back as you could, you sit there for who knows how long, screaming, crying, heartbroken, avoiding what’s sure to be the longest drive home of your life.

There’s such an intolerable level of discomfort at this, this pain, this hurt. You don’t want to feel it, don’t want to sit in it. You can’t. You’re not sure if you can continue to function in this state.

You need a distraction.

And you have the perfect one. Whatever development has occurred in the prefrontal cortex is nonexistent and inactive as you dig in your purse for your phone.

With shaky fingers, you send him a simple text, knowing he’ll know exactly what you mean.

Tonight. Let’s do it tonight.

________

Three days after her emergency surgery, Calista was officially discharged from the hospital, allowing her to be home with you just in time for Thanksgiving. Not that that ended up being anything to write home about. You opted to stay home with her, aiding in her recovery as your mom came over to drop off some food and assist in nursing your sweet little girl back to health.

It was much appreciated, especially as Joe had to leave the day before she was released, much to his and Callie’s chagrin. She loved the company of you, even your mom, but she especially loved being around and with Joe.

Not that he was any different. You could see how much it killed him to have to leave her when she was still admitted in a hospital, so you had to continue to remind him that the hardest part was over. Ironic considering how grounded he kept you in that terrifying experience.

Joe’s promise of returning for Christmas was the only thing that kept Callie slightly less disappointed. She loves Christmas, and him being there for her favorite holiday will definitely mean a lot to her. You know she just hates having to wait so long to see him again. It’s safe to say she’s pretty attached to him, which warms your heart and makes you even more eager for her to finally realize that Joe is not just Joe.

He’s her dad.

And speaking of daddy, your dynamic with Joe has been both different yet the same. There’s always been this chemistry between you two, but it seems him finally admitting he wants to be with you and your finally acknowledging that it's something you’re willing to consider has given him privilege to up the ante.

He’s always been forward with you, but it’s been subtle, if at all present, since his return.

That's no longer the case.

He makes his comments and innuendos, always appropriate and respectful enough to not warrant pushback. But, it’s still there.

And you like it, way more than you should for someone who doesn’t even know how she feels about any of this to begin with.

“I have an idea.”

Th comment comes from the very person who you summoned to help with said ambivalence chimes with that mischievous smile that almost got you both kicked out of school at least two times.

Alexis Palmer stands on the opposite side of the kitchen, a bottle of vodka in one hand and another unidentified alcoholic beverage in the other. To say you summoned her may be a bit of an exaggeration. You emailed her, yes, but you didn’t except her to actually fly across the world to come visit you. Apparently, she was in Norway when she received your email.

“You couldn’t not expect me to come. You sent out the bestie bat signal!”

The first time you met Alexis, you hated her. She was your assigned roommate who you had the displeasure of meeting during move in week. A large part of your disdain for her was because she represented everything you’d always found utterly annoying: rich, entitled, privileged.

You’d quickly find out that was only partially true. Yes, Alexis came from money, but that was essentially all she came from. You’ll never forget the time you two were actually having a decent conversation and she casually mentioned that neither of her parents had ever told her happy birthday before. Ever.

Even your mom, though not having much, made sure to make the most of all of your special days.

That was the first day you started to see our roommate in a different light, and now, over ten years later, you consider her a best friend. If Alexis didn’t spend her life randomly traveling to various parts of the world, living comfortably off her trust fund money, you’d absolutely be much closer.

But until, or if, she gets tired of always being on the go, you settle for email updates and countless snapchat messages because WIFI is a wonderfully universal thing when compared to international texting and call fees.

Alexis's partially drunk ass skips out of the kitchen, clearly going to retrieve something as you take a moment to check your phone. It took a moderate level of convincing for you to agree to Callie spending a day or two with your mom, not that you didn’t believe she wouldn’t be in the best care. It was just some lingering anxiety from your baby being hospitalized, that mother’s fear of something happening in your absence and you not being there to comfort her.

But, your mom brought up a valid point, that you’d spend almost nonstop time with Callie since her discharge, and that was fine. You loved spending time with you little girl, but you also needed some time for yourself. Some adult interaction, and Alexis' surprise visit created the perfect opportunity.

So, that brings you to your current scenario, having an in-house girl night with your college roommate, drinking wine (harder liquor for her) and figuring out just what the fuck you’re doing with your non-existent love life.

When Alexis turns with one of your poster boards, you protest, “Lex, those are for my students.”

She gives you the most disgusted look. “Girl, fuck them kids. If it’s not my sweet Cal Gal, I don’t care.”

Knowing good and well this is a losing battle, you let it go and watch as she lays the poster board on the kitchen island and pulls out a sharpie.

“What are you—”

She lifts a finger, silencing you as she continues to write. Shaking your head, you take another sip of your wine.

Alexis is done in a matter of a few minutes and finally prompts you to look. “Okay, all done.”

It’s in reading what she’s created that you nearly drop your wine glass. “Lex, what is this?”

She rolls her eyes, pointing with the sharpie to the title. “Obviously, it’s the ‘figure out who I should be with’ chart. Created by yours truly!”

You blink a couple times. “Alexis, why is Kai’s name up here? He was a high school hookup.”

“Yes, but still a hookup nonetheless, so he makes the cut.” Lord as much as you missed Alexis, you’d almost forgotten how draining her eccentric ways can be. “Now, as you can see, each option has a pros and cons column. I say we start with the pros, and I’ll even help you out.”

“Should I be scared?”

She pauses. “Maybe.”

Shaking your head, you wait for her to quickly jot down whatever she objectively believes is considered a pro. But, when she turns the poster around, you actually laugh. “Oh my god.”

She’s written only in Joe’s pro column, but it’s more what she has written that has you humored.

“Obviously, at number one, we have 'big dick' because that's the most important thing in life. Never commit to a micro-penis.”

Ignoring the latter part of her statement, you ask, “big dick? Really?”

“Is it a lie?” She challenges. You open your mouth and immediately close it, taking another sip of wine. “I rest my case.” Yeah, you definitely can’t fight that one. “Wait, is he the one you tried anal with that one time?”

You nearly spit out your wine, for a couple of reasons. You'd never really considered yourself a feminist, but you were definitely someone who believed in women being free sexual beings. You never subscribed to that modesty bullshit. Sex was fun to you, and you liked it. You definitely considered yourself more on the freaky side. Outside of the really weird shit and threesomes, you were down to try whatever. Especially with Joe. Well, except for that. “Absolutely not. He’s too big. That shit already hurts, hence why it was one and done.”

Confused, she asks. “Who was it then?”

“Amir,” you answer, casually. Alexis, being Alexis, was pretty much the same as you when it came to embracing sexuality, hence speaking so openly about your sex lives.

She turns up her nose. “Yuck. Okay, back to Big Dick Joe.” After over 10+ years of friendship, you’ve learned, to some extent, certain things Alexis says just have to be chalked up to being a part of who she is. Like this entire activity that you’re for some reason entertaining. “Now get back to naming!”

You shrug, thinking about it, even if there’s not much to think about. “I mean, we have a child together already.”

“Oh damn, forgot about that,” she mutters and quickly adds Callie to the list of pros. “Sorry, Cal.”

This isn’t necessarily a difficult task. You’re pretty sure you could talk for 30 minutes straight about all of the reasons you like Joe. “He’s kind, smart, easy to talk to, an amazing dad to Callie.”

She downs the last of her concoction before shouting out, “oooh, don’t forget rich!”

Your eyes lift to the ceiling as you shrug, genuinely uninterested. “You know I don’t care about that.”

“You will when it’s time for Callie to go to college,” she ‘sings’, adding it to the board. “Fine as fuck,” Alexis talks aloud while writing the same thing. “Like very fine. As in you should have asked if his wife could fight fine because the way I never would have asked that man to leave—”

“Alexis.”

“Sorry.” She’s really not. “Why don’t we switch gears? How about we do the pros for Amir? Or even Kai?” You open your mouth to respond when she cuts you off. “Couldn’t think of any? Me neither. Back to Joe, it is.”

You run your hand against the side of your face, elbow on the section of the island that’s not occupied by the poster board. “Seriously, Alexis. There’s nothing there for Kai. At all. Hell, Amir neither.”

It’s like a light goes off, like all of her efforts have finally proved fruitful. The entirety of her eccentricity minimizes to something calm and considerate. “Exactly.” Laying down the poster, she comes and sits in the bar seat next to you. “You don’t like Amir. You definitely don’t like Kai. But, you do like Joe. Maybe more, though I’m not sure you’re ready to actually admit that out loud.” Much like a lot of what she says, though usually cloaked underneath her quirkiness, she’s correct. “So, what’s the real issue, roomie? It was his wife before, which I totally understood. You’re a moral person and shit. But now? He’s divorced, Y/N. You two have a child you’re trying to raise together. What’s holding you back?”

It’s a very, very valid question that you have no idea how to answer. You’ve tried, to some extent, to explore what your hesitations are. It hasn’t been high on the priority list due to your being focused on nursing Callie back to health, but as she’s on the mend to a full recovery, if not already at the eve of one, you know you’re gonna have to figure this shit out. Preferably sooner than later.

Joe will respect your need for time and space, but you also know he can be a persistent bastard, especially when it’s something or someone he wants.

It’s how ya’ll even got together in the first place.

“I’m gonna say something, and I don’t want you to bite my head off. Just hear me out. Let me put this expensive ass psych degree to use.” That makes you chuckle, but you remain quiet, allowing her to continue. “I think….I think whatever the situation is with your dad might be at play here.” Instantly, you're stiff, any hint of a smile or humor gone. “I don’t know exactly what happened outside of the fact that he’s not in your life, but something tells me there’s something there that you need to face.” And if she wasn’t already hitting you where it hurts, she adds on, “and I think it had something to do with why you didn’t tell Joe about Callie from the very beginning.”

Alexis has always had this uncanny ability to make you wonder if there’s something possibly mentally wrong with her and in the same breath wonder why the hell she didn’t decide to pursue a higher degree in psychology because of her sage wisdom.

This is one of those moments.

You know there’s some element of truth to what she’s saying, some layers behind events you’d pushed so far back in your head, you tried to convince yourself they didn’t still impact you.

But opening that box…..it’s hard for you to justify doing so. To understand why you need to revisit such uncomfortable, painful memories. You’re gonna be 32 years old next year. You’re too damn old to still be dealing with daddy issues.

Reaching for the bottle of wine, you pour some into your glass, noticeably more than the first one. “Maybe.”

Alexis also knows you well enough to know that a dismissal was bound to be your approach to such a heavy topic. “Is that the sign to change subjects, even though that’s literally why you asked me to come?"

“Technically, you invited yourself.”

“Bullshit,” she snorts. “You send that wild ass email and expect me to not book it back here to make sure my favorite twerk partner isn’t Gucci?” She suddenly asks, “wait, do people still say that?”

“Probably not. We’re old and outdated now.”

“Speak for yourself, I had a 24 year old Frenchman eat me out last month, and it was C'est Magnifique,” she sighs, clearly reminiscing as you turn up your nose.

“Too young for me, girl.” Younger men have never done anything for you, even Amri, who was a grade above you, felt too close in age.

“That’s right,” she nods, and you just know there’s something on the tip of her tongue. “You like em’ older. Samoan, tatted, with massive arms and big dicks.”

“Alexis.” You have to laugh, leaning into her side and laying your head on her shoulder. “I’ve missed you, girl.” You needed this, the time and space to be silly, to have difficult yet important conversations, to both think and not think. Alexis has always been that really great space for you, Mariah for even longer, but given your last interactions with her, you realize she’s not exactly the best candidate at the moment.

And as if reading your mind, she asks, “how’s ole girl doing?”

Ole girl aka Mariah.

The relationship between Mariah and Alexis……well, there is none. Put simply, they hate each other. More hate on Alexis' part, Mariah has just always kinda ignored Alexis and her role in your life, which is significantly easier considering Alexis is always on the move. The reason for the dislike and incompatibility between the two of them will always be a mystery.

“It’s just something about that girl.”

That’s what she would always say, and it once reached the point where you and Alexis stopped speaking for a couple of weeks, because you were a lot of things, loyal at the top of that list.

Outside of the whole situation with Joe….you still don’t know what exactly happened there.

Nonetheless, it just became agreed upon that talking with one woman about the other would be kept to a minimum, preferably none.

You know Alexis is just trying to be nice by asking. She doesn’t really care.

“I don’t know,” you answer, honestly. “She’s been….I think she’s just going through something.”

She rolls her eyes, clearly unsurprised. “I’m sure she is.”

You sigh. “Alexis.”

“I know you don’t like it when I talk about her cause that’s your other ‘best friend,’ but I’m telling you, Y/N, that girl is not your friend. She’s jealous of you. She been jealous of you,” she blurts out, as if keeping it in any longer would be painful. “But, imma be quiet.”

And she does which you’re grateful for, even if her words are, for the first time, starting to trigger some unfamiliar thoughts. Alexis, Kai, your own experiences. You’ve always leaned on the side of where there’s smoke, there’s fire, and Mariah’s forest is ablaze.

You just have to figure out how to approach all of this.

Among the other 50 fucking things you have to figure out.

_______

You can’t remember the last time you propped up your phone to call Joe for any reason other than Callie wanting to see or speak to him.

And yet, here you are, in your bathroom, preparing for your nightly routine, doing just that.

He answers on the third ring, eyes lighting up with surprise when he sees it’s you and not Callie. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Your tone is much too cheery for your taste, so you attempt to roll it back. “Is, uhh, is this a bad time?”

“Never a bad time for you,” he replies, smoothly. Looking into the screen, you realize he’s sitting up in bed, one arm behind his head. “What’s up? I thought you were having a girls night with Alexis.”

“We were. Well, we did, but she’s white girl wasted, passed out in my bed right now,” you answer, peeking through your ajar bathroom door to make sure she didn’t wander off somewhere. She was always that mobile drunk friend who had to be carefully monitored or else she’d end up on a local new station. “You talk to Callie?”

He nods as you grab your face wash and dispense some into your hand to lather. “Yeah, earlier. She seems to be having a good time with your mom.”

“She usually does, cause like you, my mom never tells her no.” You’ve always allowed that space for your mom to have her own relationship with Callie, one that you have no interference with. Similar to how it was for you with your grandma. But now with Joe being in the picture too, you foresee having to be that parent that actually tells their kid no.

Cause Lord knows Joe ain’t shaping up to be the one.

“She doesn’t do anything for us to have to tell her no.”

You pause in the midst of scrubbing your face. “God, I can’t wait for you to finally experience one of her tantrums. Next time you come, I’m gonna keep her up so you can see how she gets when she’s tired.” Joe has been blessed to really only experience happy Callie, even, unfortunately, sad Callie, but he’s yet to see your little girl when she’s angry.

“Don't do that to her.” He immediately grows defensive, and you giggle. “She’s a good kid.”

“She is,” you agree, rinsing your face and adding, “but all kids have moments, Joe. I would know, I work with them.”

“Well, you—”

“He don’t wanna be saved, don’t save him!”

You’re in the midst of drying your face when Alexis’s drunk, random ass comes stumbling by the door. “Alexis, what the hell are you doing up?”

Your words clearly trigger something with her wasted ass, cause in a matter of seconds, she’s crying. “My name is Alexis, but I’m not from Texas,” she begins to cry profusely at the word ‘Texas’, and it takes everything in you not to fall out laughing. You haven’t seen her this wasted since your junior year of college.

Hand on her back moving in circles, you soothe, “it’s okay, sweetie. You’re way better than her anyway.”

“Are you sure?” She asks, all soft and innocent, the complete opposite of the porn star she’s crying over not being.

“Of course.” You place your arms around her and mouth to Joe you’ll be right back. “Now, let's get you back to bed.”

“Are we gonna fuck?”

“No, Lex, you’re gonna sleep, and I’m going to finish talking to Joe.”

“Oh.” Her disappointment is hilarious as she yells out, much louder than necessary. “Bye, Joe!”

“Girl, you are gonna get me evicted,” you scold with a small laugh, guiding her into your bed and under the blankets. “Now, you sleep this off, and I’ll roast you in the morning over your antics. Deal?”

Alexis is so drunk, she couldn’t consent to breathing right now, but she does manage to give you a crooked thumbs up. “Deal.”

Stepping back into the bathroom, you give Joe a look and shake your head as he asks, “Damn. How much did ya’ll drink?”

“You mean how much did she drink?” You correct him. He knows good and well that’s not your thing. Never was. You didn’t need alcohol to have a good time. You could shake your ass on any table just fine, good and sober. “A lot. I just had two glasses of wine.” Suddenly remember something, you start speaking again, eager for his perspective on an idea that crossed your mind the other day.

“I think we should—”

“Go out with me.”

You both speak at the same time, but his statement obviously gives you pause. You stare at him, momentarily confused and ask, “what?”

He repeats himself, just as confident the first time around. “Go on a date with me.”

For a second, you think he’s joking, think he’s playing with you for some reason, but one look at his expression, and you know he’s being for real. You’re not sure how to respond, asking again, “like an actual date? A real date?”

“No, like a fake date.” He rolls his eyes, and you resist flipping him off. “Yes, an actual date.”

Still confused, you ask in a quieter voice, “why?”

His answer is surprisingly simple and unsurprisingly genuine. “Because I’ve never actually taken you out, and I want to. You deserve that much.”

This has been such a wild ass day. Hell, ever since Joe reentered your life, things have been wild. For the majority, if not entirety, of your relationship, you spent most of your time with this man holed up in your apartment and hotel rooms. Now he’s asking to take you out on a proper date.

What a 180.

It’s like he can see the wheels turning in your head and reassures, still with all the boldness. “We can take this as slow as you want, but you should know I’m heading in one direction and one direction only.”

Fuck. There’s nothing unclear about that, but it’s not surprising. He’s made it clear what he wants from you. He’s just waiting on you to tell him what you want from him.

After a few minutes of silence, you ask, "just a date?"

“Just a date,” he agrees. You should know him well enough though to know that’s not it. Sure enough, he smugly adds, “but if you end up riding my dick, then that’s just fate, baby.”

And there it goes, that charisma and charm that always kept you coming back for more.

Your smile is hard to conceal, so you settle for biting your lip, looking away. This man has no filter sometimes…not that you’re complaining. At all.

Feeling bold, probably from the wine traveling through your system, you play into his teasing. “Maybe I just want some dick.”

“That’s fine too.” He shrugs. “You know all you gotta do is ask, and I’ll get you right. Every single time.” A beat. “How you think Callie got here?”

That’s the thing….he’s not wrong, not wrong at all. You can’t think of a single sexual encounter with this man that didn’t either bring tears to your eyes from how good he was eating you up or had you walking with an almost limp the next day from how good he beat your shit up. Often both.

It’s always a good time with the head of the table.

Finally, you settle on an answer that feels most appropriate. “I’ll only agree if you agree to behave.”

He looks confused. Understandable. “What does it mean to behave?”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you answer confidently, “it means keeping your hands and body parts to yourself.”

If you agree to this, it has to be well regulated and feelings or hormones can’t get in the way of things. If you and Joe are to progress into something more, you have to take it slow, even if just for Callie.

At least, that’s the hope.

Nodding, he asks, mischief in his light eyes. “What if you’re the one who can’t behave?”

You snort, using the oil to grease your scalp. “Unlikely.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll see about that.” He has that look in his eyes, the same look that almost always ended up with you bent over whatever the most sturdy object in the room was. It’s a dangerous expression.

And you suddenly find your thighs clenching together.

Not a good sign.

“Well,” you clear your throat, leaning over the counter, praying his perceptive ass didn’t notice that. “As much as I would love to continue to chat with you, I have to call our daughter and talk to her before she goes to bed.” It’s not an entire lie; you do need to call her. Just not at this moment. He doesn't need to know that though.

“You’re flustered, aren’t you?”

This man….

Two can play that game.

Pushing your arms together to press your breast together, you’re pleased seeing his gaze darken. “Does it look like I’m flustered, baby?” His jaw clenching is all the satisfaction you need. Mission accomplished. “Goodnight, Joe.”

Refusing to give him a chance to come back with something, you end the call, only realizing what just happened once you’re left alone with your thoughts.

You’re going out on a date with Joe.

What the fuck?

#roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns fic #roman reigns x black!reader #roman reigns #black writers #arisnotebook

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howlinchickhowl · 2 days

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Ristretto - mini update

Hey! So, uh. I've been working on the next chapter of Ristretto for a good long while now. I'm finding it challenging because it's a lot of spice and that's one of the things I find hardest to write well. The next chapter, May, the lusty month of may, is planned as basically a five + 1 of fucking, and I have completed one section! So I have decided what I am doing for this chapter is mini updates by section here on tumblr, and then whenever I have all the sections complete I will update on ao3. In all honesty I just feel like I need the boost of actually posting something right now.

If you remember this fic and want to read the updates separately as they come, great! If you would rather wait and read them all in one go as one whole chapter, also great!

If you have no idea what Ristretto is, it's my coffeeshop AU I have been writing forever and a day and you can read from the beginning here.

And now without further ado!

Chapter 9(a) - rated E

May

By the time Ian closes the store, Mickey has taken to the break room for a nap, and Ian completes all of his nightly cleaning duties to the sounds of him snoring deep and rhythmic. When he’s done Ian shakes him awake and is treated to a full ten minutes of Mickey yawning and squinting like a sleepy baby while they gather their shit and lock up. They walk to the L and it seems to dawn on Mickey just when they’re getting on the train that he doesn’t actually know what Ian has planned, or where they’re going.

He gripes when Ian refuses to tell him, makes a few guesses but doesn’t get anywhere close. When they get to their stop he looks confused, wary, like maybe Ian’s playing some sort of trick on him. But he follows all the same.

They get off at 47th and cut back across the 90 towards the maze of streets they both sort of call home. Ian leads them through Fuller Park, past the train depot, and the little league field.

“I peed on first base here once.” Mickey tells him, with a childish sort of pride, hooking his fingers into the chain-link fence and stopping to stare out at the spot in question.

“Why?” Ian stops beside him, watching his face as he looks, remembers. Mickey shrugs, like he doesn’t know why, but there is a faraway look in his eyes that suggests that this is not really the case.

“Bet you were a little terror.” Ian jokes, bumping Mickey’s shoulder with his own.

“I was a Milkovich.” Mickey smiles, licks his teeth, kind of feral, and pushes off from the fence. “We got far to go?” He asks, and Ian shakes his head no, pushing off as well and steering them across the little patch of green adjacent to the field so they can hang a right onto Normal.

A couple of blocks and a couple of turns later and they’re there. A road of empty homes, a tiny ghost town in the middle of the night. It’s eerie, actually, Ian thinks as they walk. They reach their destination, two doors down from Lip’s new place, a little square box of a home with faded gray walls, an overgrown front yard, and, crucially, a shitty back door with a broken lock.

Ian leads them through the little wilderness of the yard around to the back, jiggles the handle a little in the way that he has figured out gives him the quickest access, and ushers Mickey inside.

The electricity is out but Ian is prepared, he reaches over to the counter and flips on the camping lantern he had set there for this exact purpose. It’s not bright but it gives off just enough light for Mickey to see the selection of snacks Ian has set out next to the sink, the array of candles he has prepared on most of the other surfaces, ready to light, and through the open door into the next room where he has set up a little nest for them.

Mickey’s back is to him and he hasn’t spoken yet, and it’s making Ian kind of nervous. Was this a weird thing to do? Was it too much? Maybe he should have talked to him about it before? The seconds tick by and neither of them speaks and Ian’s heart starts to pound like that time he and Lip had boosted a car and ended up in front of a cop car at a red light, holding their breaths and hoping like hell that the car hadn’t been reported stolen yet.

Sucking in a deep breath he moves past Mickey and starts to light the candles, just to give himself something to do.

“It’s not much, I don’t know, I thought…”

He trails off, holds his lighter to the wick of a dusty teddy bear shaped candle Debbie had been throwing away and chances a glance at Mickey, nervous, but unable to stop himself from trying to figure out what he’s thinking.

Mickey’s eyes roam around the room, taking in the sight as the newly lit candles cast warm flickering shadows over his impassive face. They land at last on Ian’s, reflections of the flames dancing against the black of his pupils.

“It’s private.” Ian shrugs.

Mickey cocks an eyebrow, drags his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment and nods.

“Private, huh?” He asks, stepping closer so their bodies brush against each other. Ian reaches around past him to light another candle, no noise but their breathing and the soft swish of his sleeve against Mickey’s.

He lights the candle, and the one next to it, placing them gently back in place on the counter, and when he turns his head towards Mickey he is right there. Their faces are inches apart, so close he could count the individual freckles on Mickey’s eyelids, could extend his tongue and lick the tip of his nose.

Their eyes lock onto each other’s and his breath is suddenly coming in shallow little huffs that blow the stray hairs hanging over Mickey’s forehead up.

“Tell me Gallagher,” Mickey’s voice is hushed, a low rumble of a thing that gets Ian’s nerves tingling as Mickey squares up to him, getting his body even closer and laying assured hands on Ian’s belt buckle. “What do we need somewhere private for?”

His eyebrows tick up again, suggestive, knowing, and his fingers find stronger purchase on Ian’s belt, the backs of his first knuckles brushing the sensitive skin of Ian’s stomach while his thumbs trace the outline of the buckle. Ian sucks in a sharp breath, Mickey draws in his own, long and slow and he waits.

Ian moves first, slamming his face into Mickey’s with enough force to push him back into the counter and latching his lips onto Mickey’s with almost desperate fervor, and after that it’s pointless trying to say who is kissing or grabbing or undressing whom.

Tongues and lips and teeth all slide and catch and drag, Ian pulls Mickey’s jacket down his shoulders, Mickey gets Ian’s pants open and shoved down over the swell of his ass. They move as one frenzied unit, pulling and grabbing and pushing and shoving, until Ian’s pants are around his ankles and they are tripping and stumbling and laughing into each other’s mouths trying to stay upright.

Mickey grabs a fistful of Ian’s shirt and yanks it up in an entirely ineffective attempt to get it off him, growling when he is unsuccessful.

“Fuckin’, take your fuckin’ shirt off asshole.’ Mickey yanks again and Ian pulls away just enough to get his shirt over his head, tossing it blindly and praying it doesn’t land on a lit candle and start a fire. He should be more careful, he knows, but he can’t focus on anything but Mickey right now, Mickey who is looking him up and down and licking his lips like Ian is a big juicy steak he’s looking to devour.

“Fuck, yeah.” Mickey breathes, getting both his hands on Ian’s traps and sliding them, firmly, down over his chest until just his fingertips are brushing over Ian’s abs. He rests there, and the muscles in Ian’s stomach jerk under his touch.

“This is the most of you I’ve seen all at once.” Mickey tells him, breathless, giddy, running his eyes up over Ian’s chest and shoulders and then down to where his hands are resting, plucking gently at the elastic waistband of his underwear, index finger rubbing idly over the little thatch of coarse red hairs that line it.

Ian leans in to drop a kiss on his open mouth, slack and wet and eager against Ian’s own. He moves over to leave kisses against his cheek, his jaw, nosing up behind his ear into his hairline and breathing in the scent of his skin, intoxicating and so intense just there that Ian can hardly bear it.

“You want to see more?” He asks, pushing the flat of his tongue against the skin of Mickey’s neck and dragging, slowly, as Mickey shivers against him.

“Wanna see it all.” Mickey’s voice catches as Ian flicks at his earlobe with the tip of his tongue, and he shoves his whole hands down into Ian’s shorts, palms flattening over his hips and fingers digging into the flesh of his ass in retaliation. The movement pulls them right in close, and Ian’s cock ends up shoved right up along the length of Mickey’s where’s it’s hard in his jeans.

It’s like a whole series of flashbulbs go off in Ian’s brain, one after the other. Flash. Flash. Flash. His whole brain lighting up with the contact, a full-body shudder running through him, forcing his breath right out of his chest in short little vocal puffs that he can’t contain. He shoves his forehead into Mickey’s shoulder and breathes there, letting the soft, musty scent of Mickey’s skin soothe him until he has a better hold of himself.

Mickey’s fingers twitch, urgent, and it is that impatience helps Ian focus, helps him find it in himself to drag his mouth up Mickey’s neck, take his earlobe between his teeth in a sharp tug and then whisper.

“Take them off then.”

That’s all the permission Mickey needs, he shoves Ian’s shorts down and the two of them are off again, hands and tongues and lips everywhere at once. Ian gets distracted running his hands all over Mickey’s back and shoulders and waist, feeling the warmth of his skin seeping into his palms and getting lost in the sensation so much that he barely notices Mickey huffing and puffing about having to take off his own pants, since Ian isn’t gonna do it for him.

They laugh together when he can’t get enough room to open his fly button. Ian leans his hips back to make some space and gets with the program enough to help Mickey get his jeans and underwear down until there is a matching pool of fabric restricting his ankles as much as Ian’s. And then they laugh again.

“Should probably take our shoes off.” Ian murmurs, pressing kisses to Mickey’s lips, pressing the whole length of his body along the whole length of Mickey’s and trying not to hyperventilate at how good it feels to feel him.

“Later.” Mickey grunts, shoving his hand between them and grabbing hold of Ian, firm in the way he’s come to learn that Ian likes best. He slides his tongue sloppily into Ian’s mouth in time with his thumb rubbing over the head and it’s almost enough to make Ian’s knees buckle.

“Mickey.” He tries to say, muffled against Mickey’s lips, hindered by his seeking tongue and his clever little hand starting to stroke.

“Mickey!” He succeeds this time, firmly, grabbing whole handfuls of Mickey’s ass and pulling him tight to Ian’s body, trapping his hand between them and halting his movement with a grunt. Mickey’s answering huff is petulant and it’s pure instinct that has Ian pulling him in even harder, letting his fingers pull at Mickey’s ass-cheeks so that they part, exposing him to the open air, letting him feel it until his panting breaths turn vocal and he stops trying to move.

Mickey’s eyes catch on his, they’re dark with want, pupils blown wide enough that Ian can barely make out the blue in them. Up to now their encounters have been marked with both an overwhelming intensity of desire and a level of humor Ian never knew could be a part of sex. Sex has never really been fun in this way, before. Fun in the way where you get your rocks off and it feels really fucking good and someone thinks you’re hot and that feels amazing or you’re super high or out of your head and everything you do is fun. But fun like this, stupid fun where you’re held captive by your pants and your lover won’t let you do anything about it kind of fun, that’s a new thing. That’s a Mickey thing. It’s the best thing Ian’s ever had.

But now it feels like they are teetering on the edge of something else, something new. Not wholly new to Ian, he’s dangled his feet in these waters a couple of times before, and the heat in Mickey’s eyes suggests that it’s not his first dip in this particular pool either, but new for them, together, and just the thought that they might be on the same page, compatible in this as well, it’s a whole new thrill.

“I had a plan.” He tells Mickey, low and serious, letting his thumb rub over the swell of one ass cheek, feeling the fuzz of the surprisingly light colored hairs that grow there. “Got a mattress all set up in the next room, comfy pillows, soft sheets.”

“Not a fuckin’ princess Gallagher.” Mickey grumbles, and Ian clenches his fingers harder, pulling his cheeks further apart. He can’t see, but from the sharp grunt that Mickey lets out he can tell the tension is starting to stretch his hole open ever so slightly.

“No.” He says, easing up just a little. “Just thought you might appreciate getting fucked without getting carpet burn on your ass.”

Mickey’s mouth turns up in a smile that is somehow equal parts flirty, filthy, and sweet, and his tongue flicks out over his lips slow, tantalizing.

“Awful thoughtful of you.” He tilts his head up into the space below Ian’s chin and Ian shivers as the flat of his warm, wet, tongue slides over the underside of his jaw.

“Yeah, I’m nice like that.” His focus is split, the sharp spikes of Mickey’s stubble following the path of his tongue like tiny electric shocks against the sensitive skin of his throat, but he manages to loosen his grip and slide the fingers on his right hand all the way into Mickey’s crack and stroke them up and down a couple of times, fingertips catching gently against his rim as they move.

“Hmm.” Mickey sucks in a slow breath, and Ian can feel all the muscles in his ass twitch, uncontrollably. He likes that. “Other ways too.”

“You think I’m nice?” Mickey’s teeth join the party, scraping over the hinge in Ian’s jaw, adding a new sensation to the wet and sharp in a way that makes Ian’s knees threaten to give out. Ian rewards him by allowing the tip of his middle finger to sink in, breeching the tight circle of muscle just enough that it clenches around him. Just enough that he can now officially say he’s been inside Mickey Milkovich.

A soft vocal puff of breath blows out against Ian’s neck, wet with saliva and just a little itchy where Mickey’s been working it over with his lips and tongue and teeth.

“What’s that?” Ian inclines his head, pushing their temples together. He pushes his finger a little deeper and then pulls it back almost immediately, Mickey’s body moving with him, unconsciously trying to keep him in. Mickey grunts. Ian pushes at his cheek with his nose, lays soft kisses on his cheek, against the corner of his lips. “Say you think I’m nice, Mick.”

He gets at Mickey’s lips, hot and wet, slides his own over them, breathes a hot breath into his mouth, swallows the breath that Mickey gives him back. He lets his finger push back in, as far as it will easily go.

“Mickey.”

Mickey kisses him, one sweaty hand coming up to grip at his shoulder and the other grabbing him at the hip. He kisses him dirty, lips and tongue dragging hot over Ian’s own, slow and wet and it’s so fucking hot Ian makes a sound he’s never heard outside of porn, like a grunt and a moan had a filthy high-pitched baby and it gets Mickey grinning against his mouth until he’s basically kissing teeth.

“Nice guy, huh?” His lips pluck at Ian’s again, nose bashing nose as he draws his head back so their eyes can meet. “That what you think you are?”

“What else?” Ian shrugs, drawing his finger, still resting just inside of Mickey’s ass, in tight little circles, just the tip really, swirling around, feeling his walls, the heat, the jolt of Mickey’s muscles as they pulse at the contact. He could just stay there forever, just rubbing at him, feeling him, but at the same time he’s desperate to get a rhythm going, add more fingers, taste him, get something else inside him, he wants everything all at once and it’s like he’s just feeling too many things, he can’t take it.

He buries his face in Mickey’s neck and clenches his hands, one holding steadfastly to Mickey’s ass-cheek, one spread so that he can keep his finger inside, but still clenching against the sheer strength of what he’s feeling.

It’s a lot, he thinks, as Mickey gasps against his ear, he must be pulling at him pretty hard, dragging him from the inside. He tries to relax, tries to think about releasing his muscles and slowing his breathing, think about things that calm him down. Soft music, going for a run, the sound of Mickey’s voice lately.

“Mick.” He about manages to grind out against the flushed pink skin of Mickey’s shoulder. “What else?”

“What, if you ain’t nice?” Mickey’s voice is soft, kind of high right there against the shell of his ear, soft lips mouthing at his earlobe as small warm hands run up and down his sides in slow, firm strokes. It must be clear to Mickey that Ian is on the brink of falling the fuck to pieces. He manages a juddery kind of nod, face still buried in Mickey’s skin, hands still fighting to tense, and he feels Mickey’s chest rise and fall in a deep breath, feels him relax his body against Ian’s.

The kisses that follow are gentle, soothing, along his hairline, down his forehead, over his cheeks and jaw, and punctuated with that sweet, husky voice, not quite whispering, but not quite talking aloud either, talking him down with each pointed breath.

“Well you’re really fuckin’ hot. So there’s that.” Kiss. “Funny. When you’re not trying to make a dumb pun joke.” Kiss. “Strong.” Kiss. “I like that you’re strong.”

He can feel it working, feel himself settling back into his skin, his heart slowing back to a regular (if aroused) rate. He manages to press a kiss into the ball of Mickey’s shoulder and is rewarded with a questioning “hmm?”

He gulps in a breath and focuses on relaxing his hands, soothing his thumb over Mickey’s almost certainly bruised ass-cheek, retracting his finger in a long, slow, slide that has Mickey’s breaths coming in short sharp vocalisations, almost giggles, like the sensation is more than his body can bear.

He drags his face up to Mickey’s for a kiss, and as he melts into that mouth it’s like he’s fully back inside his body again. He can feel every place where his skin is sticking to Mickey’s, pulling in little painful drags as they move against each other. He is aware once more, of Mickey’s dick, resting, a little twitchily, beside his own, pressed between them both and dribbling into his pubic hair. Ian enjoys how wet he gets, can’t help but reach between them to feel along the sticky length of him and give a couple of short tugs, coating his fingers in pre-come and sucking in the little huffy breaths that Mickey puffs out as he does.

“What else?” He asks, dragging his hand back around and sliding his finger back inside, crooking his knuckle to stretch out the rim a little before diving properly in.

“Fuck.” Mickey breathes against him, and Ian swallows it, his words, his breath, the intoxicating smell of him swirling inside Ian’s mouth and resting against his palate.

“What else?”

“Jesus Christ you uh.” Ian licks at his lips as he is trying to form the thoughts, a little more sensation, wants to see if he can get Mickey to shake out of his skin just the way Ian almost just had. “You kiss good.”

He licks him again, closes his lips over Mickeys in a reward of a kiss, rubbing at his rim with the tip of his ring finger, testing the waters to see if they’re there yet. Mickey’s moan is loud, fills Ian’s mouth with its neediness as he throws his arms around Ian’s shoulders and presses himself as close to Ian’s body as he can get. Second finger it is. On the next draw back, he pushes two in. Mickey’s whole body shudders against him.

“Mickey.” He loves the feel of Mickey’s entire weight hanging off him, pressed against him, clinging to him like he’s a life-raft and Mickey’s adrift at sea. “What else.”

Mickey whines, and it is such a sweet sound. Ian buries his fingers as far as they will go and swallows the noises his lover makes.

“Christ, Ian, I don’t know, if I say you’re nice will you stick your fuckin’ dick in me?”

If he’d thought laughter would break the horny spell he’s under, he would have been wrong. He’s so turned on he’s not quite sure what to do any more. He’s laughing straight into Mickey’s mouth and buzzing with desire and fighting the instinctual thrust of his hips all at the same time, so many sensations warring for attention he hardly knows how he’s still standing up, except that Mickey’s body is supporting his as much as Ian’s own is supporting Mickey’s. And God does he want to stick his dick in Mickey, more than anything he thinks he’s ever wanted. There’s only one thing stopping him.

He pulls his mouth from Mickey’s and unceremoniously drags his fingers out of his ass, grabbing a cheek in both hands and squeezing.

“Not without lube.”

Mickey rolls his eyes, leaning back in, but Ian stops him short with a hard smack and pushes him away.

It’s only when he makes for the little nest he’s set up in the next room that he remembers his pants are still around his ankles and he’s still wearing his boots. It’s Mickey’s turn to laugh as he very narrowly escapes tripping over his own feet.

“Shut up and get your shit off.” Is all Ian says, working on freeing his feet and admiring the lines of Mickey’s body as he hops about pulling his own boots off and shaking his legs out of his pants until at last he’s standing in nothing but his socks, a mile and a half of pale skin lit only by the soft glow of the candles and making Ian’s breath catch in his throat.

He has to kiss him again. His pants have barely hit the floor and he’s got Mickey gripped by the hips and is smashing their lips together even as Mickey’s shit-eating grin gives way to open-mouthed laughter.

He keeps kissing him as he uses his body to move them through to where he has stashed the lube, keeps kissing him as he backs him toward the mattress he has topped with piles of blankets and pillows gathered from every corner of the Gallagher household (and washed on a super high heat to remove any trace of Frank that might have been lingering), keeps kissing him, though not with a whole lot of finesse as he lowers them both down horizontal and reaches blindly around the side of the mattress for his little kit of supplies, and Mickey just keeps kissing him back.

Back when Mickey had first come around the Tamp and Grind, refusing to order his drink the way he wanted and barely looking Ian in the eyes some days, he would never have imagined, in a million years, that Mickey loved kissing as much as he does. But he really fucking does. He’s almost always the first one to lean in, and never the first one to pull away, he leads with his lips, a total kiss slut, and Ian loves it, loves that he is maybe the only person to know it. He kisses him and kisses him and gets hold of the lube and kisses him and vows that he will never deny Mickey a kiss when he wants it. He deserves all the kisses.

Although maybe he needs to take a breath, his thoughts are getting a little loopy.

He gets the lube on his fingers and fumbles around beneath them, sliding two straight back in to Mickey’s hole without much pre-amble and smiles when Mickey gasps beneath him.

“Yeah?” He asks, not really pulling his face back from Mickey’s, their mouths still connected though not quite in a kiss.

“Fuckin’ warn a guy” Mickey murmurs, lipping at Ian’s bottom lip a little, not quite a kiss, not anything really but some contact.

“How’s this for a warning?” He brings his ring finger into play, running it along Mickey’s rim to position it in the sort of ridge formed by his other two fingers and pushing, just a little, before pulling back again.

Mickey sucks in a deep breath, blowing it back out warm over Ian’s mouth as the finger slides in next to the others. There are so many sensations, warm breath on his face, soft hairs against his cheek threatening to tickle, sticky skin pulling against his own wherever they move, and the sucking heat surrounding his fingers, Ian revels in in, how completely physically consumed he is by this man, how absolutely lost he is to anything outside of his body and Mickey’s body right now.

He twists his fingers and pulls out a little before pushing back in, trying to give him a little stretch on every move, he grins at Mickey, thinking about why he needs the stretch, and Mickey’s returning grin is filthy and harsh.

“You gonna fuck me Gallagher?” He grunts as Ian makes his two main fingers into a scissor inside of him.

“Uh-huh.” Another kiss, another thrust, and now Mickey’s hand is worming in between them to grab at Ian’s dick, firm and sure in a way that makes Ian jolt.

“Think you got what it takes?” He starts up a stroke, nice and light, not letting his hand catch where Ian is sticky from pre-come, and Ian gives him a couple of thrusts in time with his fingers and fuck it feels really fucking good.

“Fuckin’ know I do. You’re desperate for it.”

Mickey licks his grinning lips, thumbing at the head of Ian’s dick.

“That right?” He squeezes a little, and Ian jerks.

“Fuckin’ greedy for it, you think you can take it?” He needs a condom, where did he leave them? He knows it was close by. He throws his arm out over their heads, feeling blindly as he sucks on Mickey’s lips. He comes up triumphant, waving it between their faces with a grin which Mickey returns, eyebrow cocking up toward his hairline.

“Only one way to find out man.” Mickey says, and all at once they are moving together, getting the packet open, getting Ian suited up and ready, and then both of their hands are there, covering him together, guiding him together, until he is finally sinking into the sucking heat of Mickey’s body and the both of them stop breathing for a minute as he slides all the way in.

It’s like time stops still. Like the whole world shrinks down to just him and Mickey and the points of contact between them, the heat that surrounds his cock and the light hairs tickling his elbow where it is bracketing Mickey’s arm, the short bursts of air that are passing between them as they kind of gape open-mouthed at each other, adjusting, feeling.

He thinks he could stay there like that forever, just locked inside Mickey for the rest of time, and be perfectly content with his lot in life. Mickey, though, he senses, is about to get restless.

He opens his mouth, no doubt to give Ian some patented Milkovich sass, so Ian takes his moment, right before Mickey speaks, and strikes, pulling out almost all the way in one swift movement, before grinding his way back in, pushing even further when he bottoms out so that Mickey’s hips tilt up off the mattress and a short grunt comes punching out of Mickey’s mouth.

He seems to like that move, so Ian goes with it, adjusting his weight so that he is able to grab hold of a seductively thick thigh in each hand and push upwards, holding Mickey’s weight so he can pull out again and grind back in, using every ounce of muscle control he’s worked so hard for to tilt his hips at just the right angle and push himself forward at just the right pace to get Mickey’s knees to twitch and his thighs to clench around him.

He goes at it like that for as long as he can, sweating and gasping and rolling his hips, rewarded for each thrust with a soft breathy ‘uhn’ from Mickey and the occasional half-hearted bite to his jaw or his ear or, at one point, his nose, though he does wonder if that was just bad aim. He doesn’t know how long he manages, maybe a minute, maybe less, before he starts to get that tight feeling in the base of his spine and his toes start to tingle and clench. His movements grow less smooth, less sure, jerking forcefully instead of gliding with purpose and he hopes he’s done enough to get Mickey there as well because this is apparently going to be a short performance.

‘Mick,’ he manages to gasp, eyes zeroing in for a second on a sweaty lock of hair that’s dangling out of place, ‘Mick, I’m—’, the force of his breaths blows the hair away again and Mickey’s face, flushed and glistening with sweat, comes back into focus.

‘Yeah, yeah.’ Mickey says, hushed and dark and right there with him, thank fuck. Glassy eyes lock onto Ian’s for just a second before Mickey’s reaching down between them to get a hold of his own cock and the sensation forces them closed, head tipping back, hips jolting upward with a force that nearly knocks Ian sideways. He pulls back, bringing Mickey with him so that he’s resting back on his knees, Mickey splayed basically in his lap. He does his best to grip Mickey’s hips despite the sweat and his waning co-ordination, juddering through the last thirty seconds of thrusts as Mickey urgently strips his cock, bringing himself to the edge and throwing himself off it seconds after Ian shudders and jolts and grinds to a seizing halt. He empties into the condom with great heaving groans, laughing as Mickey’s face twists up in bemusement at the noises he makes. A whole body shiver runs all the way through him and he leans into it, shaking his shoulders and head like a dog, spraying sweat everywhere and arching his back into a stretch.

It’s only when Mickey grunts and gives him a half-hearted kick against his right side that he realizes all of this movement is probably a bit much for the man he’s still inside of thirty seconds after he’s blown his load.

‘Fuck.’ He breathes, running his hands over Mickey’s hips in a way that he hopes is at least a little soothing. ‘Sorry.’

Mickey’s whole body seems to go limp, legs flopping down, head tipping back onto the mattress as his breathing slows. There is a small bruise starting to come through just beneath his clavicle, a dark blue just beginning to bloom, and Ian is struck with the overwhelming urge to taste it.

He tips forward, softening cock slipping out with the movement and earning another grunt out of Mickey, whose hands are covering his face now but who adjusts his body to the shifting weight of Ian leaning down over him. He brings his arms down around Ian to run light fingers over his back as Ian mouths gently at the darkening mark. They catch their breaths with soft touches and light kisses, Ian can hear the slowing thud of Mickey’s heart beneath his skin and he tries to match his own against it, breathing slow into his chest, contemplating what it might feel like if they were to somehow become one single being.

Mickey’s fingers in his hair tug him back to reality, and his brain suddenly starts whirring in a different direction, one that plants the seed of worry as he goes back over the last half hour, cataloguing everything he could have done different, better.

“Sorry.” He says again, propping his chin up on Mickey’s chest so he can look up at him. “That was—I can do better than that.”

Mickey waves a dismissive hand between them before planting it back in his hair.

“Nah,” He says, twisting a damp curl just starting to form around his middle finger, “you’re a fucking stud Gallagher.”

It’s dumb, and it pulls a groaning laugh out of Ian, but it’s enough to quiet his doubting mind and he buries his face in between Mickey’s pecs as the both of them give in to a few giggles.

“I can do better, though.” He says eventually, “I got a bit overwhelmed but usually I don’t just lose my shit like that.”

Mickey pulls at his hair, forcing him to look back up and meet Mickey’s eyes, cool and sharp, assessing Ian as they look him over.

“Alright,” He says at length, dropping his head back and giving Ian a couple of gentle pats on the shoulder, “well give me a minute to get the feeling back in my legs and you can prove it to me.”

...

part b coming soon??

#fic #my fic #gallavich #ian x mickey #gallavich fic #ristretto #wip #about ristretto #update

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