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sourcherryandsprinkles · 2 months

Note

Hi. Could you write a rafe smut with 16 and 7 ‘’Be a good girl and spread your legs.’’ + ‘’Does that turn you on?’’

Here it is, part 2 of Rave x Thornton!reader (part 1 here)

Warnings: 18+, smut, p + v, mention of oral (f receiving)

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

It was past 1am when the boys came home from the club. Judging by the voices, Topper's 23rd birthday had been well celebrated. Your brother didn't abuse alcohol very often, but you could hear his drunk voice talking to Rafe in the hallway.

You laughed quietly. Happy birthday, Top!

You heard his door close, then shortly after Rafe's opened. He didn't turn on the big light, moving around in his bedroom as he was taking off his clothes and tossing them in a corner before going into his en-suite bathroom for a quick shower.

When he came out of his shower, that’s when he noticed you in his bed.

‘’What are you doing in here?’’ he asked, a white towel wrapped around his waist.

You didn’t move from the comfort of his pillows. ‘’I told you I was taking your bed.’’

‘’I never agreed to that. Get out.’’ Rafe dropped his towel and opened one of his dresser’s drawers to pull out a pair of clean underwear. He didn't care that you saw anything. It was nothing you hadn't seen before - or tasted.

You propped yourself up on the pillows, grinning mischievously. ‘’Come on, Rafe, you’re really gonna kick me out at this hour of the night? I’m already in bed.’’

‘’I don’t care. I don’t let people sleep in my bed.’’ He walked to his bed and yanked the covers from you, catching the small matching pink pajama set you were wearing. It was hugging your figure in a way that made his cock twitch. ‘’Take a pillow and get out. I have shit to do in the morning.’’

‘’I’m not sleeping on the fucking couch,’’ you said stubbornly, tipping your head up to look at Rafe.

The latter groaned, his patience wearing thin at this hour of the night. Without warning, he reached down and firmly grabbed your ankles, roughly pulling you towards the edge of the bed.

You grabbed at the sheets, trying to resist his grip, but he was stronger. ‘’What are you doing—’’

‘’Getting you out myself.’’

‘’I'm not leaving,’’ you repeated, pushing at his hands and kicking your legs and feet. ‘’Let go of me, Rafe.’’

In the midst of your erratic movements, one particular hard pull made Rafe lose balance and topple over you on the bed. The scene felt right out of a cliché enemies to lovers rom-com. Your first instinct was to push him off you, but then it came to your realization that you could use this position to your advantage.

‘’Let's make a deal,’’ you suggested, trying to ignore the heavy body on you. ‘’Earlier, we got interrupted before I could fulfill my second part of the agreement. So, how about I let you fuck me and you let me stay here?’’

‘’Absolutely no—’’

Before he could finish his sentence or get up, you pushed your hips up, purposely rubbing your bottom halves together. Although there was thin cotton separating both, the contact made Rafe groan — and his cock stiffen. He usually didn't get hard so fast, but the alcohol in his blood was making his hormones increase.

‘’What was that? I didn’t hear,’’ you asked with a teasing smile, tilting your head to the side.

A mix of desire and frustration filled the blue eyes looking down at you. He was trying to resist your advances, but Rafe was a guy and he was having a full on cock to brain dilemma.

You gasp when his mouth crashed on yours. You won.

There was nothing slow or sweet about this kiss. It was rough and passionate and heated, just mouths smashing into each other. Exactly what you expected from Rafe Cameron after getting his patience tested by his best friend's little sister.

His hand ghosted over your jawline, along the side of your neck, and then you felt him wrap it around your throat just lightly enough that you noticed it. Rafe broke the kiss, his blue eyes looking right into yours. No one ever did this to you, but you didn’t hate it. Your lips curled into a devilish grin, waiting for his next move.

‘’I’m gonna show you how I deal with little bitches like you.’’

Rafe’s words had you dripping between your legs. Some girls preferred to be good, but it wasn’t your case. You liked to tease and get punished.

He nudged your knees apart with his and you melted into his touch, mewling when he pressed against your clothed clit. ‘’Does that turn you on?’’

You pushed your hips against him to get more friction, but he removed his knee and stood to get a condom. One thing about Rafe was that he never hooked up with a girl bare.

‘’This needs to come off,’’ Rafe said when he returned to the bed. He peeled off your pajama shorts and panties in one go. ‘’Be a good girl and spread your legs.’’

You spread your legs as wide as they’ll go, giving him the perfect view of how dripping wet your pussy was. Being completely exposed like this should be embarrassing, but if your legs could open wider, you would. You clenched around nothing, feeling Rafe's eyes on you.

‘’Look at that,’’ he said, giving your pussy a tap that echoed in the room. You squirmed at the contact, secretly wanting him to do it again. ‘’Looks better from the vip seat.’’ He then pulled at your pajama top up to free your tits and palmed your breasts as his fingers rolled your nipples, pinching it hard.

You hissed and his face bored the meanest smirk as he ripped the foil packet. He jerked himself a few times before rolling on the condom.

You were about to be completely ruined.

Rafe teased your clit with his tip, but plunged his cock into your cunt before you could push back against him for more. It would be a lie if you said it didn't hurt, your tight walls hugging every inch of his cock.

You had been thinking of this since Topper interrupted you in the afternoon. How his cock would feel inside you. And now it was finally happening.

You grabbed at the bedsheets until the discomfort subsided, pleasure slowly taking over as Rafe began to thrust. You gasped in pleasure, clenching around him.

He folded your legs for a deeper angle and groaned, looking down and watching his thick cock disappearing in and out of you. ‘’Such a good pussy. Surprised it’s still so tight after getting stretched out so often.’’

The urge to slap him was strong, but every thrusts felt so good that if you opened your mouth, only high pitched cries would come out. He may be an asshole, but the dick was good.

Getting bored with this position, Rafe pulled out and flipped you over like a ragdoll, your bare ass raised in the air. You didn’t get time to register what was happening; Rafe wasted no time and began pounding you from behind, his big hands gripping your hips. You pressed your face in the mattress to muffle your moans, terrified that Topper would hear on the other side of the hallway. He was likely sleeping like the dead, but you didn’t want to risk it.

It was a matter of minutes before you felt close to your edge, the sounds of wet slapping of skin mixing with Rafe’s low groans echoing in the room. You reached below you to rub your throbbing neglected clit, but Rafe grabbed your hand with a vice grip and pushed you down on the mattress, holding you down as he pounded his last thrusts.

When he was done, Rafe pulled out and threw the used condom in the trash, then flopped on his bed and pulled the covers over himself, leaving you there. ‘’Good night.’’

‘’Are you being serious?’’

Rafe looked at you, amused by how mad you looked. ‘’Aw, you haven’t cum yet?’’

You narrowed your eyes at him. He knew. He was doing this on purpose.

‘’Get over here. Sit on my face, I’m tired.’’

—

OBX taglist: @moralina @eudximoniakr @toylewestinnyc @rottenstyx @sweeterheartxamerica @jordierama @viridwityy @izzy-laufeyson @kenzi-woycehoski @lilaconner @Katsukis1Wife @hawkegfs @mommyruuetrue @acornacreacure @snownjune @nmedina8611 @slvtherinseeker @slvtherinseeker @poppet05 @1stevelacyfan @illf4iry @withbeautyandrage @maybankslover @sunflowerziva @laylasbunbunny @Honey-marvel15 @leoluvsur-pappy @slytherhoes @kcskye123 @outerbanksacc @pedrosprincess @mikaelsonsstuff @skyesthebomb @a1mzcruml3y @iluurmom @popeheywardssecretgf @madelynie @loverofdrewstarkey @radiant-whore @outsider-at-hogwarts @luci1fer @bbycowboi @rafecameronsbadussy @urbfsbitchlol @nomorespahgetti @bloodyhw @Veescorneroftheworld @papayaboyluvr @slytherinambitious @darylscvmdumpster @tommysaxes @johannelis2302nely @lynbubble @straberryshortcake143 @beth-gallagher22 @doestalker @rubyliquor @theflcwer @angelxxrose @sierraluvzz @cruzgrecia @evelestrange @sunnysunny133696 @under-seasoned-pasta @hoeforsirius @buckyswhxre @emerald-09 @simonessolarsystem @rehead1180 @stvrkey

All and more taglist: @kenqki @hawkegfs @gillybear17 @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade @mellabella101 @vxnity713 @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart @xyzstar @graceberman3 @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs @lexasaurs634 @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634 @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis @katherinejess @rafesgirlstuff @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #outer banks #outer banks imagine #rafe imagine #rafe outer banks #i have not reread this so i apologize

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jasmines-library · 3 months

Note

Hi. Um... i have been craving angst

👀 and my angsty mind has been making up... scenarios, but like would love them typed out so i can read 💀 i live your work, p.s. <3

anyways, would like to ask for something along these lines:

reader is a batsibling

is kidnapped

fam cant find her for a few days and is panicked

they find her somewhere, blindfolded and tied up, on the ground and caked in blood

they get her some med stuff and whatever

and they're like how did this happen so they somehow get cctv or duke uses his powers or something and finds out that they've been beaten for info

and they get like really angry and all that jazz

:D rest up to you!

would be great if you did it 🥺

but i understand if it's too much

love youuuu 💖/platonic ehe

okay, i will excuse myself from your asks now. byeee

Loaded Silence

hello hello! Thanks for requesting. This was super angsty, but as you put I crave it too... ❤️

Warnings: Kidnapping, Torture (not very graphic), fear, medical scenes.

Word Count: 1.5k

⛤ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛤

It had happened unexpectedly. You were there one second and gone the next. In a blink of an eye. Nothing more nothing less. That was all it took for you to slip away. Damian could have sworn he was only gone for a minute. To stretch his legs and grab something to eat. But that was all it took for them to sneak in. Quiet as a mouse they crept in, splitting through the open window at the back of the room. Leaving it open had been a careless mistake, but who was to think that you would have been taken in the safety of your own home?

They grabbed you roughly from behind. A set of rough hands pinning you to the sofa, clamped tightly over your mouth as another worked to tie a heavy bandage around your eyes. You had squirmed feebly trying to gain some leverage. Your training desperately tried to kick in but at that moment, you were not a vigilante. You were Y/N Wayne: A citizen, child to the wealthiest man in Gotham and utterly fucked.

You had no choice after that than to allow them to drag you downtown, you had kicked and cried blindly, desperate for one of your brothers to chase after you. But whoever was gripping you tight enough to bruise was clearly experienced and you knew that they stood no chance so unexpectedly.

When they tossed you down on the ground, you thought it would offer some relief. The room was dank, dusty and smelt of water rot and mould. This was the part where they would send a ransom note to Bruce and he and your brothers would come charging in sooner or later. But you had never been more wrong.

“We know who you are, Wayne.” A voice spoke. Feminine but not soft spoken. Threatening. “Or would you prefer Raven?”

Your stomach dropped as bile burned the back of your throat. You knew you could fight now, but you were defenceless weaponless with your hands and feet bound together.

“The fuck do you want?” You spat, though the effect of the venom in your words was lost for you looked so helpless.

“Bold of you to speak to me that way, given your predicament.” The woman chuckled, prodding you with her foot. “You’re here as a sort of…payment.” She mused. “I suppose you could call it that.”

“What?”

“My husband.” She started, moving away from you. You could hear her pacing around the room but you could only conjure up images in your mind. “Leader of the greatest crime suricate in Gotham. And now, he’s dead. Rotting in some coffin in the ground, thanks to your father.”

She moved closer again. Her heels clattered against the floor.

“He took away the only thing that ever mattered to me!” She gripped your wrist, lifting you up off the floor and leaning into your face. “So now, I’m going to take away one of his toys until someone tells me how to get him out! His precious little girl. Oh how I can’t wait to see the look on all of their faces when they see you. That is of course…after we have a little fun.”

There was still no sign of you. And it felt as if they had searched every inch of the city. The high and the low but still nothing. No one had slept much in the three days you had been missing. Their nights were either spent searching for you on patrol or laying awake staring blankly at the ceiling as their minds conjured up the worst. None of them said it outloud but the possibility that you were dead loomed over them. But no one ever said anything. They just continued to search in silence. It seemed like Babs and Tim hadn’t torn their eyes away from the screens since Damian came barging into the room three days ago, doubled over and panting as he revealed the news. The only time they ever moved was to head to the bathroom or to make another mug of lukewarm coffee.

The rest of the family were out on patrol. That was what they were calling it anyway. Really they were looking for you. And still there had been no sign until Dick stumbled upon a window. It was low down to his feet covered by concrete as though the building had just sunk into the concrete. And when he tried to peer inside, it seemed to be covered by something on the inside.

It could have been nothing.

But Dick was desperate.

He called over the other vigilantes with a signal on his com. They all came tricking over towards him silently through the city. Some bubbling with hope and anticipation, but all dreading the worst.

Moving around the back of the house, Dick pushed open the door.

You had never been more scared in your entire life. Everything ached, burned or stung. From what you could feel there didn’t seem to be a single inch of your skin that wasn’t covered in blood. It clung sticky to your skin, cracking every time you managed to bring yourself to shift against the floor.

She had continued her onslaught for hours, trying to force answers that she knew you would never be able to give her from your chapped lips. She would leave every once in a while, returning silently to catch you off guard with another round of pain. You couldn’t see her: the blindfold still remained firmly around your eyes, so you had to anticipate when she would return as you cowered against the back wall in a pool of your own blood. You were unsure how long it had been since she tossed you into the room. Without the relief of sunlight, your woozy mind had lost track of time.

And then a pair of hands gripped your shoulders. And you screamed, trying to recoil away from them. You didn’t make it far. Your body was too weak.

“No! No please! No more!” You begged, tears dribbling down your cheeks to mingle among the dirt and blood. “I already told you I-I don’t know anything! Please!”

“Woah, woah.” It was Dick’s voice that broke through to you, though they had all called out to you. It was him who had reached out to you in the first place, hesitant that the smallest touch would break you. As soon as they were met with resistance they knew you were here. And they fought as fast as they could to get to you. Praying that they wouldn’t find you as you had. Sprawled out across the floor in a pool of your own blood as you struggled to breathe. “It’s us.”

“We’re here, Kid.” Jason leaned forwards to remove the blindfold from your eyes as Dick tried to support you in his arms. You squiremed weakly, still untrusting. But the minute the blindfold was off and you had finished adjusting to the onslaught of light. You broke.

You collapsed into Dicks arms, sobbing and shaking. He cupped the back of your head with his hands and held you, giving Jason and Duke a nervous glance. Your blood had already begun to stain the front of his suit as you whimpered in his arms, clinging to him tightly.

When he tried to shift you, you let out a sob and clung to him tighter. He wasn’t sure if it was because he had hurt you or because you were scared he was going to leave you. Probably both.

“Y/N?” Jason whispered, moving to crouch by your side. “ We’re here now. We’re going to get you home okay? Can you tell us what happened?”

You shook your head and buried your face into Dicks chest trying to block out the pain.

Eyes turned to Duke who watched you with sad eyes. They observed as he surveyed the room, taking in the horrors that the light revealed. And he couldn’t help the gasp that slipped out of his lips.

He paled at what he saw. Winced at the way your face contorted with pain as the woman towered over you, tossing you about the room like a ragdoll and slashing you with various tools as she screamed at you. He saw how she would catch you off guard by sneaking up on you in the dark as some cruel game to satisfy her sick amusement. He felt sick.

In the time it took for him to see the echo of your agonies, Dick had managed to coax enough for him to stand so they could bring you out of the room and get you urgently to medical attention.

The two looked at him expectantly. And once he had managed to stutter out what he had seen, Jason was tensely clenching his jaw and fists.

Someone was going to bleed tonight. He was going to make sure of that.

Taglist:

@aestheticdaisies

@hell-o-kittys

@xxrougefangxx

@mamapucket

@hearts4robs

@harleycao

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writingstreetspirit · 9 months

Text

Addictive

Summary: What happens in the Drama room before D&D sessions stays in the Drama room.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, kissing, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, (P in V) smut, unprotected sex, MINORS DNI. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Word count: 1.3k

A/N: I really can’t get enough of this man. Some parts of this have been written when I’ve in fact not been sober, so 🥴 I hope it’s still readable. If you liked this, please like/comment/reblog/follow as it helps me and every other content creator out there. Thank you!

—

“C’here, sweetheart. We have 15 minutes before the sheep arrive.”

You looked up at Eddie from where you were rearranging the chairs around the table. For the last fifteen minutes you and Eddie had been prepping the drama room for the weekly Dungeons and Dragons session before the other Hellfire members would arrive.

“Exactly, we have 15 minutes. That’s not a lot, and we’re still not finished setting your campaign up!” You snorted, laying out all the dices and different verity of snacks on the table. While the idea was not the smartest, it did make you tingle a little just like the thought of having sex with Eddie always did.

Eddie put the campaign filled binder down on the table with a smack before strutting over toward your figure. His hands grabbed a hold of your hips, softly tugging your body closer before pressing a loud kiss on your lips.

Eddie pulls back, your just faces inches apart. You can smell his cologne, the cheep kind that you could get from any drugstore, but did it fit him. He looks into your eyes, smiling devilishly.

“[Name], tell me what you desire, and I will fulfill your every wish.” Eddie says, staring deeply into your eyes. You could clearly see what he wanted. He wants you, and you want Eddie in return. You hovered your lips above his, teasing crooning, “I want you to make me see stars.”

Eddie looks down at your lips and gives you a slow smirk. “Oh sweetheart, I can do that.”

He leans in and kisses you long and slow. You respond in kind, hands plastering themselves against Eddie’s narrow waist. He eventually pulls away and looks at you, his breath heavy and cheeks flushed. You can tell his heart is racing just like yours is.

Eddie’s lips travel down to your neck, nibbling at the delicate skin. You throw your head back with a shallow moan, his lips vibrating against your neck with the groan he lets out in response.

With no time to lose, you pulled back to grab hold of Eddie’s black jeans and made quick work of tugging open the belt holding them up on his waist. You yanked down the fabric, boxers following just a second later. He laughed low and raspy, “Eager now, are we?”

You kiss him to shut him up, tugging down both your skirt and panties at once. Eddie and your matching shirts would have to stay on this time. “How about you put your mouth to better use, baby?”

Eddie groaned, “Shit, [Name]. It’ll be my pleasure, and yours too, I bet.”

His ring adorned hands guided you backwards until you leaned far back on his throne, the chair only he ever got to sit at, and now you. Eddie dove his head between your thighs like a man starving.

If you were to say a certain sex act that Eddie was the best at, even though he’s damn good at everything, then that would be oral. The way his tongue and lips moved sends sparks up throughout your whole entire body every single time.

Your hand threaded itself in his wild dark hair when Eddie slipped one of his thick fingers inside your cunt. Hips grinding inventory against his mouth in response to a second finger, “So good, so fucking good Eddie.”

Despite Eddie’s mouth feeling like absolute heaven on you, the time wasn’t on your side. You gave a small yank on his hair, pulling his head away. His lips were red, swollen and covered in slick.

“It’s your turn.” You rose up from the chair, and firmly made Eddie sit down where you’d been just a few seconds earlier. Sinking down on your knees before him, you hand wrapping around the firm length.

Eddie moaned a bit too loud for comfort as your mouth took the tip inside, wrapping warm and wet lips around the flesh. “Shit, [Name], that feels fucking amazing.”

If you had the time, you’d be slow and throughout when giving Eddie a blowjob. Instead, you bobbed your head sloppy up and down his cock, lubricating him for what was to come.

Sooner than you’d like to, you pulled away to stand up. You move to straddle Eddie’s hips, hovering just centimeters above his cock. Eddie asked, “Is this what you want?”

“Yes, baby, want you inside me.” You murmured. Lining him up, you slowly start to sink down on his length. Eddie tips his head back with a long moan. You mewl, face seeking refuge between the crook of his neck. The pressure was quick to subside to hot lust.

Your hips start moving against him. You pulled his bottom lip between your teeth, softly biting down on the flesh. Eddie moaned, eyes fluttering open to find yours, pupils blown wide in lust.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Eddie says as your walls clench down on him, you feel your entire body shudder. His hand grabs hold of the back of your neck and pulls you closer to kiss you.

“Oh, fucking shit. Jesus Christ, you feel so good!” He groans into your mouth, breath hot and intoxicating. You felt every single inch of him inside you, hitting all the parts that make you see stars.

Eddie wasn’t necessarily larger than the guys you had been with before, but he felt so perfect inside you. Like he was made just for you. You let out a sound that was somewhere between a mewl and a moan.

“That good, huh, sweetheart?” You nod and squeeze your eyes shut. Even when he’s deep inside you, Eddie could still bring himself to be a cocky little shit. He kissed your collarbone, switching between each side, leaving wet kisses in his path.

The heat in your belly was steadily growing hotter, the building orgasm crashing closer with every movement. You whined, “Eddie, I’m close!”

“Fuck, sweetheart, me too!” Eddie groaned, lips trailing back to kiss you, but he was breathing into your mouth more than actually kissing at this point. You jolted when one of his fingers made contact with your clit, rolling the nub with the time of your thrusting.

You didn’t have time to react before the orgasm came crashing right into you. Your eyes must have screwed shut because all you saw was black, and you were almost completely sure that you were screaming. Distinctly you could make out the sound of Eddie groaning against your throat.

When you finally regained vision, you were panting heavily. Eddie was slumped against you, arms wrapped tight around your trembling body, fast hot breaths warming up your neck. “Holy shit, [Name], I can’t feel my legs.”

You laughed shakily, nodding in agreement, “Me neither.”

“Love you, sweetheart,” Eddie’s head left the crook of your neck, eyes locking onto yours. His cheeks were flushed a gorgeous shade of red, as well as his lips. You indulged yourself a long kiss, Eddie melting further into you with a sigh. You muttered onto his lips, “I love you, too, Eds.”

You retreated, eyes traveling to the clock on the wall across from you. The time said 5 minutes left until the other Hellfire members would roll in. “We have 5 minutes to get dressed before the guys arrive.”

The softening length slipped out as you stood up, his come dripping down your thighs. Eddie stood up, taking his handkerchief from his pants and gave it to you to whip yourself clean, “Thanks, honey.”

Dressing yourself took but a minute. Your hair, along with Eddie’s, was tussled but not enough to fully reveal what you’d been up to. Eddie smiled that satisfied smile of his, eyes running up and down your frame.

“When we get home, I’m so going to ruin you.”

You smirked, biting your lower lip teasingly, “Looking forward to it, Dungeon Master.”

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson st4 #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things s4 #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie x fem!reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson smut #stranger things smut #eddie smut #minors dni #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #writingstreetspirit

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13uswntimagines · 4 months

Text

The Come Down (Alessia Russo X MMA fighter!R)

R is a very popular MMA fighter, and Alessia sees the parts of you that other people don't. Shes the one who gets to put you back together again after a tough fight.

Warnings: D/S undertones but no smut.

Author's note: This was super fun to write and i hope you enjoy it. Feel free to hit me up with ideas and comments and stuff.

You sighed, leaning your head against the stone walls of the Emirates tunnel, letting it soothe the twinges that always lingered after a long flight.

It was masochistic, but the ache that lingered the day after a war in the Octagon was always one of your favorite feelings, especially if you won. It helped you to compartmentalize the parts of yourself. It helped you separate the completely in-control fighter, the stone-cold monster that didn’t give a fuck about her opponents, and the human that lingered underneath.

It was hard to punch a man until he was unconscious if you thought about how human he was. If you pictured his family and his life as anything other than an opponent for you to run through. But you never wanted that part of yourself to exist anywhere other than in the cage.

The throb in your muscles and ache in your cuts helped you lock that part of yourself away. It helped you keep your grip on reality in all of the post-fight hormones until you could get to the grounding force that was your girlfriend.

The post-fight come-down was always difficult for you, especially after a 5 round back and forth battle like the one you had just fought.

You loved your job, you really did, but it was so easy to… lose yourself. To get lost in the anger of the UFC universe and the vitriol of your opponents. To get lost in the cycle of Training, listening to a man tell you he was going to destroy you at press conferences, cutting weight and beating the ever-living fuck out of someone while people cheered.

Just being in the same building as Alessia had set you at ease, and watching her score 2 against Chelsea was even better.

But the sound of the crowd had started to set you on edge. The way they erupted when your face, black eye, stitched gash on your cheek curving up to your forehead and all, appeared on the Jumbotron after your girlfriend’s PK had you clenching your teeth. It egged on the thoughts of murdering the keeper that had taken her out swirling in your brain, along with the desire to demolish the player who had so callously stepped on her teammate after a play.

It was why you escaped to the tunnel, to gain some form of control over your thoughts.

Maybe flying out as soon as you had been cleared by the medics wasn’t such a good idea, but you couldn’t stand being away from Alessia any longer than you had to be. You couldn’t stand being away from the comfort, love, and… safety she offered you.

God, you sounded like a psycho.

Or a submissive nearing the end of her rope.

6 weeks apart from your girlfriend was really doing a number on you.

“Ay bruiser, fancy meeting you here,” Katie said, appearing in front of you with a wide smile.

You flashed a toothy grin at the Irishwoman, ignoring the way it pulled at the stitches holding your cheek together. “Maccabe, always a pleasure,”

She caught your arm. “That was one hell of a fight. Thought Less was gonna break my hand during the third round,”

You grimaced.

The third round was the only one your opponent won. He had caught you with a big overhand right, opening the gash on your cheek and knocking you on your ass in the last 15 seconds of the round. The knees he had followed it up with to your side hadn’t been fun either. He had almost finished you, and you knew it had to be hard for the team and your girlfriend to watch.

“My hand dipped when I tried to close the distance,”

It really was a game of inches, and he had certainly taken advantage of your small mistake. It was ok, you had gotten him in the end anyway.

Katie made a sound of agreement, glancing at the tunnel behind you. “Certainly made us all nervous, but I’m happy you took his head off, even if it took you until the last 30 seconds of the fight,”

She made a little kicking movement with her leg like a semi-recreation of the head kick you had used to end the fight.

“Didn’t want to rush it,” You shrugged, nodding to the Arsenal girls as they passed you, unable to help the way you automatically searched each face for your girlfriend.

“Ya missus is still signing for a couple of kids,” She gestured over her shoulder, a knowing smile still playing at her lips. “I can take you to her if you want?”

You shook your head. “I’ll wait here. I’m in no hurry,”

You also didn’t think you could deal with the sounds of the crowd when your head was still pounding, a consequence of taking a flight with a concussion against doctor's orders you supposed, and you ached every time you took a step, every time you inhaled too deeply really.

Katie’s eyes softened when she saw the emotions flit across your features. “Come on, let's go to the locker room instead. It’s away from prying eyes,”

She tugged your hand. You let her lead you deeper into the tunnel and into a room filled with wooden cubbies.

It was nice to let your brain turn off, to just… follow along and allow someone else to lead you.

“Hey champ,” Leah smiled at you as Katie deposited you in what you assumed was Alessia’s locker. “That was one hell of a fight last night,”

“Thanks,” You winked at the defender. “You guys had a fantastic game too,”

“I’m not sure a football match compares to a man trying to punch you in the face,” Steph said, glancing at you from her spot near Lottie.

You made a low sound in the back of your throat, feeling the tightness return to your chest. “But I don’t have people stepping on me after the bell,”

“But you do end up covered in blood,” Kyra chirped. “We don’t have to worry about that usually,”

“Most of the time it’s not mine,” You muttered, leaning further into your girlfriend's locker. Her perfume lingered in the cubby, and you let it soothe the frayed edges of your nerves.

You didn’t want to think about fighting. About the person. The savage. you were in the octagon. You toyed with the hem of your sweatshirt sleeve. It was slightly too long because it really belonged to Alessia. She had given it to you before fight week.

It helped, but it wasn’t her.

It hadn’t been enough after the fight, and it wasn’t enough now.

You didn’t think you could wait much longer, but you didn’t have to.

“The stadium is buzzin,” Alessia said slightly breathlessly, stepping through the locker room door.

You were immediately on your feet, taking in her flushed cheeks and bright eyes. “Less,”

A grin instantly broke across her face, and she crossed the room in 3 long strides. Her arms wrapped around you, and without thinking you buried your face in her chest.

It made the gash on your cheek sting and the tender skin of your jaw ache, but you didn’t care, pressing yourself as tightly to her as you could. She shifted, her nails running over your back with one hand as the other cupped the back of your neck.

It was gentle, and grounding, and everything that you craved.

“Hey baby girl,” She breathed into your hair, her voice dipping just a little and sending a shudder down your spine.

She was like a ray of sunshine, always warm and sweet. It was why none of the fans would ever speculate about the positions that the two of you held in your relationship. They joked that she was too soft to be a dominant, but the people who understood how your relationship worked could see that her mix of firmness and warmth was exactly what you needed.

She waited for you to pull away first, just enough to meet her eyes. “Hey,”

She leaned in and placed a careful kiss on your lips. “I’ll shower and then we can go, yeah?”

You deflated, your fingers tangling more tightly in her jersey. You didn’t want to let her go, even if it was just for a second.

“You can come with me,” She said, a knowing look in her eyes. “And tell me all about fight week,”

“Ok,” You agreed, only loosening your grip long enough for her to grab her shower bag and change of clothes, before you latched back on, holding the hem of her jersey tightly as she led you towards the showers.

You felt a bit like a child, clinging to her, but she was like a buoy keeping you from drowning in the sea of your rocky emotions, and now that she was close to you, you couldn’t let her go. You were afraid that if you did, you would lose your grip on reality.

The warm, wet air of the shower helped too.

It reminded you of your post-fight routine.

Win or lose you would stand under the hot steam of the stadium, washing off the blood and sweat from the octagon until your coaches pulled you out. It was part of the routine that you had skipped since the docs wanted to stitch your cheek as soon as you were out of eyeshot of the fans.

Then you had felt so… off balance that you raced through a cold shower and hopped on a plane to get to your girlfriend as quickly as possible. You didn’t even stay for the post-fight press conference.

“Come on love,” She said, pulling you into one of the stalls, sliding the first curtain shut behind the two of you, and bringing her face inches from yours.

Her hand very gently cupped your cheek, mindful of the dark bruises that littered the skin, tilting your chin up. Her eyes searched you for a long moment like she was reading your mind. Like she was deciding what you needed from her.

Her pointer finger very gently followed the long cut that ran under your left cheek, up to your temple, and just above your eyebrow. “I thought they usually put a bandage over stitches,”

Your eyes darted away from her. “I didn’t like the way it pulled at my skin,”

“I think you’d like it less if you got an infection,” She deadpanned, using her thumb to tilt your chin up further as she stepped into your space. “You wouldn’t be able to fight,”

“But the scar would be worth it,” You shrugged, using all of your strength to muster up fake nonchalance.

Her lip quirked upward. “Would it?”

You let your own smile morph into a playful smirk, despite the tremendous effort it took. “Chicks dig girls with scars,”

“I think you’ve got enough of those, cheeky,” She hummed, leaning in and brushing the thick line that lived on the underside of your jaw with her nose. “I like it more when you come out without a scratch on you or a hair out of place,”

You hummed, leaning back on the stall wall as her lips replaced her nose on your jaw, her teeth grazing the delicate skin as she made her way down the column of your throat and back up.

Her hips pressed into yours, keeping you pinned to the wall, her thumbs insistent under your chin, keeping your head tilted up as her tongue slid pleasantly against your own.

You sighed into the kiss, your fingers twisting into the material of her jersey, trying to pull her closer.

Her thigh flexed between your legs, pressing into you, and you couldn’t help the way your hips rolled down to meet her.

Or the wince that broke the kiss when the

movement pulled uncomfortably at your ribs.

“Babe?”

You whined as she pulled away, blinking open to meet her burning blue eyes.

“I’m ok,” You said breathlessly, trying to lean back up to kiss her.

Her hand on your chest stopped you, as did the perfect arch of her eyebrow that screamed yeah right.

Her fingers traced down your chest to the hem of your shirt. They crept under your top, meeting the tape wrapped heavily across your abdomen instead of smooth skin.

Her eyes widened when she pulled up your sweatshirt, revealing the thick white bandages wrapped tightly across your stomach.

“Want to try again love?” She asked, finally looking up at you with an expression that had a shiver tingling down your spine.

“Just two cracked ribs and some nasty bruises,” You huffed, shifting uncomfortably when her fingers grazed the material.

“Just,” She snorted, shaking her head, dropping your shirt, and standing up to her full height. “Why didn’t you tell me last night?”

You shrugged. “I didn’t want you to worry. The stitches were already enough,”

“I’d rather know and worry than accidentally hurt you,” Alessia said seriously.

You looked away from her, swallowing hard. “And I knew you wouldn’t touch me at all if I told you,”

“Baby girl,” She murmured, her voice going very soft, her thumb very gently ghosting over your uninjured cheek.

She knew that the come down from fights was always particularly difficult for you. That the power that you held in the octagon always made you crave submission. You craved to not have to think, to just exist, and then to let your being relax in the aftercare that followed.

This time the desire was amplified by the brutality of the fight.

She could see you teetering on the edge, fighting the fog that always filled your brain, and while she wanted to scold you for withholding information, she knew that that wasn’t what you needed from her.

Not when you were already dropping so hard.

“Ok,” She said, keeping her voice soft as you leaned further into her touch. “I’m going to shower, and you’re going to be a good girl and stay right here for me, alright?”

You made a low noise in the back of your throat, and your eyes slid closed as you nodded very slowly.

“Good girl,” She hummed, placing a very gentle kiss on your lips, and pulling away. “I’ll be two minutes love,”

You sagged against the shower stall wall.

You could do that. You could wait 120 seconds for your girlfriend.

You could and would do whatever she asked you to do because you knew it would help. You knew she would fit all of your loose pieces back together again and make it ok.

You just had to exist.

#woso x reader #woso imagines #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo imagine #the come down universe

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cheolhub · 1 year

Text

THE MORNING — KIM MINGYU ࿐

summary. mingyu knows you have a lot to do the day before the wedding, but he won’t let you leave without giving him his favorite meal for breakfast

wc. 2.2k

warnings. marriage kink (ik…), oral (f. receiving), gyu is a needy baby, a bit of teasing, praise — MINORS DNI 18+

note. ok hello, i know i said i was on hiatus, but i’ve decided im not anymore bc i need to be able escape from reality so enjoy ANOTHER fic w my newfound marriage kink. will likely write a pt. 2 (post-wedding) if u guys like this :D

p.s. reblogs and feedback are extremely appreciated— i also love to hear ur thoughts <3

mingyu hates waking up alone. he has since he met you all those years ago, so today, when he wakes up cold just to see your spot empty, he’s grumpy to say the least.

he leaves the bed to look for you, eyes tired as he’s muttering to himself about how you do this even though you know he hates it. when he finds your sleepy figure in the kitchen buttering a slice of toast in nothing but his oversized shirt and your socks, he immediately pouts.

“g’morning baby,” you smile at his eyes that are barely open and his disheveled head of hair, setting down the butter knife. “why’re you pouting?”

he huffs, arms crossing at his chest, mumbling out, “you know why. i hate waking up cold.”

you coo at how cute he was being. “‘m sorry, gyu— but we’re getting married tomorrow, i had to get up early to meet with the caterers and i’m gonna be late if i don’t start getting ready soon.”

he sighs, moving to wrap his arms around your waist from the back. his face digs into the crook of your neck, pressing soft kisses to the skin. “make it up to me.”

you hum, relaxing into his touch. “baby, don’t start… i’m gonna be late— you were the one who wanted a perfect wedding.”

“don’t care about the wedding…” he says in between kisses— ones that were starting to escalate as his teeth scraped against your sensitive spot. “just want you.”

you smile at his words because you know they’re not true. mingyu has been gushing about giving you the most extravagant wedding since you said yes to his even more extravagant proposal.

“‘n you’ll have me tomorrow night. forever.” you emphasize and he groans, pushing his growing bulge into you. “but right now, i need to start getting ready, i have to meet them in 45 minutes.”

he whines, needily rutting into you, sucking at your skin harsher with every passing second. “baby, you can’t just say shit like that and then leave.”

you tease with a giggle, “what? saying things like i’ll be yours forever?”

“yes! don’t say things like that if you don’t want me to bend you over and fuck you while you choke on toast!” he whines out and you can’t help but laugh loudly, turning in his grip to face him.

he’s giving you the biggest doe eyes and, usually, they’d work on you because there is something so irresistible about your soon-to-be husband, but right now, you’re adamant on making sure tomorrow's wedding runs smoothly. so he’s just going to have to wait.

“okay, baby,” you start, a cheeky smile on your lips “i’m sorry. i won’t say anything like that ever again.”

“noooo!” he cries, shaking your body with his big hands. “i like when you say stuff like that, just don’t say stuff like that right now. you’re practically edging me.”

your fiance is so easy.

you coo, pecking his pouty lips, “okay, i’ll keep that in mind.” you say. “‘m gonna go get ready, you can have a slice of toast if you want.” you offer, wiggling out of his tight grip.

he scoffs at the proposal, deterring you from leaving and lifting you by the waist, sitting you on the empty space on the kitchen island. your surprised gasp makes him groan and he’s praying you’ll let him hear your other pretty noises before you leave him for the day.

his lips ghost over yours, “would rather have something else for breakfast.” he mumbles against them before getting on his knees in front of you. “pretty baby, at least lemme taste you, please?”

he’s so pretty with his shaggy hair and his tired eyes and you never realized how much he resembles an actual puppy dog before now. you can’t help but admire the beauty that is your forever lover.

you bite your lip at his plea, the offer being almost too good to deny. you weigh your decisions, eyes shooting to the clock across the kitchen. 8:17 a.m. if you wanted to be out and on time, you’d need to leave within the next 30 minutes– that isn’t nearly enough time, but the way he’s peering up at you and looking so fucking fine while he’s on his knees all for you… it’s too tempting.

“gyu…” you trail off as his arms take a hold of your legs and his face nuzzles into the insides of your plush thighs. he presses soft, gentle kisses to the skin.

“mmm, baby, please,” he mumbles, moaning as his face is almost directly in front of your clothed cunt. “i’ll be so quick, gonna make you cum ‘n you can go. you’ll let me, won’t you?” his breath fans against your core where arousal is now gathering and soaking through the cotton fabric.

temptation is a bitch, you rule.

he’s rendered you breathless and he’s barely touched you. you’re experiencing another moment that proves no matter how much of a bitch mingyu is for you, you’re just as desperate for him. two people that are a mess at the hands of one another– a match made in heaven.

“fuck, gyu,” you pant, eyes shooting up at the clock. 8:18 a.m. your eyes fall back to him and you decide, fuck it. “5 minutes or else i’ll finish myself off in the shower.” you offer the empty threat as if he couldn’t make you cum in a mere 30 seconds if he really wanted to.

he smiles, “whatever my pretty wife wants…” he whispers, noticing the way you twitch at the words. a soft chuckle slips past his lips and he looks up to you again. “oh, so you like when i say that just as much as i do, don’t you?”

of course you do. who wouldn’t get turned on by the idea of being kim mingyu’s pretty wife?

you roll your eyes in an attempt to hide the fact that his words don’t have a great affect you, gruffly saying, “not your wife yet and you’ve got 4 minutes and 30 seconds, baby.” you lace your fingers through his long, raven hair and push him into your heat. “get to work.”

he moans, taking in your scent, nose pressing into your covered clit as his tongue darts out to taste you, further soaking the cotton fabric with his saliva. you’re almost certain he’s going to eat you out through your panties, but he proves you wrong by taking them off in the blink of an eye.

he untangles his arms from your legs before rolling them down your legs and leaving them bunched up on the ground next to him. before you know it, he’s diving back in like a starved man, arms coming back to their original position and pulling you even closer to his mouth.

he starts by letting his tongue lap you up from your drooling hole to your hardened clit and he whines. you look down, breathless with your teeth digging into your bottom lip, and you completely take him in– how his tongue eagerly laps at your pussy with the most pleasured look on his face.

no matter how many times he eats you out, it proves to never be enough. every time he gets a taste, it’s like the first time and he falls in love with you all over again. truth be told, mingyu is addicted to you and would happily die with his head in between your thighs.

your eyes flicker up to the clock while mingyu opens his eyes to look at you. 8:20 a.m.

he grunts unhappily, “look at me.” he mumbles into you, sending shivers up your spine. when your eyes meet his, he wraps his mouth around your clit, sucking and flicking his tongue at the bud. he relishes in the way you moan out his name, arching your back and gripping the end of the kitchen counter.

“you’re so good, baby– fuck, you always eat me out so fucking well,” you moan the praise breathily, eyes fluttering closed. your head falls back in pleasure and mingyu’s ego inflates, cock twitching at the praise.

he alternates between digging his tongue in your pussy, sucking up your honeyed arousal while his nose toys with your clit and having his mouth and tongue play with your clit. he’s moaning and whining, mumbling about how good you taste and how much he loves your pussy all the while devouring you whole.

you’re a mess, not even bothered to check the clock anymore as you feel all the vibrations and action provided by his tongue nearly hurtle you over the edge. tears gather up at your lashline as you whine and whine, his name and his tongue being the only things you can think about right now.

you’re almost embarrassed to be this close this quick, but then you remember it’s mingyu. mingyu who could make you cum by playing with your tits for too long. mingyu who could get you soaking his thigh in a matter of minutes. mingyu who knows just how to please you in any way possible.

“gyu! baby, oh, my god.” you sob, one of your hands moving back to tug at his silky hair. “‘m so fucking close.”

he lets out a guttural moan as he feels his own body heat up with pure desire. he wishes you had nowhere to go after this so he could sink you onto his cock and fuck you all day– make you cry for him, cum for him, beg for more of him till you’re both a mess and at a loss for words. he plans on doing so as soon as the wedding is over, though. he’s not going to let you do anything other than take his dick like a good wife as soon as you say ‘i do.’

he’s lost in your cunt, moaning with his eyes closed and brows furrowed as if he’s eating the best meal of his life. your joint moans and whines are bouncing off the walls of the kitchen, surely filling your entire home with lewd sounds.

“cum all over me, baby, fuckin’ cum for me. you can do it.” he coaxes through moans, though it comes muffled with his tongue shoved in your pussy. he sounds like a broken record, begging you to let go over and over. “my pretty fuckin’ wife, do it for me, baby.”

the title and vibration of his words send you right over the edge. the rubber band in the fiery pit of your stomach finally snapping as you cry out his name prettily, body shaking uncontrollably. your hand tug on his locks, holding him in place while you grind against his face to ride out your orgasm.

he’s a mess at the sight unfolding in front of him. you look so fucking desprate and it’s getting him close to cumming untouched, but he holds it in hopes you’ll change your mind– be an inconvenience so he can fill you up, fuck you full, and do it all again. he so badly wants you to call the caterers and push back the time so he can have you all to himself.

you finally come down from your high, eyes glazed over, pussy still aching with need. said eyes find the clock and read the time. 8:24 a.m.

he parts from you after licking you clean, standing up to his full height and towers over you. his eyes are full of lust. hunger and desire. there’s a thin layer of sheen covering his mouth and chin left over from the arousal that still seems to be seeping from your hole.

“six minutes.” you pant cheekily, looking up at him with a playful glint in your eyes. “you promised five.”

he smirks and, god damn, does he look fucking sexy with his disheveled hair and swollen pink lips. “i didn’t promise anything, baby.” he murmurs, hands finding your hips and standing in between your legs. “i can promise to fuck you so so good if you push back your appointment… just by an hour.”

you huff, pussy clenching around nothing because you know his words are very much true. “gyu… need i remind you, we get married tomorrow.”

“i know, and everything is gonna be perfect, baby. stop worrying so much.” he tells you softly. “as long as you’re there… as long as you say ‘i do’ before the end of the night… i don’t give a damn. don’t even need to wear a dress. just you… i could marry you like this.”

this fucking sweet talker.

you blush, hiding your smile by chewing on the bottom of your lip, but you fail in doing so as your cheekbones shoot high up and your eyes crinkle. “you’re just saying that so you can fuck me.”

“yeah, but it’s true.” he leans in, lips ghosting over yours again.

“you’re gonna wanna fuck me in that dress tomorrow,” you tell him breathily, heart melting at the man he is.

“i didn’t doubt that, pretty girl.” he whispers. “so, do you wanna fuck now?”

you smile, “i do.”

#mingyu smut #mingyu x reader #seventeen smut #svt smut

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urrockstar-xe · 6 months

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i'll be right there, sweetheart - tasm!p.parker x fem!reader

posted nov 4th, 2023 12:50 am

i wrote this with one of my closest friends :D i needed andrew!peter and i needed comfort! i hope u like it as much as we do :)

summary: when reader gets into another argument with her brother, she needs her amazing spiderman to come and save her

masterlist

wordcount: 1.2k

“Can I come over?” your hushed and choked tone of voice had Peter standing up from the building ledge he had been sitting on, in seconds.

“Stay put, baby I’ll come to you, where are you? At home?” His voice was rushed but you could hear it fine considering the whooshing of the wind was heard in the background,

he was already swinging to your place.

“No, no, Pete, I need to come to yours I don’t want to be home right now, I got into another argument with my brother I just wanna see you, is that okay?”

Peter’s heart nearly stopped at the sound of your choked sob as you spoke, crumbling at just the sound of you crying, he was already worrying about the sight.

“Of course it's okay, sweetheart, I’m gonna come get you though alright? Meet on the roof?”

Through sniffles, you mumbled back a barely coherent “okay” to Peter as you had already started making your way to the roof of your apartment building, sighing at the sight of your spandex-clad boyfriend swinging through the city, still too far from you to hang up.

“I’ll be right there, sweetheart, just wait for me okay? Hey! Look at that I see you! I mean i think, you’re still a little far” You couldn’t help but giggle at Peter’s words, you could practically hear his smile when you laughed.

“It’s me, Pete” you responded, walking closer to the edge in hopes it would make the wait seem shorter.

“Yeah, it is, I know m’girl when I see her, I’m right here baby, I’m comin'” his constant reassurance of coming to be there for you had your heart swelling and almost willed more tears to form in your eyes as you hung up the phone when you saw that Peter was only a building away.

And there he was, his mask was tugged off the second his feet landed on the rooftop floor, hair messy and face red from the cold as he pulled you into a tight embrace, “I’m here baby, told you I’d be here” he mumbled into your hair, setting his hand on the back of your head as you sobbed into his shoulder.

“I’m just so tired of the same fight, Pete” you cried, the words Peter had only ever read through text messages after you had similar situations like this but none to the point where you needed to get out of there.

“I know, honey, I got you” Peter rubbed your back soothingly, pressing a few sweet kisses to your hairline before squeezing your frame once more. “Freezin' out here, let’s you get back to my place, yeah? May made meatloaf for dinner” you giggled into his shoulder, sniffling as you pulled back to put your arms around his neck and brace yourself to swing through the city.

“I hate meatloaf” you quietly said into his neck as he gripped your waist properly,

As he put his mask back on, Peter chuckled, “I know you do, honey”

Without warning Peter started swinging, it was worse when you had a warning, gave you more time to overthink it and Pete definitely wasn’t risking that tonight of all nights.

He could hardly feel your grip tighten but you felt his tighten every time he shot a new web until finally, he reached his window

This was the tricky part, getting inside his room with you in his arms, it typically ended in you hitting your head or Peter tripping the second he got inside, but this time he was as careful as he had ever been as if you were fragile, delicate, and at this point in time? you were, not that you’d admit it but you didn’t have to admit it with Peter.

he just knew.

Peter carefully slid the window up, helping you get your feet in and stand up straight before climbing inside himself, once more taking his mask off but it was soon followed by his entire suit as he rushed around his room to put on sweatpants and a hoodie. You just stood there for the most part, other than closing his window so he wouldn’t freeze while he was half-naked and running around for clothes.

Any other time you’d make yourself at home, settle into his bed, even stroll downstairs, and say hi to May, but again, this time was different, you felt like you couldn’t move, not without Peter’s help anyway.

Peter of course caught onto this quite fast which was why he was so dead set on rushing back to you as fast as possible even if you were both still in the same room, the old Midtown High hoodie was barely over his head before he had swooped you up back into his arms and laid you down on his bed, nearly crushing you with his body weight.

Your hands found his hair in seconds, to anyone else this looks like you’re comforting him, but to you, this is exactly why weighted blankets exist.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asked quietly, gently running his fingers up and down your arm.

“No, thank you”

Peter took note of the way your voice was still so quiet as if you would burst into tears again if you spoke any louder, “Okay, baby”

He sat up just enough to see your face in full, ever so careful, he wiped the few remaining tears from your cheeks, along with the dried streaks that had been caused by the cold wind.

“Did you eat? I can make you somethin?” you just shook your head in response before pulling him back down closer to you, “no? Okay, okay this works too” he mumbled into your shoulder, then he suddenly gasped as if he just remembered something.

“What happened?” You asked, concern in your voice as he sat up, ignoring your question you watched as Peter quickly untied your Converse and pulled them off of your feet, carelessly tossing them somewhere in his room before he laid beside you, this time pulling you into him, running his fingers across your shoulders and entangling your legs.

Peter was once again thankful for the prototype web shooter he had been too lazy to move from his nightstand as he used it to shut off the light without getting up from the comfort of his bed or your arms.

You two laid like this in a comforting silence for a few moments, Peter rubbing your back, your hands repetitively moving from his side and to his chest, he kept thinking you’d pull back to say something but you never did.

Not until after a few more minutes and you sighed, getting your boyfriend’s attention once more.

“What is it, baby?” he whispered, as if speaking any louder would ruin the moment you were sharing.

“I don’t know,” you whispered back, sounding unsure, Peter frowned, but he let you continue before commenting. “Thank you for coming to get me” was what you settled on for now.

A billion things ran through your mind, all different ways to show your gratitude for Peter but all that came out was a simple thanks, not that Peter minded.

“‘M just glad you’re okay” he whispered back, pressing a soft kiss to your head.

“I just don’t know what I’d do without you” You sighed once more after you spoke, gripping the material of his hoodie.

Peter smiled, “It’s a damn good thing you don’t have to worry about that then huh?”

Moving his hand down to your thigh, he moved it completely over his own, bringing you impossibly closer.

“I’ll always be right there, sweetheart”

#tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter parker x reader #the amazing spider man #peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker fanfiction #Spotify

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vagabond-umlaut · 1 year

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gojo satoru x reader fic recs (I)

‣ now that i've got loads of free time, thought why shouldn't i use it well by showing (few of) my fave authors their much well-deserved love, respect and attention? ^_^

‣ this is merely a list of works i've enjoyed reading. kindly heed the tags and warnings in each of them and consume content responsibly, at your own discretion. that being said, i own neither these fics nor the characters nor the above gif. enjoy reading! 🥰

⌀ all that is solid [series] by GrilledTandooriSmoke on ao3

one of the best series there is. period. the fluff, the angst, the drama, the humor, the romance, the friendship, the plot, the dialogues - everything is top-notch in this series, i'm telling you. bonus points for being narrated in both reader's and gojo's pov.

⌀ The King is But a Man [series] by Petrichorium on ao3 (@petrichorium on tumblr)

royal!gojo who's terribly in love with the reader x reader who's equally (but way more discreetly) in love with gojo. add to that, the trope of childhood sweethearts reunited as adults, excellent communication between the couple and a wonderfully-crafted world and dialogues - what more could you ask from a series?

⌀ Ten to None (Soulmate AU) (oneshot) by Oreosmama on ao3

a fic which i adore with every fibre of my being. i will not say anything more about this, except to request you to go read this. you'll love it. (especially the fantabulous ending. btw, did i already say how much i'm in love with how well-written this fic is?)

⌀ Scarred [oneshot] by cainis on ao3

one of the best angst-with-a-happy-ending fic there is. i wish i could give thousands of kudos for the heart-wrenchingly amazing way the author has portrayed gojo's character here.

⌀ Mother of otherness, Eat me [oneshot] by itsbaby on ao3

one of the most beautiful works i've read so far. told from yuuji's pov, it explores gojo and reader's relationship and its nuances in a way seldom done before. however, what stole the show for me, was the soft and sweet mother-son duo the reader and yuuji grow to be in this fic. i really love this one-of-a-kind masterpiece.

⌀ something sweet [oneshot] by heresan on ao3 (@pretty-toru on tumblr)

i love love love this fic. it's so fluffy, so funny, so cute, so heart-warming... just read this fic, people. you won't ever be disappointed by the dynamics reader and gojo have in this one. one of my all-time faves, tbh.

⌀ teen dad Gojo [series] by pantao on ao3 (@seravphs on tumblr)

a sweet and realistic depiction of reader and gojo being teenaged parents to young megumi, all the while they try to figure out their feelings for each other. a perfect mixture of fluff, angst, drama, slice-of-life and romance, imo. (also, the author's notes are pure gold. whatever you do, please don't miss reading them! :D)

⌀ To see those eyes I prize above mine own (twoshot) by koyama on ao3

if you wish to watch godlike!gojo willing to let go of his powers, out of guilt and immense, immense, protective love for the reader, this is the ideal fic for you. i'm in awe of the way the writer wrote gojo's complex persona and the way the sorcerer realized his feelings for the reader. (the second chapter's the cherry on the cake. it's so good!!!!)

⌀ keeping up with the fushigojos (series) by @augustinewrites on tumblr

fluff? A+; angst? A+; drama? A+; characterization & dialogues? A+; humour? A+++++. a sureshot way to end a long hectic tiring day on a happy note is to read this series. (my go-to comfort series, ngl. :])

⌀ CAT & DOG (oneshot) by @mimiriko on tumblr

an adorable fic of gojo being in love with the reader, who knows, yet doesn't really know, much about it. plus, the feline-like features of gojo are sooo cute... and this fic is sooo sweet... the story left me smiling when i finished reading it.

⌀ surely summer wasn't over yet [3 chapters] by 3rdgymbros on ao3

an amazing fic set against the backdrop of the hidden inventory arc. the portrayal of the characters and their dynamics is simply impeccable. despite my kind-of-dislike towards this particular arc of the manga, i really enjoyed reading this one.

#gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader #gojo fluff #gojo angst #jjk fluff #jjk angst #kit's fic recs 📚

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dreamerdeity · 7 months

Text

𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔

*ೃ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : Choso Kamo x Fem. reader

*ೃ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 4.1k

*ೃ 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 : A hectic schedule and impending deadlines require you to be at your sharpest, yet you can't seem to get a second of sleep thanks to your heedless dorm-mate's nightly jam sessions. To scold him at first, you make your way over to his room, but suddenly he's teaching you how to strum a guitar, and suddenly again, you're somehow in his lap .

*ೃ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : Hand job, Praise kink (f. giving), unestablished relationship, cursing, slightly perverted behavior (?), 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, the rest, please proceed at your own risk.

*ೃ 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 : YAYYY first Kinktober piece in my series!! This one's quite long only because it's Choso and I've recently (2 years and counting) been on my Kamo boys d riding shi so they get special treatment. Also, please do not report my work! I'm tired of getting flagged, so if you are uncomfortable, do not read.

⇄ 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Football season approached its grand commencement, dawning an atmosphere of vibrance and vitality upon a typically spiritless college campus (mid terms tend to have that sort of effect on people, you supposed). Every kid around the buzzy premises had begun to eagerly place their bets, ready to squander their humble savings on predictions pertaining to games they weren't exactly a part of.

But as elating as it all sounded to the average student with heaps of coursework and limited entertainment, opening week was an incredibly hectic time for you, and if you were normally indifferent about being on the cheer squad, you sure as hell hated it during this time of year. Because let’s just say, sore muscles and ill-functioning ankles weren’t exactly your idea of fun—Neither were tight ponytails that threatened to rapture a vein in your temple, however—oh however, setting all of that aside, there was one thing you always, always looked forward to: Catching a glimpse of Choso Kamo languidly slumped against the least congested corner of the bleachers--if he were lucky enough to score a corner seat, that is—his bored eyes barely following the figures of beefy men running around the field at breakneck speed.

His entire existence within the stadium was an anomaly of sorts as raging crowds jumped and screamed around him, and it baffled you to say the least; How he never failed to show up—all dressed up and equipped, mind you—but barely reacted. Why the hell was he here when he clearly looked like he'd rather be doing anything but this? Like, maybe, spending the evening in his lair (his room) all alone, drowning in stifling darkness (he refused to raise his blinds. ever). Though the more you saw him around the stadium, the more you looked forward to being there.

pretty weird, pretty sappy.

You often found yourself discretely glancing over at the crowds in search of him when a game was on, smiling to yourself with a giddy skip to your step every time you did. The circumstances were ordinary, unfavorable even—and you racked your brain left and right—for any logical justification to the sizzling concoction of emotions that bore itself into your psyche every time he so much as uttered a single unenthusiastic “Hi” your way.

Sure, he was aloof and mostly kept to himself, emanating a brooding air that bordered on intimidation as his sharp features wordlessly screamed “don’t talk to me” while you greatly contrasted him in demeanor, carrying yourself ever so vivaciously, always high-spirited and bubbling with energy, but something about him made your head spin. Perhaps it was the way he towered over you as he passed by in the hallways, his guitar case handle firmly secured under the grip of his ring-stacked fingers. Or maybe it was those tired half-lidded eyes that met your own for a speck of a second every time you encountered one another on the way to your neighboring dorm rooms. Granted, you’ve barely exchanged a full sentence over the past two years you'd "known" him, apart from the occasional “good morning”, and “the weather sucks today, doesn’t it?”, but damn.

Choso on the other hand simply didn't have a single fucking clue how to approach you. Despite his good looks, he was too awkward to pull the girls he wanted, and he didn't have much game anyway, he knew that much, though that never stopped him from stealing glances at your pretty round ass every time your skirt rode up your thighs a little too high while you passionately cheered for your team down by the field, or how his vivid imagination raced at a million miles per second every time he caught a whiff of your vanilla bean mist as you skipped past him with your friends. It seemed like you weren't the only one having a hard time, and yet the both of you were acting like cowardly hormonal teenagers, too afraid of laying your feelings out in the open for each other to see.

You fancied the man, that was the conclusion you'd reached, but boy did he love to get on your nerves sometimes. Matter of fact, you'd pray to whatever deity if it meant getting him out of the damn dorms and off somewhere with whatever friends he had for once, because at this rate you won't be getting any shut-eye for the rest of your days. You always heard him toying with that blaring guitar of his late into Friday nights, missing a single note and deciding to play the same riff again over and over until your eardrums threatened to pop. You swore it made you want to rip your hair out every time, and tonight was no different. You dramatically pull the covers over your head in an attempt to block away the ruckus, making a point of huffing and puffing dramatically, hoping he'd magically hear your distress and quit his shit.

To absolutely no avail. He did not quit his shit.

After what felt like an eternity of agitated tossing and turning, you get up with an exasperated sigh and stomp out of your dorm room, making your way over to Choso's to give him a piece of your mind.

"Open up, will you? I've been hearing you fiddle on that thing for an hour, ya know. Some of us need to sleep!" You knock a little too aggressively for his liking and shift your weight between your feet in awaiting. A few beats later, muffled shuffling echoes from within his room, and you can hear him groan in annoyance as he trudges toward the door.

It cracks open at first, timidly almost, like he was debating whether to step out there and confront you, or shut the door right back at your face. Under any other circumstances, you think you might've found that cute, how a grown man double your size was so unnerved by your presence, but right now, you needed sleep, and you needed to scold him. So you lightly block the door with your hand and he finally yields, stepping out in all of his glory.

Fuck.

Whatever bitter words you had planned to hurl at him stick in your throat. He looms over you in nothing but a black shirt that hugs his pecs a little too tightly, sweatpants hanging loosely around his hips, the hem of his boxers peeking just above the waistband. It just dawned on you that you'd never been in this close a proximity to him before, and you involuntarily trail your eyes downward, gulping at what you thought you saw under the thin fabric of his sweats. Probably packing a horse or two down there if you dare say. Stop being weird, damn it.

"Sorry. I'll play unplugged then." He tells you blandly, his guitar still hanging around his waist and his digits hover over what looked like the B string, giving you a view of the bulging veins and stacked up rings hugging his thick index and middle fingers. Pretty hands. Really pretty fucking hands. You wonder how it might feel to intertwine your fingers with his own, or trace the callouses on his palm, or maybe even have those fingers in your—

"You uhh...you good?" He clears his throat to grab your visibly wandering thoughts and you shoot upright like a child caught sneaking a bite of candy right before supper.

Great. You were staring. He caught you staring.

"Oh, uh. Yeah, you do that." You just smile like an idiot, having forgotten why you knocked in the first place at this point and quickly avert your eyes, haphazardly tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear in a failed attempt to busy yourself with any kind of movement, anything to dissipate the cloud of tension (or awkwardness, you tended to get delusional sometimes so you weren't so sure) that had loomed over the two of you.

"That song you were playing. It's really nostalgic. I didn't know you had a thing for the oldies." You beam at him with a tilt of your head, expertly deflecting from whatever he might have said after following your eyes that cast down. And maybe even an implicit apology for your irritated banging earlier

"Yeah? You know it?" His stoic eyes light up ever so slightly with a glint of enthusiasm, and you wouldn't have noticed it at all had you not been standing mere inches from his form.

"Yeah, my dad used to blast it in the car all the time I almost got sick of it."

"Well, he's got taste." His lips curl up in a faint smile, and he pauses for a moment, internally battling with himself at the inevitable prospect of having to cut this conversation short, so he does what any normal person would do, perking up slightly and gesturing behind him, "Hey, you uh, wanna come in? You could watch me play or something, I dunno."

This was the closest Choso was ever going to get to making a move. Quite frankly, he expected a rejection right then and there, and he would have preferred if you just got it over with as soon as possible instead of staring at him with wide eyes and an indecipherable expression, but you would have been a fool to decline his invitation. After all, this was your chance to get…closer to him. Whatever that may mean, and so you too did what any normal person would do...

"Yeah, sure!"

Accept his invitation.

It takes him a moment to realize you've said yes, going into a momentary stupor, and if you didn't know any better, you'd think he was...shocked. Though he doesn't hesitate in retreating to the side, holding the door open for you with his free hand. There was plenty of room to smoothly make your way inside, and yet you deliberately brush your hip against his arm as you wiggle in, fleetingly glancing up at him with a knowing smile, because, my god, there was no denying the fact that he caught onto your subtle gesture, pulse quickening and faint flush steadily creeping up his cheekbones as he averts his eyes some place else to avoid your own. He's so cute.

"Neat room." You trail off as you make your way around, unceremoniously plopping down on his gaming chair.

"Thanks. Your posture is terrible, by the way." He quips with a quirk of his eyebrow, making his way over to sit across you on the carpeted floor.

"Oh well, aren't you a peach, insulting me in my own home!" You glare at him, voice laced with feigned offense that hardly masks your amusement.

"Your own home? You're in my room."

"This entire building is the home in question."

"That makes no sense becau—"

"Shut up!"

“Ok sorry.”

My god, he really is so cute, and you wonder when was the last time your heart fluttered at a man as he pliantly drops the subject and crosses his legs, adjusting the guitar in his arms. He’s wearing Christmas socks in March, you note. Gotta marry him. When hes happy with his posture, he glances back up at you as you swivel and spin in his chair like a child.

“Got anything in mind?” He tilts his head to the side, calloused fingers absently strumming on amp-less strings.

"Something easy to play. I know a thing or two about guitar you know. You're not the only cool one here." You quip with crossed arms.

"That so?" Choso chuckles at your words, grabbing his pick and steadying his posture. " 'Kay, how about this?"

He starts off softly, a recognizable riff reverberating within the walls of his dark-lit room, and the notes are barely audible over the buzzing of the air conditioner. His eyes cast down to watch the movement of his fingers, head bobbing slightly to tone-less notes and foot tapping leisurely to the rhythm. You watch. Your eyes focus on his face, then fall to his dexterous hands, then back up to his face. Was he always this sexy? It takes you a moment to realize he had stopped playing, wrist relaxing and eyes following your own.

"'Smoke on the Water?' Really?" You snort at him with an incredulous look on your face and he frowns in return, his lower lip jutting out in an offended pout.

"What? You said easy to play. Besides, it'd sound better if I play it plugged, but somebody would have a problem with that."

He blinks at you. You blink at him. Then you burst into a fit of laughter, causing him to subconsciously replace his own pout with a smile that mirrors your own. He's so lost in every wave of your hand and shake of your shoulders that it takes him a second to register what you say a few seconds later as your giggles die down.

"You're cute. Like, really cute."

You're going to kill him.

"Ah, y-you too.." Great. How fucking lame, pathetic even. Did he really just say that?

"Teach me guitar... Mr. You Too." You say a little too breathlessly, a sweet lilt to your pretty voice that has blood rushing to places he'd rather it didn't. But god, was he supposed to just ignore the way you were looking at him right now? The way your arms squeezed those perfect tits of yours together over the thin silk of your sleepwear? The soft flesh of your thighs spilling past your tiny shorts? How was he supposed to foc—

"Sure." Swirling thoughts and rushing blood are set aside. He rises to his feet, taking a step toward your sitting figure and meekly handing you his guitar, something incredibly surprising in and of itself, because typically hell would break loose if a soul dared touch his guitar, but it was you. And he liked you. So damn much it almost hurt.

You take it from his hands, fingers brushing against his own. Awkwardly, you try to adjust the startlingly heavy instrument within your arms, struggling to set it at the right angle, huffing and puffing to yourself as Choso does nothing but watch you with a lazy snicker in your state of distress, and when you finally manage on your own, the notes come out far from what you had expected, deepening the frown on your face. Choso thinks you look adorable when you're mad, but he's not so cruel, so he senses your distaste at the muffled notes and plugs the guitar into the amp for you. His lips curl into a little smile as he watches your face light up.

"Woah! How does it literally sound so different?" You gawk in excitement at the rich timbre of crunchy notes.

"Trippy as fuck, isn't it?"

You hum in acknowledgement and rack your brain for the right notes to play. Which string was D again? More frowning. More pouting, and Choso remains unmoving, too fixated on your cute expressions to do anything.

He feels bad. Eventually.

"Here, let me help you." Gruff voice reassures you softly as he makes his way behind your chair, hunching forward, breath fanning against your cheek, and fingers planted over your own, so very gently guiding you to the needed fret. The distinct scent of cedar wood and whisky floods your senses and fuck, you don't even want to play anymore. You want him. All of him. Maybe if you just—

"Choso..."

"Hmm?"

You're not even sure what came over you, but your head is suddenly void of reason when you turn your face to his and crash your lips on his own. So soft. This is what you were missing? Fuck it, there's no time to be embarrassed of your boldness-out of the blue, not when he returns your kiss with as much fervor, lips melding with your own and tongue eagerly swiping over yours, and definitely not when he’s picking you up and throwing you on his bed, climbing right after you and situating you on his lap. Guitar lays forgotten as it haphazardly rests on the chair across the room. His thoughts are all of you, and you of him.

"This okay?" He mutters quietly, like he was embarrassed, cheeks flushed as he seeks permission to place his hands on your hips. You smile down at him, wordlessly placing your hands over his rough ones and guiding them to your curves. How could a man looking so strong be this gentle?

Before he could say anything more, your lips are on his again, tongue sucking on his own and fingers entangled in tousled strands of jet black hair, hips grinding frantically against his lap, feeling him harden under you with every delicate roll of your hips.

"Mmph.." He groans softly into the kiss, grip tightening impossibly on your hips as he guides your movements. Up, down. Left, right. Fuck, he's wanted this for so long he might cum in his pants from this alone. That won't do. What would you think then? He's got to hold out, he's got to—

"sh-shit." Pulling away from those glossy lips of yours, he buries his face in your neck, breath ragged and hands halting your grinding hips. You were so lost in your feels that it took you a second to put two and two together, glancing down and seeing the object of his distress; A dark patch of precum staining his sweats. What a development.

"So worked up just from this? You're so cute." You coo at him so sweetly, so softly he thinks he might just lose his mind, and your hands find his pretty, blushing face, gingerly cupping his cheeks to place a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth and trailing down to his jaw. You nip and suck on his skin, sloppy kisses peppered along his jaw and down the junction of his neck and shoulder, a hand reaching under his shirt to brush against his abdomen, and just as he thought his heart couldn't race any faster, he could feel it vigorously thump against his ribs with the tickle of your breath against his earlobe.

"Just... let me. Wanna make you cum all pretty for me." You whisper so tenderly against his skin when your hand reached for the waistband of his sweats only for him to block it with a grip to your wrist, too flustered to have you see him that way. But, god, with the way your voice drips with honey, your soft fingers dance along the skin of his stomach, your warm breath teases his cheek, he's got no choice but to hand himself over to you. Let you have him whichever way you pleased. Make him feel good.

His grip around your wrist loosens and his hand rises back up to your waist. He's biting his lip, eyes so dazed already and you haven't even done anything yet. You search his features for any signs of discomfort, finding none and taking it as invitation to go further. You slowly reach into his sweats, palming him through his boxers and grazing your nails over his thighs. So agonizing.

"Please..." Choso whimpers, desperate, soft, and fucking hell, it's your turn to cover your face, a surge of electricity traveling up your spine from his voice alone. You don't respond, your actions speaking for themselves as you pull his twitching cock from within its confines and give it a few experimental pumps, slowly circling your thumb over his slit and smearing precum along the rest of his length. His breath hitches at the contact, tip so wet and sensitive as arousal dribbles down his cock in a shiny stream.

"You're so perfect like this. Doing so good for me, Cho..."

Stop it.

"You're gonna kill me if you keep saying shit like that..." He hisses so faintly you barely catch it, and brings his forehead to rest on your shoulder as your hand sets a rhythmic pace around his cock, twisting around the base when you glide down and the tip when you glide back up. At least if you couldn't see his face and him yours, he'll last longer. Maybe.

"Do you like it though?"

Of course he likes it. What kind of question even was that? Could you not see the way he involuntarily bucked into your hand with every word of praise you gave him? How a brilliant blush crept up his cheeks as you called him cute that first time around? How he could barely keep himself upright just now? But he tells you none of those things, instead, he nods against your shoulder, eyes closed and hands brushing up your waist so gently you almost melt into his arms.

"Yeah, keep talking—fuck, j-just keep talking."

And you do just that, dipping to suck on the exposed side of his thick neck as you murmur every honeyed word you could muster. "You like it, huh? Look at you bucking into my hand all pretty. Makin' me wet with all those sounds you're making." And fuck, he groans so loudly in acknowledgement, hips jerking upward to meet your strokes like a bitch in heat. You pump him as expertly as you've been doing this entire time, deft hand relentlessly gliding up and down, determined to make him cum all over you, to give you what you've been craving for as long as you could remember, because fuck was he so pretty like this, black strands damp with sweat as they stuck to his face, body shuddering with each and every touch of your hands, lips parted and his breath fanning against your shoulder, flush reaching all the way down to his neck. Hell. You might be the one to cum untouched after all.

"I-if you keep this up m'gonna—fuck..m'gonna cum."

You don't stop.

"Then cum. Wanna see your face when you do though. Wanna see how good it feels, Cho." You murmur desperately against the side of his neck, his face still nuzzled in your shoulder, but your tender coaxing drives him to meet your gaze, lips parted and breath picking up as his chest rises and falls in tandem with his jerking hips. His eyebrows furrow, his head falls back, he bucks violently into your hand, a throaty groan tumbles past his lips and he grips your hips so hard you're positive it'll leave a bruise.

"Oh fuckfuckfuck c-cumming..." He babbles frantically, so lost in the feeling and you stroke him vigorously through his high, watching as his cock twitches and a string of thick white shoots past your hand, painting your fingers and the hem of his black shirt porcelain. Delicately, your movements slow down, eyes not leaving his face for a single second, though he's too busy attempting to recompose himself to notice your relentless gaze.

"You did so good." You finally coo at him softly.

"Whatever." He murmurs, averting his eyes as fast as they met your own and covering his face with the back of his hand, post-nut clarity finally hitting him like a truck.

"Don't be like that!" You stifle a giggle and swat his arm, watching as he refuses to look at you like some teenager touching a girl for the first time, and you lean over him, gingerly bringing his face in your hands.

"Hi." You grin down at him, your hair tickling his face and giving him a good reason to close his eyes, avoiding your gaze even further.

"Hey."

"By the way, I have a question that's been eating me up for ages."

"What is it?" His curiosity piques, eyes finally meeting your own.

"Why do you always show up to games when you look half-asleep and bored out of your mind every single time?"

He eyes you incredulously. Out of all the things you could've asked at a time like this...

"Ah, my little brother is on the team. I've gotta be there for him somehow."

You're squeaking and giddily bouncing in his lap and he thinks you've gone crazy, staring blankly at you as you bring your hands to squish at his cheeks yet again. "That's so adorable! You're so adorable! Who is it? It's Yuji isn't it? I knew it! I somehow did. I'm so sure it is!"

"Whatefuh you shay, and yeah. Can you let go of m'face now."

"Right! Sorry--" You let his cheeks fall back into place and begin to rise from his lap, but he holds you back down with a firm grip to your waist.

"Where're you goin'? You didn't get to cum." He drawls, raspy voice hitting you right in your core as he leans closer, lips brushing against your own as he speaks again. "I'll make it up to you... 'Just let me.' "

Fine, you'll just let him then...

@kimhargreeves

#choso x reader #jjk x reader #choso kamo #kinktober 2023 #choso jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #choso x female reader #choso smut #I'm crazy why is this 4k something words

588 notes · View notes

its-time-to-write · 9 months

Note

hi i love your work.

can i get touch deprived reader with jamie or roy

you totally can! It just comes at the low, low cost of way more words than you bargained for. Fair warning, Jamie isn’t even introduced for a good solid chunk of the first half. I also have been touch deprived so this is based on personal experience lol.

I feel like I let this get away from me in the same way the Vienna fic got away from me😂

sinking into your worn out mattress

It’s the same routine every day.

Wake up, get dressed, go to work, come home, make dinner, fall asleep, repeat.

It’s not a bad thing, necessarily. You’re nothing if not efficient, maximizing your time to the best of your abilities. It’s not the most glamorous thing in the world, but you enjoy it. You’re lucky enough to be working on your supervision hours under a renowned psychologist, Dr. Fieldstone in London, and it’s paid. Over half the people in your cohort are struggling through unpaid internships and juggling a second job just so they can make ends meet. You’re all propelled forward by the promise of better pay as soon as it’s all over, dreaming of the days you can own your own practice.

You’re not even sure how you landed this internship, as Dr. Fieldstone rarely ever takes on interns. (She’d tell you later it’s because she saw the same potential her supervisor saw in her.) But you have it, and you’re now assisting her in her on-location therapy to various sports teams. You’d been at a rugby club for a few months, but now it’s time to move on. Dr. Fieldstone was asked to come back to a previous club and although she’d never admit it, you know it was her favorite group to work with. It’s the only club who’s picture is on her desk. It makes you smile every time you see her surrounded by a rowdy-looking group of footballers and two very American coaches. She had said that the one with the mustache was no longer at the club, but the bearded one still was along with the angry looking man to the side and the short, grey-haired man.

You’ve seen the photo so many times that you have everyone’s faces memorized. You’re secretly excited to meet the team that made Dr. Sharon (in her colleagues’ words,) loosen up.

You weren’t friends, with Dr. Sharon, never once dropping the “doctor,” that preceded her name, but she would occasionally swing by your standard housing with a bottle of wine after a particularly difficult day.

“This job can be emotionally draining,” she’d say. “I always wished I had someone there for me at the beginning.”

She rarely smiled or showed outward affection, but you understood that this was her way of saying she cared.

But now you’re packing up your flat into your car, and headed to your new quarters in Richmond, London.

—

It’s apparent that Dr. Sharon has a strong connection with the players. There are a small few who allow you to run each session, most preferring to stick with who they know. Your days are mostly filled with analyses and treatment plans, with about two real session a week, one with Rojas, D and Maas, J. You don’t even sit in with Dr. Sharon much anymore, as the thought of an observer makes some of the players uncomfortable.

It’s stressing you out.

How are you supposed to fulfill your hours when you can’t even get consistent sessions?

Dr. Sharon, in her limited kindness, refers you to a friend of hers in town.

“She runs a small practice and works mostly with women. You’ll be able to keep your housing and fulfill your hours. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

You look at her. “Right,” you reply, “because you’re going to have so much time to help me out between all the things you’ve got going on.”

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Listen. Since you’re not my intern, I can become your therapist. I’ll even give you a discounted rate since you’re still interning. We’ll set up weekly sessions. You’ll be fine.”

You’re still not sure. Dr. Sharon can see the apprehension in your face. “Alright,” she says. “If you schedule our sessions in the evening and cook dinner, I’ll do it for free. It’ll be informal, one therapist to another.”

That’s big. She rarely does anything for free. In a moment of boldness, you say that to her face.

She cracks the tiniest smile. “It’s possible that I’ve grown fond of you. And even more possible that I’m addicted to your cooking.”

Huh. You suppose miracles do still happen.

—

Sharon is over for dinner for the third time in a week, and you’re suspicious that she might actually enjoy spending time with you. You’re laughing about some stupid story that happened during a natural environment observation (it involved a slip n slide, an obscene amount of shaving cream, and footballs being thrown at players heads) when out of nowhere you feel tears slipping down your face.

“Oh my gosh” you say while maybe laughing, maybe crying, “I think I’m broken.”

Sharon (she insisted you drop the “doctor,”) asks, “Are you alright?” and you shrug while you begin full-on sobbing.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” you say between gasps. “What the actual heck.”

At that, Sharon grins. You’re retaining some element of your humor, despite actually crying.

“Just go on and fucking swear already,” she says. “I think we’re past a truly professional relationship.”

You shake your head. “No!” you say. “No, my mum wouldn’t like it.” Fresh tears start to fall at the mention of your mum. Sharon is actually concerned now.

“I’m not sure you’re alright,” she says, and you shoot her a no duh look. “Let’s discuss what might be the root of your issue. Have you been feeling differently lately?”

You’re wiping your eyes and trying so hard to get it together. You’re not even sure what your problem is. You were pretty sure you were doing fine, but you think back to your week. It had been pretty standard, nothing out of the ordinary. You shake your head.

“There is nothing too small to mention. Anything out of your usual routine? Physical discomfort, emotionally-draining sessions?” Sharon asks.

“No,” you reply, tears almost under control. “Wait. Yes.”

Sharon looks at you expectantly. “God, this is going to sound dumb.”

She reaches out to pat your hand. “There’s no such thing as too dumb,” she says in her therapist voice.

The gesture is so much like something a sister would do.

“Right,” you say. “Ok. My, um, the insides of my elbows like, hurt? They just feel weird, I don’t know. It started two weeks ago I think and usually I can just pinch them and it’s fine, but that’s the only thing I can think of, I guess.”

Sharon has gone full therapist, and is giving you an analytical look. “Hm,” she says. “Tell me more.”

You shrug. “There’s not much to tell. It’s not like painful, it just feels weird. I hug my pillow when I sleep and that also helps. Um, I push up my sleeves so they go around my elbows and the pressure helps.”

She asks, “When was the last time you saw a friend?” and you can’t think why this is relevant. But you also can’t remember.

“Probably since before I moved,” you say.

“And when was the last time you saw your family?”

You begin to see where she’s going.

“God,” you groan. “I’m an idiot.”

Sharon laughs. “Do you see why it’s so difficult for therapists to self-diagnose? We’re so busy trying to save the world that we forget to save ourselves.”

“But it’s so stupid,” you say. “It’s like, one of the most basic forms of self-care.”

Sharon shrugs. “Touch-starvation is a real thing. It manifests itself in different ways and apparently yours manifests itself in your elbows.”

It’s so ridiculous that you laugh. She does too, and reaches out to squeeze your arm. “I’ll be more mindful of it,” she says. “In the meantime, you need to find yourself some friends. Some people your own age. I’m prescribing you at least two nights out a week.”

You knit your eyebrows together. “I don’t even know where I would go. Or how to meet people. Or what to say!”

“That’s the problem with us therapists,” Sharon says. “We’re really best in a clinical setting. Shouldn’t be let out of the house, really. How about this; next time Richmond has some group event, you come. They’re a rowdy bunch, around your age, too. It’s an incredibly healthy environment, and you’ll be easily accepted. It will be a nice gateway to having a social life. There’s a match this weekend and they’re almost guaranteed a win, so keep your calendar open.”

You open your mouth to protest but Sharon holds up a hand. “I’m prescribing this as your mentor, not as your friend. It will be a healthy change of pace, I promise.”

—

Seeing AFC Richmond in person and off the pitch is like an out-of-body experience.

You’re putting names to familiar faces, and getting a crash course on their personalities.

You know Dani and Jan Maas from your short stint as their counselor, and they’ve taken it upon themselves to introduce you to everyone else. Dani is holding your elbow to guide you around to all sorts of people, and you can physically feel the serotonin production in your brain.

You meet Higgins and his wife, the hosts of this barbecue as well as some of their children. It’s hard to miss them because they keep coming up to shoot Dani and Jan with nerf guns. They’re weirdly prepared, pulling out their own from thin air.

“Don’t worry,” Jan says, “We’ll defend you.”

It’s very much like a large family gathering. You meet Richard, who kisses your hand and comments on your beauty. Zoreaux, who smiles and asks if you want anything to drink. Bumbercatch, who asks if you can read minds. And finally, Roy and Keeley who are standing in the kitchen and definitely were not kissing right before you walked in.

“This is one of our coaches,” Dani beams. “He and Keeley are very much in love, but they will not admit to each other, least of all themselves.”

Roy says, “Oi!” while Keeley blushes. Jan shrugs.

“It’s true,” he says. “There is no point in dancing around it.”

“Fuck off!” says Roy, and Jan and Dani are saved from certain death by head-butt as Keeley steps between them and says, “It’s nice to meet you! We’re so glad you could come,” and wraps you in a tight hug.

She’s small, but she’s strong. You have trouble breathing for a moment in the best possible way.

“Heard you work for Dr. Sharon,” she says. “That’s got to be fucking difficult.”

You laugh. “Yeah, but not in the way you’d think,” you say. “I’d already sold my soul to my education long before I met her. She’s actually trying to help me get it back.”

Keeley grins. “Is that why you’re here then? To reinstate your soul?”

You’re cut off from replying by the appearance of someone new. This one is in Sharon’s picture too, standing in the middle slightly to the left and smiling with the tip of his tongue sticking out. You always thought he seemed like one who looked so happy and carefree because he actively chose to be that way.

“Who’s reinstatin’ their soul?” he asks, squeezing in between Dani and Keeley.

“This one here,” Keeley replies. “You met her yet? She’s Dr. Fieldstone’s protégé.”

“Oh,” you say. “No. Not really. I was just doing my internship with her, but I had to move because…” you hesitate.

“Because no one wanted to talk to her except me and Jan,” Dani helpfully fills in.

Jan adds, “They were all intimidated by the fact that she is close to their age and so beautiful, as well stuck in their ways of having Dr. Sharon. Only Dani and I were willing to give her a chance, and she actually helped me through some important life decisions.”

You had? It hadn’t seemed that way at the time. You feel less crappy about your time at Nelson Road, though. It wasn’t like they didn’t like you, they just preferred to stick with what they know. That, you can understand.

“Mint,” Jamie says. “So you ain’t the team’s shrink anymore?”

Roy rolls his eyes. “Fucking observant, you are. She hasn’t been around in fucking ages.”

Jamie shrugs. “I was just checking!” he says defensively.

You smile. “It’s alright,” you say. “I’m sure you’re busy, and there’s always a lot of people coming and going.”

That seems to surprise Jamie. Almost as if he isn’t used to people defending him. You file his reaction away in your brain, adding it to your collection of knowledge about the football team that made Sharon zip across England for.

—

It’s been two and a half hours, and you’ve have more food and laughter than you’ve had in ages. Dani and Jan Maas had left your circle in the kitchen a while ago, fulfilling their promise to chase around the youngest Higgins boys as well as Roy’s niece Phoebe, and another girl who’s name you didn’t catch. Sam has joined your group now, and he and Jamie are funny together in a way that reminds you of your brothers. They’re constantly ragging on each other, teasing Roy, and throwing things.

Jamie, it seems, is the comedian of the group. You can tell he’s showing off, presumably because there’s a new face. When it’s time to eat, he says, “Stick with me, love, that way you don’t get stuck next to some uncultured animal,” even though Sharon is there and you’d be fine to sit with any of the boys.

But, he’s already grabbed your hand and is pulling you to a spot near Roy and Keeley as Sharon looks on with an amused expression. You send her a single pleading glance (although you’re not sure what you’re pleading for) and she just gives you a shooing motion. She’s happy to sit with Rebecca and her boyfriend. And someone who’s name you’re pretty sure is Coach Beard.

Ever the gentleman, Jamie pulls out your chair for you before settling into his own. There are tables all throughout the house and a few in the front yard, and you’re glad he picked one outside. It’s a little cloudy, but nice weather.

And god, there are people. People who are talking to you, hugging you, tapping you on the arm and holding your hand, even if it is just to make sure you don’t get separated in the stampede to find seating. Your arms aren’t even a little sore, and you can feel Sharon’s observing eyes on you. You know for a fact she’s going to have a lot to say next time you have dinner, but for now all you can think about is the way Jamie’s arm is pressed against yours, as he leans in to explain a football term that Roy just used to threaten Jamie with.

—

You’re not sure how long this party is supposed to last, but it’s three hours later and there is no sign of stopping. The sun is just barely starting to dip, and time has lost all meaning. You don’t know if the meal you ate was supposed to be lunch or dinner but it doesn’t matter because you’re so full that you can barely make room for the pile of desserts that Mrs. Higgins has pulled out.

You’ve moved inside now, since Jamie pulled you through the dessert line saying, “You have to come with me, so I can put my dessert on your plate. That way grandad can’t have a fit.” You understand that “grandad” is Roy.

You’re smart enough to notice that Jamie’s hand is in yours at every opportunity he can find, and that he’s still holding it even though you’ve finished your dessert and are flopped on a couch inside. He’s absentmindedly rubbing circles with his thumb as you chatter on about nothing.

“Oi,” he says, when you’ve lapsed into silence, “is this alright?”

You’re not sure what he means until he holds up your still-intertwined hands.

“Keeley says I’m more touchy than most. Don’t want to fuckin’ weird you out or some shit.”

You smile. “You’re fine. It’s actually really nice.” You decide to leave it at that. No point in explaining touch-deprivation to the cute footballer you just met. Talk about oversharing.

Jamie smiles back, a real one that lights up his whole face.

“Mint,” he says.

—

“Jamie’s romantically interested in you,” says Sharon’s voice through the phone.

“How do you know that?” you ask. It’s the morning after the Higgins party and you only have a 2pm session. Sharon texted you to call her as soon as you woke up, so you do and she drops a bombshell on the first ring. You doubt Jamie would have told her this himself, as Dr. Fieldstone isn’t one to break a confidence.

“Basic body language,” she replies. “Repeated physical contact, the way his body was angled toward yours all day, the fact that he went out of his way to make you smile. All classic markers of romantic attraction. Any trained therapist should be able to pick up on it.”

What she means is, you’re a trained therapist. You should be picking up on it.

“There’s no way,” you say, but it comes out more doubtful than you’d hoped.

“Right,” says Sharon, “there’s no way. In the same way that there’s no way I’m only mentoring you because I see myself in you.”

“Oh,” you reply weakly, because that’s a lot to unpack.

“Oh,” she mimics. “Right. Well. I’ve got to go. Make sure you remember the mental exercises I gave you. Therapists need to take care of their minds too.”

You say thanks and hang up.

Oh.

—

You’re home again from your session, and you are tired. It was mentally exhausting and all you can think about are the pair of sweatpants in the drawer by your bed and the box of pizza that should be at your flat in fifteen-to-twenty minutes. That was about thirteen minutes ago, and you’ve just been puttering about since placing the call and changing out of work clothes.

There’s a knock on the door and you say a quiet yes, before hurrying to answer. You open the door to two people on your doorstep instead of one.

“This your pizza?” the delivery boy asks. You nod, thank him, and hand him the money. He’s gone so you acknowledge the other person in front of you.

“How’d you know where I live?”

Jamie shrugs. “Asked Dr. Fieldstone. She isn’t as scary as she looks.”

“And why are you here?”

You place the pizza down on the small table in your entryway. It hasn’t escaped your notice that Jamie is practically standing in your doorframe now, inches away from you.

He wraps his hands in the front of his shirt. “Isaac was telling me about body science,” he says. “Been teaching me how to read people and shit based on how they move.”

You nod. Body language. Yeah, you know a thing or two about that.

“Anyway, he said you thought I was proper fit. Which is good, because I think you’re proper fit. But, just in case he were wrong, I thought I’d come over and give you a chance to tell me.”

His left hand is on the doorframe now, and you can see the top of his tattoo peeking out from under his bright orange hoodie. There is exactly one inch between you two as he slants his body toward yours.

“You can tell me to bugger off, if you want,” he murmurs. “Won’t hurt my feelings.”

You don’t say anything, just stand on your toes the tiniest bit so he has better access to your mouth.

You can feel his breath when he pulls away.

“Oh,” he says, “I didn’t come here for sex. Me mum raised a gentleman. I’d buy you a coupla dinners first.”

“Shut up and kiss me already, Tartt,” you say, and he’s grinning, free hand cupping the back of your head.

—

You think that’s probably the fastest you’ve ever gotten into a relationship.

“Labels are important, babe,” Jamie had said that night. “How else will you know if food is poisonous?”

You’re pretty sure he’s talking about checking for allergens, but you don’t correct him. You’re on your couch watching a movie with his arm around your shoulders. He’s playing with strands of your hair and it’s strange that you’re this comfortable with a boy you just met yesterday.

Because he is a boy. You’re the same age, but you feel impossibly, inadequately young. He plays it off as youthful exuberance, and you’re sure it’s an advantage on the pitch. Your age doesn’t feel like an advantage to you, but you can’t change it so you might as well just deal with what you’ve got.

You can be professional in the morning, but right now you’ve got a cute, fit boy who thinks you’re cute and fit and so far has not given off red flags. You’re extra alert ever since your call with Sharon, trying to pick up on every subtlety, but you stop trying as soon as Jamie rolls up a piece of pizza like a burrito and tries to fit it all in his mouth. You know that Sharon would have been the first to tell you if this was a bad idea, and the fact that she even told you Jamie was interested is basically like her giving her blessing.

Jamie leaves too soon, but he does so with your number in his phone and the promise of “a proper date,” as soon as you both can manage.

—

“A proper date,” turned into two proper dates, then three, then four, then seeing each other steadily throughout the weeks, then your first sleepover after the third week. Your skin was all tingly when Jamie invited you over to his for dinner, telling you he was going to cook for you. You knew exactly what was going to happen that night and made sure you were prepared.

You dressed nice, in clothes that gave him easy access to your skin underneath.

“Am I rushing this?” you had asked Sharon the day before. “I’m asking you as my mentor. Am I being an idiot?”

Sharon had taken a moment to consider before answering. “You’re smart for your age. And wise beyond your years. I don’t think you’re being an idiot. We can’t let our work consume us, no matter how important it is. You’re a brilliant therapist. You’re always giving yourself away to those around you. You deserve something for yourself, and you know how to pick a good one.”

You hugged her for those words. She seemed startled, but accepted it. You didn’t think life could get much better.

You were wrong. You discovered life could be so much better the moment Jamie’s hand slid under your skirt and you were kicking off your shoes on the way up the stairs.

“Stay,” he whispered when you were done. “It’s fuckin’ late anyway. You can use my shower and wear one of my shirts. I have an extra toothbrush. I fucking hate sleeping alone.”

So you’re in one of his t-shirts and your underwear, arms wrapped around Jamie’s waist.

You think what am I doing? but Jamie presses a soft, sleepy kiss to your temple and you think maybe you’re doing something right.

—

It’s been a hell of a week. You’re swamped, Jamie’s always at training, and neither of you have been able to make the time to see the other in days. Your inner arms are sore again, and your dinners with Sharon have been short and extremely clinical in a way you desperately need. However, once-a-week therapy is not enough to get rid of the feeling you have, and you wake up throughout the night holding your pillow as if it were Jamie.

You’ve gotten used to having his hand in yours, your head on his shoulder, knees touching and arms wrapped tight around your body. Having it taken away is worse than before, because at least then you didn’t really know what you were missing. Now, you feel as if you’re going to die unless someone does something, even if it’s just a high-five.

You’re sitting at your kitchen table, one knee pulled up to your chest as you review case notes. Your food has gone cold because all you can do is cry. You’re so tired and so lonely and it shouldn’t be this way, but it is and you’re just over it. There’s a knock at the door so you wipe your eyes and answer it, hoping you look normal.

It’s Jamie.

The moment you register who it is, you’re launching yourself into his arms, wrapping around him like a spider monkey. He laughs. “Hello to you too,” he says, spinning you around. He stops when he feels you shaking in his arms.

“Oi,” he says, frowning a little, “you alright, love?”

He can feel tears on his neck.

“Babe,” he says, “did something happen at work?”

You shake your head, face still buried into the crook of his neck. “I just missed you,” you croak, voice muffled.

Jamie chuckles at that. You’re lucky he’s strong, because he’s able to carry you to the couch like it’s nothing, kicking the door shut behind him without losing his balance. He settles with you in his arms, rubbing a pattern on your back.

“It’s alright, love, I’m here,” he says, and you’ve never been more grateful for the fact that he calls you love more than your actual name. It’s like he’s always reminding you how he feels about you.

You just hold him tighter, letting the terrible feeling you had all week fade away. When it’s mostly gone, you pull away so you can look him in the face.

“I- I have this thing,” you say. Jamie looks concerned.

“Are you dyin’?” he asks.

“No!” you reply. “No, I’m not dying. I have- I’m touch-deprived. I let it get really bad sometimes and then I can physically feel it. You can look it up, it’s a real thing.” You don’t know why you feel the need to defend yourself. Jamie’s just looking at you, all quiet seriousness.

“That what it’s called?” he asks. “I know what you mean. Fucking had it two years ago. Used to egg Roy on just so he’d push me around and the lads’d have to hold me back. Wasn’t near me mum anymore, so I didn’t have anyone to hug me or anything. Sounds dumb, but… I just needed someone to touch me. Like if they didn’t, it meant I didn’t exist. Fucking mental.”

“Mental,” you agree.

Jamie smiles. “You’re the fucking best, you know that?” he asks. “I’m never bored when I’m with you. Came over to see if you wanted to watch a movie or play video games.”

He’s stroking your cheek with one hand, other still wrapped around your back.

You smile back. “I really, really love you Jamie Tartt. I’ll play video games, I just don’t want to play FIFA.”

Jamie’s smile drops. “Shit,” he says, and you think it’s because you don’t want to play his favorite video game. “You weren’t supposed to say it first, I was. I was gonna tell you tonight anyway.”

“It’s not a big deal, babe,” you say.

“No.” He shakes his head. “It’s a big fuckin’ deal. Now I’ve got to make it up to you.”

“No you don’t,” you say.

“Yes I do,” he replies. “I’m gonna tell you every fucking day how much I love you. I’ll drive home early from away games just to hug you. I want you to always feel like you have the love you deserve.”

You’re at a loss for words.

“Cat got your tongue, don’t it?” Jamie asks cheekily. “Not a problem, babe. I know how to get it back.”

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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nolita-fairytale · 1 year

Text

make my heart surrender | carmy berzatto x fem!reader | chapter four: friday

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

warnings: lots of swearing, angst, use of she/her pronouns, friends to lovers, smutty smut-smut, this is an 18+ chapter so minors dni, no use of y/n, second person pov

word count: 6.7k

summary: buckle up people, because this is a long one! tonight is the night: the night you and marcus' dessert menu goes live, the night you meet natalie berzatto, and the night that truths are revealed.

a/n: is it hot in here or is it just me? who's ready for some smut? this will be the last chapter i post till sunday/monday, so we can all sit with this. hear me out: it's not that i think carmy is really good at sex. but there's so much tension between these two, i think reader is good at sex, and there's something to be said for being so turned on by the other person that it just hits different.

and here is that song -- the jazz standard turned acoustic cover.

read: part three | masterlist

Friday

“Just remember that we don’t have to reinvent the wheel here. You just have to deliver a really damn good dessert time after time,” you instruct, setting Marcus up, pre-dinner shift.

“I think we should focus on the burnt basque cheesecake in lieu of the classic. You already have a heavier lift on the bake for the chocolate cake. That way, whatever happens with the mixer, or the ovens… this version of cheesecake is pretty forgiving. And you don’t have to fuck around with a water bath just yet.”

“The tiramisu is perfect because it’s a no-bake option, and you can mix it up with different kinds of flavors – call it a special.”

“Like what we’re doing Sunday?” Marcus suggests, in reference to the strawberry, lemon, and mascarpone version you be doing at the end of the week.

“Exactly,” you reply.

“Hell yeah.”

“It all fits into the menu so nicely too: elevated classics.”

“A play on tradition.”

“Exactly."

“Ah, I see you, chef,” Marcus nods along, excited about tonight’s R&D night.

The game plan is to serve smaller portions of each dessert for the price of one, then get feedback by the end of the weekend.

“Hey, family’s up in a minute. You guys ready to roll tonight?” Carmy asks, stopping by you and Marcus’ little pastry corner.

“Yes, chef,” you both answer, in staggered timing.

“She got me workin’ on a strawberry compote. Here, try it, chef,” Marcus encourages, grabbing a clean spoon and scooping out a spoonful from the deli container it’s been stored in. Carmy takes it, putting the spoon in his mouth and he tries the compote.

“That’s gonna be really good with the tang and slightly bitter outside of the burnt cheesecake. Good work, chef,” he congratulates, inspiring a grin across Marcus face.

“I’m learning so much from you. Seriously. Thank you, chef,” he says, turning to you.

“Hey, you’re the one that made the compote,” you reply, redirecting the praise back to him. “Just sayin’.”

“Family’s up!” Sydney calls out to the whole kitchen.

You lock eyes with Carmy, and he nods towards the front of house as if to say, ‘follow me.’ You and Marcus file in through the limited space that leads from the kitchen to the front counter, then finally, into the dining area of the restaurant. Carmy had told you all about the hellish remodel of this place – that the two tops, booths, and bar remodel had taken for-fuckin-ever. That it looked like nothing more than a diner with a few arcade games before the reopen.

“Hey, thanks for jumping in so that Angel could cover me the other night,” Ebrahim says to you, as you find a seat next to Carmy, and across from Marcus.

“Oh, it’s no problem. You feelin’ better?” you ask back.

“Very much so. A little rest and a little maraq digaag and I’m good as new,” he answers.

“What’s good, Jeff? Surprised you’ve stuck around this long. Glad we haven’t scared you away yet,” Tina greets.

Carmy’s shocked, considering Tina rarely warms up to anyone.

You chuckle in response.

“It takes a lot more to scare me away, chef,” you reply, confident that you can keep up with everyone’s witty banter. Even though you’ve been welcomed in over the last few days, you know that they were a family before you came.

And will still be one after you.

Right. Because this is temporary. You’re only here for a week, you remind yourself.

“Yeah, thought she’d be long gone after workin’ the line the other night,” Richie chimes in. “Especially considering she’s way out of your league, cousin.”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck you,” Carmy shoots back, almost instantly.

“I’m just glad you’re here now. Man, it’s been three days and you’ve leveled my shit up already,” Marcus compliments.

“Besides, it’s nice to have some solidarity amongst the little boys club we work in every damn day,” Sydney points out, eliciting a scoff from Richie.

The two of you share a look, like a psychic high five or some shit. It begins to dawn on you that you could get used to this: this kitchen, these people….

“What? You got something against women supporting women, Richie?”

“Oh, so what? You’re the voice of feminism now, Syd?” Richie spits back. “Holy shit! Did you guys know that we were here in the presence of the new voice of-.”

You watch as Tina and Gary slump in their chairs, as if to say, ‘here they go again.’

“Don’t be such a prick, Richie. Oh wait.” Sydney challenges.

“You know what-?” Richie starts up, before being swiftly interrupted.

“Damn, Syd. This is fantastic,” you interject, your voice louder than normal, in reference to her family meal. “These tostadas are fuckin’ perfect and I’m gonna need the recipe.”

Richie continues to go on about god knows what, distracting himself, as Sydney mouths a, ‘thank you’ across the table towards you. You nod towards her as if to say,

I got you.

“Hey, I’m a little behind on plating. Sorry, chef,” Marcus apologizes, and you can tell he’s stressed. He gestures towards the plates that are ready to go out to the bar.

He hesitates before asking, “Oh and uh… these ones are ready to go out. Can you-?”

“‘Course, chef,” you answer, a mini-pep talk coming his way. “But uh… before you keep going, Marcus, take a breath. I know you struggle a little with pacing – you want everything to perfect – but, it’s gonna come with practice and repetition.”

You can see that he’s flustered – a little frustrated even.

“Expediting during dinner is a whole other animal, and it’s just night one. You got this,” you reassure.

You and Carmy had such different leadership styles. While you both had come up in the same kind of kitchens, you didn’t like to yell unless you had to. You were here to teach, and you can’t remember the last time someone screaming at you had ever helped you learn something.

You’re more than happy to support him by taking these plates out. You spent the first half of dinner service plating so that he could get some face time with customers – since you’d be asking for feedback. Then you’d switch halfway through service. You also thought it might be good practice for him to lead, considering they’d need to hire more help with the new menus.

You take a look at the ticket, one dessert tasting - two people - bar top, before taking the dessert plates out to the designated seats at the bar. There’s a gorgeous blonde woman sitting next to a guy in a sweater vest, as you make to approach the bar top.

“Hi, you guys,” you greet, a cheerful smile on your face. “Sorry to keep you waiting. We’re testing out a few new desserts for our dinner menu, so I’d love to hear what you think.”

“Oh this looks great,” the woman says, looking at both perfectly plated desserts.

“Here we have a burnt basque cheesecake with a strawberry compote, The Bear’s signature chocolate layer cake, and then a classic Italian tiramisu,” you explain, walking through each piece.

“Wow,” the man marvels, almost as if he’s surprised.

You share your name with them, and let them know that, if they have any feedback, that they can ask for you. As you turn to go, the woman calls after you, stopping you.

“Wait,” she says, her eyes lighting up. “You’re Carmy’s friend.”

“Yes.”

“Pete, it’s Carmy’s friend!” she exclaims, nudging the man next to her with her elbow to try to jog his memory. “You know! The one that’s staying in our airbnb.”

“Oh!” he says, as the light bulb goes on in his brain. “Yeah, we’ve heard all about you.”

“I’m sorry,” the woman apologizes. “I’m Natalie, his sister, but you can call me Sugar. This is my husband, Pete.”

“Oh my god! Natalie! Yes, I’ve heard so much about you too,” you reply, finally registering that this was the same woman in family photos that Carmy had shown you years ago. “It’s so nice to put a face to the name. And great to meet you too, Pete. Seriously, thanks for letting me stay at the place. I mean, you really didn’t have to.”

“Likewise,” she says back. She scoffs before rolling her eyes and continuing. “Leave it to Carmy to ask us for a favor and not even introduce you to us, that soft shitty bitch!”

“Babe,” Pete starts. “Maybe we shouldn’t be so hard on Carmy, you know, in front of his-.” He gestures towards you and you’re not sure what he thinks you are to Carmy.

Sugar brushes him off with a, ‘whatever,’ before you notice that they’re both in need of clean forks.

“You guys need clean forks. I’m gonna-,” you start.

“Oh no! I uh-, let me get it,” Pete interrupts, practically jumping out of his seat.

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, leaving the two of you alone.

You lean against the bar top towards Sugar.

“Well, he couldn’t get out of here fast enough,” you say with a laugh, stating the obvious. She laughs with a nod towards her husband.

“Yeah he’s… special,” she replies. “I think he uh, I think he just wanted to give us some time to talk.”

You’re not sure what to say next, because you’re not sure what you and Carmy’s sister, one you’ve never met before, would have to talk about.

“So how’s the place? Do you have everything you need or-?” Sugar begins, in reference to the airbnb.

“Oh! Yeah, no it’s great. I’ve got everything I need. Again, thank you. You really didn’t have to do that.”

“No, we wanted to!”

“Thanks…” you trail off, suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable – nervous, maybe? Yep, definitely nervous, you realize, as you begin to ramble. “It’s a really great apartment. Beautifully styled.”

What the fuck are you even talking about, you think to yourself.

“Oh, I did that! Styled it, I mean,” Sugar’s quick to respond.

“Oh, wow!” you say. Were all the Berzattos creative? “Yeah, I just-, I really appreciate it. Made getting out here a little easier.”

“No, yeah, it’s-, it’s no problem,” Sugar continues. “Really… anything for a friend of Carmy’s.”

You’re not sure why it’s so awkward, and it feels like you’re somehow both dancing around something you’re not even sure you should be dancing around.

“I hope you don’t think I’m a total bitch for saying this but,” Sugar starts, cautiously. While she doesn’t want to make her brother look like a total loser in front of you, she’s also unsure of how else to say what she says next.

“Bear's never really had any friends… not a lot of them, at least. So I-. Thank you. I mean. For being his friend, I guess… is what I’m trying to say.”

Bear.

You figure it's a family nickname. You wonder why you’ve never heard it before, and yet, it’s no surprise that he kept it from you. He’d been so evasive about his family when you’d first met. For a bit, it just felt like a topic that was off limits.

You take a beat, processing what she’s just said. In some ways, you always knew that Carmy was a bit of a loner, but you could feel the weight of what she’s saying – how much it meant to her.

“I know he’s not always easy to love but. I don’t know. He acts like he doesn’t need people, and I know he does. I mean, people outside of this fucked up shit hole anyways,” she continues, gesturing to her surroundings.

You agree with a small laugh, “Yeah, he can be a real dick sometimes. That’s for sure.”

“Seriously. Thank you,” she says, genuinely.

“Of course,” you reply, making sure she knows that her words mean a lot to you. You take a more playful tone as you continue. “To be fair, we did meet in another fucked up spot. Not so much a shit hole though.”

“Yeah, and there’s that,” she sighs, lightheartedly.

“I’m just glad he has someone. He needs someone. Even when he doesn’t want to.”

The rest of dinner service is a blur, as your mind continues to incubate on what Sugar had said to you. You let your interaction with her sit there, but try your best to focus on supporting the rest of service.

You all work together to wrap up the evening – a chaotic dinner service with a lot of lessons learned. You and Carmy are the last to leave as you notice he’s wrapping up a few things in his office. With your jacket on, backpack slung over one shoulder, you stop by to say goodnight before heading out.

He’s sitting in the chair, furiously scribbling a few notes down on a few pages of graphing paper. Your eyes flicker over all of the silly doodles on the whiteboard behind him.

“Hey,” you say, causing him to look up from his notebook.

“Good service tonight,” he says back.

“Yeah,” you nod in agreement. “Desserts were a hit.”

“I heard,” he replies.

You wait for him to say more, only he doesn’t.

“So, I’m gonna get out of here. Marcus is gonna fly solo tomorrow morning, so I won’t be in till the dinner shift,” you start, shooting him a polite smile.

You take a few steps away from the office before he calls out to you.

“Hey!”

You stop, taking a few steps backwards so that you’re standing in the office doorway once again.

“You hungry?” he asks, tentatively.

There’s a look in his eyes that you can’t quite identify: a little nervousness, and something else you haven’t had a chance to name yet. It’s like he’s not ready to part ways with you yet. You smile back at him, hoping to quell whatever nerves he has about the question he just asked you.

“Always, Carm.”

You’re tired and your feet ache from a particularly busy service, but you’re not ready to part ways with him either.

“Watcha thinkin?” you ask curiously, sliding your other arm through the loose strap of your backpack.

“Can I cook you something?” he proposes, hopefully.

You laugh.

“Is that even a real question?”

You wait for him as he wraps up his notes and gather his things. Carmy slips on his jacket and ballcap, ready to head home with you. On the way, he lights up a cigarette, offering one to you, but you tell him that you’re trying to quit – or at least trying to cut back. It’s not a long walk back to his place, and you anticipate it being something along the same lines as what he had in New York: facebook marketplace couch, minimal food in the fridge, a TV and a bed.

Nothing else – just a place to sleep, before he spends most of his day at the restaurant.

When you arrive, you’re not surprised to see that your assumptions were correct. Carmy flips on a few lights as you follow behind him. You drop your book bag onto his couch, slipping your shoes off and removing your jacket, as Carmy bee lines for the kitchen. You hear the faucet turn on as you tentatively explore his small apartment, before meeting him in the small kitchen area.

He takes his time, washing his hands, before drying them on a dish towel and throwing it over his shoulder.

“So what are we makin’, chef?” you inquire.

“We aren’t making anything. You’re gonna sit right over here,” he begins, gesturing towards the area across from his gas stovetop. “Oh shit. Hold on. Let me grab you a-.”

“I’m good here, chef,” you interrupt, making a sound as you hop onto the kitchen counter. You immediately reach for the bag of chips he’s thrown onto it. It’s not even closed properly with a clip or anything so expect them to be stale as you pop one of the chips into your mouth.

“Sour cream and onion? Change up from your regular doritos, huh?”

A small smile spreads across his face as he moves around his kitchen, locating a quarter sheet pan. He opens his practically desolate fridge, pulling out a fresh brick of pecorino romano, guanciale, and a few eggs he throws right into the pint-sized deli container that lays on the sheet pan. The rest follow: an unopened pound of dried spaghetti and black pepper, before he gently places the sheet pan on the counter, beginning to preheat two pans on the stovetop.

“Are you-?”

“Uh huh.”

You smile to yourself. He’s making one of your favorites: carbonara.

The first time he’d made it for you, you had just started spending some of your days off together – had just agreed to be a part of each others' quarantine pods. You knew he had Italian-American heritage but it was blatantly obvious when you took your first bite.

“Holy fuck,” you had practically moaned at your first bite. “This-, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m pretty sure your talents are being wasted on fine dining, my friend. This is… this is fucking unreal, dude.”

You had tried to convince him that this is the food you both should be cooking, but he vehemently denied the idea, insisting the fine dining was the highest on the food chain and the only way he could make a name for himself.

He’d been drinking the kool-aid. You both had.

You sit quietly, as Carmy works. You watch as he cuts perfect lardons, then renders the fat from the cured pork bits. The smell of the guanciale begins to fill the apartment, and Carmy opens a window, just to let the smoke dissipate.

“You can uh, put some music on if you want,” Carmy says, motioning towards the small bluetooth speaker he has on the coffee table. You agree to, hopping off of the kitchen counter and making your way towards his living area to set up the speaker.

You flip through your phone, looking for a good playlist to put on, settling on one of your dinner party playlists. The speaker booms with the sounds of an old jazz standard, redone as an acoustic cover, and you turn the volume up a little as the water for the spaghetti comes to a boil.

You spend time looking through Carmy’s bookshelf. It’s filled with thick-spined cookbooks from James Beard winning best restaurants and chefs. You drag your fingertips over the spine of a few classics, but settle on a fairly new book, written by someone at the New York Times.

“Do you have any other books besides cookbooks?” you call out to him.

He lets out a dry laugh and you take it as a no.

You make your way back to your spot on the counter, sliding the open chip bag over, before hopping back up to your seat. You flip through the cookbook as Carmy stays busy with the pasta.

It’s quiet moments like these that you’ve missed so much. Some days the two of you could talk for hours about sous vide vs reverse searing, and the right way to make a fucking bearnaisse sauce. Other days, Carmy wasn’t much for conversation, and you loved those ones equally. Sometimes, you just wanted company, so he’d come over and work on a recipe and you’d read while he worked in your kitchen.

You could just be together, and it was nice to feel that again.

No awkward tension of things left unsaid.

But there was a different kind of tension that seemed to linger between the two of you and you wondered if it had always been there. Had you just never noticed? Between the little comments from Richie about being out of his league, and Pete’s open-ended ‘not in front of his’ you wondered if everyone knew something you didn’t.

“Which one’d you go with?” he asks, continuing his graceful dance around the kitchen.

“Korean American. Eric Kim. I hadn’t had a chance to pick up a copy for myself yet, actually,” you answer, flipping through the first few pages.

Your met with quiet as you continue your story.

“You know we’re kind of friends. We went out for drinks a few times. Before I quit my job. Went dancing in the east village and stayed out till two in the morning bar hopping and gossiping about our mutual celebrity crush, Timothee Chalamet,” you add, your attention still fixed on the vibrant, colorful food photographs.

“Timothee Chalamet, huh?” Carmy asks, amused.

Your attention isn’t on Carmy, or what he’s doing, save for the sounds of him moving around the kitchen. That is, until you look up to find him unceremoniously close to you, peering over onto the page you seem so fascinated with.

“Jesus Christ, Car!” you gasp, surprised by his close proximity. Your heart was beating faster as he took a step back. “You scared the shit out of me!”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, his head hanging as he takes a few steps back. “Didn’t mean to.”

“No, it’s okay!” you assure. But it’s too late, so you change the subject, deciding to finish your story. “Anyways uh… I had to hang out with someone after you left New York. Make some new friends.”

“We both know you’ve never struggled with that,” Carmy points out, eliciting a playful eye roll from you.

He returns with the most aesthetically pleasing twirl of spaghetti carbonara. It’s so perfect you almost can’t fathom eating it. He hands it to you, then returns to his kitchen counter, plating a second bowl for himself.

After finishing the second twirl, he carelessly tosses his carving fork into the sink, opening another drawer to grab two forks for eating.

“Come on. You don’t want it to get cold,” he encourages, handing you one of the forks.

He waits patiently for you to try it first, so you dig your fork in, creating a spaghetti twirl that hugs the fork, before raising it up to your lips. You open your mouth, taking a bite, before closing your eyes in absolute bliss.

“I can’t fucking stand you.”

He smiles, and it’s the biggest smile you’ve seen on his face this whole week.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean. Fuck you. Like… absolutely fuck you.”

He laughs, finally picking up his own fork and digging into the second bowl he’s plate for himself.

Holy fuck, is it out of this world.

“Like, do you think they’re such a thing as a talent aggression? Like a cute aggression, only I want to squeeze your head off because you’re so damn talented-kind of aggression?” you pitch your idea to him, playfully.

He laughs, a blush spreading across his cheeks, “Uh… no. I don’t think so.”

Carmy rests his back against the counter, as you eat together, side by side. You eat quietly, exchange looks and quiet giggles as the two of you finish your pasta, slurping up the cheesy, egg-yolk coated noodles. When you finish your bowl, you put it down on the counter next to you, throwing your head back with a sigh.

“Thank you,” you say, fully satisfied as you feel the dopamine rush of eating carbs.

“That good, huh?” he asks, a cocky smirk on his face.

“So good,” you exhale happily, as you rest your head on his shoulder. “And you know it, you asshole.”

He chuckles, turning his head towards you just as you lift your head off of his shoulder, your faces mere inches away from each other. You watch as his face turns a few shades darker, the blush across his cheeks running through his whole face.

Are you two fucking idiots to pretend that you were just friends?

Yeah. Yes, you are.

“Sorry, I’m, I didn’t mean to um,” he stutters, beginning to pull away from you.

“Wait,” you call out, reaching out to stop him. You grab his arm.

And there it is again… the tension. That thing that, even when you had talked it out, has remained between you two. He stops moving, his eyes fixated on your hand – the one that’s reached for him. The one that feels hot against his skin.

“Carm, I-. Um, I’ve really missed…” you stammer through, trying not to sound as breathless as you feel.

I’ve really missed you.

“... your carbonara.” He looks up at you with those beautifully sad, cerulean blue eyes, and if you weren’t breathless before, you certainly are now.

“You should make this more often,” is all you manage to get out, and you know you sound helpless.

He doesn’t know what to say back. That he can hear the ache in your voice – a yearning for him that he never imagined anyone could ever have for him. That it’d be world war three, trying to get a carbonara on the dinner menu. That screaming would ensue over a goddamn emulsion. That there’d be no way to pull this off authentically, and that he’d have to use heavy cream, and no fucking way would he compromise on that.

On your favorite fucking dish.

That he only has these ingredients on hand because he went out and bought them in preparation for your visit.

That he only got them for you.

Because he maybe only wants to make carbonara for you, and only you, for forever and ever.

That he’s missed you too, and that wanting you is one of the scariest things he’s ever felt.

His eyes flicker from your hand, the one still holding onto him, and then back to your face. He’s not sure what possesses him to do it, but he can hear his brother’s voice in his head, let it rip, pushing him to lean in – even closer towards you. You wrap your fingers around his arm, encouraging him closer to you – if it’s even possible. Your foreheads meet and it’s as if all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. It’s like your vision narrows and the dimly lit apartment has faded away behind you.

It’s just you and him.

You feel dizzy – in the most delicious way possible.

You’re not sure who moves in first, but the tip of his nose is ever so gently bumping against yours. You brush the side of your nose against his, neither of you daring to take a breath.

“Carm?”

He doesn’t answer, so you gently begin to leave a kiss against the corner of his mouth.

“This okay?”

Then the side of his top lip.

“Mhm,” he nods, eager to continue where this is going.

Then you pull back, pulling him towards you so that, as you remain perched on top of his kitchen countertop, he fits perfectly between your knees. You lean in to kiss him, and this time, it’s not as hesitant… not as cautious as you’ve both been.

No, these kisses are different, each one opening up the door to more and more – more want, more need, more lust – and as it blooms, as it blossoms, you feel Carmy’s hand move gingerly to cradle your face as you fall down the rabbit hole. Your fingers tangle into his blonde curls allowing your sheer want for him to consume you. It’s lips, and tangled tongues, and tentative, soft moans as you continue to pull each other closer and closer.

And you slowly begin to understand: the lingering tension, the avoidance of labeling you from his brother-in-law, why he’s been terrified to say a damn thing to you this entire week.

As much as you tried, and as much as he’s tried, neither of you had put that night behind you.

Sure, it was shitty timing, and sure he wasn’t in the right headspace then. But now?

Now, could be different, if you’d let it.

Carmy pulls away from you, reluctantly, his face hot before asking, “You uh, you wanna take this somewhere else?”

His tone is hopeful, as if he’s the teenage dirtbag asking the prom queen out – like if you heard him, and you laughed in his face, he simply wouldn’t survive it.

But your response is quite the opposite, and he feels silly for worrying, as you manage a breathy ‘yes’ going back in for one more kiss. He gives you some space to hop off the counter and you grab his hand, leading him towards his bedroom. It’s not a huge place, so you put two and two together about where that is. Carmy leaves the lights off in his bedroom, the only glimmer of light either of you can see comes from the living room lamps, and the kitchen overhead.

With his hand in yours, you pull him towards you again, and he’s more than happy to let you lead. You begin to kiss him, taking note of how perfectly his top lip feels nestled in between yours. He follows you down to his bed, hesitant to put his full body weight on top of you. You giggle into the kiss, pulling him down to you.

“I’m not a porcelain doll, Carm,” you tease, gently.

You feel his lips twist into a smile against yours, as he begins to leave sloppier, wetter kisses down your neck. You allow him to explore as his hesitation lessens, his hands beginning to bunch up the hemline of your shirt. Higher and higher. And before you know it, you’re taking it off, impatiently throwing it somewhere you’ll barely remember in the light of day. You pull Carmy back down for another kiss, this time with a little more intensity, as he covers his body with yours, his hands and mouth exploring every inch of newly revealed skin that he possibly can.

You’re not sure when his shirt joined yours on the floor but before it registers, you’re running your fingers across the muscles of his back, exploring each peak and valley. You hiss in pure pleasure as he pulls down one of the cups of your bra, his tongue running across one of your nipples. You can feel him smile against your skin, a well-won reaction from the pleasure he’s giving you. His other hand reaches up to give equal attention to your other breast, and moments later, you’re both impatiently pulling your bra off.

“Wanna try something,” Carmy murmurs, his eyes meeting yours.

You can feel the wet heat pooling between your legs as you breathe out, “Okay.”

The anticipation is building in your body and you feel like your head might explode. Carmy busies his mouth once again, leaving kisses down your torso as his hands begin to fiddle with the button on your jeans. You giggle, more than willing to help him out as he gets them undone, lifting your hips so that he can slide them off.

He’s hesitant, and you’re trying your damnedest to be patient as he takes his sweet time to marvel at your almost-naked body.

“So fucking perfect,” Carmy whispers, in between leaving wet, open mouthed kisses across your hip bones. You can hardly breathe, panting out loud as he continues his exploration. You make space for him between your legs as he slips his hands into your panties, dragging a finger up and down your dripping sex.

He checks in with you, gauging your reaction, and you nod as he continues what he’s doing.

“This all for me?” he asks. He means for it to sound confident, but as the words leave him, he sounds more surprised than anything.

Before you can answer, he’s pushing your legs wider, his tongue gently running across your clit, causing you to cry out to the gods. He’s tentative at first, but it doesn’t take long for him to gather up the confidence to keep going, with the noises you’re making. At first it’s all tongue, licking, circling and flattening up against you, but you’re losing your mind as he adds his fingers back into the mix. His fingers are buried deep inside of you while his lips and tongue are bringing you far past your edge.

It’s as if the only words you can remember are his name, and ‘fuck.’

You feel his lips curl into a smile against you as he murmurs, “Just wanna make you feel good.”

You can feel it – your climax – building up, and Carmy groans, rutting his hips into the bed as he can no longer ignore how hard he is.

“Carmy, yes. Don’t stop, please. I’m-,” you beg, your voice shaking.

And he has no intention of stopping till he gets what he wants – till he makes you cum. He works you through your orgasm, groaning against you as you cum on his tongue and around his fingers. You swear for a moment that you can’t hear a single thing as stars fill your vision. As you come to, it starts with only the sounds of the heavy pants that escape your mouth. Carmy sits up, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Holy fuck,” you say, breathless.

Carmy lays over you once again, kissing you, and you can taste yourself on his lips.

Your hands fumble with the button on his jeans and you order, no patience left in a single cell of your body, “Off. These need to come off.”

He chuckles, hurrying through the removal of his jeans. You’re so eager to feel the weight of his body on top of yours again that you pull him back down to you before he’s even able to properly take them off.

He’s kissing you again as you reach down, grabbing his hard length through his underwear. He’s thicker than you remember. You slip your hand into the waistband of his briefs, causing him to grunt. He hisses your name as you wrap your soft hand around his dick, bucking his hips into your hand.

“Do you have a condom?” you ask, desperately. “I wanna feel you, Carm.”

“Mhm.”

He doesn’t keep condoms around. It’s not like this happens very often for him. But Richie had thrown a pack of condoms at his head the minute he found out that the friend that was coming to visit was a girl. Richie had teased him with some stupid quip like ‘don’t forget to wrap it up, cousin. No one wants a mini-eleven madison park dickhead running around here.’

He hadn’t expected this to happen. But it’s not like he’d thrown the condoms away either – tucking them into the single drawer of his nightstand.

You wait as he reaches over and pulls out a condom from his nightstand. You want to ask him about why he has them, but as long as you get to feel him, you’re not sure you care.

You’ve been here before with him, but this is different. He sits up on his knees and you follow him, pulling his briefs down properly and giving him time to roll on the condom. He follows you back down onto the bed as you wrap a leg around his waist so that he can fit perfectly between yours.

He waits a beat, and then you feel his thick tip pushing against you, causing your breath to catch in your throat. He rubs the head up and down your slick core, before slowly beginning to push into you.

You both gasp at the feel of each other.

“Fuck. You’re so fuckin’ tight,” he moans, dropping his head into the crevice of your neck. He hopes you can’t tell how utterly helpless he feels.

You hiss at the way he’s stretching you open, the pads of your fingertips digging into his arms. You’re holding onto his arms for dear life as he fills you all the way to the hilt. You let out another moan as you as he stays there for a moment.

“This okay?”

You nod, pulling him down to kiss you again. You start moving your hips against his as Carmy gives you shallow thrusts.

“Hold on,” he breathes out, holding your hips down for a moment. “Just-, just give me a second.”

And you do, allowing him to collect himself, before he’s giving you shallow, gentle thrusts.

But you’re in desperate need for more.

“Carmy?”

“Yeah?”

“Fucking move.”

Finally, finally, he pulls almost all the way out, before driving himself back into you, earning a cry from you as the pleasure is just too much.

“Oh fuck!”

You want more. You want everything and all of him and so much more. And he gives it to you, continuing to check in that what he’s doing is okay. Before you know it, you’re begging him to go faster, harder, convincing him that you’re not fucking breakable and that you want more, grasping at the sheets and his biceps, and his curls – anything you can hang on to as he’s bringing you over your edge again for the second time tonight.

You’re crying out his name as you cum, and Carmy thinks it may be the sweetest, best thing he’s ever heard in his life. He fucks you through your climax, beginning to slow down the pace of this thrusts. He pauses, kisses you long and hard, passionately pausing just to be in this moment with you.

“Carm?” you manage to get out. You wonder if he can hear how much you want him just by the sound of your voice.

“Hm?”

“I wanna ride you,” you say, and you can feel that your words have gone straight to his dick as he twitches inside of you.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The two of you clumsily change positions – him on his back staring up at you in awe, like how the hell does that perfect, beautiful, creature want to be here with me now? You reach down, guiding him back inside of you and you’re both gasping at the contact. You begin grinding your hips against him, watching his eyes roll back as you make your movement a little bigger.

“Jesus Christ,” he sighs out, the pleasure of it all taking over his brain.

You know he won’t last much longer as you begin to ride him, rocking your hips back and forth. Carmy hands are on your hips, then running up and down your torso, grabbing your tits, and then they’re pulling you down to him for another passionate makeout as you continue your movements. You can feel his thrusts becoming more erratic as he starts thrusting up into you. You keep riding him, reaching for his hands and placing them along your hips.

“Show me how you want it,” you whisper in between kisses.

“I think this is nice,” he manages to say.

“Show me how you want it, Carmen,” you demand, emphasizing your need for him with use of his full name. “Let me make you cum.”

You squeeze his hands against your ass, egging him on, and he’s not sure what he’s done to deserve this. He holds onto your hips, before thrusting up into you, setting a bruising pace as your moans become louder and louder. You scream out his name, as he brings you closer and closer to your high, chasing his with him.

He grunts, his thrusts becoming sloppier, messier, more desperate and you let him use your body in the most delicious ways.

“Are you gonna cum?”

Instead of answering, he’s driving into you like a fucking mad man, and you’re riding him through his high till you both collapse.

Carmy lets out a strangled moan as he cums, so you begin to slow your movements. You’re breathless, hunched over him, your foreheads touching as you exchange a laugh.

It's a kind of 'I can't believe we just did that' kind of laugh.

“Holy shit,” he says, shaking his head.

“Yeah,” you agree, a stupid, blissed out smile on both of your faces.

“That was-.”

“Yeah.”

You get off of him, allowing him to get up and dispose of the condom. He’s not gone long before he returns to you, wrapping the both of you up in his sheets and into his arms. It feels unlike anything you’ve ever had.

It feels… magnificent.

“Stay with me tonight?” he asks, leaving a few soft kisses along your shoulder.

“After that?” you giggle, as his lips against your neck begin to tickle. “You’re not getting rid of me, Berzatto. Not a fucking chance.”

read: part five

taglist: @lazypeachsoul @bookwormvoyageuse @allthefandomstogether @gaysludge @sobshoney

#carmy berzatto smut #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto #carmy x oc #the bear hulu #the bear fx #jeremy allen white #carmen 'carmy' berzatto #the bear marcus #sydney adamu #the bear tina #richie jerimovich #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto smut

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cat-toess · 8 months

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───── `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃 LYNEY THOUGHTS...

✩: Wrote this lil thing so the Lyney enjoyers don't starve (I need a 200k wc fanfic with this gremlin in it) while I work on pt 2 of Love Sick （pt.2 of lovesick is out btw!)

✩: Lyney x gn!reader (intended, I sincerely apologize if not, please message me if you find any mistakes in terms of this topic! I will do my best to improve my writing :D), short,

✩: I love you if you got the reference between the image and some of the lines <3

✩"Watch carefully now, blink, and you might miss it."

✩ Lyney thoughts that feed my delusional brain include...

✩ Lyney who falls in love with you the moment he first sets his lavender eyes on you. He thinks you're far by the most breathtaking person he's ever had the honor to lay eyes on. ✩ Lyney who without hesitation asks you out on the spot. Resulting in you looking at him as if he just grew a second head. ✩ Lyney who falls even harder when you reject him (he knows he's corny, but you were just that ethereal?!) while you try explaining why you couldn't just date someone you just met like 30 seconds ago? "Um but I don't even know you-" "My name's Lyney. I have 2 siblings, Lynette and Freminet. And my birthday is February the 2nd. See you know me now right? So how about that date?" ✩ Lyney who continuously visits you at your workplace. Popping his head through the door and soon becoming a familiar face in the shop. ✩ Lyney who has that magician rizz and famous person privileges, which he uses to his advantage to somehow (?) make your co-workers agree to let him come into your office? ✩ Lyney who waltzes to your desk to sit near your workplace and talk to you all day. Who could blame him? You were the most perfect person in the world (in his eyes at least). ✩ Lyney who just starts hiding random presents for you everywhere. You found a miniature grin-malkin cat in your bag once which exploded into doves the moment you touched it. But the presents also included magnificent flowers, each hand-picked by the blonde magician himself (the flowers meanings were also carefully picked out as well, who did you think Lyney was? Some uncultured brute who didn't know how to impress someone?) ✩ Lyney who uses 'magic' to remind you about that date offer. You'd find a slip of paper in your pockets saying "how about that date?" He once gave you a latte with poorly scribbled words on the foam (kind of like latte words? Is that even a thing?) saying "Will you go on a date with me?" He even went as far as to ring your doorbell to deliver a toilet paper roll with the words "Roses are red violets are blue, consider going on a date with me, will you?" drawn on to every sheet of it. (He's trying okay) ✩ Lyney who nearly cries tears of joy when you finally agree to the date. "Really? No take backs okay? But don't worry I'll make sure you won't regret a single second of your decision." he simpers. ✩ Lyney who, true to his word, planned out the most romantic date you had ever been on. Showing you marvelous magic tricks he invented just for you, taking you to a lovely rolling meadow full of rainbow roses to go star gazing. With a flick of his wand, a picnic blanket was laid out and on top of it was the most mouth watering selection of food you had ever seen. From local dishes to foreign ones, this man had prepared it all. Just for you <3 ✩ Lyney who felt like the luckiest man in the world when you gave him a little peck on the lips, telling him you were looking forward to the next date. He heads home with a giddy expression on his face, practically illuminating half the nation with his aura. (I just know Lynette looked at him weird when he came home looking like that) ✩ Lyney who just loves you so much he would do anything for you. "I would do anything for you, if you want the moon I'll scoop it right out of the sky. All you need to do is ask." ✩ Lyney who has your wedding certificates already printed. What? It's not his fault that you're so lovable. Right? ✩ Lyney who whines how he wants your caskets to be buried next to each other (if possible he wants you two to be in the same casket) ✩ Lyney who would leave a flower with a card attached to it every day. Each card containing a unique poem he composed himself, talking about his unwavering adoration for you. ✩ Lyney who's just a silly little goober that's down bad for you.

✩ Lyney who waits for you while you're tying your shoes. Sometimes even tying them for you (much to your embarrassment)

✩ Lyney who carries you bridal style, whether you're taller or shorter than him, it doesn't matter!

✩ Lyney who intertwines pinkies with you in public, because he's worried you'll get lost. Like he isn't the one that goes wandering off. ✩ Lyney who rants about how perfect you are to his siblings. A string of never ending compliments run out of his mouth "They are like the sun, I wouldn't even have to look at them to notice their presence-" "Oh for the last time Lyney, It's 4 AM!" ✩ Lyney who like to relentlessly tease you whenever he gets the chance to. Putting a finger up to your lips as you lean in for a kiss. Smirking and cooing at your expression. ✩ Just Lyney who loves you to the moon and back <3

@cat-toess 2023 please do not plagiarize or copy on other sites <3 Reblogs are appreciated, but please give credit :D if you have feedback please refrain from being offensive <3

Extra note: I forgot to tag this when I first posted it- 😞

#lyney #lyney x reader #genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin impact x gender neutral reader #gn!reader #x reader #fanfic #Lyney #Cat-toess writes!#hcs #genshin hcs

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firsttimewriter92 · 8 months

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Neighborly shenanigans Pt. 1

Simon "Ghost" Riley x f! reader (Neighbor AU)

Part 2; Part 3; Part 4

Description: You´ve just moved in a couple of weeks ago, trying for a new start. A brief encounter with your neighbor gets your endorphins and imagination going. What is it about the mask?

Warnings: cursing, some dirty thoughts, fluff, a little pining

Word count: 1.917

A/N: Hi everyone <3 This is my very first Simon Riley x reader fic. I´ve written about several characters of CoD but Ghost was always kind of an enigma to me. I never knew how to make him the love interest. But and idea popped into my head after reading some characterization that made it much easier to write for him. So here you go :) Let me know if a part 2 is something you´d be interested in.

“Jesus fucking Christ” you swore as you tried your best to push your heavy apartment door open and balance your bag and groceries through the door. It was a struggle to say the least, but you were damned if you did second trips. Grumbling through your teeth you saw no other possibility than setting down your bag, holding the door open with your foot and grabbing your groceries a little more securely. Bending your knee, you gave your door a forceful push and slid through into your small hallway. Foregoing taking off your shoes you made your way into your open kitchen and set the heavy paper bags down on your kitchen island.

A sigh escaped you and you took a moment just to stand in your kitchen and take in the chaos around you. Half emptied moving boxes were strewn all around your living room, amidst not yet hanging shelves, plastic plants and several DIY projects. Another sigh left your lungs with a huff. Moving and starting anew had seemed like your only option a couple of weeks ago but now you dreaded the silence. You wanted this, ___, you thought. It was your decision.

Your new job was everything you ever hoped for, and training turned out to be smooth sailing. You loved it, you loved your apartment, even though it was far from being finished yet. But still, what you´d left behind still lingered in the back of your brain all too clearly at times. Especially when your heavy door closed behind you every evening and there was nothing but you, your DIY projects, an occasional phone call with your parents and then silence. Silence to wallow in, rake your brain and memories. Memories not even a good Podcast or music were able to drown out.

You weren´t as close with your colleagues yet as to be invited out to the pub after work but that was to be expected. The chances were good though. Maybe just a couple of days more and you´d have at least some kind of social interaction. One step after the other, you reminded yourself. Rome wasn’t built in a day. Your own impatience with yourself was yet again trying to make you feel like you´d made a mistake by moving. A humorless laugh bubbled from your lips as you shook your head. Calm down, you thought. This is your life, your pace. Relax.

A couple of minutes later your food was stored away, veggies and salmon steaming away and finally you sat down on your couch, glass of wine in hand and Netflix on your TV.

“Bloody hell” you cursed as a shot of adrenalin set your brain into overdrive. Your bag. You jumped off your couch and hurried over to the door. Swinging it open with a yank you initially thought someone had put out the lights in the corridor. All you saw was black and not a second later you collided with something solid.

Shaking your head, you realized three things. It was 7 o´clock on a warm day in July, so it couldn’t be dark out already. Your hallway had several windows and yes, the sun was still out. The black wall you just ran into turned out to be a massive chest.

Heat was ascending your neck as you took a small step back and lifted your head to look at the face this quite impressive physique belonged to. What the…?

Before you stood a man, several inches taller than you, frozen in place with his arm lifted as if he was just about to knock on your door. He looked down on you with impressive, hazel eyes. Honey blond, tousled hair adorned his head, falling slightly onto his forehead, wet tips clinging to his temples and a bead of sweat disappearing behind his ear. But that was about all you could make out.

Seeing people wearing a facemask had of course not been an unusual sight for the last three years but he wasn´t wearing one of those surgical ones. His nose, mouth and chin were covered in thick, black material, even spanning over his cheekbones and disappearing behind his ears. When your eyes caught his again you saw them narrowing just slightly and one blond eyebrow ticking upwards.

Something wriggly moved inside your belly.

The man slowly lowered his arm, simultaneously lifting the other slightly, holding out your bag.

“This yours?” a deep, calm voice broke through the silence and the wriggly something inside you spread out towards your chest, down your arms and into your fingertips. You swallowed, trying to gather your wits again.

“Uhm…yes. Yes, that´s mine. Forgot about it” you said with a nervous laugh as you took it from him. He hummed deep inside his chest in understanding. The sound only letting your eyes snap onto his again trying to decipher if the squinting was an annoyed one or an amused one.

Amused, as it turns out. He took a deep breath, the black material of his running shirt as you now realized it was, stretching across the expanse of his chest.

“You know, that´s how you get your identity stolen. Or at least your wallet.” Yeah, there was no question now, he was grinning behind his mask, his tone mildly rebuking but not at all belittling.

A small smirk of your own crawled onto your lips as you cocked out your hip and nodded your head.

“You´re absolutely right, Sir. I´ll cuff my bag to my wrist from now on so this inconvenience shall not occur to you a second time.” You want to be cocky, mister? Fine with me.

Your answer made him chuckle. It was short but genuine. One hand in his pocket he stepped back slightly and only now did you notice the heat that his body had emitted. With one last narrow of his eyes, making the edges crinkle ever so slightly he answered. “Not an inconvenience, Miss. Have a good evening.” He nodded once and walked away to your right.

“Y-you too” you cursed the way your words tumbled. To your surprise he halted in front of the door next to yours and your heart jumped into your throat as he took out his keys. Your eyes still fixed onto his side profile (you still couldn’t really make out any features), he gave you one last look before opening his door.

“And thank you” you rushed out.

He only lifted one hand to give you a small little wave that seemed way too juvenile for a man of his stature and closed his door.

Kind of shellshocked you turned around yourself and let your door fall shut behind you. Clutching onto your bag you didn’t even notice how long you were just standing in your hallway, trying to sort out the wriggling nerves. Who was that? Idiot. Your neighbor. Your neighbor that you´d never seen before. A man like him you´d remember seeing. There´d never been any noise from the apartment next to yours so you just thought it was either a very quiet tenant or one that only went there to sleep.

Sitting down on your couch again you stared at the wall behind your TV. He was behind that wall, doing…things. Existing. Why did that feel so exciting to you? Maybe it was just because that´d been your first real social interaction apart from talking to your colleagues?

Laughing incredulously at yourself you buried your burning face in your hands and giggled. No. No that wasn’t it and you knew it. It was stupid. So very stupid and weird and nerdy and…that damn mask!!

“Whhhyyyy…..?” you moaned grinning and rubbed your temples, finally letting all the pent up adrenalin and endorphins rush through your blood stream unstopped. What was it about men wearing those damn masks? Not being able to fully see their face. Having to find out what there was to them by just their actions.

The fist time you really thought you´d lost your mind was when you actually developed a burning crush on a literal tin can from the Star Wars universe. Oh yeah, sure. Give me a brooding, sarcastic, overworked loner with PTSD and give him a freaking child to protect. Watch him become a devoted, loving single parent. Of course! Yes, let me thirst after him. And did it stop there? Of course not. The pandemic hit and the lockdown had everyone in a chokehold.

The only chokehold you wanted to be in at the time however was one carried out by a video game character called Ghoul from “Call of Obligation”. Tatted up, burly, sharp, dutiful, loyal and fucking hot.

The only thing you were able to see of him? His eyes. Just his eyes and an occasional forearm here and there. Everything else covered in tactical gear and a scary facemask. God that character haunted your dreams almost every night. And now, you had his existing, breathing, heat emitting, real human equivalent living next to you. You felt your insides burn as another funny noise came from your mouth. There had to be something wrong with you. Why was half a visible face or even less, so damn attractive to you?

“Shit must be some kind of kink” you murmured to yourself as you reached for your wine glass.

Why was he wearing that mask anyway? People weren´t obligated to wear one anymore. Was it some kind of training technique while running?

Anyhow, you appreciated the encounter. Your mood instantly better even though the both of you hadn’t talked much at all. He seemed witty. Cocky almost and you liked that.

Emptying your wine, you put the glass back in the dishwasher and walked over to your bathroom when you heard it. The shower in the next apartment was running. Immediately you halted all movement and tried to not even breath. The situation seemed so delicate, like thin glass ready to break. You stared at the wall when something else caught your ears.

No. Did you hear this right? Was he…?

You walked carefully over to your shower and stepped in. Trying not to care about how crazy you must look at this moment, you turned your head to the wall slightly, closed your eyes and listened as hard as you could. There it was.

Low, melodic and absolutely captivating. Over the sound of the water hitting the tile you heard your neighbor singing. Your forehead hit the tile and you breathed as quietly as possible, marveling in the baritone sweetness that could be heard through the wall. All too soon, about a minute later it was over. The water was shut off, the singing stopped.

As if in trance you got your nighttime routine going and a couple minutes later, slid into bed. Knowing where his bathroom was now, you were positive that his bedroom had to be next to yours as well. You tried to hear more, but nothing else penetrated the walls. It made you glad actually. If you would be able to hear him in his bedroom, sleep would turn out to be an impossibility to achieve.

This way, you closed your eyes, got comfortable and let your thoughts drift and wander. Not long after, you were dead asleep. Your dreams yet again haunted, but now, the usual scary mask of Ghoul was replaced with a solid black one and instead of clawing at a fully clothed head between your legs, your fingers tangled into soft honey blond curls.

_____________________________________________________

I hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading. Please consider interacting with this post and give me some feedback. Comments and reblogs always help not only to push my work that I love, but also help to improve my writing and get my imagination going.

Thank you for considering it <3

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imagines--galore · 2 months

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||The Thread of Fate|| Part Eleven

Summary: Soulmate AU. They say the Thread of Fate connects you to your one true love. It may tangle. It may stretch. But it will never break. Wrapped around your little finger it tightens when it feels your soulmate is close and loosens when they are far. And becomes visible with the colors of your soulmate’s Nation when you finally fall in love with them.

Pairing: Zuko x OroraOC (ATLA)

Rating || Genres || Warnings: T+ Romance. Adventure.

Previous Chapters - Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten,

A/N: Omg I had such a HUGE influx of readers for this story, and I am grateful to each and every one of you for reading my story! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and all the others I will be writing in the future.

Working at the tea shop was Orora's first time at a job. She was just as green to it as Zuko was. However, she did not voice her disgust at the notion every few seconds. She was eager to learn, and ready to earn her living. As much as she appreciated the money Iroh had given her, she wanted to contribute to their financial situation as well.

The first day had been busy. There had been the different types of teas she had to learn to brew, other then the ones she already knew thanks to her Master. Then there were dishes to wash almost constantly. Not a lot of customers had come in that day, Pao having closed the shop early to allow his new employees to get to know their work place, so it hadn't been as tiring as she had thought it would be.

What Orora found she liked to do, was wash the dishes. She got to play with water and bubbles, and it helped calm her. Strange, she knew, but after so many days of being on the run, doing something as simple as washing dishes was oddly calming. Not to mention the job allowed her mind to roam and ponder over things she had not allowed herself to for quite some time now.

As she set aside one of the more expensive looking cups, the young waterbender sighed softly through her nose.

So far the truce she had offered Zuko seemed to be working. Though it had only been a few hours since it had been put into effect. And they'd only managed to snap at each other twice. True after the second time Iroh had seen the wisdom in separating them by giving them jobs to do at different ends of the shop. Zuko worked the front, taking orders and such, while Orora washed the dishes in the back.

Picking up a plate and dunking it in the soapy water, Orora continued to let her thoughts wander and ask the questions she wished she could say out loud.

Such as why were Zuko and Iroh fugitives of the Fire Nation? They were royalty, surely the Fire Lord would want his brother and son back. And did Zuko's sister truly want to kill her own Uncle? That thought sent a shiver down her spine. But what about their mother? Didn't she have a say in all of this? Was she treated just like Orora's mother was treated?

She had so many questions, and more, and all she wanted to do was march right up to Zuko and demand that he answer them.

But something held her back.

Maybe because she was a polite person who didn't go about poking her nose in other people's business.

Or perhaps, more likely, she had no desire to cause Zuko any pain by talking about his past. It was surely a sore subject, from the bits and pieces of information she had collected over the months. Besides, he already had his hands full trying to adjust to living in Ba Sing Se. Orora just wished he would figure himself out faster so she could ask all her questions.

Oh, she could ask Iroh if she wanted to, and her would probably answer, but for some insane reason, she wanted the answers to come from Zuko himself.

Spirit help her but she felt it was the right thing since it was his story.

Memories of every encounter she had ever had with the young prince rose unbidden, yet not unwelcome in her mind, as she started to play with the water not having any more dishes to wash.

It was strange, how someone she had not even known a few months ago was now at the very center of her life. He wasn't all that she thought about, really this was the first time she was allowing herself to think of him to such an extent. Usually she had other things to think about. Such as surviving, learning from her Master, perfecting her water bending techniques, inventing new ways to incorporate ice into her fighting, improving on her combat skills, restocking her medicinal herbs, making sure she didn't loose touch with her healing side, because as much as she liked to put her waterbending skills to use by fighting, she knew healing was a major part of who she was.

All those thoughts were pushed to the back of her mind, as she focused on a pair of golden eyes that seemed to watch her wherever she went, watching her every step. At first she had thought, it was perhaps because he didn't trust her. But slowly, that mistrust in his eyes had faded. Now, when she would catch him looking at her, he would look away.

Then again, who was she to complain. She looked at him and had been caught looking at him by him on multiple occasion.

Her fingers continued to twirl, her gaze listless as she created pretty patterns in the water.

She thought of the night when they had first met, officially at least. When he had tried to rob her. She could still recall every detail with a clarity that surprised even her.

She contemplated on their little sparring session and the conversation after it, how she had encouraged him to find something to live for, to fight for.

She recalled how shocked she had been when she realized his true identity. A prince. An honest to goodness prince. One who couldn't stand her, and who she couldn't stand either.

At least, she thought that was the case.

Her mind conjured the moment where she had first touched his scar. How vulnerable he had looked, and yet he had trusted her enough to not push her away. The way he had protected her when they were at the Oasis. The conversation they had shared while bathing. That one brought a fierce blush to her cheeks. And despite her best effort to move on to the next one, she found the blush only intensifying as she remembered the moment they had shared on the mountain.

Where they had acknowledged that they were soulmates. Where he had gripped her wrist, so desperately and yet so soft. Where she had wandered how his lips would feel against her own. And she was sure he had been thinking the same.

After all, hadn't he leaned forward slightly before the elements of nature had tread on their moment?

So lost in her thoughts, that she didn't even sense as someone else entered her work area and stood next to her. Watching her.

"Uncle says its time to go now."

The voice jolted her out of her thoughts, scaring her so much that she jumped where she stood. Her bending reacted out of instinct, mirroring her startled emotion as her hand shot a splash of water on the figure standing next to her.

"Spirits! You startled me!" She panted, resting a hand above her heart. Zuko glowered at her in return, water dripping from his hair and onto his shoulders. The girl winced, pursing her lips to hide a smile, though it still escaped. She couldn't help it, he just looked utterly ridiculous.

At his warning growl, she couldn't help but giggle. A strange sound since it hardly ever came from her. "Sorry, here." Quickly bending the water, she threw it back into the sink and gave him an apologetic smile. His glare did not let up.

"We're done here for the day. Lets go." He grumbled, before making for the door. She rolled her eyes. Clearly he wasn't too pleased with her little reaction. As he stomped off, she called after him, removing her apron as she went. "I said I was sorry!"

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Their new home was a small apartment, just big enough for the three of them. As soon as they returned, Orora quickly settled in the middle of the room, wanting to get in an hour of meditation before bed. She crossed her legs, closed her eyes, folded her hands in her lap and evened out her breathing.

Which left Iroh to brew some more tea for them, and for Zuko to lay on the sofa, hands tucked behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling, his mind going over the day's event.

A job. For once in his life, he was actually working for a living. The notion had seemed strange at first, not to mention he had felt that it was beneath him, but what Orora had said was true. They did need jobs if they were to survive in this city.

Reluctantly, his gaze flickered to the water tribe girl as she sat meditating peacefully, oblivious to the effect she had had on him.

Him. Prince of the Fire Nation. Being effected by the words of a commoner.

Or rather, he was being effected by the words of a girl who was his soulmate.

Letting out a silent groan, his hand came up to press the back of his hand against his eyes, as if to physically stop him from staring too long at her. It was starting to get pathetic, just how much he would want her opinion on things.

He wouldn't go so far as to say he wanted her to approve of him, but it was pleasant to have someone else beside his Uncle give him a little wisdom. He spoke of life in riddles and words that were heavy with emotion.

Orora?

She would give it straight to his face. No regard of his feelings, his stand on whatever topic it was. She would just come out and say it.

And he appreciated her for that.

True he never always liked what she said, but sometimes they were the exact words he needed to hear.

Like the talk they had had after their impromptu battle near that lake. He still hadn't found something to live for, or to fight for, but at least he knew that he was looking for something.

Not to mention the fact that he would be ever grateful to her for saving Uncle's life. He would never say it outright, but in that moment he had been so so scared and she had stepped up and healed Iroh. Even after getting to know who they were and the lies she had been led to believe for so long.

And how she had probably saved him that stormy night on the mountain. A moment of weakness on his part, letting his emotions get the best of him, but she'd been there. She'd been where he needed her to be, and had not held back when telling him off for being so reckless.

He had to stop his thoughts there, not wanting to dwell too much on what would've happened if that moment in the rain had gone on any longer.

And then there was the truce. To live together somewhat harmoniously.

Lifting his hand, he looked at her again, watching her face. She looked so calm in that moment, as opposed to the plethora of emotions that always played about her features. Zuko found he was beginning to think of it as a game. A game where he would try to guess what she would feel next, and whether it would effect him in some way.

So far, almost every emotion she felt was directed at him, and though he would never ever admit it out loud, he kind of liked having her attention be on him rather then anything else.

Huffing to himself, as if disgusted with his own thoughts, he rose to his feet, moving to the pantry to see what he could have for dinner.

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"Orora, my dear." Glancing up from where she had been counting the money of the customer who had just paid, the young waterbender gave Iroh a nod. "Yes Master?"

"We seem to have run out of Jasmine. I have asked Pao and he says to take some money from the till and buy some Jasmine tea from the shop just down the street."

Taking the money, Orora quickly nodded, before rushing to the back of the shop where Zuko was on dish washing duty. Seeing her taking off her apron, he frowned. "Where're you going?"

Straightening her clothes, the girl replied. "Ran out of Jasmine, just going to buy some." She had barely made it to the door when Zuko called out. "Wait, I'm supposed to go with you when you go out into the city."

Orora glanced over her shoulder, rolling her eyes slightly. "Relax Your Highness. Its only a five minute walk, nothing is going to happen to me." She opened the door, moving to step outside, but then she paused.

"Although, it is sweet of you to worry about me." She glanced over at him, a smile on her lips as she caught sight of the obvious flush on his cheeks as he looked at anything but her. "I'll be back soon." She said as a way of promise, before she was out of the tea shop.

It was a five minute walk, and once the goods were secured, the girl began to make her way back to the shop, her heart still warm at the prospect of Zuko actually worrying about her.

Her happy thoughts, however, were interrupted rather rudely when a hard hand grabbed her shoulder, yanking her into a dark alley, covering her mouth with a rough hand.

The instant she felt the unfamiliar hands, she began to struggle and push with all her strength, trying to get away.

"Stop moving!" A voice hissed, a very familiar voice.

Her eyes focused in the dark, and she was able to make out the face of the boy they had met on the way to Ba Sing Se.

The Freedom Fighter, Jet.

Her pale blue eyes narrowed, and a look akin to a cold anger burned in the gaze she fixed him with. "Look I just want to talk, that's all." He said, still not letting up from where he had his hand on her mouth.

She continued to glare at him, even after he had removed his hand, though his other kept an almost painful grip on her wrist. "I'm trying to help you. You're a waterbender, there's no way you would be with those firebenders of your own free will, so they must be keeping you prisoner somehow."

He knows, a voice hissed in her mind, prompting her heart to beat faster in her chest, and an ugly feeling of fear to coil in her stomach. But she didn't let it show.

Instead, she remained the epitome of disgust and anger. "What in the world are you talking about?"

There seemed to be an almost manic look in his eyes, accompanied by impatience, as he dropped her hand, and grabbed her shoulders. "You don't have to lie for them. I'm trying to help you. I just need evidence and then we can end those two firebenders."

End?! Spirits! He wanted to kill Iroh and Zuko.

Shrugging out of his grasp, Orora stepped away, fingers pulling the cork of her water satchel in case she needed to defend herself. "You're out of your mind." She growled at him. Despite the terror she felt at hearing his statement, her instinct to protect her two companions was far potent, which was the reason she was even able to face the boy with murder in his eyes.

"Just admit the truth! They're firebenders! And they deserve to die." He was starting to get frustrated with her. "I don't care what you say, I will find some way to expose them, and when I do, I'll have the pleasure of executing them."

Hearing those words, hearing the tone in his voice, the sheer hatred and anger in his eyes. Something in her snapped.

With a fierce cry she threw her arm out, the movement elegant yet deadly, given that Jet found himself staring at the very sharp ends of multiple icicles that she pointed in his direction.

"This is your first and last warning." She hissed, her voice full of warning. "If you come near them, if you so much as harm a single hair on their head, I will personally see to it that you pay for it." She fixed him with a cold stare. "In blood."

So saying, she turned her back to him, leaving him trapped behind her icicles. They would melt soon enough, though the words Jet called after her as she walked away, echoed in her ears all the way back to the tea shop.

"You would threaten someone who's on your side. You're willing to protect the enemy?! You're a traitor to your own people. A disgrace! You're just like them! A killer!"

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As soon as she reached the back door of the tea shop, Orora leaned up against the wooden door. Her heart was beating so fast, she was afraid it would somehow burst out of her chest. A stinging sensation behind her eyes told her she was close to tears. Lifting a trembling hand, she pressed it to face, willing herself to calm down.

She had to warn Zuko and Iroh, make sure they were on guard. She couldn't let anything happen to them. They were her friends. She cared about them. Both of them.

Somehow, she managed to calm herself down, slightly, and entered the shop. It had taken her a good fifteen minute to calm down. Grabbing her apron, she tied it behind her in a haphazard manner before rushing out to the front of the shop.

There was Iroh, pouring tea for a customer, with Zuko picking up cups left behind by a previous customer. She all but stumbled forward, catching Zuko's hand, prompting him to look at her, confused and slightly alarmed at her obvious panicked state.

"Orora? Wha-"

But she didn't let him finish. "He knows." She whispered, aware of the other customers around her. "Jet knows." The words were spoken so softly that no one else could ever hear them, and yet Zuko did. Loud and clear.

However, before either of them could talk further on what she had revealed, the door of the shop slammed open and Jet himself walked in. A strangled gasp left her lips, as she caught sight of that murderous look in his eyes once more.

"I'm tired of waiting!" He pointed an accusing finger at both Iroh and Zuko. "These two men are firebenders! And that girl is helping them. She's a traitor!"

Immediately, Zuko pushed Orora behind him, gripping one of her hands to make sure she stayed there. Uncle and nephew exchanged a look which seemed to mirror what the other was thinking.

Play dumb.

"I know they're firebenders, I saw the old man heating his tea!" Jet continued, advancing towards the trio with his hooked swords out of their sheaths. "He works in a tea shop." A nearby customer stated in a rather confused voice, but Jet wasn't having it. "He's a firebender! I'm telling you!"

The same customer stood. "Drop your swords, boy. Nice and easy." Jet ignored him, his gaze never leaving Zuko's as he began to advance towards him and Orora. "You'll have to defend yourself. Then everyone will know. Go ahead, show them what you can do." His gaze flickered to Orora who, previous fear forgotten to be replaced by a burning anger, glared back at him. "Or would you rather have your girlfriend get hurt defending you."

She felt his grip on her hand tighten to an almost painful level. "Zuko, no! He's goading you!" She whispered, even as the previous customer moved to step forward, ready to unsheathe his sword. Zuko simply glanced at her. Her heart dropped to her stomach. She knew exactly what he was about to do.

And sure enough he stepped forward and grabbed the swords the customer had been about to withdraw. "You want a show?" He growled. "I'll give you a show!'

He pulled a table in front of him with his foot and kicked it at Jet, who was quick to slice the table with his swords and jumped over it. As he landed, he swung both hook swords at the Fire Nation prince, who deflected the attack and jumped backward onto another table. Which was again sliced in half by Jet, with a mighty swing of one sword through the middle of the table.

Somehow Zuko managed to balance on one half of the table, on one foot! Jet was unrelenting as he continued his frenzied attack by cutting the legs off the table. Zuko was quick on his feet as he jumped up. As he landed, he swung both broadswords at Jet's feet, but he somersaulted away and landed in a crouching position before charging forward. Zuko swung both of his swords at Jet.

Both weapons clashed as both fighters tried to best the other, glaring at each other as they did.

"Enough!"

Orora's scream cut through the air as she used her waterbending to push the two fighters apart. She moved to stand in front of Zuko, multiple ice knives nestled between her fingers as she stared down Jet. "We are not your enemies! Stop acting like a complete lunatic!" Zuko growled behind her. "Orora, stay out of this!" Jet's grip on his swords only tightened. "I will not listen to anyone who betrays their own people to help firebenders."

He took a running start, prompting Orora to drop in her stance to defend herself, however her plan of action went out the window when Zuko pushed her to the side. So forcefully that she fell to the ground with a loud thud.

Jet threw his leg out, catching Zuko in the chest and watching as he went flying through the air, smashing through the doors of the tea shop and out into the street. As the rest of the patrons rushed out to see what would happen next, Iroh quickly helped Orora to stand up.

"Are you alright my dear?" He asked, checking her over for injuries. She gave a quick nod, before stumbling to the door of the shop, Iroh following behind.

Outside the battle continued to rage between the two teenagers.

"Please, son, you're confused! You don't know what you're doing!" Even he was getting worried that Zuko would snap and use his firebending. Orora began to pray silently to the Moon Spirit, hoping her pleas would be heard and that Zuko wouldn't get hurt or reveal his true identity. The people would surely kill Zuko and Iroh, if they knew who they really were.

"Bet you wish he'd help you out with a little fire blast right now." As Jet swung at Zuko's feet, Zuko stabbed one of his broadswords through the hilt of his sword, pinning it to the ground. Jet looked annoyed at loosing his weapon, before focusing back on Zuko. "You're the one who needs help." Zuko responded. Leaving the sword embedded in the floor, they shifted to combating with a single sword each. Jet turned in a circle, trying to swipe at Zuko once again, but Zuko quickly advanced and swung his sword at Jet.

The Freedom Fighter quickly bent backward to avoid the blade, though it did manage to cut the straw sticking out of his mouth in half. Regaining his balance, Jet jumped backward onto the edge of a well. "You see that‌?!" He called out to the gathered crowd. "The Fire Nation is trying to silence me. It'll never happen." He attacked once more, hooking his sword to the top of the well and sending a flying kick towards Zuko.

Zuko growled as he dodged the kick and swung his sword at Jet once again. He moved to the side, and suddenly they were back-to-back, trying to land a hit, but neither could get past the other's defense.

Just then two newcomers entered the crowd. And from their uniforms, they looked to be of an official status. "Drop your weapons." One of them commanded. The two fighters stepped away and faced each other. Though Zuko lowered his sword, Jet pointed his weapon at Zuko, Iroh and Orora.

"Arrest them! They're firebenders!" Iroh stepped forward, throwing his arms out. "This poor boy is confused. We're just simple refugees." Pao, wanting to defend his employees joined in as he pointed to Jet. "This young man wrecked my tea shop, and assaulted my employees!" The customer from whom Zuko had borrowed the swords stepped forward. "It's true, sir. We saw the whole thing. This crazy kid attacked the finest tea maker in the city." Iroh blushed at the compliment. "Oh, ho, ho. That's very sweet."

Knowing it would be like adding wood to the fire, Orora stepped forward. "And he attacked me and threatened to hurt my Master and his nephew." She walked towards the two men, hand exposed to the wrist where he had grabbed her earlier. Sure enough the bruise from his grip was already beginning to change the color of her skin. The sight of it had Zuko nearly swinging his sword once again, but Iroh placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

It would seem the two had heard enough. As Jet continued his tirade of firebenders and Fire Nation, he was escorted to a cart where he was put in the metal cell and taken away.

Orora watched him go, unaware of the crowd as it dispersed around them.

"Orora?" At Iroh's voice, she turned around, still a little spooked with what had just happened. Or rather what could've happened. "Why don't you and Li go home. I'll help Pao clean up and meet you there."

As if she had no control over her actions, Orora took off her apron and handed it to Iroh, who gave her a sympathetic smile. "Do see that my nephew wasn't too hurt from the kick, my dear." The concern was evident in his gaze, as was the guilt in her own as she glanced at Zuko who was returning the sword to it's rightful owner.

Giving him a small nod, she waited for Zuko to walk past her, before following after him towards their shared home.

————————–

Tag List - @wavesofchaos @violet-potter @rennysketch @emma-andrea1 @lovesammikinzz @fuzzyfestcat @msrawog @notsaelty @lust-for-pan @aces-tattooartist

#prince zuko x oc #prince zuko x reader #zuko imagine #zuko x reader #prince zuko #zuko x y/n #zuko x oc #avatar the last airbender imagine #avatar the last airbender fanfiction #avatar: the last airbender #avatar the last airbender #avatar #the thread of fate

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jobean12-blog · 7 months

Text

Temptations

Pairing: Javier Peña x reader

Word Count: 1,854

Summary: Javi's always busy with work and despite his warnings you can't stay away...you miss him too much.

Author's Note: This is for my Kinktober and one of my favorite kinks- choking...the focus is mostly on the absolute sexiness of this man and his hands in general because clearly I can't stop myself! This is also my first time writing for Javi and I want to thank my sweet love @flordeamatista ❤️❤️for checking it over and making sure I stayed true to the character. Thank you all so much for reading, much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics Thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: sassy and flirty reader, Javi is a bit d-om-ish and pos-sess-iv-e, o-ra-l, f-in-g-er-in-g, ma-s-tu-r-ba-tio-n, softness too, a c-u-rs-e or three, light c-ho-k-in-g, c-o-c-k w-ar-m-in-g

Kinktober Masterlist

Joel Miller Masterlist (Pedro)

“Javi.”

He looks up from his drink, continuing to twirl the small glass between his fingers.

“Someone here to see you,” Steve says, giving nothing away.

“Who?” Javi asks, his eyes narrowing.

Steve just raises his eyebrows and cocks his head before walking off, leaving Javi’s office door open.

Javi mutters a curse under his breath before he lifts the drink to his lips and finishes it in one quick sip. He almost chokes on it a second later when you push the door open and saunter in.

“Surprised to see me?” you ask demurely as you slowly shut the door and lock it.

“Angel,” he growls out in warning. “What are you doing here?”

You feign a pout and toy with the tie of your jacket. “Aren’t you happy?”

He abruptly stands from his desk, his chair flying backward and banging into the wall.

You barely have time to react before he’s standing over you, one long finger pointed in your face and his eyes dark.

“I thought I told you not to come here.”

You stand your ground, raising your chin ever so slightly and meeting his gaze. “I haven’t seen you all week.”

You meant it to come out more powerfully, a strong statement, but instead it’s whiny and petulant.

“It’s not safe,” Javi says as he steps closer. “You know what I’m dealing with.”

You reach up to grab the ends of his loose tie, teasingly pulling on the fabric to bring him even closer.

“I made sure no one saw me,” you explain. “Even parked the car far away.”

He stares at you, unmoving, and you close the distance between you, pressing your body to his.

“What do you want?” he asks, placing his hands on his hips even as they twitch to touch you.

“You.”

“Angel.”

You hold his stare in challenge but he doesn’t relent and steps back to put some distance between you.

“Fine,” you huff. “I’ll leave.”

You turn on your heel and start for the door but before you grab the doorknob he has you in his arms, pressed back to the door with his knee between your legs.

A smile starts to curl your lips and he takes your chin between his fingers.

“You never listen, do you.”

It’s not a question, just a simple statement of the truth and your smile grows.

“And you work too hard,” you state, batting your lashes.

The corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk as he dips his head, brushing his nose along your throat.

“Since you’re here…” he murmurs.

He drags himself away, leaving you panting against the door.

“Take your coat off. Get comfortable.”

With that he turns toward his desk and falls back into the chair.

You stay plastered to the door, carefully sliding the ties of your coat between your fingers.

“Javi,” you sing. “I didn’t come here to watch you work.”

He looks up just as you pull the ties free, the sides of the coat falling open to reveal your mostly bare skin.

“Fuck,” he growls, letting his eyes sweep over you. “You’ve been walking around the office like that this whole time?”

You wave a dismissive hand and shrug the jacket from your shoulders, casually throwing it over the file cabinet.

“Fuck,” he repeats as he gets an unobstructed view of your lingerie set.

“You said that already,” you tease, not moving from the door.

With a wide spread of his legs he leans back in the chair and crooks his finger at you.

Each step you take is slow and calculated, the sway of your hips enticing in every way. You can already see the tightness in his pants and when you reach him and sit on the edge of the desk, you let your eyes drop between his legs.

The pen in his hand creaks under the pressure of his grip as you wait, dragging your gaze up his chest to meet his eyes.

He leans forward, invading your space and reaches up to trace his fingers over the fluttering pulse in your neck. You tilt your head, granting him better access and he smooths his fingers lower, tracing your collarbone.

Goosebumps rise against his touch and you let out a soft sigh.

His hands slide lower, along the swell of your breasts, then he grabs your legs, forcing them to spread open, knees laid back against the edge of his desk.

“Don’t you dare fucking move,” he says as he stands, slowly sliding his loose tie from his neck.

Your breath hitches but you remain still.

With careful movements he takes each of your wrists in his hand and pulls your arms behind your back, settling your hands just above your ass. You feel him wrap his tie around your wrists and secure it tightly.

When he meets your eyes again he raises a questioning brow. You know he’s checking to make sure you’re comfortable but you can’t resist sassing him anyway.

“Sure you don’t want to use your cuffs?”

He sits back onto the chair with a muttered curse then leans in, inhaling against the skin of your thigh before nuzzling his nose along the silk between your legs.

“This pretty pussy of yours is all I want…to eat, to fuck, to own.”

You moan out his name and your hips roll.

“And when I tell you to do something…,” he whispers, knowing you’re desperate for his mouth, “I expect you to listen.”

He runs his thumb over the flimsy fabric, relishing in the slickness as your panties grow wetter.

“Javi,” you whine. “Stop teasing.”

“You think I should give you what you want?” he asks, his soft kisses along your inner thighs making them shake.

“You just said my pussy is all you want…”

Your cheekiness makes his eyes flash with intense heat and he rips your panties down your legs, leaving them hanging off one heeled foot. He kisses his way back up your leg, nibbling your thigh and drawing a groan of impatience from your throat.

His hot breath blows over your pussy and you rock your hips in a desperate attempt for more.

He teases you still, his feather light kisses just out of reach.

“Please,” you cry out, even as your expression is one of pained frustration.

“Say it again,” he murmurs.

“Please Javi,” you moan.

His tongue licks a long line through your folds and he immediately closes his lips around your clit, fluttering his tongue over and over.

“Yes Javi, just like that,” you say with a breathy exhale.

He savors all he can before sliding two fingers inside you and watching as you take them, the evidence of how much you love it glistening on his skin.

“So perfect Angel.”

You beg for more and he slides his free hand up to cup the base of your neck, putting enough pressure to let you know you’re his in every way. Your eyes squeeze shut and you choke out his name.

As his tongue works over your clit and he applies just the right amount of pressure to your throat, your walls start to swell and clench around his fingers.

He pulls away and presses his thumb to your clit, rubbing gently until you open your eyes to look at him.

“Tell me Angel. Who do you belong to? Tell me as you come all over my fingers.”

You whisper, your voice nearly raw from your pleading cries. “You…I belong to you Javi.”

He presses his lips to your clit once more and your back arches hard, your breath catching as shudders take over your muscles and your pussy tightens around his fingers.

With softening strokes and lazy kisses he draws out your pleasure and tenderly squeezes your throat.

“Then you better not forget it.”

Stay just like that,” he commands as he withdraws his fingers and stands.

He starts to unbuckle his belt, the leather hanging open as he begins to work on his pants. When his cock is free he swipes his fingers through your soaked pussy, gathering your orgasm and rubbing the sticky slickness along his length.

His free hand finds your throat again and he holds you in place, forced to watch and nothing more.

You struggle against the binds on your wrists, needing to be free as your eyes track his every move.

“Javi. Please. Let me touch you.”

His large hand moves up and down his cock in smooth strokes, pumping hard and fast, the tip bumping your clit and edging you toward overstimulation. Every time you flinch from the touch his smirk grows and his grip on your neck tightens.

“No touching. Not yet,” he rasps.

His thighs shake, tight with impending release. “I’m going to mark you Angel.”

“That’s so hot,” you whimper. “Come on me Javi.”

Your teeth are digging so hard into your bottom lip it’s painful and with three more strokes he grunts, his cum splashing across your pussy and lower stomach.

Spent, he releases your neck as he folds over you, kissing your lips and freeing your wrists. He looks between your bodies, taking in the sight of you covered in his release.

“Fuck Angel, you look perfect.”

Keeping your eyes on him, you dip your finger into the puddle then lift it to your lips, sliding it into your mouth and moaning at the flavor. His cock spasms at the sight before he meets your gaze, his expression sated but still full of burning heat.

Taking some tissues he quickly cleans you up before he sits back in his chair and pats his thigh. You slide off the desk into his arms.

“Aren’t you happy I came to visit?” you whisper into his neck.

He gives you a satisfied hum and wraps you up, gently running his fingers along your throat before his lips find yours again. His kiss is delicate and slow and your hands brush along his chest until you find the open collar of his shirt, dipping your fingers inside to touch his warm skin.

Your hands move higher, over his shoulders to caress his neck and face and you brush the hair from his sweaty forehead before scraping your fingers over his scalp. He murmurs your name, kissing you harder when you shift in his lap and straddle his waist.

“Angel,” he growls as he starts to harden beneath you. “Are you planning on distracting me from work for the rest of the day?”

You smile against his mouth with a roll of your hips, placing soft kisses along his jaw and down his neck, teasing any inch of his skin you can find.

And without an answer you reach between your bodies and take him in your hand, guiding him slowly inside you.

“FUCK,” he hisses, pulsing and throbbing and stretching you out so good.

His fingers dig into your skin before his hands wander over your body, caressing every curve.

“I won’t stop you from working Javi,” you hum as you get comfortable and lay your head along his shoulder, kissing just below his ear. “Go right ahead.”

@hiddles-rose @blackwidownat2814 @littleseasiren @lorilane33 @pedritosdarling

#javier peña #javier pena x reader #Javier peña x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x y/n #javier pena #javier pena narcos #javier pena imagine #javier pena x female reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #narcos

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