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449 · 9 months

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the feeling |carmen berzatto x reader|

prompt: a little tipsy, definitely hungry, and missing carmen, you find your way to the restaurant after closing to see him.

my first work/ blurb here <3 I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it!!

contains: 18+minors dni. mentions of a gun and alcohol but not in a bad way lol? established relationship. slight mentions of a dom/sub dynamic. language. but really just fluff fluff fluff <3

"Yo! We're fucking closed!" Richie's voice boomed, throwing down the rag on the table. He huffed, teeth gritting, trying to remember to count yet he was still reaching for the gun in holster. Sure, he could be calm, but he still needed to be safe.

The pounding on the glass continued, a muffled, giggly scream from the other side of the blinds hiding the entrance. "Richie! Let us innnn!"

"Cousin," Carmen yelled from the back, running a bandaged hand through his curls. "What's goin' on?"

Richard rolled his eyes, peeking through the blinds to confirm his suspicions. Just as he thought, there you were, standing on the sidewalk in fucking Chicago with your heels in your hand, leaning onto your friend for support. Carmy was gonna be pissed, that was for certain.

"It's your girl." Richie scoffed, twisting the lock so it unfastened with a loud click, the bell trilling when he pulled it open.

"Richie!" You cheered, staggering on your feet. "Told you they'd still be here." You told Alicia, looping an arm around hers.

"My girl?" Carmen repeated, pushing the swinging doors of the kitchen, heavy chef's clogs on the freshly mopped ground.

"The hell you doin'?" Richie looked at you, face deadpanned and unimpressed. His arm held the door open for you and your friend anyways, jerking his head so the two of you huddled in.

"We did karaoke tonight." You grinned at Richie, clutching the nearest booth when you passed to steady yourself.

Karaoke night was a once a month occurrence, down at Trader Todd's. Carmen had went twice with you and Alicia before, it was a little too touristy for him, but he liked watching you sing. He'd laughed so hard his sides hurt when you serenaded a Nickelback song to him because "it seemed like something he'd like". It was good, nice to laugh like that. It was nice to be with you.

Carmen furrowed his brow, hands thrown out towards you lightly. "What are ya doin'?" He asked, rag slung over his shoulder.

You rolled your lip, eyes trailing down his tattooed, veiny arms. "Just left karaoke." You hummed, striding playfully over to him. "Got hungry and I just so happen to know a place with the best fries in the world."

Carmen snorted when you looped your arms around his neck, swaying with him gently. Richie huffed, eyeing Alicia at the booth. "We're closed. Didn't you see the sign?"

"Can't make an exception for us?" You pouted, looking over your shoulder at Richie. "C'mon, we came all this way for nothing? Not a single fry?"

"You walked here?" Carmen's eyes flashed at you.

"You need a cuppa coffee is what you need." Richie rolled his eyes, ignoring his cousin's comment.

"Ooh, I'd take a cup of coffee." Alicia nodded, head propped on her hand at the freshly cleaned booth, still a little wet and sticky. "And a slice of cake."

"Mmm," You nodded in agreement, grinning at her.

"Hey," Carmen's hand cradled your jaw gently, tugging your gaze back to him. "Did you walk here?"

"No." You rolled your eyes playfully at him, curling into his calloused hands anyways. "We Ubered."

"Good." Carmen hummed, his hand pressing to the small of your back, pushing you closer into his touch. "I'd have your ass if you did, you hear me?" He muttered, low and gravelly in your ear, hand trailing down to the swell of your ass, squeezing the fatty flesh through your dress. A warning or simply just him being playful, you weren't sure, but you flushed nonetheless, knees buckling.

"Kitchen's closed." Carmen announced, looking at you and Alicia, both your boos and cries of protest a chorus bouncing off the empty walls. "But I'll make you a fresh pot of coffee and see if we have any left over cake, but you," His finger poked your side, leaving you squealing and squirming in his grasp. "Have to clean up."

"Yes, Chef." You saluted him playfully.

Carmen rolled his eyes, but pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. Brief and light, not nearly the same kiss he gave you this morning before he left for work. When you were still rolled up in the warm covers, eyes fluttering with sleep, the light of the morning on your skin.

Carmen patted your ass lightly, before turning back to go to the kitchen. You grinned triumphantly, snagging two forks and napkins before sliding into the booth across from Alicia. Richie's face fell, dropping the rag on the table he was cleaning.

"Oh, no fuckin' way. Cousin!" Richie yelled, stomping towards the kitchen. "Carmen, we're closed!"

"I got is, cousin. You can go." Carmen nodded towards the door, scooping the ground beans into the pot. "Gotta take them home anyways. I'll finish up."

Richie's face fell slightly, eyes bouncing from Carmen back to you and your friend, giggling over your phones, slumped into the booths.

Carmen looked at him, brow raised at his displeasure. "What?"

Richie huffed. "I just finished cleanin' the tables, and-and I'm tryin' real hard here to help you out and be better, but cousin, you gotta-"

"-They'll clean it up." Carmen said firmly, pressing the button firmly. "Or my girl will. I'll make sure of it, alright? I got it."

"Carmy-"

"-Look, Richie, I appreciate you helping me. I do. You've done real good too." Carmen said genuinely. "But I got it covered. Why don't you go sit with them? Tell Alicia the Bill Murray story, she'll like it." He nodded towards your friend.

Richie's ears perked, turning to look at the girl across from you. His love life was still shit, that was for sure, bad date after bad date. "You think?" Richie asked in a low tone.

Carmen shrugged casually. "Sure, yeah. Watch. Hey, baby," Carmen called to you. "You ever told Alicia about when Richie met Bill Murray?"

"Oh my God, no." You giggled, head tipping back onto the booth.

"Wait," Alicia looked over at Richie with a small grin. "Bill Murray? Ghostbusters, Bill Murray?"

"Yes, holy shit, Richie you hafta tell her." You giggled, tapping the table lightly. "He got him to do his voicemail and-"

"- Hold on, you gotta start from the beginning or it'll make no sense." Richie held his hands up, sauntering over to the two of you. "Alright, so I'm absolutely hammered. It's six-forty-five in the fucking morning, me and Mikey are leavin' the bar just drunk outta our minds..." Richie pulled a chair up to the table, exaggeratedly launching into his story.

Carmen smirked to himself, cutting two slices of cake and plating them off the still warm, clean dishes. He could hear Richie's voice trilling louder and louder, your laugh a delicate melody that soothed his chest, filled it with warmth.

Carmen slid beside you, just in time for the voice mail, setting your coffee and plate next to you. You muttered a small thank you, pressing a kiss to his cheek before you moved into his side.

"No shit, it's still your voicemail?" Alicia gasped, eyes shining at Richie's

"Swear to God." Richie held his hands up. "Call it right now, you'll hear it."

Alicia looked over at you. You nodded, picking up your fork. "It's true."

"Well, now I gotta hear it for myself." Alicia declared, snatching her phone off the table. "What's your number?"

Richie flushed for a second, faltering before he sputtered out the number. You looked up at Carmen, brows raised in amusement. He shrugged lightly, pushing the coffee closer to you. "Drink it f'me, please."

You cradled the still steaming mug, lifting it to your lip while Alicia's jaw dropped, hearing Bill Murray's voice on the other end. "Oh my God!" She gasped, laughing. "That is so fucking amazing!"

"Thank you!" Richie threw a hand out to her. "It is fucking amazing. My proudest accomplishment- well, beside my daughter, of course, but a close second."

"How old is your daughter?" Alicia scooted closer, lashes batting towards Richie as he pulled out his phone to flick through photos.

You smirked, looking up at Carmen. "Thanks for the cake," You hummed, resting your head on his arm. "And the coffee."

"Anything for you, c'mon." Carmen shrugged, trying to hide the blush he felt rising in his cheeks. He hadn't done this before, really, had a relationship like this. One that felt this good. One where he felt this safe with someone.

"I'll clean it up, promise." You yawned, lashes fluttering, while your head fell heavier and heavier pressed on his bicep. "Hand wash 'em if you want me too."

"I know you will." Carmen muttered, shimmying his arm out so he could wrap it around you, letting you fall into his chest.

He didn't let you clean up, though. You stayed half awake, a little woozy and sleepy in the booth, listening to Alicia and Richie's playful flirting. You'd tried to get up, but he snatched the plate gently from you before you could, nodding at you to stay put.

You held his hand the whole way back to the apartment, resting in the center console, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. Richie had offered to take Alicia home, which she eagerly agreed to, leaving the two of you to return to your own place.

Carmen shimmying your dress off you gently, tucking you under the covers with him. The apartment didn't have the same haunting presence here that his old one did. Not tainted with nightmares or fears. No, here he felt good. Happy memories he'd created with you, loving ones that filled his chest with contentment. He still had his moments, waking in a cold sweat screaming and clinging to you, but they were becoming scarcer with each day. He took care of you, and you took care of him- it was everything he'd ever fucking wanted.

#carmy recs #fluff #this one felt like a nice mug of hot chocolate #with marshmallows

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449 · 9 months

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Ugh I love your writing 🫶🫶 could you do something where the reader and Carmen have that asshole to everyone but his partner trope 🫶like the staff see how he acts around the reader when they drop by to see him during his lunch break and they’re in shock ?

yes yes yes!! I feel like that's such a good trope for him!!

"Guys, what did I tell you? House keeping, please, fuck!" Carmen yelled, running a frustrated hand through his hair, a chorus of "yes, chef!" following him.

"Hey, Carmy," Neil puffed, carrying the ladder towards the bathroom. "Your girl's in your office."

Carmen's eyes lit up, frustration dissipated at the sound that you were here, waiting for him- surprised him. "Thanks, Neil." Carmen grumbled, non-slip shoes padding across the floor, rounding the corner with an announcement, slipping into the office.

There you were, sitting in the chair, legs propped up on his desk, lazily flicking through recipes. "Hey," Carmen greeted, lips curling when he shut the door behind him. "What're you doin' here? I didn't know you were stopping by."

You spun towards him, feet clomping on the ground at the movement, a tiny smirk on your lips. "Came to see you." You hummed. "Thought I'd take up your offer tonight and come have family with you."

"Yeah?" Carmen's eyes lit up, bright and excited- still a little bashful, even after all the time you'd been together. "That's nice, real nice. I'm glad you came, baby."

You giggled, flinging the recipes on the desk, hands cupping either side of his head to pull him closer when he ducked down for a kiss. Your lips slotted over his, hands sliding through his hair to push him further into you. Carmen laughed into the kiss, hands reaching for your jaw, tilting your head up towards him.

"Stand up," Carmen muttered, lips moving against yours.

You obliged, switching places with him so he was in the chair, you straddling his waist. Your arms looped around his neck, his on your back, the other cradling your ass, sliding and squeezing over the fatty flesh there.

"Hey, cousin, time for fami- oh!" Richie recoiled, slamming the door just as quickly as he opened it. "Oh, for fuckssake, lock the door if you're gonna be nasty! Christ!"

"How about you knock!" Carmen shouted back, cheeks tinging with the red tint of embarrassment. You bit your lip, biting back a laugh. Carmen glared at you lightly. "That's not funny."

"It's a little bit funny, Carmy." You grinned, gently petting down a stray curl tugged out of place. "Like a teeny tiny bit." You pressed your fingers together for emphasis, ignoring his light snort of laugher.

"Richie's runnin' his mouth in there, you know that right?" Carmen muttered, hands smoothing sweetly down your waist.

You shrugged. "He always is."

"Yeah," Carmen laughed. "You're right about that, c'mon." He patted your ass lightly for you to get up. You grabbed his hands, tugging him lightly out of his chair, swinging your arms between the two of you.

"Who cooked tonight?" You asked, arms looped around his waist, padding down to the back room.

"Sydney." Carmen replied, grinning at your hum of satisfaction.

"Oh, everyone avert your fucking eyes, here they come." Richie announced loudly, turning to the table before him. "Cousin, that was fuckin' quick, eh?"

"Shut up." Carmen rolled his eyes, annoyed, pushing past Richie. He ignored the snickers from Tina, placing a hand on your back, pulling your chair out for you.

"Here, baby, you want a pop or somethin'?" Carmen asked you in a hushed tone, reaching to grab a glass from the spaces behind him.

"I'll just do water." You nodded towards the pitcher in the middle.

"Sure. You want lemon?" Carmen asked, pushing your hand away lightly when you went to pour your glass, a simple "I got it" that shouldn't have made you as flustered as it did. You blamed the make out session that got cut short.

Tina's eyes cut to Richie, watching the two of you whisper gently. Carmen looked relaxed, shoulders not tensed and eyes not darting. No, he was calm when he talked to you... maybe even sweet? The smiles he gave you certainly were.

Tina shrugged lightly at Richie, a smug, knowing smile on her face.

#fluff #carmy recs #op you absolutely nailed everyone's voices here #so good

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449 · 10 months

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The (Third) Morning After

A Lie to Me Interlude

JAVIER PEÑA x FEM READER

summary: Javier wakes from a nightmare.

warnings: Rated Explicit (always all my writings are 18+ MDNI) smoking, strong language, explicit sexual content (v fingering, p in v sex, oral), spitting, rough sex.

word count: ~2.7k

Shoutout to mah gurl @ezrasbirdie my brilliant beta is working on publishing a book, go give her some love!

AO3 // Series Masterlist // Masterlist // previous // next

Keep reading

#javierrecs #seriesrec: lie to me #screaming crying throwing up in THE BEST way

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449 · 10 months

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making my way back to this series and honestly every chapter i'm floored by the amount of attention to detail. like my eyes are reading but my brain is registering it as a viewing of a canon narcos episode i hope that makes sense??

and i love that the two of them get to bond like this. finding a bit of healing through moments that at one point must've brought both of them a great deal of hurt and shame(?), though for slightly different reasons.

and fuck stechner fr

Lie to Me (viii)

JAVIER PEÑA x FEM READER

summary: Secrets are threatened to be revealed, and a new friend convinces you to open up to Javier, despite wanting to save your own skin.

warnings: Rated M. As always my works are 18+ (MDNI) References to social anxiety, Bill fucking Stechner, alcohol consumption, strong language, vomiting (nothing graphic), mild angst (external to relationship). Lots of talking and uncovering of feelings in this chapter.

word count: ~7.7k (it’s a doozy, feel free to yell at me about it)

@ezrasbirdie my beta and my ❤️

A/N: This chapter fought me every step of the way. But I think I got it wrangled to a place I’m happy with. Enjoy!

AO3 // Series Masterlist // Masterlist // previous // next

Keep reading

#seriesrec: lie to me #javierrecs

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449 · 10 months

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this is so so so gorgeously written and i'm in love with every word of it

mind off of you;

pairings: din djarin x female reader warnings: sexually explicit lang, angst, jesus christ im sad word count: 1.2k

a.n: or, when the night falls you have permission. taking place before the events of the mandalorian, you and din raid together. hiding your growing feelings for him, one night, you find out din can read you better than you thought.

Keep reading

#din recs

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449 · 1 year

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For you soft!mob!tom Monday, what about getting ready for bed and cuddling after a work dinner/party you both went to

Like you’re both tired for the night, slipping into PJs, taking off your makeup, and talking about what went down and eventually it leads to cuddling to sleep

be still my beating heart. contains brief gun and alcohol mentions, but otherwise this is v soft v gentle.

—soft!mob!tom monday—

“I’m so tired, darling.”

“Me too,” you agree, stifling a yawn. You’re leaning up against the tall post at the end of your bed, a weary smile flickering out across your lips when your boyfriend glances your way.

You watch as Tom stretches, his suit jacket riding up just enough to expose the holster strapped to his side. When he sees you looking, he flashes you a lazy smile, reaching down to remove the gun. The weapon goes onto the dresser, then your boyfriend sheds his suit jacket, tossing it over the back of the chair.

“You look like you’re about to fall asleep standing up, love,” he calls out, fiddling with the silver cufflinks weighing down the sleeves of his dress shirt. Tom glances up at you, his fatigued expression softening when he meets your eyes. “Come here, let me help you.”

After kicking off your heels, you pad over the carpet to him, sighing contentedly as Tom pulls you in for a gentle hug. You press your cheek to his shoulder, savouring the feeling of his strong arms holding you close.

“It was a good dinner tonight,” you murmur. You press a soft kiss to his neck before pulling back, yawning again. “Went a lot better than I’d thought- oh, can you get my zipper, actually?”

Tom hums, his hands moving up to your neck. You turn around and stand very still, enjoying the feeling of his warm hands moving over your back.

“Went very well, yeah,” Tom agrees, voice focused. After a moment, you hear the sound of the zipper as he releases it. “I like going to events with you. Makes them easier.”

You walk across to the wardrobe, looking back over your shoulder to shoot him a warm smile. “Me too,” you agree. “I love spending time with you, Tom.”

For a while, you both attend to yourselves in separate corners of the room, but you keep up a continuous dialogue about the events of the evening. Tom had taken you to a dinner held across town, nestled right within enemy territory. Luckily for you, the night had been successful - champagne downed, hands shaken, deals made. Now all that’s left is to get ready for bed and climb in next to Tom.

Once you’ve swapped out your elegant dress for a pair of comfortable pyjamas, you take Tom’s outstretched hand and let him lead you into the bathroom, where he promptly pushes you up to sit on the countertop.

“What are you doing?” You ask, giggling as you watch him paw through one of the cabinets. A moment later, Tom procures a stack of cotton pads and two bottles of makeup remover. “Do you know what you’re doing?” You ask, grinning widely.

Tom nods proudly, placing his stash down on the counter before settling between your legs. “‘Course I do. I do this all the time when you’re drunk.”

“But does that mean you can live up to my standards whilst I’m sober?” Tom quirks an eyebrow, picking up your hand to kiss over your knuckles gently. “Is that a challenge, love?” He asks, tilting his head to the side. “Because you know I always take excellent care of you.”

You hum softly. “Very true.”

Tom picks up a bottle of micellar water, giving it a quick shake before opening it and generously dousing a cotton pad in the liquid. You close your eyes as he gently drags it over your face, picking up the heavy dredges of makeup that have sunk into your pores over the course of the evening. As the cool water runs over your face, you find your nose screwing up.

“How am I doing?” Tom asks, voice concerned.

“Fine,” you murmur, trying not to let anything fall into your mouth. “You- You used a lot, usually it’s not so wet.”

Tom follows up the pad with a dry one, catching the water from your face. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “Just want to do it right.”

You blink your eyes open, smiling at him. “You’re cute,” you say. “Do you want to do my eyelashes?”

Tom shudders. “No way,” he exclaims. “You can do that. Fucking freaky.”

You chuckle, remembering this part of the conversation from the countless times Tom has looked after you in your inebriated state. You turn around, looking at the mirror as you gently and carefully pull off your false eyelashes, laughing as Tom makes various sounds of disgruntlement. He meets your eyes in the reflection, and you roll your eyes, causing him to groan.

“Don’t make fun of me,” he complains. When you turn around to face him, he presses a kiss to your shoulder. “I’m...sensitive.”

You snort. “Sensitive,” you repeat. You close your eyes when Tom comes towards you with a second cotton pad, this time soaked in eye makeup remover. “You run the London mob, Tom. You’re hardly a sensitive soul.”

“Yes, but you melt my heart of ice,” he laments.

“You’re so dramatic,” you say. If you didn’t have them closed, you’d roll your eyes again. “Should’ve been an actor.”

Tom only laughs. “Maybe in another world.”

He helps you down from the counter, and you peck his cheek in thanks. Next, you take turns using the sink, alternating between washing your faces and brushing your teeth. You try to stay close to him, sleepy and craving the soft touch of your boyfriend. He’s exactly the same - wrapping his arms around you and holding you from the back as you brush your teeth, his lips coming down lightly over your neck with soft, gentle kisses.

When you finally make it to the bed, you’re almost dead on your feet. Tom walks behind you, turning off the lights before joining you beneath the sheets a moment later. You roll over, curling into his side, your legs tangling together as you rest a hand on his chest, his bare skin warm to touch. Tom’s hand sits on the back of your head, the other resting on your side. His fingers draw small circles to your skin.

“I love you,” he mumbles, voice rumbling through the darkness. You feel him shift, then his mouth, tender against your forehead. “Thank you for always being my rock.”

You hum, inhaling the weak scent of his leftover cologne.

“I love you too,” you reply. You snuggle closer, feeling the tension drain from your body as he holds you tightly. “You’re so warm,” you add, almost moaning. You can feel your consciousness slipping away already as the deep throes of sleep try to drag you down.

“So are you.” Tom kisses your forehead a final time. “Get some sleep, darling,” he urges. “You deserve it.”

“You too, Tom,” you whisper. “Sweet dreams.”

#tomrec #fluff #h's mob!tom content is my comfort food

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449 · 1 year

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↳ DATING CARMY | MASTERLIST • C.B.

Request: N/A

Warnings: Very brief mention of alcohol/drinking

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: These are maybe a little self-indulgent, sorry. I’m just in love with this man😭

He’s kind of messed up emotionally and has trouble letting people in, and he needs you to know that.

He wants to work out his problems, to get his head straight and clear, but he usually just doesn’t know how. And he doesn’t like asking for help because putting all his bullshit onto another person just makes him uncomfortable. If you want to help, you basically have to force him to realize that it’s okay, you’re there for him. To silently hold him while he cries when all the emotions become too big to be bottled up, to cook for him when he hasn’t eaten a meal in three days (and maybe crack a joke about cooking for the chef, which he’ll always find funny). You just have to show him that you’re there for him, and only then will he let you in completely.

He loves the little things you do, all of them.

You showering with him and lovingly washing his hair, or somehow getting all the stains out of his clothes, even cooking with him sometimes. He loves it. He’d hardly admit it, but he loves the security and comfort in the feeling of being taken care of. He was very lonely for a lot of his teenage years and into his early twenties, exaggerated by his move to New York. He went without that feeling for a very long time and Mikey’s death only made it worse, and the stress of running the restaurant and being back home did too. But he has you now, and you love him, it’s one of the only things he’s ever really been certain about.

Cooking for him is always nice, and goes in a way you might not expect.

At work, he’s kind of neutral or bordering on cold most days, but at home, he’s a loving boyfriend ready to try anything you’d like him to… And he keeps the feedback to a minimum, simply enjoying your food, unless you specifically ask for it. And if/when you do, it’s not all the culinary-world language bullshit. He just says adding more garlic would make the flavor bolder, or tells you how a little more salt would enhance the dish. It’s not so blatant like it might be if he were at work, it's a much gentler form of honesty, but also not coddling or childlike. He praises and thanks you for dinner, and is just glad he finally has something other than junk food in his stomach, that you care enough to do that for him… Even though he’s a cook. Hell, especially because he’s a cook.

Carmy loves you more than you could ever know, but he doesn’t like to feel smothered.

He’s affectionate, yes, and he does love you, but he likes to have his own space to relax. Sometimes he comes home in a bad mood from work and doesn’t want to put that on you, even though he knows you’re the only person who can fix it. It's less common with you than it was before, but the occasional off day still happens sometimes. So when he just needs to be by himself, he usually greets you with a kiss and goes to the bedroom to decompress. He'll come out in a few minutes and wrap his big arms around you, pulling you close into his chest. And he knows the smell of grease soaked into his clothes isn't very nice, so he always makes sure to change his shirt for you.

But in that same breath, he’s also kind of like a stray puppy when he’s with you.

You show him love and affection, helping with his problems and filling the gap in his life that he didn’t even know he had. In turn, he’s whatever you want him to be, and he gives you whatever you need. If you need a friend, a lover, someone to vent to or scream at, he’s there. If you’re hungry, he brings you something he made at work, special and just for you. If you’re lonely, he spends whatever bit of free time he has trying to help you feel better, even though he’s not really sure how. Whatever you need, he does his best to give it to you, to show you that he cares and values you more than he could ever manage to put into words. He likes how you encourage him to be kinder to himself, and to take care of his needs, so he does the same for you.

His lack of relationship experience does kind of scare him, but he knows the two of you can make it work.

He’s in his twenties and has never had a girlfriend. Not in his teen years when he was at home, and not in New York; Carmy was too broken and unstable to have a girlfriend when he was up north, and too busy when before he left Chicago. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t scare him, how there’s a chance he could fuck everything up because he has virtually no clue what he’s doing. But he looks to you as an example, because you’ve done so much for him, and he really tries to copy and twist your methods of helping him to fit your needs. He’s a very “lead by example” kind of person in his work life, but with you, it’s more mutual understanding, love and respect. It feels like a breath of fresh air for him.

He’s a big softie, even though he doesn’t really feel like it most days.

Don’t get me wrong, Carmy loves being the big spoon and having you between his arms, falling asleep listening to you breathe (in the least weird way possible). But he also loves the comfort of you holding him. You're so warm and so soft and you always smell so nice, he loves feeling you behind him, pulling him into your body. One of your arms is usually wrapped around his chest, the other underneath his head. He'll always put his arm up so he can hold your hand, thumb stroking the delicate skin. It's one of the very few calm, genuinely relaxing moments he has in a day. And his favorite thing is when you think he's asleep, how you'll tuck his hair behind his ear to get it out of his face, and press a kiss to his forehead before ever-so-slightly adjusting so you can fall asleep too.

His whole life, Carmy was never really sold on the nuclear family; y'know, wife and kids, white picket fence in the suburbs.

And he still thinks that’s bullshit and even a little weird, but he has actually thought about it more than he’d ever admit. What can he say? Those smoke breaks at work can get pretty boring. He’s decided that if he’s ever gonna have kids, it would be with you. He’s not dying for it or anything and it wouldn’t be the end of the world if you didn’t want any, and it definitely wouldn’t be anytime soon, but he just thinks it might be nice. Coming home to his gorgeous wife and sweet little kid every evening, cooking for the two of you, having a little dude to chill with and seeing such a perfect mix of the two of you in them. And having someone in the family that he could pass The Bear down to, too.

Speaking of being a dad, believe it or not, he’d probably rock at it.

Having a kid would definitely make Carmy a little softer, a little less rough around the edges. It's not a dramatic change, but it is one that almost everyone around him would notice. And when they got to the toddler stage, they'd definitely notice him, very sleep deprived, gently (but also very annoyed) trying to scold someone in the kitchen... And the look on his face when he realizes he's trying to parent a fully grown adult. He'd laugh, but he'd also realize he probably needs to put Sydney in charge and take a few days off to spend at home. He’s a very loving, doting father and loves teaching the kids about food whenever they’re old enough to be in the kitchen. They’d truly be his pride and joy, his most beautiful achievement.

Date nights are a little uncommon given his work schedule, but they they happen, they’re great.

Carmy loves going out with you when he can, and doesn’t much mind where you go or what you do. Honestly, he’s down for anything, he just loves being with you, but a little extra bit of excitement isn’t unwelcome either. It could be a walk through the park, seeing a museum, an aquarium, buying books (cookbooks specifically, usually) together or, a little less commonly, even a bar crawl. Or maybe on the occasional holiday or long weekend off, a little hotel stay so the two of you can explore all Chicago has to offer. Having grown up in the city, it all seems so small to Carmy, but it’s in times like those that he remembers that it’s actually pretty giant. And that’s all fun, but his favorite kind of dates are when it’s just the two of you in the tiny kitchen in his apartment. He’s trying to teach you how to cook, but really, you’re just dancing around to the radio and making out and putting some ingredient or another on each other’s faces. And honestly, his heart is just so full, he can’t really bring himself to care about the mess the two of you are making.

#carmyrecs #this was so cute and heartwarming and every bit true !#i loved the bit of tucking his hair back and kissing his forehead while he's asleep #and also him daydreaming about what your family would be like #as he's on one of his consistent smoke breaks #he'd be an intense and busy dad but he'd still show up for his kids at the end of the day i think #love love love

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449 · 1 year

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learning in public

pairing. carmen ‘carmy’ berzatto x female! reader

an. well. what can i say. white boy of the month :/ porn without plot :/ an absolute thirst post of epic proportions :/ the bear is tv at it’s finest and while this is literally filth, i cradle the show like a baby bird and give it sweet kisses. i dont know if anyone is going to read, but if you do, pls comment and reblog if u liked<3 (@ohcapfics for my latest fic updates)

synopsis. you didn’t think he’d enjoy it that much. didn’t think he’d want more, too.

warnings. 18+ ONLY. you copy my shit, i’ll find out. female receiving oral and fingering, semi public sex, hair pulling, spit as lube and mentions of panic attacks.

Keep reading

#oh my god oh my godddd #perfection #white boy of the month op so true #carmy recs #19

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449 · 1 year

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the silent facetime strip-show-slash-phone-sex bit oh my god i. cannot with how beautifully you executed that entire sequence?????

In The Dark: 6

Ezra x f!reader

Rating: Explicit, mentions of drinking, age gap

A/N: Thank you endlessly to @mourningbirds1 who gave me the best, smartest advice on this chapter. I couldn’t have done it without her input - my writing is better because of her. Thanks also to @krissology and @charnelhouse who give me the BEST feedback and reassurance on the f i l t h ❤

Series Masterlist

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Thank you for your recent submission to our creative writing program. We regret to inform you that while this piece, as it stands, does not meet the criteria we are looking for in terms of an applicant, that’s not to say it doesn’t have potential. Below are revision requests - please complete them and resubmit…..

Looking at the email, you let out a slow, defeated breath.

“Shit.”

You rub the frown between your brows, hoping to ease some of the tension seated there and reread the email again. You had hoped for better; would have to do better to have a shot at this program.

Stepping to the side on the park path, you read it again. A couple of joggers rhythmically pound pass; a family; some women chatting while one pushes a stroller and they all fade into the background as you read the words on your phone, hoping they say something different this time.

They don’t.

Keep reading

#seriesrec: in the dark #ezrarec #19

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449 · 1 year

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oh to be carefree and frolicking around new york with ezra... 🥺🖤

and them totally indulging in what they’ve wanted to do since the beginning AS THEY SHOULDD SO WORTH THE WAIT

In The Dark: 5

Ezra x f!reader

Rating: Explicit, age gap

A/N: Thank you for being patient for this one - I couldn’t have done it without the reassurance of @krissology and @charnelhouse who assured me this chapter hit just the way I wanted it to. Apologies for any typos - this lady has COVID brain, but I wanted to get this out. Enjoy!

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

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Ezra: Can I come over tomorrow?

You kept looking at the text all night long. Checking it was still there after you dried off from your shower, peeking at it every so often as you finished some homework, opening it after you crawled into bed. The simple words etched themselves onto your brain before you closed it, tapping your Books app to read.

You had thought you had sated the ache you had for him in the shower earlier, but it did almost nothing against the bundle of nerves warming in your core right now at the thought of that text. It was as if the words acted as a match, igniting the kindling inside you the second he sent them.

Keep reading

#seriesrec: in the dark #ezrarec #19

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449 · 1 year

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rip to you guys but i love assembling ikea furniture its so fun its like legos

#literally that one fic i wrote that one time

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449 · 1 year

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THE EZRA POV 🖤🖤🖤🖤

all the teasing and secrecy and behind-her-back-ing and tension had me holding my breath the entire chapter in the best way this was so delicious

In The Dark: 4

Ezra x f!reader

Rating: Mature, age gap, sweet sweet tension 😌

a/n: This chapter gave me the worst trouble — thank you to @krissology for giving me the best advice, and for whom this chapter is dedicated to (spot those Easter eggs, baby!) and for @charnelhouse @astroboots @loversandantiheroes and @the-ginger-hedge-witch for patiently listening to my whining. It takes a village, y’all. Enjoy! ❤️

Series Masterlist

—

The first time he looked, it was an accident.

Bored and scrolling through Instagram, he saw Cee tagged you in something and his thumb tapped your name without thinking, his phone screen filling with a neat grid of images:

You, on vacation at the beach.

You, in your apartment.

You, sitting with Cee outside a coffee shop.

You, lying in bed with your laptop.

He brought the phone closer to his face, studying them in a silent, slow scroll.

Jesus, you were pretty.

Funny too, judging by your dry captions.

The sounds of traffic wafting in through the open window, a beer bottle chilled limply in his hand while he buried himself for the next half hour or so, descending deep into your timeline.

Your friends, your previous school, various vacations you’ve been on and back to the one of you on the beach, his eyes lingering on your smooth curves of skin.

It felt slightly voyeuristic to keep looking, but he couldn’t stop.

A car door slamming outside had startled him back into the present, a cold wave of realization dawning on him as he came to and feeling like he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been, he closed the tab.

But then he checked it again a couple days later.

And again, after that.

The next time he saw you, he felt like you could tell he’d been looking, though of course you couldn’t.

Still, he tried to keep his distance, staying in his work room almost the entire night because every time he looked at you, he saw those pictures. You flat on your back in bed, or on that beach and he had to force some space between the two of you; break the thick, magnetic pull he felt whenever you were in the same room.

He had eventually taken a shower, stroking himself to relief before coming out into the kitchen to find the two of you looking into weekends away and when he invited you to watch TV with them, he told himself he was just being polite. Friendly. Showing interest in Cee’s friends.

Yea right.

He wanted you next to him on that couch: the warmth of your body, the sweet smell of your clothes, to be near your voice and it was so hard not to touch you right then.

Something he made up for later, when you found him watching TV that night. He couldn’t help the way he reached for you, not with the way you had been looking at him.

Not only right then, but all the time, these past few weeks.

He’s been drawn just as much to you: drawn to your softer, more wholesome sweetness. To the vulnerability in your face, wholly untouched by the defensiveness the city often demanded from people. You left yourself exposed and open, and he liked that.

Liked thinking about all the things he could show you too — all the things you’d let him do to you, if you wanted him too.

You did want it, showing him when you let him kiss you last night and he should regret it, but he doesn’t.

It’s early, the house silent around him and Ezra lays in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He can tell no one is awake yet by the utter stillness when he lays and listens, the orangey glow of dawn beginning to creep in through his window.

He shifts, reaching for his phone to check the time and sits up with a cinch, leaning against his headboard. Scrubbing his hand down his face, he listens again for movement in the house, thinking about how you’re just down the hallway from him. He closes his eyes, tipping his head back against the wood.

Last night.

He could still see you in the bathroom, getting ready. The curve of your ass in your jeans as you leaned over the sink, the slow, deliberate way you outlined your lips in lipstick. He can’t ever help looking at your mouth - not when you’re chewing on your pencil at their table, not when you’re eating dinner with them, not when you’re laughing at something he’s said.

And especially not when you bite the bottom one, trying to hide your arousal, like you did last night.

He knows. He has seen it on your face, has come to recognize it on men and women alike when they look at him and though he knows he shouldn’t take that alone as permission to pursue you, especially given your friendship with Cee, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

He had tried to hold out, he really did. All these weeks of you keeping your distance and of him scolding himself over his thoughts haven’t brought him any relief and it’s not for lack of trying.

The woman, at the movie theater. His fist, in the shower or in his bed at night. He even went out to the bar to try to go home with someone and bury himself in them until he could forget about you and the touch of your soft skin under his hand and the warmth of your body next to his under that blanket on the couch - but he couldn’t do it.

He hasn’t found satisfaction in anyone since you’ve been around.

Then you were there when he got home, your sweet face upturned to his when he walked in the door and you had looked so unabashedly hopeful for a split second that he wanted to walk over and kiss you right there and then; fuck that fact that it wouldn’t be right.

When you went out, it drove him crazy to think about you going home with someone else. He had been restless the whole night, tossing and turning in his bed, listening for Cee to come home with the hope that you would be with her and when you were, he couldn’t help seek you out.

He reasoned that he just wanted to see how your night went, but the fact that he waited until Cee got in the shower told him that was bullshit.

Fuck, you had tasted good though. Sweeter than he ever imagined, that mouth that’s been haunting him these last few weeks just as soft and pliant as he knew it would be and the sounds you made had only solidified his choice - your soft moans, your hums of hunger. He could still feel them on his tongue if he tried hard enough.

He was lost when he saw you standing there bare faced and sweet, so young and innocent in the hazy, bluish twilight of the kitchen and it made him hard then to think about all the things he wanted to do to you.

It makes him hard now, under his comforter.

He wonders if you’re awake yet.

–

The sun is the full, bright glow of late morning behind the curtains in Cee’s room when your eyes flutter open and rolling over to face her, you find her side of the bed empty. Her covers carelessly thrown back, you stretch your arms into the open space before tucking yourself back into a tight ball and you listen for movement outside her bedroom.

Muted, far away sounds: the ceramic clink of a coffee cup on the counter, the sound of slippers shuffling over the hardwood floor, the low bass tones of Ezra talking. A note or two of music underneath it all, if you try hard enough and the memory of last night skates around the edges of your sleep muddled mind.

The warm, solid weight of his body against yours. The perfect mold of his lips. His breath, escaping with a sigh into your mouth as you opened up for him. The soft texture of his mussed curls in your grip.

“I think about you all the time. Every night.”

You close your eyes again, burrowing deeper into the soft bedding and relishing the content limbo of time. When you hear the creak of the hardwood floors in the hallway in a signal that someone is coming closer, you open your eyes expecting to see Cee, but instead, you find someone else.

“Good morning.” Ezra stands in the frame, bringing a mug of coffee to his lips. It should be criminal for someone to look as good as he does in that doorway: his sleep rumpled dark mess of hair with a shock of white, the cozy fit of the navy blue cardigan he’s wearing form fitting around his shoulders, the warmth in his eyes as they slide over your body under the covers.

Your smile is a tired, automatic one as you prop yourself up on your elbow and you briefly wonder what you must look like with how little sleep you ended up getting last night. With him standing there though, you find yourself unable to care.

“Good morning”, you grin shyly.

He shuffles his feet forward, looking at the frame of the door before he stops with a rest of his hand against it and it’s like he can’t quite bring himself to cross the threshold, instead looking at you for a moment before glancing down the hall towards the kitchen.

“There’s coffee, if you want it,” he says softly. “I think Cee wants to go to the farmer’s market, if you want to come with.”

“Is she awake?” Cee’s voice sounds from the end of the hallway. A resigned smile graces his face before he turns to her and nods and she rounds the door, coming to climb into bed.

“I was just gonna come wake you up,” she says, stretching out next to you. Her hair is still a mess - a sloppy, lopsided bun on the crown of her head, her pajamas making her look more youthful than she is - and you lay back against the pillow, dragging the covers up over your shoulders. Ezra lingers in the doorway for a moment, his gaze resting on you before walking away.

“It’s almost ten,” she continues. “You wanna come to the farmer’s market with us?”

“Sure.” Swiping your fingers over the corner of your eye, you clear the sleep crust. “I’ve heard a lot about it. I could use some fresh food.” You grimace, thinking about the state of your near empty refrigerator. “Lemme get dressed and brush my teeth, then we can head out.”

She rolls out of the bed, wandering over to her dresser and you make your way to the bathroom, keeping an eye out for Ezra. A glimpse into the kitchen has you briefly staring at the spot where he backed you into the counter last night - the space now empty as if nothing happened there, and flooded with morning light.

Fully awake now, you take your time brushing your teeth and washing your face, giving yourself a moment to think about how this is supposed to go. He kissed you last night. And not just a small brush of lips, but a kiss. Like he meant to devour you if you would have let him and you almost did, with the way you tugged him into the cradle of your thighs and opened your mouth to him.

That was at night though, when the two of you were held suspended in that kitchen together until the want became too unbearable to ignore. That was when you were alone, without anyone around and felt the infinite possibility of nighttime: a time without consequence, never a thought for the next day.

But now it is the next day. What next? Are you supposed to go out there and pretend like it never happened? Or are you actually supposed to acknowledge it?

You know you need to get him alone and talk about it, but knowing that isn’t going to happen with Cee around, you finish up in the bathroom and resign yourself to take direction from him.

Creeping back down the hallway towards her room, you hope you’ll run into him, but you don’t - and that’s how it stays until you leave the house.

He shows up at the last minute, fully dressed and patting his pockets to make sure he has everything and he looks so handsome you want to reach out and touch him - even more so because now you know you can.

His navy work pants that fit his legs so nicely, a worn cotton t shirt stretching across his shoulders, his hair a disheveled splay with a pair of sunglasses propped on top until he pulls them down over his eyes and you look at his back as he locks the door, the gray fabric clinging to the taut shift of his lean muscles.

“Let’s take the train, parking is always so horrible down there,” he says, a loose amble down the front stairs of the house and you’re waiting for any kind of acknowledgement from him, but of course you’re not going to get one. You know it’s not safe with Cee here.

Watching him walk slightly in front of the two of you, you’re reminded again about what happened last night. You felt those hands you’ve been dreaming about, sighed over the scrape of his beard on your neck, clenched at the warm, wet drag of his mouth against your skin.

You did that, with him, and no one knows except the two of you.

How could they not? You feel changed, hyper aware of his presence near yours, as if you’ve been branded by his lips for everyone to see. Can’t they feel this like you can? Can’t they see it between you two?

As if he can sense you thinking about him, he peeks back at you for a moment and then slows his stride down just enough for the two of you to catch up. You can’t walk three wide down the sidewalk for long, but it’s just enough time for him to reach out and catch your pinky with his hand, giving it a secret tug.

He smiles down at you, dropping your hand just as quickly as he caught it and you grin to yourself; the three of you continuing onto the station.

–

Ezra stands near you on the train, crowded for a Sunday mid-morning and uses his body as a shield, blocking you from being bumped by anyone. The rock of the car makes his body sway and brush against yours, the space around him slowly filling and he moves closer, causing you to be almost flush against his side and it’s like a torture of the most exquisite kind.

Jesus.

He’s noticed your proximity - you can tell with the way he keeps casually looking down at you and you know you should probably put some distance between your bodies, but you can’t make yourself do it. The train is crowded after all and the two of you look just like anyone else in the cramped space. If anything, this is the perfect opportunity to be close to him - so you take it.

His clean, male scent fills your senses when you inhale, a fresh wave of memory taking you off guard with how strongly it washes over you: he smelled the same last night when he pushed you back across the counter, filling the welcoming space between your legs. The sleep warm feel of his t-shirt in your grip, the husky grunt he let out into your mouth, the words he said.

Swallowing thickly to combat a flash of heat, you get pulled from thought when his body lurches forward into yours.

“Sorry, man,” someone says over their shoulder as they pass by the two of you, their backpack the cause of his stumble and Ezra says nothing, already brushing it off.

The contact of his body against yours is brief, but enough to make you close your eyes, lightheaded.

Trying to rein yourself in before you slip an arm around his waist and tug him closer no matter who sees, you try to think about something else, focusing instead on how you feel when he stands next to you in public.

You’re envious of the way people move around him, giving him space on the train. Like he’s entitled to it without question just because he’s a man - something you’ve never experienced as a girl. People were always invading your space, always pushing your boundaries, always sitting too close or not moving when you needed them too - but with him, they respected his space without question. Like being a man came with a certain understanding in these spaces and while you should be more upset that the same courtesy isn’t afforded to you, instead you revel in it.

Being in his bubble makes you taken care of, protected; grants you a sense of freedom that you so rarely get to feel. Like you don’t have to be on your guard against anyone when you’re with him because he takes care of that for you, without even knowing.

A sudden appreciation for him felt, you smile up at him and he returns it with a wink.

–

The market located in Chelsea, it’s a short walk from the train and you take in everything you see around you. The neighborhood is one you haven’t had a chance to explore yet and you are grateful for Cee bringing you here - it’s gorgeous.

Lush, tucked away green spaces between the buildings. Compact rectangles of peace and play; cherry blossoms and courts; park benches and play structures. The size of the city was staggering, even daunting sometimes, but it never failed to surprise you how small it seemed when you found places like these. So much more quiet than you could have ever imagined.

Reserved red brick scrawled with harsh, multi-colored graffiti, futuristic structures of concrete and glass bent around the Highline, practical, cold facades of corporate buildings with sculptures in their courtyards. The whole city screamed utility, but with the bursting pleasures of life and art. Organized infrastructure underneath sprawling, ever growing, messy chaos.

You loved the way the people made the city their own — marked up the buildings, carved out their neighborhoods, pounded the pavement and pieced together a life that felt individual and unique in a city of over 8 million people doing the same thing; the way they’ve been doing that very thing for hundreds of years.

The outdoor market was a perfect example of this city domesticity: families and partners and friends, all gathering to buy the food that they would prepare together. Small children more stylish than you’ve ever seen being waltzed around by their parents, those same parents trying to remember if they need apples, or if the flowers they bought a couple of days ago need replacing.

Bundles of produce piled high at individual stalls, all laid out in the most aesthetically pleasing yet casual placement you’ve ever seen and you wish you were better at drawing or painting or something; the urge to capture the look of it tugging strongly at you.

Packed with people trying to take advantage of one of the last gorgeous fall days before the weather turns biting and cold, Ezra’s face is unreadable under his sunglasses. He walks alongside you with a confident aloofness, content to let you both guide him around and you quickly realize that visiting the market with Cee doesn’t mean grocery shopping as much as it means looking and eating.

It’s fine, you didn’t relish the thought of carrying home sacks of fresh produce on the train anyway and so you let her lead the way, enjoying the day.

Ezra stays by you - always at your elbow, or behind you - just out of reach, but there.

He’s quiet today - more quiet than usual, but as you watch him walk through the market you can see telltale signs of tension in his limbs. You watch the set and shift of his jaw, the flex of his shoulders as he rolls them, the restless way he moves his arms when he walks. Like he’s trying to hide it, but can’t help the way it works loose from his body.

“Do you guys want coffee?” he asks, his hand rubbing at the nape of his neck.

You both nod, a secret, inward smile at the thought the man needs anything but a cup of coffee right now and when Cee tells him her order and wanders over to the fresh flowers, he comes closer to your side.

“What do you want?” he asks, his hand cupping your elbow in a delicate hold. It’s the first direct thing he’s said to you since you’ve left the house and the double meaning of the words feels more intimate than a question about coffee should.

You tell him your order, distracted by the way his thumb brushes against your skin, a rhythmic drag back and forth over the bone of your elbow and for a moment, it feels just like the kitchen last night - a space in which the two of you stand suspended, alone.

There is a palpable tension between your bodies, like all you would need is a green light in order to throw yourselves at each other and the weight of it wraps around your lungs, compressing the air there. You take in his features greedily, your eyes dropping to the plush line of his mouth and he does the same to yours, but it’s only a second before he gives you a squeeze, leaving to go get it.

When he stands in line and places the order, you watch the woman at the stall smile broadly at him and laugh at something he says. He leans in conspiratorially, another flirty laugh bubbling from her and something ugly rears in your chest at the site. You tamp it down, thinking instead about how he is standing in line getting something for you.

You don’t know why you like it so much, but you do. You feel cared for and cherished when he does it, like he wants to take care of you and wants other people to see it. A claim being staked, in the barest of ways and it’s dumb, because no one even knows what happened last night and you also know he does the same thing for Cee, but to you, it feels different.

He comes back, handing the cup to you and you pretend not to notice the way he watches you take your first sip before taking his own. Food vendors everywhere, Cee comes back and debates on what she wants to eat: translucent, delicate looking spring rolls, steaming perogies swimming in pats of butter, hot breakfast sandwiches cooked on a huge outdoor griddle. You smell the heady, rich scent of bacon as you pass the stand with your coffee, your stomach grumbling as you eye it, but Cee tugs you forward to another place she has in mind.

“Oh my god, you have to try these dumplings,” she gushes, taking her place in line. “They have this delicious custard inside them that's amazing and they look like little panda bears? It’s the cutest thing. Here.”

Ezra stands behind you, placing his hand on the small of your back in a guise to make room for someone behind him and you feel the gentle touch light a path up your spine. You can’t help the way you subtly push into his hand; a movement that doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

She pays the vendor in exchange for a paper tray of them, immediately placing one in your palm and taking your first bite of the pillowy dumpling, he shifts to watch your teeth pierce the plush dough. A rush of thick, rich custard fills your mouth and you hum in contentment. The dumpling such a satisfying thing to bite into, you chew, savoring the taste. God, you’re hungry. This is divine.

“This really is so good,” you tell her, the heat of Ezra’s eyes on you underneath his shades and she laughs, gesturing at your mouth.

“Hang on, lemme get some napkins. I’ll be right back.”

She leaves and before you can wipe it away, Ezra quickly steps in to brush the pad of his thumb against the corner of your mouth, gathering the small dot of cream. He brings it to his own mouth, sucking it off and you’re frozen, watching his lips surround the tip of the digit, when Cee comes back to your side handing you a napkin.

“It’s good, right Ez?” she asks, taking another bite of her own and he nods, keeping his eyes on you for a moment.

“Yea, real sweet.”

–

A stop at the bookstore per Cee’s request, the two of you share a shorthand communication that Ezra observes. He watches Cee point something out to you, sees you pick up a book and hand it wordlessly to her and it’s like each of you knew exactly why the other wanted to show it to them; a connection he envies. His eyes follow the line of your delicate neck, resting for a moment on the image of your finger tracing the matte cover of a table of new releases and then he moves on, letting you browse.

You pick your way through the titles, scanning the backs, but given the stack of books you have yet to read currently sitting on your bedside table, you instead find yourself watching him out of the corner of your eye.

He’s wandering, selecting books seemingly at random and reading the backs before putting them down — and he looks both absorbed and restless, if that was possible. A momentary look of intense concentration on each book itself, but seemingly bored by it at the same time. Fingers drumming on his thigh, making a fist and then releasing it. Grip outreached, like he was grasping something that wasn’t there or remembering the feeling of something just for a moment.

You focus on his hand for a moment - the strong, thick fingers, the veins that run over his wrist and down, thinking of the way that it easily wrapped around the back of your neck last night and feeling the phantom grip of it.

“I’m gonna head upstairs,” Cee says. “There are a couple of books in the art section I wanna check out.” She looks at you expectantly in an invitation, turning to head towards the staircase and you wave her away with a nod.

“I’m gonna see what they have in their used section. I’ll catch up.”

You wait in place as she walks away, not moving until you see her small frame disappear up the second flight of stairs and then you go looking for Ezra, finding him in the used fiction section. He looks up and sees you, a smile stretching his cheeks and peeking over your shoulder, you come closer. When you seem to hesitate just out of his reach, his smile blooms into a full blown grin and he reaches out, plucking your shirt in his hand to tug you to him.

“Hello, birdie,” he says smoothly. “Looking for something?” There is a teasing lilt to his tone and it makes your face heat.

“I am.” You aren’t sure how to play this game that he seems to be the master of, this confident way of flirting, but he makes you want to try.

He hums, his eyes darkening as they slide down your features. His knuckles brush against the soft cotton of your shirt right above the waist of your pants, his eyes flicking back up to yours to gauge your response and you hold your breath, feeling a jolt of electricity directly between your legs; strong and intoxicating. Mischief flares bright in his gaze, just for a moment.

“What about this one?” he murmurs, guiding you close to a shelf with his hand spanning across the small of your back. His chest is a solid wall against you and you lean back into it, chasing his warmth. His hand skates a path down your arm, winding around the delicate curve of your wrist and the calloused pads of it scrape against your smoother hand when he brings them up together to rest on the shelf.

The store is crowded with people, groups and solo readers both wandering everywhere and yet this space between the shelves is a liminal one, where anything could happen surrounded by the privacy of the worn spines.

“What about it?” you barely get out, your eyes on the books but unable to focus. You swallow thickly, feeling the pressure of his body crowding yours.

“I just think it sounds like a good one, that’s all.” His voice is low and husky, the baritone rumbling only just and you’re about to reply when you suck in a sharp inhale.

His mouth comes to rest delicately against the nape of your neck, his breath a warm skim over your skin and you can feel the way it moves your hair every time he breathes out. He brushes your hair out of the way to kiss it fully, fitting his lips into the indent at the top of your spine and you close your eyes, feeling immediately drunk with arousal. He opens his mouth just enough to peek his tongue out, tasting the sweetness of your skin before giving it another kiss and when you flex your hand on the bookshelf to steady yourself, he presses his fingers between yours with a squeeze.

Cee could walk around the corner of the shelf at any time - hell, anyone could - but you can’t think of anything but him when he opens his mouth again, this time to drag his teeth in a barely there bite that he soothes with another kiss. The seam of your panties soaks with arousal, a moan gathering at the base of your throat and threatening to slip out as you arch into him when he suddenly stops, pulling away.

You miss him immediately, turning to chase his mouth with your own no matter who the fuck sees, but he takes another small step back; his hands resting on your waist, a curl of his lips at your lust drunk expression.

His thumb tucks itself neatly under the hem of your shirt, caressing the meat of your hip and just like on the couch, it’s a singular point of contact that makes your thighs imperceptibly clench together; your panties clinging to your damp core.

This fucking man.

He leans in, your face tilting towards his in anticipation of another kiss, but he bypasses your mouth and bends to brush his lips against your ear instead.

“Let’s get out of here and go get something to eat - I’m starving.”

–

He’s going to drive you crazy.

It’s almost like some kind of a joke, the way you’ve been teetering between euphoria at his closeness and your own personal hell of being unable to touch him and you are so aroused that it actually hurts.

Discreet touches are as good as you’re going to get today it seems, ones that dance the line of casual and appropriate while sating the need for each other and he’s testing you again now, by taking the seat next to you at the table.

Cee’s bags of books tucked neatly by your feet, he scoots his chair in next to you, so close his thigh brushes yours and your body feels like you’ve been edging it for hours, almost jumpy.

“What are you going to get?” he asks, leaning in and the words breathe warm across your cheek, making you shiver.

“I’m not sure,” you reply, swallowing. You look up, his face so close to yours that you can see the brown blending with the black; a rich, lighter ring of color highlighted in the sun. “Everything looks so good.”

He grins slowly. “It does, huh.”

When your food arrives, you’re surprised by how much you eat given the empty, aching pull deep in the pit of your belly. Just sitting next to him is a lot; the scent of his warm skin mixing with the deep husk of his laugh when he listens to Cee talk about someone in her class and you tuck your hand under your thigh to hold it in place, lest you reach out just to touch his forearm.

You can feel the vibration between the two of you, the thick tension filling the space between your seated bodies and as the meal goes on, it gets more intense. The presence of his body, the pitch of his low voice, his scent. The bookstore comes back to you, the warm weight of his mouth on your neck and you’re just about to excuse yourself to the bathroom for a break when Cee says the same, standing up.

You stay put, waiting a moment before slowly turning to look at him and he’s already doing the same.

“Listen,” he starts, turning his torso to face you more fully and leaning in. “We need to talk about last night.” He glances at the hallway where the restrooms are, watching for Cee before he brings his eyes back to your face. They drop automatically to your mouth and he lets out a quiet laugh, one of relief. “But I actually just wanna kiss you again.”

Expecting a much more serious conversation, you smile in surprise at his boldness. “Oh yea?” you tease, your next words getting caught in your throat when he slides his hand over the curve of your knee, dragging it up to the inside of your thigh. The weight of his hold is felt deep within your core, a need so piercing you almost squirm in your chair.

“Yea, I do. I’ve been thinking about it all morning. You’re killing me over here. I feel like I can’t get any time alone with you and all I want is to –”

The waiter comes by and you’re breathless, waiting with baited breath on his every rushed, hushed word. You watch him slowly refill your glass of water and when Ezra leans away from you, you want to toss your glass into the corner of the room.

He smiles politely, if not a little stiff, at the waiter and when he moves on, he leans in again. “What happened last night and whatever is happening today — you want this, right?”

You nod immediately, the ghost of his lips felt on yours and a corner of his mouth curls up at your confirmation. “When can I see you again? Can I come over, or –”

Cee rounds the corner of the table and he shifts away from you, the tense little bubble surrounding the two of you bursting. You take a breath, your heart racing and he takes a sip of his water, looking out the window. Cee’s busy looking down at her phone, typing away a text.

“Hey that guy I met at the party the other night just sent me a message,” she grins, placing her phone down on the table and picking up her fork. She is oblivious to the stiffness of the two of you and you have no idea how, because he is all you can feel.

He’s done eating, leaning back in his chair and draping his arm across the back of yours and you have never been more happy for his over familiarity with everyone; Cee not even batting an eye when she does it. It takes all you have not to lean into the crook of his arm.

“What’s next, ladies?” he asks. “You gonna go meet up with that guy, Cee?”

You feel like you can sense an eagerness in his tone when he asks, but she shakes her head.

“No. I’ve gotta go home and get some reading done. Maybe a nap? A nap would be nice. Last night was a late one.” She looks at you, dragging a fry through mayonnaise. “You were asleep before I even got out of the shower,” she smiles. “You must have been really tired.”

You nod, a slight guilt kindling in your gut. “Yea, I was.” You shift on your chair, trying to deliver the response casually. “Good thing I have tomorrow off. I can catch up on my sleep.”

Ezra goes still for a moment, before leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Oh yea? Got any plans?”

“I don’t think I do.” You can’t help but smile, your chin coming to rest in the palm of your hand and he raises his eyebrows, leaning back in his chair.

“A day off sounds great,” he says and Cee nods in agreement.

She glances down at her phone again, tossing her crumpled napkin onto her plate and Ezra drops his hand down to your knee, briefly squeezing it before signaling to the waiter with a tilt of his chin for the check.

“Let’s get out of here before we miss the next train.”

–

You’re going to be sick.

Never more turned on in your entire life, you are itching to get your clothes off and get into the shower. The party the night before weighs on your skin, but more than that, you need to sate this ache between your thighs.

Jesus, being around him all day has left you unbearably aroused, your skin on fire and your limbs restless, your panties darkly soaked and dropping your bag by the door, you kick it shut with your foot and walk quickly to your bathroom, your hands already undoing the button on your jeans.

Bending to turn the shower on, you kick the denim off, strip your shirt over your head with a tug and dropping everything on the tiled floor, you step into the too hot stream.

The water running over the crown of your head and down over your back, you brace your hands on the cool wall and take steady, slow breaths.

“I think about you all the time. Every night.”

The image of him licking the custard from his thumb.

His fingers pressing between yours on the bookcase.

“I just want to kiss you again.”

A lightness expands in your chest that fills the humid stall, and to calm down the jitter in your overstimulated muscles, you force yourself to stand there until you relax. Adrenaline has been rushing through you all day and you let the water wash it down the swirling drain, eventually along with the moans you let out into the small stall.

You don’t get out until you run out of hot water, and when you step out and wrap a towel around yourself, you see you have a text.

Ezra: Can I come over tomorrow?

#seriesrec: in the dark #ezrarec

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