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donatellawritings · 3 months

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cherry - should be ripe - r. jerimovich

pairing(s): richie jerimovich x f!reader

warning(s): language, prescribed drug-use, age-gap

song: coming down by the weeknd

The gloomy skies, filled with heaps of troublesome rain brought a dull grey hue of light into your apartment as you whisked the thin curtains in your living room apart. The thin straps of your tote bag digging into your shoulder as you allowed the overfilled bag to rest on the glass surface of your dining table. It had been almost twenty-four hours since you’d last spoken to Richie. Almost twenty-four hours since you his raspy voice and dry tone haunted the depths of your mind. Almost twenty-four hours since you’d clung to every minute detail you could, of the older man, and you brought yourself to ecstasy.

The abrupt shrill of the alarm blaring through the speaker of your phone hastily broke you from your thoughts as you glanced at the time: 3:15PM. Rushing to silence the alarm, you placed your cellphone onto the dining table, a low sigh leaving your lips as you rummaged through your tote bag, pushing your fingers past your laptop and textbooks, sifting to the bottom of the bag, before your fingers grabbed ahold of your pill bottle.

As much as you hated it, you knew that you needed these pills. Your bouts with anxiety and depression left you a shell of yourself, a worrisome mess who couldn’t stop herself from fling as if the world was about to cave in. Your movement towards the refrigerator being purely muscle memory and fluid as you swiftly placed the pill into your mouth, flushing it down your throat within seconds. You need this - you can despise it, but you need it.

“Fuck,” you mumbled to yourself, leaving the pill bottle to sit on the glass table as you glanced at the time once more.

It was now 3:17PM, and you couldn’t help but wonder about Richie. Did he like you? Was he busy at work? Was he thinking about you? Did he also resort to using the memory of your voice to bring him to an orgasmic bliss? God, you could only imagine how pathetic you’d look if he knew - if anyone knew of your lustful tryst.

Maybe you should text him, let him know that you were thinking of him … or would that be too much, too soon?

Sliding your phone into the back pocket of your jeans, you made your way to the bathroom, stopping still before your mirror as you too in your appearance. Your hair was slick and smooth, courtesy of the hair salon that sat around the corner of your apartment, your tired eyes lined with black eyeliner, lips tinted from the faded lipstick that you applied earlier that morning.

A part of you ached with anticipation as you allowed your mind to wander, once more.

What would Richie think, if he happened to see you in this very moment?

Biting your lip, you’d decided that you would text him, maybe tease him and remind the older man that last night was real, that you were real.

i’m still real btw

Richie exhaled out a smoke laced laugh as he read over your message. The small cigarette held between Richie’s long fingers secured in place as he leaned against the brick wall of the restaurant. Richie carefully tapped the small bunch of ashes off of the tip of his cigarette. He hadn’t stopped thinking about you. In fact, he found himself to be a bit calmer in the usually hostile environment of The Bear, his usually noisy psyche now just a bit quieter as it became preoccupied with the thought of you.

Richie ran his calloused hand over his shaven face, clearing his throat as he typed his reply back to you, before sliding his phone into the pocket of his black slacks.

good to know. last night felt like a fucking dream

Pushing himself off of the wall, Richie grabbed the suit jacket that hung over his shoulder, sliding his arms through the sleeves as he shrugged the jacket so sit comfortably over his body. The sound of the back door creaking caused the blue eyed man to glance over, a smile now tugging on his lips as he watched Tina, one of his most endeared coworkers exit the building.

“You heading out, T?” Richie called out, approaching the older woman as he pressed his cheek to hers with a kiss.

Tina warmly cupped her hand to Richie’s cheek, before pulling away with a huff, “Yeah, I have to go see my niece today, but you did good today, papa,” she consoled.

Richie opened his mouth to speak, the vibration of his phone hitting his leg as straightened his back, giving all of his attention to the woman before him.

“Shit, okay, uh - y’need a ride?” Richie offered, his fingers working to button the center of his ironed suit jacket.

Tina paused, pondering for a few seconds, before shaking her head with a thankful smile, “I should be good, Richie - thank you,” she politely declined.

“You sure?”

Tina laughs, proceeding to walk away from Richie, “I will see you tomorrow, Jeff.”

Richie watches closely as Tina walks away, a second vibration hitting his thigh causing his eyes to widen as he slid his hand into his pocket, “fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

it did. do you have time to it again tonight?

will have to be later though … i’m having company over :)

A small pang of jealous hit Richie’s chest, but was quickly diminished with a shake of his head. You’re not his, he barely fuckin’ knew you, not yet, at least. He really shouldn’t give a fuck who you have at your apartment, but there was still a small part of Richie that itched to know if it was another guy. Surely, you weren’t dumb enough to openly tell Richie about your plans, if it involved another man, but fuck, the dating scene these days was pretty brutal.

Richie hastily typed his response, the ounce of chill that he held onto throughout the duration of the day now dissipating as he stuffed his phone into his pocket, before entering the building and allowing the door to slam shut behind him.

have fun.

A swirl of anxiety ran rampant in your stomach as you read over Richie’s message - did you say something wrong? Your top set of teeth gnawed at the skin of your bottom lip as you rushed to respond. Maybe Richie wasn’t upset, maybe you were just overthinking those two words and adding a value to them that simply didn’t exist.

Deciding to leave the situation alone, you distracted yourself. Placing your headphones over your ears, you raised the volume to its maximum setting, before tidying random areas of your small apartment, despite it already being close to spotless. Whether it be shifting a random vase to sit at a different angle, or smoothing your hand over the pillows that decorated your hand-me-down sofa, you distracted yourself as much as you could.

So, you gave yourself two more tasks: make some coffee and change your clothes. Grabbing saucepan and a canister of Café Bustelo from your kitchen cabinet, you prepared the coffee, allowing the water to come to a boil before mixing in the coffee grounds. The strong scent of coffee filled your apartment as you made your way to your bedroom, quickly swapping out your jeans and long sleeve for a tank top and leggings that hugged your curves just right.

The sound of the front door unlocking jolted you as you ran your fingers through your hair, “give me one second!” You shouted, quickly spraying yourself with the nearest bottle of perfume that sat on your vanity.

“It smells good in here, mamita!” Your aunt called out from the living room, the jingle of her keys hitting your coffee table like music to your ears.

You quickly rushed out of your bedroom, the sight of the short, curly-haired woman whom you’ve been blessed to have as your guardian angel aunt bringing a smile to your lips. Tina's eyes widened with pride as her bright brown eyes took in your matured appearance - you hadn’t seen each other in about six months, six months that felt like six years.

Pulling you into a hug with a hum of joy, Tina pressed a kiss to your cheek, her eyes glazed with happiness as she pulled away slightly, giving herself another chance to take you in, “You look so good, mama, wow!” Your aunt cooed.

Wordlessly, you nodded, before pulling your aunt in for one more hug, “I missed you, titi.”

The two of you held each other for a beat, before Tina pulled away, setting her coat down onto the sofa, before making her way into the kitchen, “Café Bustelo? Somebody’s been following her aunt’s footsteps,” she teased.

“Of course, titi,” you smiled.

Tina grabbed two mugs from your dish rack, carefully pouring each of you a steaming cup of the pure caffeine. A comfortable silence fell between the two of you as she nodded towards your dining table, setting the two mugs down side by side as you both took your respective seats.

You silently thanked your aunt with a nod, before bringing the hot mug to your lips, taking short sip of the steaming coffee, watching as Tina’s eyes fell on the pill bottle that remained on the dining table.

Tina pauses, setting her mug onto the table, “Everything’s okay?” She questioned.

“Yeah, everything’s okay.” You sighed.

Richie’s day went to shit, the moment he re-entered the renovated building. Maybe it was the fact that the measly three hours of sleep that he’d gotten had caught up with him, or, perhaps it was the fact that he’d given too much of a fuck about what a girl he hadn’t even met in person yet was doing at her apartment. Truth be told, it was both, but Richie would never admit to it - he had too much pride.

Now, Richie stood in front of the mirror in his dimly lit bathroom, his eyes low and jaw clenched as he aimlessly kept his eyes on the reflection before him. He needed sleep and he knew that better than anyone, his bloodshot eyes hung low while he stared, his mind teetering back and forth with whether or not he should give you the benefit of the doubt.

And so, he did. Deciding to break the tension, Richie reached for his phone, sending you a peace offering message.

The company of your aunt was much needed, you didn’t remember the last time you laughed this much, or even felt one-hundred percent safe. The two of you were currently recovering from a fit of uncontrollable laughter, thanks to an exaggerated recounting of a childhood memory, courtesy of Tina. Just as the two of you steadied you breathing, the hum of your cellphone vibrating against the dining table caused the both of you to glance at your phone.

You opened your mouth to speak, a blush creeping to your cheeks as you slid your phone towards you, Tina decides to push, “anyone special?”

You lick over your suddenly dry lips with a forced laugh, “uh, I’m not sure.”

Tina leans forward, cradling your face in her warm hands, “promise me that you’ll be careful, okay?” She spoke, her voice stern, yet still loving.

“I promise-”

“No, I mean it, querida. Don’t let any of these guys fuck with your heart, okay? You’re too good for that,” She continued, her eyes pleading with yours.

“I promise.” You confirm, more to yourself than to your aunt.

“Good,” she pulls away, standing from the table as she collects her coat from the couch, “well, I’m going to leave you to have some alone time,” Tina returns to you, pressing her lips to the top of your head.

“I love you, thank you for coming,” you mutter, a wave of sadness crashing over you as your aunt pulls away and makes her way towards the front door.

“I love you too, I’ll be back in a few days, okay mamita?” She calls out, blowing a kiss to you, “make sure to lock up!”

And with that, the front door closed shut, you walked towards the door, ensuring it was properly locked before making your way back to the dining table. A stray tear managed to slip down your cheek as you let out a shaky breath.

“Ugh, don’t cry,” you scolded yourself, wiping your tears with the sides of your index fingers as you reached for your phone.

didn’t meant to be such a fuckin dick

i’ll be awake if u wanna talk

Richie stood at his window, watching as random cop cars blared their sirens down the street. Dressed in a Chicago Bulls jersey and black track pants, Richie adjusted his gold chain to sit comfortably over his chest. It had been about ten minutes since he texted you, his mind wracking with theories on who it was you were seeing and what is was that you were doing when the blare of his ringtone brought him out of his thoughts.

Fuck, he didn’t realize you’d actually call him, let alone this fast.

Suddenly wound up with anticipation, Richie accepted your call, biting back the smile that threatened to pull on his face, once you came into view. You looked so fuckin’ pretty.

Richie remained silent, taking note of the smudged makeup that stained your eyes just right, the way that your previously curly hair from the night before had been straightened, he also noticed that your eyes were puffy, silently praying that he wasn’t the reason for your tears.

It was Richie who decided to speak first, “I, uh, I’m sorry about earlier,” he began, leaning against the window sill, “I barely fuckin’ slept and I just-”

“I couldn’t sleep, either.” Your voice cut in.

Shit, Richie could melt right where he stood. He’d give anything to hear your voice for hours on end. Richie was a greedy fuck, and he knew that, yet he just needed to hear more from you - he craved it.

“You couldn’t?” He questioned.

With a short nod, you answered, “yeah, I mean, it just took a lot for me to actually fall asleep, y’know?” You stammered nervously, leaving Richie to wonder what it actually took for you to go to sleep, and if it was the same thing that rewarded him with those three hours of rest.

“Sorry to hear that, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. The way the word rolled off of Richie’s hellish tongue with was smooth and silky, it inched its way towards your core. You couldn’t help but smile at the simple, yet earnest choice of wording.

You noticed Richie’s eyes, their bloodshot state more intense than the previous night, yet you decided to change the subject, “I really hope that I didn’t make you upset earlier, I didn’t mean t-”

Richie huffed, “nah, I was just being a fuckin’ jagoff, please don’t even worry yourself about that, alright?”

You remained quiet.

Richie shifts the camera, clearing his throat, “why don’t you tell me about your day, yeah? I see your hair looks different.”

Richie searched for anything, anything to break you away from that newfound wall of shyness that you had, guarding yourself from him.

You were still miles away, the usually comfortable loneliness that filled your home, now suddenly becoming a bit too apparent to you, following your visit from your aunt.

Yet, you answered the blue eyed man, “I got my hair done today, thank you for noticing.” You smiled softly, not wanting to scare Richie off with your sudden influx of emotions.

Richie felt like shit, a total fuckin’ jagoff. In his mind, he was the reason for your quietness - he got overzealous, too greedy. He didn’t mean to push you away - he’s just played the game too many times, hell, he was married once and that failed, so could you blame him for his romance woes?

“Well, listen, I’m sorry, alright?” Richie began, “I’m pretty good at fuckin’ things up and I don’t want to do that with you-“

“Richie, I am not mad at you,” you quickly interjected, “it’s just - today has been a lot, and I guess it just caught up with me.”

Thank fucking god, Richie lets out breath that he wasn’t even aware that he was holding in.

“But, tell me about you, I want to hear about your day.” You asked, inching a bit closer to the camera.

“I dropped my daughter off at school this morning, then I was at the fuckin’ restaurant all day which was a fuckin’ mess - seemed like I’m the only one who keeps shit together at that fuckin’ place,” Richie rambled, completely lost in his on words that he didn’t even realize that you’d moved to your bed.

You’d grown fond of Richie’s voice - it was raw, his tone rough and blunt as he spoke every word with conviction. Hearing him drone on and on about his series of events lulled you into a peaceful trance as you blankly stared at the camera, half-awake.

It wasn’t until your eyelids grew heavy that Richie’s voice caused your eyes to open fully.

“You should get some sleep, sweetheart, I could talk to you to death some other time,” Richie teased, you’d assumed he’d made his way to his own bed by the sudden change of scenery.

“No, I’m awake, I promise,” you argued.

Richie shook his head, “and I’ll be around when you wake up and feel like talking again, I promise.”

As you both voiced your farewells for the night, you couldn’t help but smile as you gazed up at the ceiling of your bedroom, endlessly hoping that Richie would keep his promise. It was as of this very moment that you knew that it would only be a matter of time before your need for him wouldn’t be fulfilled by mere phone calls, but by physical touch.

Richie couldn’t help but smile, silently thanking the dark environment of his bedroom for concealing his slip-up, “this fuckin’ girl,” he exhaled, allowing his eyes to flutter close.

He needed more of you. Fuck that, he ached for more of you - he’s a 45 year old man who knows what he wants and you’re slowly becoming more apparent in those plans. He had no time to waste, despite today’s minor setback - Richie had turned over a new leaf and was working on doing better being better for the restaurant. Slowly working on being more present for his daughter - and being less of a bitter jagoff to those he cared about most.

So that settled things into finality, for Richie. He needed to see you, to see if you’d be any different. in a face-to-face proximity. The thought of asking you on a date terrified him, his previous unsuccessful attempts now ringing in the back of his mind as he unlocked his phone.

Richie rushed to call you once again - quickly glancing at the time on his alarm clock: 9:23PM, Richie raised his phone to his ear, allowing it to ring, before he could pussy-out.

The shrill of your ringtone filled your ears, ripping you out of your light sleep as looked at your phone screen through squinted eyes - it was Richie.

Accepting the call, you brought your phone to your ear, “hi, Richie,” you spoke, your voice raspy from your short lap of rest.

“Hi, I know you’re sleeping, but, uh, I just wanted to ask you somethin’,” Richie huffed.

“Okay.”

“Okay, uh, I was thinking that maybe I could take you out to dinner one of these days,” Richie, began, his nervous stammers bringing a smile to your face, “y’know it doesn’t have to be too fancy, unless you’re into that, fuck, uh-”

With a laugh, you interrupted, “I’d love to go out for dinner, Richie.”

“Okay, yeah, yeah- uh, how about Friday?” He questioned, facepalming himself on the other side of the phone.

“Friday works for me.”

“Alright, I’ll pick you up, just send me your, uh, your address and we’ll sort the rest out … tomorrow?”

“Yes, Richie.” You agreed, your stomach flipping with an anxious excitement as you licked over your lips.

The two of you exchanged a round of awkward nervous goodbyes before you hung up for the night. It would be four days from now. Four days until you’d stand in the same room as Richie, breathe in the same air as him. Four days until you’d see whether or not your chemistry would exceed the confines of your cellphones.

The excitement was tantalizing, the slight fear that bit at you just adding the to delicious wave of anticipation that washed over you.

Four days. Four days and you would have all of the answers you’d need to see if it would be worth it to keep this affair going. Lord knows, you wanted it to keep going. Maybe you were just as greedy as the older man with tired blue eyes that had come to plague your mind.

You’d just wished that those four days would come and go fast enough.

that’s it for part 2 of this series - sorry if its a bit long, i was just really excited to explore the characters a bit just to give them some background lol <3 thank you for the much appreciated support on part 1, i can’t wait to publish part 3!

#richie jerimovich #richie jerimovich x reader #the bear #the bear fanfiction #richie jerimovich fanfic #richie jerimovich imagine #richie jerimovich smut #the bear fic #the bear imagine #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto smut

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juuuulez · 2 months

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📰 | richie jerimovich x reader ; “Princess.”

🎧 -> untitled 07, kendrick lamar

info: Richie Jerimovich x Reader, no use of (y/n), reader’s nickname is princess because duh it’s cute, mention of drugs, arguing, brief mention of Mikey, brief mention of a sexual relationship, Richie just wants what’s best for you.

summary: Richie is your dealer, and also a pretty good lay. But recently he’s changed his priorities, and tries to change yours, too.

gigantic bear brainrot right now, and i was thinking about that little glimpse of dealer richie annnndd that’s sorta it! don’t like, don’t read, but the overall consensus is about recovering and breaking old habits.

i also happen to have such a soft spot for this man!!!!!! sue me!!!!!!!!!!!!! i literally wrote this in less than an hour i’m insane

Hey. You working?

Richie’s phone goes off, ironically, right when he’s on his break. Every day, he goes outside for a cigarette at the exact same time. And you know that. He knows you know that, and he also knows what you want. Of course he does. It’s always the same thing. He stopped doing this shit for a reason, but you? He’s weak. And probably stupid.

Neither of you even discuss the plan: it’s protocol at this point. Not even seconds pass, and he’s already punched in a response.

Nah. Come see me.

Minutes later, and there are footsteps approaching down the back alley, towards the door Richie lingers near. He turns to see your form approaching, watching the way you tug at the sleeves of your sweater, likely much too thin to truly combat the cold. With how hasty you’d been, Richie suspects you’d already been nearby. Likely around the corner, just waiting for the go ahead.

It’s been a few weeks since he last saw you, though Richie knew why. Because he didn’t do this shit anymore. To reach out again, you must’ve been desperate. He could work with that.

“Princess.” He greets, nursing a lit cigarette between sharp teeth.

You’re sighing, a look of exasperation on that pretty little face. A mix of relief, and discomfort, at being out in this weather. “You’re my saviour, you know that, right?”

Richie scoffs, already approaching. Closing the gap between you two. “Find that one hard to believe.” He mutters.

As usual, you move in to intrude on Richie’s space, tucking yourself against his side. The biting Chicago winter urges you closer, as he’s somehow warm, though Richie is always warm. One hand ashes his cigarette onto the concrete, and the ofher arm wraps around you, hand cupping the ass of your jeans, thumb tracing the pocket seam.

Laying there is a wad of cash, he can feel the outline faintly under the thick fabric. But he doesn’t take it. Nor does he replace it with anything, despite what you’d been expecting, what he’d agreed to. This routine you’d built up, an unspoken process.

You shift away slightly, looking up at the taller man with furrowed brows. His hand shifts higher, finding its place against your side, holding onto your hip.

“What gives?” You ask, trying to decipher that unreadable look on Richie’s face. For a man so expressive, you were lost on an interpretation in this moment. He wouldn’t even look at you, squinting at some unknown spot in the alley.

Then his head starts shaking, a disapproving look forming, before the words follow. “Sure you don’t want some dope instead?”

“If I wanted dope, I would have asked for it.” You retort. The words were sharp with intent, slightly irritated.

Richie tries harder to convince you, finding that would be easier than outright admitting his concern. “Come on. You haven’t thought about making the switch?” He muses as if it were obvious, taking a long drag from his cigarette. That hand is still on your side.

You roll your eyes. “To what? Being miserable and a fucking downer?”

“No.” Richie rolls his eyes. “To going, I dunno.. natural, or whatever.”

This gets no response, and Richie finally glances down at you. You look confused, but mostly pissed. Definitely some form of agitated.

“Weed and shrooms.” He clarifies with a shrug.

“Are you serious?” You’re snapping at him, finally stepping back a little, out of his hold. “As if you even have shrooms.”

“I could get them if you wanted. Gotta be better than that other shit.”

“Fuck! You’ve gotta be the world’s worst dealer.” You utter, running a hand through your hair and looking off into the distance.

Before he can get a word in, you begin venting, letting that frustration bubble up. “Y’know, if I wanted a lecture, I’d call my parents. But you, Richie?”

So, he snaps back. Like he always does. After all, fighting is miles easier than having an actual discussion. “I dunno, princess, this ain’t fuckin’ right! I can’t do this shit to you.”

“It’s coke, Richie! Not heroin. I’ll be fine.” You urge.

He shakes his head, voice only rising with his temper, a tone most are accustomed to. “You know that’s not the fucking point.” The words have anger in them, laced with bite, intent.

And for some reason.. some, god forsaken reason, you let up.

Maybe you knew this would happen. Maybe you had the smallest, tiniest inkling that coming to Richie, of all people, was a bad idea. You knew he’d stopped dealing, for the most part. But you couldn’t blame him, not after everything that happened with Mikey. It’s not like you didn’t know him, too, but it was different.

So, you relent, pressing a hand over the crease of your brows. “Okay, okay. Just..” You can’t get out a full sentence, mind reeling with about twenty thoughts at once. The most prominent notion: you certainly weren’t getting your coke today. Not from Richie. And, frankly, you didn’t trust anyone else.

He looks down at your dejected form, jaw clenched with tension. Richie didn’t like being the bearer of bad news, by any means, and felt a pang of sympathy. In an ideal world, he’d give you anything and everything you wanted.

In an ideal world, you wouldn’t be asking.

“What’ya need it for, anyway?” He ends up inquiring, tone a tad softer, now that the hostility has simmered.

You shrug, kicking around a rock. “House party.”

Richie nods, getting a vague idea of what was happening. It was for later. That was good.

“Then how ‘bout.. you come over to mine,” He suggested, “We smoke up instead.”

It wasn’t an unfamiliar request, but any means. You’d spent many nights in his apartment. It was lonely and derelict, as most days, he didn’t have his daughter around. Sometimes things escalated. By all means, Richie was certainly a good fuck, if anything. But you were messy, complicated, not someone that stuck around for long. Richie understood that, as he wasn’t looking to settle down, either. Not with someone like you. At least, that’s what he told himself.

“Already bought the beer, Rich.” You justify, giving a minor resistance towards the idea.

Of course, he has a solution for everything. “Bring it.”

You nod along, the slightest of smirks appearing on those plump lips. It was clear as day, a physical indicator that you were fucking weak for anything he suggested. “So you’re denying me product, and you’re gonna drink my beer?”

“Yeah, but the weed is free.” Richie offered, a grin beginning to form, purely because he was getting what he wanted.

There’s a low whistle, sucking the air from between your teeth. It’s cold out, and you’d rather get home, given this was supposed to be a quick pick-up. The thought of spending a night over at a Richie’s place was incredibly tempting, given you hadn’t seen him much lately. He’d been pulling away, which was understandable. You weren’t exactly the healthiest to be around.

“M’kay, weirdo.” You agree, looking away to avoid spotting how purely happy that makes Richie. Deep down, you know he’s genuinely pleased with himself, not just for getting you to come over, but to abandon the drug altogether, even if just for a night. He’s fixing you, making you a better person, which you really fucking hate.

He throws the cigarette to the ground, stomping on its ashy remains. “See? What a good fuckin’ girl you can be. Just gotta use that pretty little head more.”

To emphasise his point, Richie cups the top of your head, fingers disrupting the part of your hair. His hands are huge, for the most part, covering the expanse of your skull. It prompts you to swat it away with a displeased grunt.

“Don’t push it, asshole.” You warn, already trying to fix your hair. Before he can cause any more damage, you’re turning on your heel, eager to escape the cold.

“10pm. Don’t be late, princess.” Richie calls out to your retreating form, watching the semi-enthusiastic thumbs up you flash him in return.

Feeling pretty goddamn successful, he gets back to work.

#me when i neglect all my current wip’s because i desperately needed to write about richie #richie jerimovich #richie jerimovich x reader #richie jerimovich x you #the bear #the bear fx #the bear x you

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riribabymomma · 1 year

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Kill Bill

Paring:toxic!letitia x blk fem!reader

I kept running but no matter how much I ran, I got nowhere. No exit no nothing. It was like a maze. I could hear her crazy ass in the distance dragging that 20 inch machete she called Richie.

"Sthandwa.....Ndicela ungandishiyi" She said in that deep husky voice that I used to love

Me and Letitia had been married for 5 years she proposed at this beautiful restaurant. All of my friends were there we met in college.

That was until she started to kill people I loved One By One.

She had this thing were she only wanted me to be with her 24/7 all day everyday.

She was OBSESSED

All this time I thought someone else were killing them and it was her the crazy part about it was she comforted me about it was there she was my shoulder to cry on

I followed her one night in my friends car and made sure I stayed far away so she wouldn't see me she ended up going to an abandoned warehouse she got out of the car and pulled out a machete from her car making sure no one was looking

Seconds later i heard dreadful screams from a woman but not just any woman it was my mother

I got out the car running inside the warehouse but it was too late she was dead.

Now I am here running trying to get away from this crazy bitch

After about a month, I saw on the news of an abandoned warehouse that had been set on fire and burned down to ashes. The location of the warehouse instantly let me know that it must've been Her.

7 months had passed and I had been making new friends. We decided to go to this new club where the owner was a woman. A new change. I knew feminists definitely partied there.

I was having way too many drinks when I heard my friends saying how the owner was hitting on me.

My vision was too blurry for me to see what the owner actually looked like but I followed her after we danced and talked about whatever. All I remember was getting into a car then blacking out.

I had woken up no too long ago in a wedding dress a white dress.

And now here I was, still trying to escape. She still sees us as being engaged and now we're supposed to marry. My god this woman is crazy.

I took a sharp a right turn only to meet a dead end. I was about to turn back when I saw her walking towards me grinning, showing off her pearly whites. Fuck.

She was walking dramatically slow

Her makeup was done with a flower crown on her head. She had on this beautiful white suit that was supposed to be her wedding suit I guess.

She towered over me

"Why'd you leave me and Richie Y/n... I waited for you. I waited so long for you, and yet you never returned for me. Did I do something wrong?" She asked me in a soft voice.

"I'm sorry Tish... I just, had to take a break I guess. But look we're together now." I said trying to sound confident.

I stayed silent. I didn't wanna say the wrong thing in case if it might trigger her or something.

Letitia dropped the machete and started kissing me again. She was shoving her tongue down my throat forcefully.

She slid her hands up my dress but i grabbed her wrist to stop her

She pulled back confused, "What? You don't want to make love to me? Am I not beautiful? Am I not enough?"

"No Tish it's not that. I just, I want to take it slow you know. We did just get back together."

She nodded and we both stood up

"You know where the bathroom is?" I asked patting down my dress a bit.

Letitia chuckled. She started laughing. She was laughing hysterically at this point.

"Y-you think I'm dumb?!" She said in between her laugh. She was full on laughing putting her hand on her chest and all.

"Please don't try the fucking bathroom excuse with me. What? You're gonna ask me where the bathroom is, I tell you, and you try to escape? I'm not a child Y/n. You can't leave. Not now not ever. Matter fact you're dying with me." Tish’s face instantly went cold as if a new persona took over.

As she was leaning down picking up the machete, I pushed her as hard as I could and I began running again.

I just realized that my dumbass didn't even pick up the machete. I was panicking.

Fuck fuck fuck! There's literally no where I can get out.

One more turn and she stood there with a machete.

I tried to run but my dress was pulled back slamming me into the wall.

She tried to stab the machete into me but I ducked down and the machete went through the wall.

Next thing I know she punched my face knocking me down.

She tried to get on top but I kicked her face making her fall down

I got on top of Letitia choking her. I choked her the hardest I could

Her face was slowly puffing up and getting red when I felt a pocket knife being stabbed into my left thigh.

"Fuck!" I yelled out in pain and held my left thigh.

She pushed me off of her coughing trying to regain her breath.

I tried getting up but she knocked me down grabbing out the knife from my thigh as well.

"Shit!" I cried out from the agonizing pain.

Right as she was about to stab me again with the knife, I backhand slapped the fuck out of her making her slam into the wall.

I got up and tried my best to run with me covering up the deep gash from my thigh.

My heart rate got higher. I looked behind to see her charging at me.

I tried running faster but that was obviously no use when I felt another stab to my shoulder.

She rolled me over getting on top about to stab me again when I grabbed her hands.

I used all my strength to turn the knife towards her and with one powerful push, the knife plunged into her collar bone.

I scrambled up and continued to run a bit but I felt Letitia coming from behind me again.

I could feel her getting closer to me

All I felt was her turning me around with full force and pushing me up against the wall.

I saw the machete go through me coming out out my chest.

She had also been stabbed since she had pressed herself against me.

Blood poring out of our mouths not being able to speak

Welp. I guess she won.

#shuri x reader #shuri x y/n #shuri smut #queen shuri #shuri #letitia wright #toxic!shuri #this is my first post #okoye x reader #ayo #ayo x aneka #smut #t'challa #m'baku

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preciouslandmermaid · 2 years

Text

nothing’s gonna hurt you baby (carmy x f!reader) -- Part 3

Pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

Content: 18+.

Word Count: 6.3k

Warnings/Tags: cursing/foul-language, smoking, angst, panic attack, hurt/comfort (does it count as hurt if the hurt is mental anguish?)

Chapter Synopsis: Your mom tries to help your restaurant progress by flying out her friend-of-a-friend from New York City. You’d rather eat glass than work with a pompous, Chef from New York but you agree to meet with him.

You and Carmy have a rare moment of vulnerability.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

(Read on Ao3)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Carmy lit a cigarette and exhaled slowly. He sat outside his restaurant while looking across the street. He didn’t see the usual construction workers and assumed whatever interior projects must’ve finished. He didn’t see any furniture inside either. Or you. He didn’t see you. He flicked ashes off to the side.

“Cousin, you good?” Richie sidled next to him and offered an empty hand to bum a drag from his cigarette and Carmy passed it to him.

“Yeah, why?”

“You don’t usually smoke out front.” Richie said after taking a long inhale, exhaling through his nostrils, and Carmy shrugged.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You stared at the white ceiling and dragged both hands down your face. You sat up and discovered half of your bed covered in a montage of furniture catalogs and food magazines. You hadn’t hired a chef, but you figured you could come up with a menu on your own. After all, you were doing everything else on your own. Another task or two? Fine. You could handle it. You were unstoppable. You were a third-generation genius. The only thing worse than failure was not trying at all.

You lifted your phone from your nightstand to see an infuriating text from Tim that read: ‘Electrician will be late. Should arrive by 2. Thx.’

You were two bad days away from firing Tim and hiring literally anyone else. Why did your grandfather hire him in the first place? His employees were always late, they were always backlogged, and they always had to drive to east-bumfuck-nowhere to find specific parts. You inhaled deeply through your nose, expanding your chest, and then released it all in a big, suffering sigh. You allowed yourself one pity moment per week for no more than thirty seconds.

“Grow up. Get over it.” You said to yourself before pushing aside the covers.

You swept all the magazines off your bed, and they fluttered to the floor like confetti. After making your bed, you scooped them together with the intention of piling them and putting them on your nightstand.

“Shit!” You hissed, retracting your hand, and sucking the pad of your thumb. You pulled your mouth away and glared at the paper cut welling with a pinprick of blood. “It’s going to be one of those days, huh?”

You left the magazines in a sloppy pile on the ground. You’d deal with it tonight. Or tomorrow. You opened your medicine cabinet and wrapped your thumb in a plain, beige bandage. Your eyes lifted to your mirror and fell upon your bruise. Fucker. You hated that he was right. You did think of him every time you looked in the mirror. Goddamn…arrogant…fucker.

You leaned forward, inspecting the love-bite, and scowled. At least it’s gotten smaller. You reached for your makeup bag and searched for your foundation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Mom, that’s not necessary.” You said whilst shoving your cereal bowl into the top rack of your cluttered dishwasher. Unfortunately, it wasn’t going to fit like this. Annoying. You tucked your phone into the crook of your shoulder and picked up a glass cup to try and make room.

“Ah, fuck!” You shouted as the glass slipped from your fingers and shattered on the hardwood. “Son of—"

Your mom continued talking, unperturbed, “Honey, he’s already flying into O’Hare. My assistant is going to pick him up and bring him to your restaurant. He came highly recommended.”

“I understand that.” You said, setting your phone on speaker and grabbing a dustpan and small broom from under the sink. “Can’t you just send him back to New York?”

“We’ve talked about this. He is Beverly’s sisters’ friend who used to work in a restaurant owned by—”

“I know, I know.” You tried to cut in. You already heard this a dozen times and you always told her ‘No. I don’t want his help’ And ‘No, thank you, Mom. You don’t need to call your friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend like this is some pyramid scheme and have a fucko from New York to help me’.

“--Bobby Flay.” She talked over you. “You are in charge of hiring and firing. But you should at least hear him out, listen to his ideas, and ask for his advice.”

You rolled your eyes. You would rather eat the glass you were cleaning up than to get advice from a New York City Chef. You plucked a large shard off the floor and stared absently at the shiny, clear edge that glistened in the bright morning light. Vaguely, you could hear your mom talking, but it sounded like it came from inside a subway tunnel. It didn’t look that sharp.

You tossed it into the dustpan and resumed sweeping the tiny, crystalline pieces from the floor.

“You said you didn’t have a menu, right?” She asked.

“I’m working on one.”

“Great! He can look it over with you.” She said cheerily. “You’re doing everything on your own sweetheart, and you don’t need to be. Let someone help.”

You remained kneeling on the floor, dustpan in hand, and leaned your head into the side of your countertop. You couldn’t dip out sick. You couldn’t be sick. You were going to put your shoes on. You were going to get your coat. And you were going to meet this Chef. Grow up. Get over it.

You were going to do it because you had no other choice. You couldn’t drive him back to the airport and say “See ya!” Your mother’s reputation would suffer. Your reputation would suffer. You had been in the game long enough to know how reputation either supported or shattered you. You swallowed your pride and it cut your throat to ribbons on the way down.

You tossed the broken glass into the trash and picked up your phone, turning off speaker, “What did you say his name was?”

“Joel.”

“Great.” You said wryly. “I’ll see him soon.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You paced outside your restaurant with both hands tucked into your leather duster. It felt like an eternity passed before Veronica arrived in a sleek black Cadillac and a tall, white dude with glasses stepped out. He wore a tailored blue suit, and his hair was clearly gelled or moussed or something. He looked polished. He looked like every guy you went to college with who attended a fraternity and then got a job at their daddy’s law firm. Veronica gave you a pointed look that you deciphered as “BE NICE!” You’d try your best. You really, really would.

“You must be Joel.” You said flatly. “My mom spoke highly of you.”

“She spoke highly of you as well. Hello.” He shook your hand with both of his.

You took a fortifying inhale as Joel turned to grab his briefcase from Veronica. You slipped off the reality of the exhausted, over-worked first-time restaurant owner who desperately didn’t want to fuck this up and plastered a sweet, congenial smile on your face. You opened the front door and made a grandiose sweeping gesture for him to enter first.

Veronica waved goodbye, “Text me if you need anything!” She said in her faint south-London accent. Her bright red hair and equally bright blue eyeshadow disappeared behind the tinted windows of her Cadillac. You faintly heard the thumping bass of techno music as Veronica pulled away and you smiled to yourself before facing Joel.

“It gets good natural light. I like these bay windows.” He said, gesturing to them while surveying the space, and nodding. “Can I see the kitchen?”

“That’s where the magic happens.” Joel didn’t even crack a smile at your joke. Ok, dick. Get the spatula out of your ass. Jesus.

You slipped in front of him and led him to the back. You installed two gas stoves with convection ovens, and a walk-in freezer and fridge. You had plenty of shelves and storage space. The kitchen was well-lit with energy-saving and eco-friendly fluorescent lights. Naturally, the place was sterile because no one had cooked in here. Your heart stuttered at the weight of – everything – (there was a reason you didn’t like to wander into the empty kitchen), and you shoved your hands into your pockets before Joel noticed them shaking.

He ran his fingers across the top of the shelves. “What model are the stoves?”

“Uh…” You racked your brain for the answer, “SABA.”

“Hm.” He pressed his lips together, “I really would’ve gone with Vulcan or Garland.”

Your façade dissolved like cotton candy in water. How dare he? These were the make and models that your grandfather picked out. Your grandfather who was opening restaurants since before this asshole was in diapers. Granddad did his research. He spoke to vendors. He scoured reviews and talked to other restaurant owners and talked to chefs. He didn’t Google ‘Best Stove 2022’, order it, and move on with his day.

“Yeah, next time I’ve got a couple grand lying around I’ll swap them out.” You said coolly.

Joel continued to prowl around the kitchen, asking questions, and you trailed after him and glared at the back of his head. For every question he asked, your answer always seemed to underwhelm him. He’d press his lips together and go “Hm” and then say some bullshit like, ‘in my restaurant we have three thermometers on the fridge. You should do that too.’ or sometimes he’d just say “Hm” and that was worse somehow. The side of your tongue ached with the frequency of your bites against it.

You loved your mom. You respected her career, her diligence, and ambition. You were not going to kick out the fancy five-star Chef only because you loved her more than you hated him. It was a very small margin though. You sat together on the metal stools within your kitchen and Joel opened his briefcase. He looked like a shitty lawyer.

“You have a menu, correct?” He asked.

“I have ideas for a menu.” You admitted with a pointed look to your clean, flat ceiling. You wondered if you could sneak away to the bathroom, text Veronica, and get him out without it being suspicious.

“That’s alright. Ideas are good. What are they?”

You blinked, confused, and met his inquisitive gaze. This entire walkthrough he had only criticism to say. Now he wanted to share ideas? Incredible. A flexible Chef. What a concept! You couldn’t keep the sarcastic tone out of your own thoughts.

“Do you actually want to work for me?” You asked instead of answering his question.

He interlaced his fingers together on his lap, “I’d like to.”

“Why?”

“You’re intelligent, well-educated, and ambitious. I know your family. I know your grandfather’s history. And I know you were named one of the up-and-coming entrepreneurs in 2020 after your success during the merger between Cincinnati general electric and Fiber-Midwest. You were their financial and acquisitions manager right?”

“One of my many jobs while working for them, yeah.” You shrugged. It wasn’t the most impressive thing on your track sheet. However, you respected that Joel did his homework. Hell, you probably should’ve done some homework yourself so you could have had more of an advantage in this conversation.

“You’re fearless.” He said it so plainly like it was a simple fact of the universe. “Of course, I'd want to work with you.”

Flattery doesn’t work on you most of the time. But today, you were staring down the barrel of your June opening date, the customer bathroom electricity was fucked, and your electrician was running late, you had no furniture beyond your office and kitchen equipment, there was no hired staff, no menu, and your mom was right—you couldn’t do this alone.

You held out your hand. “Show me your menu.”

The menu was two-sided, the front for breakfast and the opposite side for brunch. There were a few classic dishes like eggs and toast. But a majority of the menu was fancier shit—poached rhubarb syrup on sourdough with cream cheese, wild mushroom bruschetta, smoked salmon eggs benedict, and an iced ‘tonic’ drink made with kale, Fuji apple, and cucumber. You drummed your fingers against the protective plastic lamination.

“Wow this is…”

“Impressive?” He assumed.

“A lot.” You said, looking up at him, “I’ve talked to the people around here and they like the simpler stuff. Sausage and egg on an English muffin. Good bacon. Strong coffee. We’re not reinventing the wheel here.”

“I thought you wanted to make this place special. Anyone and their grandmother could walk to McDonald’s and get a breakfast sandwich.” Joel said, leaning forward in his stool to meet your eyes. You grimaced at your fatigued blurry reflection in his glasses.

“I’m just saying – I think we’d have more success with a simpler menu. I mean what even is--croque madame?”

“The description is on the menu below the name.”

“Yeah, I fucking see that.” You rolled your eyes. “But I don’t know what a gruyère, gratinéed béchamel is.”

“Gruyère is a type of hard Swiss cheese. A béchamel is a type of sauce, and gratinéed describes how the cheese is prepared into the sauce.” He explained monotonously.

You set the menu down on the counter beside you and carded both hands through your hair. It all sounded very nice. Incredibly fancy. It sounded like the menu for one of your grandfather’s restaurants. You just couldn’t figure out why you weren’t happier about it. You should be shaking his hand and empathetically thanking him for his time and effort and knowledge.

Instead, you wanted to slam your forehead into the metal preparation table until you saw God.

“We should check the competition while I’m here.” Joel slid off his stool and his knee bumped into yours.

“The Beef is not our competition. They’re a sandwich shop.” The words were out before you could stop them. The side of your neck burned hot with memory. You rubbed your hand along it and some of the foundation rubbed off in a chalky powder onto your palm. You wiped it off across your thigh.

You blinked and shook your head, “Sorry. I don’t know…why I said that. You’re right. Let’s go.”

The second you were outside, you pulled your pack of cigarettes out of your pocket and slid one between your lips. The walk would take less than a minute but that was more than enough time for a drag or two. Besides, it was the lunch rush. There might be a line and you could loiter outside for a few minutes and harvest a few more pulls.

“You smoke?” Joel asked, frowning.

“You don’t?”

“No. I don’t.” He scoffed. “You should quit. They’re terrible for you.” He reached into his pocket and held out a small package of gum, “Here. Chew this instead.”

“Thanks!” You snatched up the entire foil-wrapped package, tucked it in your pocket, and lit your cigarette. Joel pursed his lips and squinted at you through the haze of smoke. He waved his hand to dispel the gray, blue-ish plumes and walked away toward the crosswalk.

You grinned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You shuffled along in the line behind Joel. On principal, you weren’t going to order anything, but you weren’t going to stop Joel from getting a sandwich. The inside of The Beef was about as chaotic as you expected given the perpetual state of exhaustion Carmy carried on his shoulders. Richie kept yelling and then cursing at the iPad in front of him. You pushed the piece of gum around in your mouth, rolling your tongue, and snapping a bubble between your back teeth.

“Hey sweetheart, what can I get ya?” Richie said whilst ignoring Joel. You noticed Richie favored the familiar faces over the unfamiliar.

“Ice water.”

Joel looked down his nose at you. “You should eat something.”

“No.” You said flatly. Your tone brokered no argument. You narrowed your eyes up at Joel and he sighed, pulling out his wallet, and ordering a hot and sweet sandwich for himself. You broke away from the line and peered over the deli counter. You could see into the kitchen. You weren’t trying to peep or snoop. Not intentionally.

Your eyes locked with Carmy’s through the narrow service window. Your heart ballooned in your chest, and you inhaled deeply like this was your first God’s honest breath you took all day. It was only a second. Barely a second. Yet you felt it stretch like saltwater taffy between your teeth. You were standing in a crowded room with Richie’s laughter filling your ears. He stood in the kitchen with white ticket tape pinched between his fingers.

Joel’s hand touched your shoulder and it snapped whatever spell that momentarily took hold of you. You blinked rapidly and looked up at him. “Yeah?”

He held his phone against his ear, “Hey, I gotta take this. Grab the sandwiches.”

“Please and thank you. God, they really don’t teach manners in culinary school.” You muttered to yourself as he walked out of The Beef.

Richie leaned against the counter, snorted, and jerked a thumb toward the door, “Who was that guy?”

You rubbed your forehead with your hand. “He’s a walking headache.”

“Yeah, no shit. Is he your boyfriend?”

You leveled Richie with A Look. “No. Ew.”

“He’s not your type, huh?” Richie asked. You were about to tell him to tend to his customers and stop trying to hit on you, but the kitchen door pushed open and Carmy said your name with urgency.

“Can I talk to you for a sec?” He said. His weary, blue eyes were uncharacteristically wild. Then again, maybe it was a side-effect of being at work during the lunch rush. Your interactions thus far were limited to after hours. A quick glance to the front confirmed that Joel was still on his phone. You shrugged, collecting your cup of ice water from Richie, and Carmy motioned for you to follow him behind the counter.

You passed behind Richie, wove quickly through the tight kitchen space, and around the dishwashing station. You noticed the quick, confused glances of the staff. Marcus smiled at you. However, Carmy didn’t address anyone or explain anything. He moved through the space with determined, quick strides and expected you to follow. He flattened his palm against a heavy, black door and pushed it open for you.

“Tell me you aren’t working with that asshole.” Carmy said the second the door swung shut and you were alone within a semi-private spot. He paced in a small circle with his hands on his hips.

“Oh my God!” You laughed, bewildered yet unsurprised. “You are such a control freak!”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. First, Carmy tells you to close before it’s too late, and now he had the audacity to tell you who you should or shouldn’t hire. It was your establishment. Not his. How many times would you dance this little dance? It was getting repetitive and obnoxious.

He stopped pacing and stared at you. “Don’t work with him. Just don’t. Trust me, okay? Don’t.”

“Stop trying to micro-manage my business.” You said angrily.

“I’m not fucking trying to micro-manage you. I’m—”

“Helping?” You interrupted hotly.

Carmy pressed his palms together, bringing his hands to the front of his mouth, and exhaled heavily. “I worked with him in New York.” His eyes squeezed tightly together in a harsh blink. “D-don’t – Don’t – “

You waited for Carmy to elaborate. You waited for him to tell you that there was some Big Scandal. Your brow furrowed at the rapid rise and fall of Carmy’s chest and the wild flare of his nostrils. He wasn’t looking at you anymore. His eyes were wide and glossed over and focused on the ground. You set your cup down on the bench and approached him, carefully, with your hands outstretched.

“Whoa, hey. Hey!” You squeezed his strong, solid biceps. “Carmy. Carmen.”

Your hands trailed across his warm skin, down his arms, and to his hands which were interlaced tightly in front of his chin—his grip white-knuckled and trembling. You covered your hands over his. His fingers were a sailor’s knot with no hope of disentanglement. You settled for gently squeezing and flexing your fingers over his.

“Breathe with me, Carmy. Come on. Breathe in.” You took a lungful of air and exhaled nosily with your lips shaped in a round ‘o’. “And out.”

His eyes found yours through the miasma of terror and panic. You nodded a little with your eyes locked onto his, “Breathe in.” You slipped one hand from his and cupped his cheek. You could faintly feel rough stubble on his skin. You hoped the varied tactile sensations would ground him.

“And out. Like this. You can do it.” You mimicked the deep breathing technique again. Carmy followed you this time, breathing slowly, and his inhale rattled like the wooden deck of an old ship.

“Good. That’s good.” You smiled, “Just keep breathing with me, okay? That’s all we gotta do right now.” His hand beneath yours abruptly shifted and gripped your palm firmly. You gently squeezed his hand with each inhale and lessened the pressure of your grip on each exhale.

Carmy leaned forward ever-so-slightly. His forehead pressed against yours. Your co-joined hands, twisted together, remained at chin level. His breath ghosted across your knuckles and a tremor raced down your spine. His eyes brightened. He held your gaze, though now you felt like he was actually looking at you and wasn’t lost in a memory. You were completely enraptured.

“Still with me?” You asked softly as your bandaged thumb gingerly stroked his cheek in the space below his eye.

He nodded slowly and his hold on your hand slackened. “Yeah.”

You cleared your throat and drew your hand away from his face. He caught your wrist briefly and gave a pointed look to your bandage, “How’d that happen?”

“I was juggling knives.” You said before hiding your hands in your coat. Your hands tingled and prickled. It was probably because of the death-grip Carmy had. You were getting your circulation back. That was it.

“I figured if the restaurant business didn’t work out, I might apply for like the circus.”

He cracked a small, close-lipped smile. Your stomach did an acrobatic flip. The tension of what happened laid heavy like fresh fallen snow in the space between you. You didn’t know what to say or how to address the fact that Carmy had a panic attack in front of you. You doubted he knew what to say either. It wasn’t every day you had a breakdown in front of someone you fucked and had a weird semi-antagonistic relationship with.

Carmy cleared his throat and wiped his palms against the front of his apron.

It was best to not mention anything. After all, it would be less embarrassing for the both of you. You observed a fissure in the dark pavement and your heart thundered mercilessly against your rib cage. You couldn’t bear to look at him. You didn’t want to see the story etched out across his face.

“I better go.” You said, before holding out your ice water and rattling it, “Try putting an ice cube in your mouth next time.” The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them, sounding awkward to your own ears, and you mentally winced. This was entirely too personal.

“Anyway, I’ve got work to do. You’ve got work to do.” You said in a rush, “See you around.”

It was impressive – really impressive – how you managed to talk without making any eye-contact whatsoever. Your gazed danced around in the air, refusing to settle on Carmy, like a bird nervous to take flight. You didn’t give Carmy time to reply. You were already halfway around the building and practically speed-walking to meet up again with Joel at the front.

“Where were you? Where are the sandwiches?” He said upon seeing you round the corner.

“Ah, fuck! Right.” You ducked back into The Beef and shimmied past the construction workers in line.

“There she is!” Richie announced with a smile, “Where did you and Carmy go? You guys uh--” His smile turned into a smirk, and he clicked his tongue. The implication was clearer than the water stain on the ceiling tile above his head.

“Listen, I’m not judging. I mean – it’s a little fucked because we’re in the middle of lunch but I kind of respect it, you know?" Richie said with laughter in his voice.

“Yes! That is exactly what I was doing, Richie.” You interrupted dryly before he could go on a tangent and grabbed your sandwiches from the countertop. “I was having wild and completely silent sex in the alleyway.” You said mockingly.

You side-stepped an older woman and held the sandwiches, greasy wrapper included, against your chest.

Once outside, you passed Joel his sandwich. And then it hit you.

“Wait.” You scowled. “Why the fuck didn’t you get the sandwiches?” Also, there were two of them – which was grating because you didn’t order one.

“You said you’d get them.” He said frankly.

“You know what? No. Nope. You don’t deserve it.” You snatched the sandwich out of Joel’s hand. You knew of a homeless person who usually posted-up at the corner of a nearby bank. You walked off in that direction with the warm sandwiches staining grease onto the front of your shirt.

“Excuse me?” He yelled after you. You ignored him. “Hey!” You could hear his footsteps now, his strides longer than yours and catching up quick, “I paid for those.”

“I’m doing you a favor. Their food is trash.” You said, a little breathless, and Carmy’s haunted expression flashed in front of your eyes.

“Didn’t you see how they ran the place? Completely unprofessional. They have a C in the window for Christ’s sake.” You continued.

You didn’t know if the food at The Beef was good or not, but you were at your limit with Joel. He was worse than your average egomaniac Chef. He ignored your wishes, he was judgmental, and downright rude. You didn’t know what happened between Joel and Carmy, but Carmy freaked the fuck out while talking about Joel. Details be damned. Carmy’s reaction told you everything you needed to know.

“I think you’re overreacting. We need to try it.” He said, keeping pace with you, “We can’t structure our restaurant if we don’t know the other options. We’re going to be a breakfast and brunch location, but we could expand in the future.”

You were forced to stop walking at an intersection. The cars sped down the street, your hair whipped around your face, and your temper boiled over. “Stop saying ‘we’!”

Joel actually looked crestfallen.

“What? Why?”

Your eyes widened. Was he seriously this delusional? Good God. At this point, you’d take the damage to your reputation if it meant Joel was out of your life faster.

“Because I’m not hiring you.” You said coldly. “It’s not a good fit.”

“Why not?”

“Do you always question people’s decisions?” You asked with a low simmer of heat to your words. “It’s my restaurant. It belongs to me. I decide who works there. It’s not my late grandfather’s choice. It’s not my mom’s. It’s mine.”

Joel tilted forward to be eye-level with you. “You’re making a mistake. Do you know how many restaurants would beg to have me working there?”

“Great. You can work for them then.” You said unflinchingly. You caught the crosswalk signal flashing white out of the corner of your eye. “Have a nice flight back to New York.”

Joel did not follow you across the street. You found the man you were thinking of near the parking garage of the bank. He sat next to a shopping cart filled with filled plastic bags and wore a faded, grimy Chicago Cubs baseball cap. He looked at you with befuddled, watery brown eyes.

“Weird question, but I got an extra sandwich. Do you want it? And can I sit and eat with you?” You said while offering the sandwich.

“What is it?” He said gruffly. His voice was a deep timbre and ragged around the edges.

“It’s from Chicagoland Beef. It’s a hot and sweet or something.” You shrugged, “I hear it’s good.”

The man frowned a little and accepted it. “You got any cigarettes?”

You sat on the sidewalk next to him, “Yeah.”

“Can I have one?” He asked after taking a bite of his sandwich. You unwrapped your sandwich on your lap and plucked your last two cigarettes out of the pack. You wordlessly passed them over the stranger. You could buy another pack on your way home. Or you could ask Carmy again…a small, selfish, and stupid part of your brain whispered.

“God Bless you.” The man said and slid a cigarette behind each ear. You picked up the sandwich, sighed, and mentally prepared yourself to be grossly disappointed. Chicagoland Beef wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t sleek, or modern, or Instagram-worthy. It wasn’t a five-star bistro. It was a restaurant only in business due to nostalgia. The regulars kept it alive which meant it wouldn’t be good. It would be sub-par at best.

“Holy shit.” You spoke around a mouthful of beef, “Holy fucking shit. You’re kidding me.”

The man snickered and nodded. “It’s good, right?”

“It’s fucking divine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was fucking cold the next morning which was obnoxious to contend with as you stood outside The Beef/Chicagoland. You bounced a little in place and rapt your knuckles against the glass front door. You considered going to the parking lot and knocking on the metal door, but that felt weird and intrusive. You didn’t work here. Nope. It was better to keep things super professional going forward. No more bumming cigarettes, no more fucking in the backseat, and no more terrifyingly intimate moments of shared vulnerability.

You were going to stick to your side of the street starting today.

A young Black woman wearing a colorful scarf around her head to protect her box braids answered the door with an elongated, “Hellooo?”

“H-hi. Um – is Carmy – wow this is weird. I’m not a stalker, just FYI, but is Carmy here?”

“Okay, you do realize that sounds like something a stalker would say, right?”

You snorted. “I do realize that.” You gave her your name. She twisted her lips wryly, shut the door, and left you on the chilly sidewalk.

You squinted up the sky and scattered ashen clouds dotted across a blue canvas. The eastern sunrise slashed radiant yellow-orange light through the taller buildings of Chicago. You couldn’t believe you were up this early just to ensure you talked to Carmy before the day started. Then again, it wasn’t like you slept much the night before. You spent over two hours on the phone with your mom conducting damage control after the fallout with Joel. Lucky for him – you were generously compensating him for his time and that should (in theory) reduce any hard or bitter feelings. The rest of the evening was confined to your couch and watching cooking competition shows for inspiration. You yawned behind your fist and blinked away the tired tears that blossomed.

Carmy opened the door, “Jesus, it’s cold as fuck out here.” He titled his head to the side to signal you to walk into the building. You searched his face briefly, unintentionally scanning it for any lingering anxiety, but Carmy looked as he always did - sleep deprived and worn thin. At least he was consistent.

“I’m not going to work with Joel.” You blurted, “He’s a dick.”

Carmy nodded. “Okay.” He said while wiping his hands on a white towel that was identical to the one in his other apron pocket. You chewed your lower lip. It was now or never, wasn’t it? It was time to stay on your side of the street. Your heart skipped in anticipation. Every instinct in your bones told you to say a gruff farewell and bolt from the restaurant. It was always easier to run than to admit you were wrong.

Grow up. Get over it.

“And I’m sorry I was such an asshole to you.” You looked at the framed photos on the wall instead of looking at him, “You were right, and I was being unfair.” You shrugged and the nape of your neck burned with mortification.

“You already apologized for that.” He said casually. “Truce, remember?”

Oh good. He got your note. Carmy inhaled sharply at the beginning of a thought. Your feet itched to hit the pavement at a breakneck speed. But you forced yourself to stay put and see the conversation through until the end. How was it that you could fearlessly stare down a boardroom of geriatric Viagra-popping executives and yet in front of Carmy all you wanted to do was run?

“About yesterday…” He began.

You swallowed roughly and nerves electrified across your skin.

“You know, the – uh –when I – I –“ He whispered with a cautious look over his shoulder to the kitchen.

“Freaked out?” You said softly with a pointed lift to your eyebrows.

“Yeah.”

You sensed he might thank you and you couldn’t have that happening. The various events that happened behind The Beef of Chicagoland were best if left unmentioned. Your relationship to Carmen Berzatto going forward would be impersonal. It would be professional with a capital “P”.

“Don’t worry about it.” You pressed your lips together. “Shit happens.”

You couldn’t tell if his expression was relieved or disappointed. If he wants to talk about his mental health, he can talk to a therapist. You strengthened your spine and configured your expression into perfect neutrality.

“Okay, okay. Yeah.” He blinked a few times, nodding quickly, “Well, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” You said while giving him one of those awkward, tight-lipped smiles people do when they cross someone on the street. Really, don’t. You mentally pleaded. Your pulse thrummed bellowed your jaw. OK. It was time to leave. You knew that. He knew that. Why weren’t you saying goodbye? You inhaled shortly and parted your lips.

Marcus’ voice called your name from the kitchen, and he walked into the front of house a second later. He purposefully carried a small, paper to-go boxed container.

“Hi Marcus!” You said instead of saying farewell to Carmy. Your mood instantly buoyed. Marcus held the container out to you with a bashful, kind-hearted smile.

“This is for you.”

“What is it?” You said at the same time Carmy said, “What’s that?”

Marcus shrugged one big shoulder, “I wanted to thank you for giving me the opportunity to interview with you. I am going to stay here, though. Just so we’re clear.”

You couldn’t help but smile a little up at him. “I get it. We’re clear.” You held the little box safely against your chest in reverence. No one gave you a gift after an interview before. It was remarkably sweet. You said a quick farewell and carried the box back to your restaurant with a small, dazed smile on your face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Chef Carmy!” Ebra whispered at him. They snuck a look through the deli window when she arrived, so early in the morning, with her nose pink from the cold. Everyone in the kitchen was curious.

“Yes, Chef?” Carmy replied while rapidly chopping onions. He sniffed and wiped his nose on his shoulder.

“That was your girlfriend?” Ebra asked with an encouraging nod.

“What?” He shot him a confused, exasperated look. “No. No, man. Just – let’s focus on prep, yeah? Okay? Tina, where you at on the stock?”

“One more hour, Jeff.” Tina replied.

“Then she is Marcus’ girlfriend.” He guessed.

“Ebra – No.” Carmy stopped cutting and set his knife down, “I don’t know if she’s anyone’s girlfriend, alright? And it doesn’t matter. She just - she came by to tell me something. That was it. Can we move on. Please?”

“Marcus gave her a slice of cake and you did not get upset.”

“He –“ Carmy sighed and picked up his knife again, “We’ve got five slices all day. We’re not behind. It’s fine.”

Ebra pursed his lips and nodded solemnly. Carmy refocused on his task at hand with relief running through his veins. He didn’t want to think about you and the tender, soft expression on your face yesterday.

He didn’t want to think about the easy-going smile you gifted Marcus.

He didn’t want to think about your light perfume and sweat clinging to his skin.

He didn’t want to think about how your eyes glistened after seeing the magazine cover before you promptly blinked it away.

He didn’t want to think about the way your cigarette dangled from your plush lower lip when you first met.

He slammed his knife down with more force than necessary. Fuck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You sat alone in your pristine, sleek, and silver kitchen. Joel’s pretentious menu laid open on the counter and you set Marcus’ box beside it. Opening it revealed a layered slice of chocolate cake. You laughed lightly and grabbed a fork.

The first bite is wonderfully moist and dense with dark-chocolate flavor. A memory unfurled against your tongue and in the pockets of your cheeks. A memory of birthday parties, chasing your cousins barefoot through the grass, the happiest moments of your family were always when they came together to celebrate something or someone. You set the fork down and stare, unseeing, at the wall.

It doesn’t have to be a restaurant. It could be a bakery. This kitchen could produce cupcakes and tiered cakes with loving, creative designs. Your grandfather never owned a bakery. His business and legacy was locked into flipping old buildings and turning them into upscale dining and haute cuisine.

But fine dining wasn’t you. You didn’t want to run a business with fancy cheese brunches and raspberries imported from Spain. Your stomach twisted inside-out at the thought of it. You pushed Joel’s menu into the nearby trash and tucked your feet under the metal rung of your stool.

You lifted the container of cake and took another bite while smiling.

> Part Four (nsfw)

#carmy berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #fic: nothings gonna hurt you baby #the bear fic #carmen berzatto x reader #reader x carmy berzatto

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miss-celestia13 · 9 months

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Devil in Paradise

Dark!Richy x Dark!OFMC One Shot

Aylins latest idea hasn’t turned out quite how she hoped. New identities. A cruise filled with the wealthy. Out in the middle of the ocean, Richy joins in with her scams, and she discovers it is possible for her to feel jealous…

These two have been waiting quite impatiently for me to come back to them. Expect plenty dark humor, more possessive smut, and a shift in their dynamic. Can be read alone without any knowledge of the fandom or pairing, but I have linked the last one below!

Flesh & Blood

People Aylin wants to kill or maim

1- The entire world. But especially the person who invented cruise ships. If they were already dead, she'd dig them up and kill them again just to please herself. She wanted to destroy it all. It all existed to piss her off. If she weren’t already living in a hell realm, she’d set it all on fire. Richy was already suffering. She took much enjoyment from it and didn't feel the need to add to it yet.

Aylin

Fuck this ship. Fuck the sun. Fuck the heat. Fuck it all, burn it down, and burn the fucking ashes. Sticky, moody, and annoyed. She was sick of it. They had managed to board without any drama; she’d sourced them new identities and paid handsomely for the privilege. Richy was delighted by his. His new name gave him a little more freedom, even if it made her snort laugh every time she tried to say it. Flynn. She was not calling him that. Not a chance. His beard was still a point of great pride for him, and she giggled every time she caught him staring at his reflection on any shiny surface he passed. The red dye had faded to a dingy ginger shade due to the sun and the thirteen showers she took to get the dried blood off when they finally found accommodation for the night after that night in the alley.

Richy had joined her at one point, and they’d broken the flimsy shower screen, but it was worth the loss of their deposit. The diamond ring had been pawned for much less than its worth but still a hefty amount that funded this whole project. No more lives had been taken, but she was close. She was on the treadmill again and did not know how to get back off. It gnawed in her chest. Every annoyance another person caused her made it rear up, and she struggled to force it back down. They could find jobs, settle down and live happily ever after. But that wasn’t them. Too mundane and boring. They’d kill each other before the week was out. Instead, they had bounced around high-cost resorts and hotels. Making off with cash, jewelry, and other valuables from the rich folk while making their way to the port.

It was exciting, and they had slowly built a good chunk of savings. Now they were far from Duskwood, or any other land, Richy could take part, and he was foaming at the mouth as they got ready. They were dressed to the nines, and she kept stealing glances as he moved about and pretended he wasn’t ogling her as she toed on her best heels. She didn’t know why he bothered hiding it. Part of the normal act he'd worn in his old life that he couldn’t shake off, she supposed. But it was stupid. He spent more time inside her than out. It was during one particularly memorable night that she had her “best” idea yet. Richy had been snoring beside her as she tossed and turned and tried to devise a way to get them as far away as possible. A cruise ship! It had felt like a stroke of genius. Until she boarded the fucking thing.

A giant floating city. It sounded perfect to get lost in and cause mayhem. She had read something about wealthy widowed people living out their golden years on those massive ships, and she knew the pickings would be easy. She had haunted more than one rich person's funeral so she could convince their crying heirs to part with a chunk of their inheritance. It would have been like shooting pigs in a damn barrel. But then the sun was there, hanging in the sky, a giant ball of hell that made her skin sticky, her hair frizzy, and her fair skin would have been roasted if she wasn’t militant about protecting it. She had taken to giving it the middle finger every time she was outside during the day.

Richy had it worse. A landlubber through and through, he’d spent the first few days a sickly green color and had kept her up at night with his retching. She was not made to comfort, but she had brought him some crackers she’d pilfered from the maid's cart on her way back to their cabin one night. It was the same thing in her mind, but he hadn’t been as grateful as she thought he should, considering she could have brought him nothing. Shaking herself out of her thoughts, she leaned into the mirror and admired herself, painted her mouth red, and turned to a suited and booted Richy.

He scrubbed up well, too well, a voice whispered as he fiddled with his tie and met her wandering eye as she looked him up and down. The suit had been her last demand before they boarded this teeming beast of a boat, and he'd bitched about it the whole time, but he was smirking now, and she almost wanted to stay in. Then he opened his mouth, and she rolled her eyes, the notion soon disappearing.

“Are you done yet? We're late.”

Leveling him with a glare, she said, “We're only late when they're dead. You go first. They'll think we're together if we arrive as one.”

He frowned, looking uneasy now, “How do I know who to choose?”

“You find the one that tracks your every movement. You'll feel it. It's like a brand on your neck. Make yourself noticeable but not too much, or you'll be remembered. You exist only for tonight. Tomorrow you will be someone else.”

He looked ready to argue, but his jaw clenched, and he nodded before striding to and out of their suite door. She decided to linger behind for a little while, hoping she'd have to rescue him when she arrived, but as she entered the glittering ballroom, she saw that he was doing fine. Women of varying ages and degrees of plastic surgery surrounded him. She idly wondered how they didn't melt during the day when the sun seemed determined to flay the skin from her bones. Richy held court in the center, multiple drinks in front of him as their eyes met, and she gave a single nod as she surveyed the room for her own mark.

Casting her mental fishing line wide, she waved down a waiter passing by with a tray of champagne, snagging two glasses. She downed one and left it on an empty table as she sipped the other. After two turns of the massive space, she felt a tug on her line, a scalding stroke down her neck as she turned and saw the fiftysomething suave silver fox toasting his glass at her. She had hoped for someone closer to Death's sweet embrace, but as she didn't plan to do anything other than flatter and pander to his ego, she gave him a demure smile. Turning her eyes to the floor as he approached, thinking of the many ways she could torture Richy later to force a blush to her cheeks and put on her best impression of an innocent virgin as the man greeted her.

“I haven't seen you around. I would have remembered you if I had.” He grinned, teeth so white they should be used in toothpaste commercials and so perfect it was almost unnerving.

“I keep to myself mostly.” She hedged, hiding her coy smile in her champagne as he edged closer, and she could feel Richy watching them.

“I'm Darren. Care to tell me yours?” His voice had that lilt to it, the one that spoke of a life of excess and having everything handed to him.

“Lilith, don't ask. My parents thought it was unique.” She giggled, hating the sound and glancing over at Richy to avoid Darren's observant eyes.

He had his arm around one of the younger women. Bottle blond hair, tits defying gravity as she leaned in to whisper in his ear. He met her gaze, seeing something in her expression that made him smile slowly and move closer to the blond. She clutched her glass and looked away, hoping she wouldn't shatter it as Darren told her he loved her name and invited her to drink with him. She nodded, taking his arm and letting him lead her to his table. Perching daintily on her chair, she smiled when he brought them drinks, and she noted his was premium while hers was the free champagne being handed out like water. She hated when the rich were cheap. Still, she thanked him with wide eyes and feigned interest as he told her how he'd ended up on the cruise.

Her focus kept returning to Richy. Basking in the adoration of horny, husbandless women with too much money and insufficient brain cells to keep hold of it. It sickened her, and she didn't know why. It wasn't until she caught him sneering at her as she'd reached out to lay what she hoped was a comforting hand on Darren's arm and squeezed, something green flashing in his eyes. She wanted to hit him for making her feel something as sickeningly human as jealousy. Redirecting her energy, she pointedly ignored the anger pouring from Richy as Darren leaned into her personal space and tucked her hair behind her ear. Another shy smile, looking away from his piercing grey eyes as she acted the timid young lady.

The silver fox's scent was as rich as his wallet, but she was glad when he moved back, earning some points in her mind as he sensed her reluctance and did not push her. They chatted about shit she had no interest in, and didn't remember a word the man said seconds after it left his mouth. He left to use the bathroom, and she watched him until he vanished, letting out a long breath as her gaze returned to Richy's table only to find it empty. He wasn't on the dancefloor or at the bar, and he didn't leave the bathroom even after Darren had come out and gone to the bar. Sinking the last of her champagne, she huffed and stood, storming out of the room while Darren still had his back turned. If she had to search this entire ship to hunt that bastard down, she would string him over the fucking balcony.

***

Thankfully, she didn't have to go that far and found him in the first place she checked. And she was attacked the second she walked in the door. He was pacing barefoot as she entered, spinning to her as she locked the door. Her heart was already racing, the promising thrill of a good fight hung in the air, and her skin crackled with it, blood heating at the blackness overtaking his eyes. He’d tossed his jacket and tie on the floor and she could tell he’d been pulling at his collar to loosen it while he waited for her.

“What the fuck were you doing in there?” He demanded, hands flying up and dropping back to his side with a loud smack as she kicked her shoes off and enjoyed the cool floor on her sore feet.

“Nothing that you weren't doing, Richy. Don't fucking start. Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy the way she was looking at you! Touching you!” She spat, teeth bared, and fists clenched as they circled each other.

Her mind flashed back to that first time back in Duskwood. The fury and uncertainty as they sniffed each other out before giving into the need to claim and tear and break. Her blood was singing, she wanted to pour it out and paint the world red, so it matched the fury riding her. Richy’s response didn’t ease her any.

“Now you know how it felt when I was locked inside a hotel room while you were off gallivanting with other men!”

“How many times?! I wasn’t gallivanting. I never once touched or thought about touching them! You were lapping it up!”

“Why do you care? I thought you didn’t do labels.” He reminded her, and she regretted the day she ever met him.

Scowling, hands itching to hit him, she turned on her heel, aiming for the door and intending to get black-out drunk on free booze and fuck the first man to smile her way when he grabbed her by the back of her neck and hauled her against him. She struggled, clawing and scratching his arms as they banded around her and held her trapped. He was chuckling in her ear, she could feel how turned on he was, and her inner voice was crooning that she got just what she wanted, but she ignored it. She wanted to fight.

“Let me go, Richy.” She clipped as he avoided her attempt to stomp on his bare foot.

“Not until you tell me why you were really upset.” He taunted, voice like gravel. It was so harsh, and she tried to ignore the rush of wet heat soaking her underwear, but it was nigh on impossible as Richy ground his erection into her ass.

They were volatile and explosive, but that’s how she liked it, and even now, her need to be well and truly fucked had overridden all her rage; in truth, her fury only heightened it.

“The day you came with me, you became mine. I don’t like people touching my things without my permission!” She snarled as he dragged her over to their rumpled bed.

“Good. Because you’re mine, I don’t like watching you fawn over those men any more than you do.”

His arms were unwound, but she didn’t bolt like she’d planned. She didn’t like most people, hated them actually, but she could tolerate Richy, and she was easy around him. He always knew what she needed. Her heart rate climbed as his hands came around, and one gripped and twisted her chin, the other dug into her hip as he lowered his head to kiss her. Her instinct was to lean away. It felt too intimate somehow. Still, she fought the urge and let him. It felt more like an argument as he breached her mouth and swept inside. She could only match every stroke of his tongue. It was awkward, and she needed some control back as heat and want spiraled through her so intensely she felt out of her mind as she turned in his hold to face him.

His eyes were black as night, thrilling her before she closed hers again and grabbed hold of his shirt, tugging him back down and catching his lips in hers. Pressing in, teeth biting at his lips and smiling into the kiss as he took the hint. His hand slid into her hair, a sharp tug and pain flickered over her scalp, and she moaned as she felt her wetness slide down her inner thighs. He did it again, smirking as she trembled, and she had almost forgotten why she was angry with him. But then she smelt it. The overly sweet perfume that did not belong to her clung to his clothes, and her fury flared once more.

Breaking the kiss, she glared up at him and stabbed a finger into his chest as she ground out the words, “I can smell her on you. How close was she?”

He rolled his eyes, and she didn’t even think; she lifted her hand, intending to slap him, but he caught it as it swung for his face and took hold of her other before she could attempt it again. Turning her around again, moving so fast he had her wrists in his firm grip behind her back before her brain realized what was happening. The fine bones bent and twisted as he shoved a knee between her legs and bent her over the bed.

“Not this close. You smell like a different man every night, and I’m supposed to accept that, Aylin. You can do the same.”

Head shaking, arms straining as she tried to break out of his hold, huffing and giving in when he only held her tighter, and she sensed him drop to his knees behind her. She could see him between her split thighs, free hand eagerly reaching up her dress, and her underwear was pulled down to pool around her ankles. She was panting as she stepped out of them, blood racing in her veins as his fingers dipped into her dripping folds and made even more mess as he spread it around. Her teeth were buried in her bottom lip as he teased her with featherlight grazes over her clit, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a moan or whimper even as her legs shook and another flood of essence soaked his busy hand.

When he rose to his feet, the burn in her core became intolerable, and she was close to begging when he suggested something she usually refused.

“I want to bind your hands before I fuck you.” He muttered as he unzipped her dress and shoved it down her arms, leaving her completely bare while he was still fully clothed.

The idea of being under his control did not frighten her the way it had in the past. He had allowed her her way many times and had never complained. Black excitement filtered through her as she loosed a breath and nodded her consent, shifting on her feet as the emptiness inside her demanded relief. She couldn’t see him, but she felt his surprise in the loosening of his hand around her wrists. He let her go, stepping away, but she didn’t look as she straightened and flexed her hands as he shed his clothes. Her pulse jumped in her neck when his hands settled on her shoulders, whirling her around and giving her a biting kiss she felt in her curled toes before she was shoved hard. Landing on her back, arching a brow at him as he smirked down at her.

Oh, thank fuck, she thought he’d lost the rage, but it was there, in his eyes, flickering like a shadow flame as she arched and raised her hands above her head, crossing them at the wrist as he licked his lips. They were two monsters with the same damn hunger, and she did not have a lick of shame about it as he crawled over her, his belt in hand. She closed her eyes at the feel of the leather looping around her wrists, the metallic click on the buckle as he pulled it so taut her fingers soon tingled and the sound echoed like a gunshot in her lusty mind. There was nothing for him to tie her to. His growled warning made her press her thighs together as he moved down her body.

“Keep them there, or I’ll stop and leave you here until you learn.” Her thighs were wrenched apart when she chuckled and gave him a nod of agreement.

Testing her shackles, she found no give, and her heart was in her throat as she waited for his next move. Trust. Did she have it for him? She wasn’t entirely sure, but she trusted he wanted her more than he wanted to harm her and forced herself to go loose and pliant at the touch of his fingers as he parted her folds. His mouth was on her a second later, tongue gliding up the seam of her, hands pinning her thighs to the bed. Two fingers sank inside her, and he repeated the move, making her shake her head and sob as he drank her down, humming so low in his throat it vibrated through her. The rough scrape of his beard on her tender flesh drove her to distraction as he worked on her. Her hands grasped at nothing, the urge to bring them down and grab his head almost impossible to ignore as he crooked his fingers and pulled as she cried out at the flick of his hot tongue on her clit.

Blunt nails cut into her thighs as he consumed her relentlessly. Her throaty cries turned to warbling moans as he alternated between quick darts of his tongue and languid licks of her essence, his fingers moving within her and taking the edge off of the ache as her body writhed under him. He was determined to make her whine his name, lapping at her clit as her hands fisted uselessly, and she yearned to pull his hair. Tilting her hips, trying to stop him from moving away from where she needed him, the lewd sound of his devouring and the deep groans spilling from him made it impossible to hold her orgasm back.

Keening too loudly, his mouth sealed over her clit, sucking her into his mouth whole as his fingers teased her inner walls with delicious friction. He gave her no mercy as she shivered and sobbed, his tongue swirling over that swollen bundle of nerves incessantly until she tensed and jerked so violently he chuckled. Her trembling thighs, his skilled tongue, and the fingers in her cunt were a sweet torture as she clenched her teeth and panted through them, cries going wild as release suddenly swelled and crashed through her so hard she curled in on herself. She was sobbing, body twitching and spasming as the flutter of his tongue on her clit became too much to bear, refusing to back away as heat and sweat spread over her skin. He did not stop until she said, ‘Please.’

Aftershocks zinged through her muscles as she cracked an eye open to watch him sit back on his haunches, beard soaked and glistening before he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, making her inner walls clench on nothing. He did not give her respite, and she was not thinking about anything as the fire in her veins turned her blood to steam. Her legs were arranged to suit him, laid against his shoulders as he grabbed her hips and dragged her closer, impaling her on his thick length. In one effortless slide, he was buried so deep she couldn’t draw a breath in. Her bound hands prickled and burned as he bent her body back. Her muscles already burning, his cock filling her up and banishing the ache.

A low thrumming began under her skin as he moved, a tinge of pain, cunt gripping his cock tight and turning his grip on her hip punishing. He touched her as if he owned her, eyes never leaving her face as she absorbed his brutal thrusts, bound hands pressed to her chest in a mockery of prayer. Deep darts of his hips, circling and retreating to plunge back inside her, all of it sent pleasure sparkling through her. Her anger simmered in the back of her mind, growing quieter with every drag of his cock against her slick walls and the black look in his eyes. There was always a thread of hate between them, never more obvious than when they fucked, and usually, she did the possessing. It was her turn to be possessed, and it didn’t bother her the way she thought it would.

In the game they were playing, she wasn’t sure who was the slayer and who was the slayed as he slid free of her cunt. He ignored her indignant snarl as he ordered her to get on her knees. Her hackles lifted at the dominance in his tone. A scalding retort tried to sneak free of her teeth, darkness crossed his eyes, and she got just what she wanted. She was grabbed and flipped so fast she couldn’t track it. Ass in the air, face buried in the pillows, he shoved her legs apart and pushed down on her back to make her arch deeper, turning her head so her fierce cry as he pushed inside her could be heard by anyone walking past their cabin door.

Her arms strained, hands cramping and making her balance feel wrong with them trapped under her as he brought his hand down on her ass so hard she jolted. Rocking back into his thrusts, wetness out of control as he hit her again, and she was lost in sensation as he fucked her. Tensing herself, delighting in the pain and pleasure of being thoroughly invaded, she stopped caring that he had all the control. Her skin flared with goosebumps, her stomach tensing at the vicious snap of his hips; she let herself enjoy it. It was addicting, the desire and sense stealing pleasure. Each hit was the closest thing to heaven either would experience.

“You were made me for me, Aylin. Don’t ever forget that.” He muttered, pounding into her mercilessly as she thrashed her head in denial.

Richy laughed, the sound like black magic to her crazed mind as his hand slid around her hip and travelled over her stomach to dip into her folds and tease her clit.

“Don’t fight it. You clearly like it.” He baited her, still shaking her head despite the intense pressure building within her and the wetness seeping from her, doing nothing to convince him otherwise.

“Fuck you.” She managed, knowing it was futile, as her cunt clamped down on his cock.

“You will. Your turn first.” He returned, picking up his pace, fingers ruthless in rubbing that bundle of nerves.

Her muscles were tied in knots as the first waves rippled from her center and grew so potent she could do nothing but wail as he crowed his victory. It seized her like a vice, stealing her breath as darkness crept into the edges of her vision. She quaked under the onslaught, flame and its overwhelming heat flooding her system as he fucked her, groaning with every flutter of her cunt around his cock. She slammed her eyes shut, her mind fracturing into cracks and jagged lines, her distressed whimpers barely audible over the rush of blood in her ears as Richy slammed home one last time with a smile in his voice as he cursed her name.

His body blanketed hers as he slumped over her and pushed her down into the mattress, neither capable of speaking for a long while. The power had shifted, she could feel it as his heart thudded against her back, and hers found it’s usual rhythm. He was coming into his own now he was free of the chains of humanity and could be himself with someone that wouldn’t judge his darkest fantasies. She wasn’t sure if it was good or bad. In the past, it had always meant her doom and suffering. Giving someone power over her had never ended well, and she couldn’t see how this would be any different.

Still, when he rolled off her, neither had enough shame to feel awkward as he dragged her up by her hands and clumsily untied her. She rubbed at her red wrists, rolling her shoulders as he padded through to the bathroom, and she sighed when the door closed. Shaking her head, staring blindly at her own reflection in the night dark windows, Aylin decided to hell with it all. If she went down in flames because of him, she at least enjoyed herself first and hadn’t had to hide who she was in her last days. Many didn’t get that chance, and she was already tired of thinking about it. The bed sheets were damp on her side, so she took Richy’s side instead. He called her a bitch when he finally crawled into bed, and she was smirking, her back to him as she succumbed to the lure of sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. I was laughing at myself the whole time I wrote it because it's just ridiculous 😂 See you later! ❤️

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satveek · 5 months

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Jake X MC ~ the proposal

Richy: I am so sorry MC. MC: My forgiveness doesn't matter. Me and Jessy are ready to hide the fact that you were the man without the face. But, Richy: I know. I will hide the fact that the guy who saved me from the fire in mine was Jake. MC: Thank you Richy. Jessy: Will you promise me and MC that all this will never be repeated? Richy: For sure! Jake: MC! MC: Oh no, you are badly hurt. Alan: Who's he? MC: Oh he, he is my friend. He came here with me only and he went inside the mine to find Hannah and Richy. Alan: Is there anyone else inside? Jessy: Richy said that he saw the kidnapper. He got turned down into ashes. Alan: I hope this guy is not 'the hacker' Richy: For sure. He is not 'the hacker'. Lilly have shown us the picture of him. He is not that guy. Jake: *looking confused at MC* Alan: Thomas have taken Ms Donford with him. You guys can go and meet them. MC: Sure. Jessy: Cleo is too with them. At Hannah's appartment. MC: Hello Hannah. Hannah: *Confused* .... Lilly: Hey MC. Jake: Hello Hannah. Thomas: Hannah, the kidnapper made a deal where he asked MC to go in the mine and he will free you and Richy. Jessy: I wish that was true. Dan: We didn't sent MC there. It was Alan and this hackerman. MC: His name is supposed to be Jake. Jake: I don't preferred to be called Jake. Hannah: How are you Jake? Jake: .... I don't know how to answer that. MC: He is confused and tired. He need to go out and spend some time alone. Jake: *More confused* Kinda. *walks out to breath fresh air* Cleo: MC knows a lot about him. Dan: Why is that hackerman still here? Richy: He saved me Dan. Lilly: I think MC should go and talk to Jake. Hannah: Why? Richy: So MC, are you dating Jake now? MC: I wish i could. He is not into me. *teary eyes* Jake: *coughs* I am sorry I heard that. MC: I am immune to you reading and hearing all my chats and gossips. Dan: Does he do it frequently? Jessy: Everytime. MC: I hate it now when he don't. Jake: Really? MC: You lack sarcasm. Thomas: I feel like that wasn't sarcasm. MC: *Blushes* Jake, a word! Jake: If it's a proposal I am ready. MC: I thought and wished you to be the one initiating this but I guess i have no issues with that either. Hannah: Are you proposing Jake, right now? Lilly: Hannah, let her have her moment with big brother. everyone other than MC and Jake: What!? Jake: umm.... guys... MC: Afterwards Jake! Jake: We should clear it off. MC: You are bad with words. Hannah: How you know him so well? MC: I will clear it of for you Jake. Jake: You always do work for me MC. You made everything easier for me I don't know how many of works you have done on my behalf. MC: I will keep doing works on your behalf., but you need to promise me one thing. Cleo: I can't believe this is really happening. Jessy: I knew that this will happen one day. Jake: Guys... let MC finish her sentence. Hannah:But.... MC: Promise me that you will always stay by my side, protect me the way you protected me from the man without the fac. promise me that no matter how worse the situation come you will keep trusting me. Promise me that you will always keep loving me. Jake: *Speechless* *Take a step further and Kisses MC* I will always have your back. MC: *Blushes* I love you. Jake: I love you more. Dan: Wait, what! Hannah: Are you serious right now? MC: I bet on the fact that I love you more. Thomas: We are still waiting for the explanation of big brother. Lilly: Jake is mine and Hannah's half brother. others: What!? Jake: Yes, it is true. I will bet on 5credits. MC: I am raising the bar to 7 credits. Jake: Last time when we did this, you wont the bet. So, this time let us consider you winner straight away. You love me more! MC: *BLushes* .... Jakes Kisses MC Jake: I love you my lady! <3 Some more blushes.

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babygirlpoll · 1 year

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The Babygirl Bracket

the bracket has finally arrived. it's a little awkward looking and doesn't work perfectly but i'm a tumblr blog i'm not putting that much effort in. thank you to everyone who made a submission!!

Round 1 voting will start some time later tomorrow (Monday May 1st)

List of match ups under the cut

Left side

Yennefer (The Witcher) vs Fox Mulder (X files)

Neptune (the actual planet) vs Tim Wright (Marble Hornets)

Victor Frankenstein vs James (Pokémon)

James Flint (Black Sails) vs Wonder Woman (DC)

Shawn Spencer (Psych) vs Cassian Andor (Star wars)

Shane (Stardew Valley) vs Daud (Dishonored)

Enderman (minecraft) vs Ethan Winters (Resident Evil)

Robin Buckley (Stranger things) vs Eleanor Shellstrop (the good place)

Peter B Parker (into the spiderverse) vs Max Brinly (the quarry)

Thorin Oakenshield (lord of the rings) vs Milo Thatch (atlantis)

Mr Krabs (spongebob) vs Ken (Barbie)

Miles Edgeworth (Ace Attorney) vs Erik (phantom of the opera)

Right side

Heinz Doofenshmirtz (Phineas and ferb) vs Crowley (good omens)

Hank Anderson (detroit become human) vs greg house (house md)

diego hargreeves (the umbrella academy) vs will graham (hannibal)

ford pines (gravity falls) vs dale Cooper (twin peaks)

aaron hotchner (criminal minds) vs ash williams (evil dead)

clark kent (DC) vs Roman roy (succession)

obi-wan kenobi (star wars) vs father paul hill (midnight mass)

the narrator (the stanley parable) vs james wilson (house md)

kristoff (frozen) vs kermit the frog (the muppets)

simon ghost riley (call of duty) vs waluigi (mario)

jimmy palmer (ncis) vs herbert west (reanimator)

yusuf al-kaysani (the old guard) vs richie tozier (IT)

#pinned post #jordan's babygirl bracket #sorry it took so long #i hope this is good enough for a bracket #sorry to all who didn't make it and also don't get weird about any matchups i literally just used a wheel spin site

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prpfs · 7 months

Note

It's that time of year! 🎃

21+. She/Her. EST. Looking for some horror fandom roleplays.

Please be 21+!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I write on Discord but like to stay on Tumblr for plotting so my Discord doesn't get too cluttered. I write in third person, past tense. Semi-lit/lit. I care more about quality than quantity so I don't mind how much you write, as long as I have something to work with. I work full-time Monday through Friday so replies won't happen every day. I try my hardest to get replies out within 2-3 days. Because of the nature of these fandoms, I'm looking for some darker plots so NSFW will be involved. I'm fine with that NSFW including smut. It is a preference but not a requirement.

I'm open to canon x canon pairings (MxM, FxF, or MxF) or canon x OC (MxM or FxF only). I prefer canon or canon divergent plots. I'll only say no to AUs that are way out there--i.e., bear hardly any resemblance to the canon universe for the fandoms.

I will be listing the fandoms I'm looking for and my biggest muse(s). I'm open to discussing ships. Anyone in bold is a muse I'm particularly dying to write as at the moment.

American Horror Story: Hotel - John Lowe, Will Drake

American Psycho - Patrick Bateman

Behind the Mask - Leslie Vernon

Evil Dead Franchise - Ash Williams

The Exorcist (TV Show) - Marcus Keane, Tomas Ortega

Halloween Franchise - Allyson Nelson, Michael Myers, Vicky

NBC Hannibal - Brian Zeller, Frederick Chilton, Will Graham

Hostel - Josh Brooks, Paxton Rodriguez

Killer Klowns from Outer Space - Dave Hanson, Debbie Stone,

Mike Tobacco

The Lost Boys - David

Saw Franchise - Mark Hoffman, William Schenk

Scream Franchise - Billy Loomis, Dewey Riley, Jill Roberts, Mickey Altieri, Richie Kirsch

The Stand (mainly the book and TV mini series) - Randall Flagg

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre Franchise - Tex Sawyer

The Walking Dead - Beth Greene, Gareth, Merle Dixon, Paul Rovia, Shane Walsh

If interested in working something out, please message me (preferred) or like this post and I'll message you.

message or like

#american horror story roleplay #american psycho rp #behind the mask rp #evil dead roleplay #the exorcist rp #halloween roleplay #hannibal roleplay #hostel rp #killer klowns from outer space rp #the lost boys rp #saw rp #scream rp #the stand rp #texas chainsaw massacre roleplay #the walking dead roleplay #fandom roleplay #fandom rp #dead dove

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randomestfandoms-ocs · 6 months

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Happy Birthday @the-witching-ash

Delicate (Richie Gilmore, Kirsty Gilmore, Troy Donahue Callisto, & Vicki St James, ft. Lottie Donahue & Harry Bechtel not pictured):

Troy Donahue-Calliso had a plan. A good plan, at that. A plan that involved graduating from Chilton at the top of his class, then going to Yale to study political science and international affairs, then going to Yale law, then becoming a lawyer, then senator, and then the youngest President in history. He liked his plan, it was a good plan. It left room for the occasional stress relieving hookups with his friends, it accounted for the disdain that he would forever face in Hartford – for his sexuality, for the colour of his skin, for his parents’ divorce, for his father not being from Hartford. It was the perfect, foolproof plan. He never planned for the Gilmores.

Happy birthday!! Through several years, fandoms, fixations, ocs, and crossovers, I’m so glad to have you as a friend! I hope that your day and year are both as wonderful as you are

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findroleplay · 7 months

Note

It's that time of year!

21+. She/Her. EST. Looking for some horror fandom roleplays.

Please be 21+!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I will be listing the fandoms I'm looking for and my biggest muse(s). I'm open to discussing ships. Anyone in bold is a muse I'm particularly dying to write as at the moment.

American Horror Story: Hotel - John Lowe, Will Drake

American Psycho - Patrick Bateman

Behind the Mask - Leslie Vernon

Evil Dead Franchise - Ash Williams

The Exorcist (TV Show) - Marcus Keane, Tomas Ortega

Halloween Franchise - Allyson Nelson, Michael Myers, Vicky

NBC Hannibal - Brian Zeller, Frederick Chilton, Will Graham

Hostel - Josh Brooks, Paxton Rodriguez

Killer Klowns from Outer Space - Dave Hanson, Debbie Stone,

Mike Tobacco

The Lost Boys - David

Saw Franchise - Mark Hoffman, William Schenk

Scream Franchise - Billy Loomis, Dewey Riley, Jill Roberts, Mickey Altieri, Richie Kirsch

The Stand (mainly the book and TV mini series) - Randall Flagg

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre Franchise - Tex Sawyer

The Walking Dead - Beth Greene, Gareth, Merle Dixon, Paul Rovia, Shane Walsh

If interested in working something out, please message me (preferred) or like this post and I'll message you.

#roleplay #rp #the walking dead rp #the texas chainsaw massacre rp #the stand rp #scream rp #saw rp #the lost boys rp #killer clowns from outer space rp #hostel rp #hannibal rp #halloween rp #evil dead rp #the exorcist rp #american horro story:hotel rp #behind the mask rp #american psycho rp

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donatellawritings · 3 months

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candy necklace - r. jerimovich

pairing(s): richie jerimovich x f!reader

content warning(s): language, smoking, age-gap, pining

song: candy necklace by lana del rey

The crisp Chicago winter air hit your tender scalp as you exited the taxi cab and ran your fingers through your freshly blown out hair. It probably wasn't the smartest decision for you to wear nothing but a mere hoodie that belonged to him, a skintight t-shirt that barely reached for belly button, and yoga pants that clung to your skin, but hey, it was your day off and the only outfit appropriate and comfortable enough to get your hair done in and pick up your paycheck in. Plus, you were well aware that he would be at the restaurant today, and thankfully The Bear wasn't busy enough, to where he'd have no choice but to drink in your appearance.

Approaching the tall and older man, you shove your hands into the pockets of the sweater, before stopping short in front of him. You watch with your bottom lip between your teeth as he wordlessly takes a pull from his cigarette, and loosens his tie to hang comfortably around his neck.

The two of you stand in silence as Richie taps the bottom of his cigarette, allowing the ashes to fall at his shoes, before raising his eyes to meet yours, "You here for your check?" He asks, his raspy voice like silk in your ears.

You nod, "and to see you," you take a step closer to Richie, catching how his shoulders and jaw begin to relax as the distance between your bodies begins to decrease.

Richie allows his shoulders to fall for a brief moment, before shaking his head and straightening his posture, "You're somethin' else, you know that?" His voice raises.

"Richie-" you begin.

"No, you don't get to fuckin' come here and stand there, when you aren't mine - do you not see how fucked up that is?" He rants, keeping his eyes locked solely on yours as you bring your gaze to your feet.

The brim of your eyes burn with welled tears as Richie's hand grabs ahold of your chin, a gentle yet firm touch. He opens his mouth to speak, but decides against it once you pull away from his touch, with a sniffle, "this isn't fair, you don't get to be upset with me," you hastily wipe your eyes with the back of your hand.

Richie allows his hand to drop this his side as you point your finger at him, "Y-you let me slip away, that was you, not me," you suck in a breath, "I fucking wanted you, Richie, I didn't want to be with h-" you sigh.

Richie's baby blue eyes glaze over as he watches your emotions overtake every inch of you. He wants nothing more than to wrap you in his arms, kiss your hair, and tell you that everything will be okay, even if it won't be. And seeing you in his sweater, oh, that is what gets him. Even though your hateful tears are staining your cheeks, he can't help but feel envy of the way that the fabric of his sweater gets to envelope you, while he remains at a dangerously close, yet existent distance from you.

"Your check is in the office." Richie's voice cuts into you with no warning, his face stoic as you blink away any remanence of threatening tears away. You make your way towards the back door, Richie's hand grabbing onto your wrist, before you are able to open the door. Your eyes meet his as he pulls you into his chest and cradles the back of your head. His lips press a warm kiss to the skin of your forehead as you relax in the confines of his warm and slender arms. You inhale a shaky breath as you take in the smell of his cologne, mixed with the lingering air of his cigarette. Richie presses another kiss to your nose, and to your cheek, stopping right before your lips.

"I want you, I-I fuckin' need you, so fuckin' bad and that shit scares me," he rants as he moves his hand to cradle your face, "I hate seeing you with him, I hate that he gets to come home to you, gets every part of you, I wanted that since the moment I fuckin' met you."

"Richie-"

"No- no, just listen to me baby, I'm sorry, I'm fuckin' sorry." Richie pleads, leaning his forehead against yours as you raise your hands to cradle his face.

"Richie, listen to me." You cry, your lips ghosting against his, "I want you to kiss me, okay?"

And so he does. The moment you ask, Richie's lips are on yours and the two of you are feverishly grabbing at each other's limbs, as Richie pushes you against the brick wall, holding one of your hands above your head, interlocking your fingers. A moan leaves Richie's lips as you softly bite down into the skin of his bottom lip, before sucking on it.

"Come home with me," You mutter, breathlessly, licking over your lips, watching as Richie tightens his hold on your waist, "please, come with me and I'm all yours."

"Fuck." A moment passes, before Richie nods his head, moreso to himself than to you, "Yeah, yeah, anything you want, baby." He rasps, his forehead leaned against yours as his baby blue eyes drink in yours.

Richie's head lowers to your neck, his hand that once held onto your waist, now resting on your neck as his lips find the sweet spot right on your pulse, before softly suckling on the skin. Your head rolls back against the brick wall as Richie continues to work on the flesh of your neck. A soft moan leaves your lips as he softly licks the freshly bruised and broken skin. Richie continues this process for a few more minutes, until he is satisfied, pulling his lips away from your neck.

"I want you to leave him." Richie speaks, wiping the corners of his mouth while he adjusts the cuffs of his black button-down shirt, "you leave him and I'm all yours, I fuckin' promise you that."

A smile tugs on your lips as you slide your arms around the tall man's waist and push yourself to meet his lips, "Anything you want, Richie."

You pull away from Richie, your hands now reaching for the tie that messily hung around his neck, before grabbing ahold of the end of it and beckoning him to follow you inside of the building.

and that's all for now! I hope you all enjoyed my first writing, I promise that I have longer writings in the works, but I just wanted to post this, just to get a gist of what it's like to post <;3

feel free to send me any requests!

#the bear #the bear fanfiction #the bear fic #richie jerimovich #richie jerimovich x reader #richie jerimovich imagine #richie jerimovich fanfic #the bear imagine #carmen berzatto #sydney adamu #mikey berzatto #richie jerimovich smut #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto imagine

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mysteriouslover1516 · 1 year

Text

Broken (Richy x MC) 1

TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of death and suicide

Based on Jonah Kagen's song Broken

Richy watched as Hannah hurried away from him, nearly stumbling in her rush. He knew Alan would find her now, everything was turning out fine in the end. He just hoped that one day she could find it in her heart to forgive him for all the fear he had put her through. Was that too much to ask for?

I'm broken

Tell you I'm fine

He chuckled ruefully, no one would have ever suspected him to be the cause of everything. He hadn’t meant for it to go this far, but something unexpected had happened. Amy killed herself because of him, he got scared. He had to hide the evidence, meaning he had to kidnap Hannah. The plan to “recover” her was nearly perfect, pin it all on a man who had been declared dead, aka Michael Hanson. Michael would then kill himself in a fiery death while Hannah and him seemingly escaped. He had to make sure the legend became real, that he was seen and the Man without a Face was sighted. Smearing his own shop with the mark of the raven, he was successful in making it look like he was another victim in it all. He then forced himself to attack Jessy, convincing everyone else even further that the MWAF was an outsider, someone unknown to the group. It was all going according to plan, but then Phil was arrested.

But you wouldn't believe me

If you knew the things that crossed my mind

The police had found a match box from the Aurora next to Amy’s body. But the matchbox hadn’t come from the bartender, it was Richy’s. He was known to always keep a small matchbox in his back pocket just in case his lighter didn’t work and he still needed a cigarette. It must have fallen out when he was positioning the body, he didn’t even realize it was gone till it was too late. There was no going back, the police had found it, Cleo and Thomas had caught wind of the evidence. In order to keep the suspicion off of himself, Richy had encouraged them to search the bar and look for discriminatory evidence. It was easy to convince them that Phil played a part in Hannah’s disappearance, afterall, Phil’s own recorded words against the girl didn’t exactly work in his favor.

And I'm hurting

But I show no sign

It was easy enough to hide the pain and guilt behind smiles and closed doors, no one sensed his involvement in any of this mess. He didn’t ask for this, he didn’t ask for both Jennifer and Amy’s blood on his hands, but there was no going back. He couldn’t afford for anyone to know the truth, not after Amy’s suicide.

'Cause I'm afraid to give in

Break down, and waste your time

He ripped the mask off his face and slumped to the ground, head in his hands. His shoulder burned, the makeshift-bandage slowly falling off, revealing his gunshot wound. He hadn’t expected Dan to shoot him. Who even had let that guy out of the hospital anyway? He chuckled at the thought then groaned in pain, bad idea.

Now I'm begging you

To come and pull me out the fire

The plan had been foiled, the seeping wound in his shoulder providing evidence against him. It was impossible to walk out of the mine now, it would reveal him as the kidnapper, the perpetrator behind everything. His plan had erupted into flames…….burning the possibility of a happy ending for himself.

Come and save me

Like you did when we were young

His hands trembled as he drenched the ground with gasoline, the fumes making his head spin. It was too late, there was no other way out, no one would come and save him. He didn’t deserve redemption, another chance, he deserved his fate and he knew it.

Oh, please come bring me out

From my lowest, take me higher

For a moment he watched the flame flicker in his hand, his life flashing before him. There was no savior for him, hope had vanished. It was time to end this.

Can you see me

Through the ashes and the smoke?

The gasoline ignited with a roar, the mine immediately transforming into a hot furnace. The mechanic coughed and covered his mouth with his arm, only to slump back against the wall. There was no point in trying to cover his mouth, he was going to die either way. No one was going to find him in time, and that was okay, this was what his actions had merited him.

I'm lonely

It's been so long

Since I felt love

To smile, felt strong

He was going to die alone, something which saddened him at the realization. He was born alone and he was destined to die alone. Fate was cruel, wasn’t it? Or was Fate just punishing him for all the pain he had caused? He didn’t know the answer anymore. His memory wouldn’t be missed, no one could possibly love him after all this, he had lost everything.

And what can I do?

When I'm not friends with my reflection

When I don't understand affection like you do

He didn’t like who he was, the man he had become, the monster within himself. It was better this way, he needed to rid the world of himself, he was doing everyone a favor….

You say that you'll help me

You tell me I'm worth it

MC had wanted to help, he knew what toll it took on her when he faked his own death. But he had to do it in order to protect her, he had a reason for it all. She was too innocent, too trusting, she had befriended the devil in front of her.

He should have never fallen for her, but it was outside his power to resist her charm. She was so sweet, lively, so empathetic, one of the kindest souls he had ever met. He had fallen for her, and she had fallen for him, someone who was too cowardly to admit his involvement in everything.

But I don't deserve it

I don't deserve it

Richy didn’t deserve rescue, he didn’t deserve another chance at life. Redemption was out of his reach, his life was slipping through his fingertips. But that was what he deserved, right? He deserved to suffocate, to die, he deserved the fumes that were sucking his very source of life away.

It's easy for you

'Cause you know your perfect

And I need your hand

But I don't want to burn it

Tears started to fall down his face, drying quickly in the hot air. He wished he could be saved, that his friends could find it in themselves to forgive him. He desperately wanted someone to reach their hand in and save him, but he couldn’t burden anyone anymore, it was too late.

MC was perfect, and he had stained her innocence, put her in harm's way, made her experience things he had never wished for her to ever see. He had hurt her, made her cry, he broke the trust of the one person he had loved.

There's blood on the counter

And tears on the pages

While I write you a letter

And then I quickly erase it

I'm shattered and beat down

Broken and weak now

He wanted forgiveness, the closure it could provide, he wanted rescue. But it was too late, he had gone too far, there was too much against him, he was better off this way. MC would never forgive him, she would always see him in a different light now if she knew the truth.

So I'm begging you

To come and pull me out the fire

Come quickly

'Cause I'm burning up inside

His eyes transfixed on the flames coming closer, almost catching fire to the hem of his pants. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.” He then started to sob, lungs burning as they filled with smoke, his heart feeling like it was being ripped out of his chest. He was going to die.

Oh, please just bring me up

From my lowest, take me higher

Can you see me

Through the ashes and the smoke?

He knew no one would risk going into the mines to find him, he was going to die alone. At least he wasn’t going to drag anyone else with him along to the grave, right?

Pull me out

He was dying, and that was okay, because then at least no one would suffer anymore. The world would be a better place without him, he was doing everyone a favor. No one needed him in their lives, it was going to be okay, one day he would be thanked for his sacrifice. “I’m sorry, MC….”

Hey lovelies! ;) Another angsty oneshot, I'm sorry. I hope you guys can appreciate the tragic beauty in it, I wanted to cry too while writing it. Please leave your likes and comments below, I love hearing from all of you! :)

#richy duskwood #duskwood richy #richy rogers #richy x mc #richy oneshot #angsty oneshot #get the tissues ready #poor richy #duskwood #everbyte studios #everbyte duskwood #duskwood everbyte #duskwood fandom #duskwood community #duskwood fanfiction

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