21 • pysch major • the bear, shameless, and marvel • leo • she/her
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“Do you like ginger ale? Do you drink it?”
Ilya is quiet for a moment, his eyes shifting, moving over every inch of Shane’s face quickly, studying him as Shane holds his breath, his heart beating so loudly he can hear it.
“No,” Ilya says as he stands up slowly. “I don’t drink ginger ale, it's boring soda.”
*
Instead of freaking out and leaving when Ilya calls him Shane, Shane still freaks out, but he stays and is brave.
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck’
The word echoes uncontrollably in Shane’s mind as he tries to gather his thoughts, his clothes, and himself long enough to leave Rozanov's place without further embarrassment.
He called Shane by his first name.
Ilya Rozanov, his rival, his…fuck buddy? Had called Shane by his name without any mocking in his tone for the first time since they started this car wreck of a situation, and Shane – Shane had fucking loved it.
His hands shake.
The warmth he felt as Rozanov spoke his name in the gentle space between their bodies, giving each other the pleasure Shane had only ever felt with Rozanov, was both what he had been craving and feared for longer than he had allowed himself to entertain the idea of them being more than what they were now.
He crosses Rozanov’s spacious kitchen, still struggling with the shirt in his hands – they won’t fucking stop shaking – when his eyes lock on the marble island with all the remains of the lunch Rozanov made for him. Containers with cheese and tuna in them lying there as a glaring evidence of the undeniable shift in their dynamic, it spikes his already overwhelming anxiety, and not just because there is a part of his brain that is screaming at him to tidy up, right the fuck now.
He should leave; he needs to leave. Go back to his hotel and get back on solid ground where he’s Hollander, and Ilya is Rozanov, and all they are is just an itch to scratch.
A seven-year itch, but an itch nonetheless.
Ilya
He hadn’t said it, but god, he wanted to, he wanted to whisper it into Ilya’s skin.
“Ilya,” he whispers to himself now, whimpering softly at the way his heart gives a thump under his ribcage, hard enough he has to reach up and try to soothe the ache with his clenched fist. “Fuck.”
There are two cans of ginger ale on the counter, one is the empty one he drank earlier, and the other is there waiting for him.
“Fuck,” he repeats once more as his traitorous feet carry him over to the refrigerator and not Ilya’s front door. Opening the appliance, his breath catches in his throat even though he’s not surprised at all at what he finds.
Two cases of Canada Dry, one of which is unopened.
“Fuck me,” he sighs out, his shoulders, which had been close to his ears, drop. The anxiety he felt moments ago was replaced with an embarrassing realization. He’s been a clueless coward.
He looks at the front door once more and then back towards the quiet livingroom.
Time to be brave.
He walks back into the space softly, and what he finds might actually break his heart. Ilya is still sitting where he left him, with his back hunched, his head dropped between his shoulders, and his gaze on the floor. He looks defeated, and Shane curses silently again, this time at himself.
“Do you like ginger ale?”
Ilya startles at his words, his beautiful, bright eyes wide and glassy.
“What– “ he starts, his confusion quickly replaced by annoyance. “What are you still doing here, Hollander. You have a meeting in the morning, remember?”
Shane winces at Ilya’s sharp tone, but pushes forward.
“Answer the question, Ilya,” he says, trying not to shout victoriously when Ilya’s eyes widen at Shane’s use of his name. ‘See!’ he wants to crow. ‘It’s a life-altering moment to use each other's first names, asshole.’
“What is the question again?” Ilya asks, taking on an insolent pose on the couch. It might have convinced Shane of Ilya’s disinterest in the conversation earlier, but that was before the cases of sodas, before he whispered Shane’s name like a prayer.
“Do you like ginger ale? Do you drink it?”
Ilya is quiet for a moment, his eyes shifting, moving over every inch of Shane’s face quickly, studying him as Shane holds his breath, his heart beating so loudly he can hear it.
“No,” Ilya says as he stands up slowly. “I don’t drink ginger ale, it's boring soda.”
Shane nods rapidly, letting out a wet laugh. “Right.”
“Hollander –,” Ilya starts, his voice lined with concern when Shane reaches up to quickly wipe at the moisture he can feel gathering on his lashes.
He takes a step towards him.
“No,” Shane shakes his head, wincing when the word causes Ilya to stop in his tracks. “No, I don’t – I don’t mean don’t come closer. I mean no, don’t call me Hollander.”
Ilya gives him a wary look, no doubt Shane’s earlier freakout playing in his mind. “Is your name.”
“No point in trying to put the genie back in the bottle, Ilya,” he answers with a wry smile. “Please.”
Ilya stares at him silently and still while Shane wills him to do it, to be braver than Shane could ever be. It’s not fair, Ilya has been stepping out on the ledge of this, of them all day, Shane realizes. Inviting him to his home in the first place, asking him to stay, holding him as they slept, cooking for him, those two fucking cases of boring soda.
His name.
‘Please, please, say it again, please be brave one more time, and I promise I’ll be brave too. I swear, I’ll meet you where you are. I want to be there with you. It’s all I want. Please, please, please.’
“Shane.”
He moves, crosses the short distance between them, his arms going around Ilya, his face pressed into the space where his neck and shoulder meet. He squeezes Ilya tightly and shakes when, after a moment, Ilya wraps his arms around him too, holding on to him just as firmly.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers into Ilya’s shoulder, kissing the skin beneath his mouth, sighing when he feels the man in his arms do the same. He never did manage to put on that stupid shirt earlier. “I freaked out.”
“I noticed,” Ilya says dryly, a hint of amusement in his tone.
“Shut up,” Shane laughs out softly as he pulls back to look at Ilya, his body heating up with the first licks of arousal as Ilya sensually runs his hands up and down his back.
Ilya makes a noise at the back of his throat as he brings a hand up to Shane’s cheek, cupping it as his thumb brushes the skin under his eye. His freckles, Shane knows, Ilya likes them.
“Please tell me you feel this too,” he whispers nervously, but pushes forward, trying to be brave. “It’s different than other times, right? That’s why you called me Shane?”
Ilya’s hand stops, his eyes once again roaming over Shane’s features like he’s trying to commit them to memory. He feels tense under Shane’s hands, and Shane can’t help but squeeze him again.
He swallows hard when Ilya lets out a sigh. “Da,” he whispers back, nodding his head once.
“That scares me,” Shane admits, his voice not going up any higher.
Ilya nods again. “Me too.”
Shane blinks quickly as his eyes fill. Fuck. “I’m more scared of leaving here and not having this anymore, though,” he continues honestly. “This between us is so complicated, but the thought of never touching you again scares the shit out of me.”
“Shane,” Ilya says quietly. He leans forward, his head pressed against his. Shane sighs as Ilya kisses him softly, shuddering when Ilya deepens the kiss. He opens under Ilya’s mouth, moaning at the familiar and addictive taste that is Ilya Rozanov. They move backwards, and soon they find themselves back on the couch in the same position from earlier – Ilya beneath him, with Shane straddling his lap.
“Shane,” Ilya says again, this time needy and rough as Shane is helpless but to grind his hardening dick against Ilya’s already hard one.
“I don’t think I can keep pretending I don’t like you anymore,” Shane whispers, his eyes closing in pleasure when Ilya sinks his hand into his joggers, his warm calloused hand wrapping around his cock, giving it that familiar stroke and twist Ilya does that makes Shane see stars.
“Then don’t,” Ilya answers with a broken groan. It comes out like a plea. He gives Shane a biting kiss up his jaw until he gets to his ear. “And I won’t either.”
“Ilya,” Shane groans, his hips rocking forward as Ilya touches him.
“I like you,” Ilya says as he pulls back to look at him, his hand never stopping the pleasure he’s giving Shane. “As a person, not just a mouth. I like you as a man, as mine.”
Shane freezes at the word.
‘Mine’.
“Is that what you want?” he asks breathlessly, his thighs tightening around Ilya’s hips as Ilya brings him closer to the edge, his hold on his cock perfect.
“Yes,” Ilya answers, honest and direct in a way they have never been before this. “Is what I want, is what you are. Mine, Shane Hollander, only mine.”
“Fuck, Ilya,” Shane groans, his body shaking at his words and his impending orgasm rushing to the surface.
“Tell me, Shane,” Ilya demands, his free hand grabbing his ass to pull him even closer to his body. “Tell me.”
“Yeah,” Shane breathes out. “I’m yours.”
“And you’re not running away again,” Ilya continues roughly, reminding Shane of the hurt he caused earlier.
Shane shakes his head, licking his dry lips, swallowing back a whimper as Ilya leans in to lick his lips too before kissing him hard and wet.
“Come for me, moya lyubov,” Ilya pleads urgently. “Let me see it.”
Shane lets out a moan, unable to do anything but do what Ilya asks, spilling into his pants and all over Ilya’s hand, trembling as Ilya keeps stroking him until he’s wrung out the last drop of his orgasm out of him. When he’s done, he all but collapses on Ilya, letting out a satisfied sigh as Ilya holds him, his hand caressing his back in a repetitive motion that eases any remaining tension out of Shane’s body.
“What about you?” he questions quietly after a moment.
“I am all good,” Ilya answers, and Shane pulls back to see a light flush on the man’s face.
“Do you mean – “ he trails off, raising an eyebrow in question as he looks down at Ilya’s lap.
“Yes,” Ilya gets out, huffing and rolling his eyes when Shane can’t help but grin proudly. “Don’t be smug, you try not coming when you have a needy Shane Hollander writhing on your lap.”
Shane chuckles softly as he leans in to press his smiling lips into Ilya's own soft smile. “We’re in deep trouble, aren’t we?” He doesn’t just mean their careers and how everyone will react to their relationship if it gets out. He means their relationship itself and how, even though it would be smarter to walk away from this, Shane now knows there is no possibility of that. The world can come down on their heads, but Shane can’t give up Ilya.
“Maybe, probably yes,” Ilya answers honestly, the side of his mouth tilting up, his bright eyes soft and hopeful. “But if we’re together, we can be okay, I think.”
Shane hears the words unspoken, the words Ilya’s been trying to tell him with tuna melts and cases of ginger ale. He has a place here with Ilya, by his side, right where Ilya wants him to be.
“Together,” he says softly, still scared but determined. Ilya’s growing smile makes the fear worth it.
The thing is that Ilya has no fucking clue what autism is. He probably read the word when some twitter user called Shane autistic and wanted to look it up but got distracted by a post about Shane's tits or smth.
What he does know though is that Shane folds his clothes before sex. And he smiles at him with adoration when he does it and doesn't rush him or make fun of him for it. He knows Shane doesn't always pick up on his jokes and sarcasm "That's French, Ilya" but he doesn't mind it and would never make Shane feel bad about it or dismiss his response "Yeah I know, Shane". He knows Shane has a PhD in The Arts of Overthinking "Now the bed's all dirty" so he playfully chases his worries away and closes all those open tabs in Shane's brain "What? Shut up". He knows Shane will not rest until he has everything in his life under control so he grumbles when Shane wakes him up in the middle of the night to tell him how they can make it all work but still listens intently to his plan. He knows Shane feels overwhelmed and anxious when stuff doesn't go down as planned "This is my actual fucking nightmare, Ilya" "I'm okay I'm just freaking out I'll be okay in a second" so he softly comforts him and supports him through it "Then maybe it's time to wake up, yes?" "We're good here, your family's here, you're boyfriend's here, we're good here, ok?" He knows Shane has to hear it to believe it "My boyfriend?" so he gently goes "I mean yes, I think so, probably".
He doesn't know Shane is autistic but he knows Shane and he loves Shane and Shane happens to be autistic
"tumblr's the only social media without algorithms!" "you can still be anonymous on tumblr!" "tumblr's so nice because you don't have to show your face!" WRONG tumblr is special because you can have 3000 followers and still get an average of seven likes a post. i'm doing stand up comedy at a packed venue and one person is laughing
warnings : 18+!!!! drug abuse, suicide, smoking, uncomfortable and gut-wrenching situations, familial trauma, mentions of domestic violence, angst, carmen is cold and judgmental, Richie serves as a father figure and Claire is not a romantic interest.
word count: 1.6k
disclaimer : if you can't understand the complexity and true excruciating nature of these topics outside of internet fiction, that's YOUR problem. writing about these things IS romanticizing them and i do understand that. i don't advise reading this fic if you're a recovering addict or are triggered by drug abuse, or literally anything else mentioned. reader in this fic is a complicated, messy, but deeply kind human being. reader is not in active addiction!!!!
addicts are not monsters. this is FICTION.
also, this series js going to take a LONG time to finish. real ones will stick around 💔💯
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Street lights, rain, more rain, ashes.
Ashes, ashes, ashes. The ones on the street wet with precipitation that slowly dissolve. The ones scattered on the tongue of your shoes, and the ones accumulating underneath your fingernails and coating your breath in a thick, sickly film of burnt tobacco. Your jaw is shaking. You're absolutely sick with shame. If you could bottle up this feeling and sell it for just a measly 25 cents a pop, you'd be in the islands right now. A margarita in hand, your skin supple and tanned. But no, you're back here at Mikey's place. Actually, you're not even in his place. You're out in the moist cold, sitting here on the porch, your ass numbing from the hard wood and your jeans soaking up the mucky rainwater. This time, you've been thrown out. Mikey can't keep you here forever. He has to get better, even if that means doing it without you. It didn't matter he'd taken you in last year. You're no longer a "kid." You're "a fucking mess." The sun is gone, and a part of you has left with it. Crumbs of powdery Xanax hide in the ridges of your teeth. Your 3rd cigarette trembles in your boney fingers. His final straw was when you told him his dope was better for him than you ever will be. The way you talked about yourself angered him to no end, and it wasn't because he cared. A victim, he saw you as. A coward, he took you for. Mikey has a family to impress. You know he'll go back to hiding the drain of heroin all of his money flows down to in just a few days. He can't accept it. He has to get better, right? Mikey wants out, and you can't wait to get in even deeper.
It's been 16 days since then. Faces of grieving siblings, aunts, uncles, and cousins cloud your mind...but one of them is missing. That one particular makes you feel an unfamiliar sensation of guilt. Carmen. Mikey is dead and Carmen isn't here. Denial clouds your judgment. There was no possible way Mikey could really be dead and Carmen isn't here, right? He's the only one who knows that you were the last person Mikey called before his body was found with his gun in hand on February 22nd, 2022. His phone and wallet were left untouched on the bridge. It's February 24th now. How quickly funerals occur has always bothered you. The tension headache that wraps around your forehead and trails to the back of your skull has put unbearable weight on your sinuses. Your nose is bleeding, and your once soft hands are growing calluses from your nails digging into the flesh of your palms every time you wish you could drag Micheal Berzatto out of the goddamn ground yourself. The abyss of silence as you sit alone in a continuous row of the pew is broken by the scratch of Sugar clearing her throat, that will soon close with disbelief that her older brother is lifeless beside her. Her hands shake as she grounds herself on the podium. There's a small piece of white copy paper in her hand. She glances from the hidden words to the microphone. Seconds pass and she says nothing. Instead, she gags from feeling so utterly abandoned she could projectile vomit all over the podium. You can't bare to watch. With closed eyes, you let the world unravel before you.
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Richie wipes the dried drool of sleep from the corner of his mouth with the pad of his thumb, his facial hair absorbing most of the crusted saliva. His lanky arm supports his body weight against the door frame. Of course, instead of inviting you in, he keeps you in the cold morning dew. You've been standing here, your shoes scuffing over the doormat and your hair slowly getting frizzier from the humidity since 7:15. It's now 7:45, and all you've talked about is Richie's new life plan. He's really turning around. Y'know—he doesn't smell like a thrift store anymore. His breath is minty, but still has that twinge of tobacco. He finally says something so far underneath his raspy voice that you nearly missed it as you yawned with a hand over your mouth.
"I think you should come to friends and family night."
The invitation makes you nervous. You wonder if Carmen has changed at all, because you sure have. After all, you're sober now. Your eyes are no longer sunken in with grief and longing for acceptance outside of what substances gave you. You can actually fucking think now. The brain fog has cleared.
"Yeah?" you tilt your head, Richie nodding in response. He reaches for a pack of camels from his back pocket. He shuffles a cigarette from the pack, holding it between two dry fingers, giving you the 'you want?' look. Richie hasn't offered you a smoke since the day he found out you were using. It was, coincidentally, the day you decided to get sober. Which just so happened to be hours before Mikey's death. Nonetheless, you nodded. It feels nice to not be treated like a little girl in a candy store who can't be reasoned with, let alone control herself. While nicotine wasn't the drug that controlled every aspect of your life for nearly 3 years—it still felt wrong to Richie.
Lovingly, he attempts to light it for you, fumbling with the guard of the lighter. The constant clicking sound. Fuck, it fills you with dread. Finally the cigarette is set aflame.
"Okay, I'll see you then."
"You're gonna love it, kid."
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While you're sitting at the glossy marble table watching bubbles of carbonated alcohol rise to the mid section of the glass, Carmen is pacing. He pretends he can sees the faces of the dozens of people waiting on their meal. They're angry. They're dissatisfied. It's no surprise to him that he is in fact projecting, and no one is angrier than Carmen Berzatto in this very moment. Sydney is a close second. She's no longer willing to babysit him, she says. Richie is a fool. Fak is a klutz. None of this is new. Oh, how receptive this has all become. You're with friends who don't know a thing about you, your appetite has disappeared, and you picture Richie keeping roll as you hear his voice through the frosted glass. Carmen shouts as he walks through the doors into the kitchen, the air so thick with flavor and heat he could choke. It's almost unintelligible. No one else seems to notice but you.
"Fuck!" He roars, but he's drowned in the sound of kitchen clogs squeaking and fires caramelizing food. For a minute, he's thankful no one can hear him. That is until he arrives with a bottle of Rosé your table ordered from Richie moments before. Carmen knows he's being watched, sure. This is his restaurant. Claire-Bear, the girl who's been like his little sister since middle school, is staring with worried eyes as her boyfriend talks her ear off about his software job. She'd rather be cooked alive than listen to another wave of his voice. Needless to say, he moves past her swiftly. The closer he gets to your table the faster your heart beats against your tight chest. Finally, he sees you. His mouth gapes open just a few centimeters, his grip on the bottle barely loosening. Eyebrows all around the table are raising with excitement, and yours are still drawn together in worry.
"Good evening guys, uh—here is the bottle of La Belle—best of 2022, actually. Who's up for a first taste?" Carmen asks the table, secretly hoping you'll volunteer.
As if your friends can read his mind, Diane tilts your head your direction.
"Sure," you croak. "Hit me."
Carmen's tattooed hand unscrews the cap. The peachy pink wine slugs out like a waterfall from the lid, stopping just so you get a few drops of the liquid gold. His eyes are glued to the glass, but you watch him intently through the whole affair. He's oddly beautiful. With curls that have grown too long and his blue eyes have only filled with more determination, it hurts to look away. And yet, he is worried that if his eyes meet yours, you could somehow disappear.
But again, you just can't look away.
By the time his head rises again to hand you the glass, your eyes are already gleaming with wonder and questions. His heart fucking aches with not a clue in the world as to why. You haven't spoken in months. Maybe this is an apology. Not that he felt that you deserved one, no. It would just lift it from his thoughts. But he's lying. Of course you deserved to hear the words "I'm sorry." His own mind races with ideas of you, hating you. Hating what you dragged Mikey into, hating how easily you hid it, hating how much he wished he could reverse time and just fucking be there for him. For you. You always felt so close and yet so, so far away from Carmen. So detached, just like him.
You're aware that he's watching you now. You look tired. Carefully, you swish the wine around, soaking in the aromatic scent before you give it a taste. Of course, the Rosé is delicious. You blink slowly, nodding in approval.
"It's perfect."
"I'm glad," Carmen smiles.
The tension grows stronger. Finally, he looks away to Diane, Kyler, and Sophie. Not because he wants to be of hospitality, but because he just can't bare to feel this way any longer.
You place your orders with a heavy heart. Carmen walks away for the last time that night, and you're once again worried you may never see him again, the way you worried all those years ago.
You ever think about how we call toddlers that because they can't walk right. They toddle about. Fuckin idiots. Fuckin idiot steppers can't walk properly. Call 'em wobblers. This is my son Jeffrey he's at the age where I mock him for walking like a fucking scrub. "Skill issue" ass name.
warnings : slow start, SMUT (minors DNI), porn with no plot, slapping (f!receiving) brief public sexual encounter, fingering (f!receiving), hickeys, biting, hair pulling, desperate + rough sex, crying, choking, praise, degradation, ultimately passionate and loving. made this one for the true yearners.
the sight in the bathroom mirror of the restaurant is sickly sweet. carmen's hand sliding between the plush of your thighs, fingers caressing the soft inner flesh...it's enough to make your stomach turn and your heart pump with the same blood that's rushing to your boyfriends erect cock that's pressing against your ass.
your hands grab the corners of the white marble sink as you fall to pieces at the sound of carmen's voice against your ear, his breath feeling hot and wet. as the hand that once nestled between your quads moves up to the crown of your pussy, ready to rub your clit in slow circles, he uses his unoccupied hand to shuffle underneath your t shirt and grope the meat of your breast. he squeezes tightly, pinching your hardening nipple with his thumb and index finger. he relishes in the surprised, incoherent noises you make the faster he stimulates your clit and the firmer his hand grows on your tit.
god, how the two have you have been dying for a moment like this. sure, sleepy fucks in the early mornings before he would get ready for another long day at what was just barely becoming the bear were nice. his cock would just gently caress your g spot and only inch near your cervix when you were absolutely close. his lips would be pressing kisses into your temples his hand keeping your leg lifted so he could thrust into you while you were lying down. but you needed more. a risky fuck as your back ached from the uncomfortable standing position just didn't suffice. tonight was finally your chance to get what you, and what carmen knew in his heart you deserved.
your frustrated face in the reflection of the water stained mirror contorted by pleasure is enough to tell carmen what you need.
"you want daddy to take you home, baby?" he coos to you, brushing your hair out of your face and pecking the side of your flushed cheek. carmens hand withdrawals stubbornly from your pussy and his grip of your breast has loosened into a gentle touch. you know he's taunting you, but it feels so warm to be held like this, filthy and practically begging for someone to walk in on the two of you despite everyone going home for the night.
your mind is so crowded by the fantasy that awaits you in his apartment that you can only get yourself to nod desperately, babbling nonsense. carmen can only draw a few conclusions of "please," and "wanna feel you in me," but it's more than enough before he rushes you to the car.
waiting has always been difficult for you two. you're practically writhing in greed for his touch, the pool of arousal in your panties only getting more and more saturated as his hand rubs the inner flesh of your thigh. he's made it a point to give it a squeeze at every red light, almost as if he's saying "be patient, almost there." his cock hardens as flashes of everything he wants to do to you attack his mind. he clears his throat, simply wanting to savor all of this.
your face glows in the red light, hiding your blemishes and making your eyes pop against your soft skin. once it turns green, carmen makes the beautiful mistake of watching the color bring out your little moles and the lines around your smile that have grown from laughing until your ribs hurt with this man.
"carmen—" you urge him, tapping his bicep. he shakes the awe off and steps on the gas.
he laughs, embarrassed. the apples of his cheeks are turning pink against his fair skin. a hand reaches to cover his mouth.
"sorry," he bites his lip to stifle his chuckle, "you were distracting the driver."
"by doing what? i was just sitting here!" you banter back, shaking your head in pretend disappointment.
"exactly. that's all you had to do."
the way carmen practically shoves you into the crawl space that is his humble apartment is just borderline animalistic. it's sloppy and it's scattered. his hands roam from your face, traveling down to your waist, and grabbing the flesh of your ass as he has you walk backwards until you fall into the plush heaven of his bed. his lips feel like feather-light strokes against yours, battling with teeth and tongue until he pulls away impatiently.
he fumbles with the button of his pants, wiggling out of them and kicking them somewhere where he knows he'll struggle to find them in the morning. you're sprawled out on the mattress, your hair falling perfectly and your arms on either side of your head, hands balled up in excited fists. carmen drinks this image of you, unbuttoning your short-sleeved black uniform shirt you wore to work that day. your breasts look supple and tender beneath your black bra. his staring only lasts for a split second before he tears off your matching pants, pouncing for your neck and sucking reddish purple hickeys all over your spotless skin.
"finally," he exhales into your hair that smells like floral shampoo and cigarettes, "you've been bare for fuckin' weeks."
seeing your pretty throat completely untouched ate at him on the days he wished he could just pull you into his office, pushing all of his paperwork off the tiny desk him and Nat shared and fucking you right then and there. this is his chance.
"you know how long i've been waiting—" he interrupts himself to place another bruise of affection on the right side of your neck, relishing in the sound of your little giggles that melt into moans of flushed arousal.
"—to have you like this? huh, angel?" carmen grunts, lifting his head from the comfort of your shoulder. he grabs your hips, pulling you towards him and aligning the bulge in his boxers with your clothed, warm pussy. the way his rough hands treat you like you could break beneath him is so entrancing. this moment is so tender.
"i know baby," you comfort him, your hand grazing over his forearm.
"I wanna see you—wan..."
carmen is interrupted again, this time by the honest look in your eyes. the look that tells him you need him, and you're not willing to be sweet about it anymore.
"what's that baby? speak up."
now you've done it. there was no going back now.
"be good f'me n' take this off. now."
his tone changes. it's demanding. he pulls the strap of your bra, letting it slap your skin on the way back down. the small cry that leaves your mouth has him teetering to the edge even more. you listen, sitting up just enough so you could reach your arm behind you, undoing the clasp. it's slow and purposeful. you want carmen to ache waiting for you. blue eyes watch your every move intently, and his dick is so hard it fucking hurts.
"don't play this fuckin' game with me, sweet girl. you've been so good all week," carmen snatches the bra from your manicured hand, throwing it behind him.
"you've been so good lately. why start now, huh? you wanna piss me off, that it?" he pesters you, grabbing you by your chin with just 3 fingers, forcing you to look him in the eye. his grip is so strong you can't kiss him to shut him up.
"I—"
suddenly, he lets go of your chin. you think you're free to cause your typical bratty chaos...but the palm of carmen's then unoccupied hand meets your cheek with a slap the second you blink. it's enough to sting, and enough to make your pussy pulsate. he thumbs your bottom lip, probing around the exposed inner flesh of it with the tip of his finger.
"what's that? use your words. i know you can," he mocks your former words.
now his hand is wrapped around your throat, hardly squeezing. and before you can try to answer again and regain your dignity, carmens hand has already reached around your torso and flipped you over completely. the moment your red cheek meets the pillow, you've somehow grown even hornier than before with the knowledge of what comes next. carmen's thick index and middle finger probe at your slit. you arch your back in response, having your ass fully in view for him.
"wow," carmen praises you, gently removing your panties and letting them pool at your ankles, "didn't even have to ask you to do that."
he kisses the small of your back, reaching around and prodding his fingers into your mouth to lubricate them. before you know it, his digits are deep inside your cunt, caressing your g spot and warming you up for what you've been waiting for all this time.
"just fuck me already—" you whine impatiently before carmen starts to wrap your hair around his hand, giving it a tug to remind you of your place. your stomach flutters with horny butterflies.
"i'm gettin' there."
he's had enough. carmen's hand presses on your lower back to reduce the arch. he hovers over you, letting go of your hair and instead wrapping his hand around your throat again. this time, the pressure makes you nervous. his grip is stronger. his lips are barely against your ear as he begins to whisper.
"but since you wanna be the brat that you love to be," he presses into your neck even tighter, "despite both of us knowing you're a needy little slut who loves this, convince me."
your mind goes blank.
"convince you?"
"yes baby," he kisses the cartilage of your ear, "convince me." before you can think of your next choice of words, your lovers teeth are digging into your shoulder which is then soothed by a sultry kiss. god, you feel like you could cum right now from all of this, and you're not sure how carmen has held out for this long until you hear him shuffling to pull his boxers down.
"carmen—"
"nope," he aligns his dick with your pussy, his precum coating your folds as he teases your desperate cunt that is just dripping for him. the head of his cock slides up and down before rubbing circles near your clit. "wrong answer. try again."
you've accepted your fate.
"please," you cry hoarsely, "please daddy. i'll be so fuckin' good—just fuck me."
"good job baby girl." you can practically hear the amusement in his voice. you wish you could see his smug fucking face right now, but you know exactly why he has you in this position; so your pretty eyes can't weaken him again. "such a good girl for daddy, aren't you?"
you played his little game and you won him over. finally, he pulls your hips closer, slowly pushing his tip inside of you. you're so slippery with need that he has to be careful not to shove his length all the way in. the hand that was once around your throat smacks your ass as he starts with slow, deep strokes against your g spot. he grunts, feeling your hole tighten around his dick when he slows down. your face is pressed against the pillow again, and the grip of your hands on the sheets grows stronger the faster he pumps you.
"oh, oh fuck," that familiar whimper rings in your ears. there's your sweet boy, drunk by the heaven of your pussy. he's deep in now, sliding quickly and slamming you full the millisecond you feel empty again. every thrust brings out a louder, more desperate sound out of you.
"i fuckin' love you," he wails, chuckling as you struggle to say it back between sobs of pleasure.
carmen's hand sneaks underneath and presses on your lower abdomen as he continues fucking you senseless. it nearly kills you with pleasure. you're screaming his name as you feel your orgasm inch closer and closer. thank god you taught him that little trick.
"fuck baby—" carmen practically sobs, his chest heaving and sweat dripping from his forehead, "i'm so fuckin' close. you take me so well, like a good little whore."
his mumbles are nearly incoherent now, and hot tears prick at your eyes and fall down your face.
"i'm gonna cum, bear, fuck—" you groan into the pillow again with frustration. that tight feeling in your stomach and your pussy fluttering has already come.
"go on, cum on daddy's cock."
as if your souls had intertwined the way your bodies did, carmen cums inside of your warm pussy, crying out your name as white streams of his seed paint your walls. you reach your end just seconds later, being left completely destroyed and out of breath. just like he intended.
you nearly collapse before carmen catches you. you're on your back again, and his hands cradle your pretty face that's all hot and stained with tears. you can finally see his face again. he presses a kiss against your forehead before rushing to grab a towel, but you stop him.
"carm, wait," you whine. he comes back with an eyebrow raised, worried that you're hurt.
"what's a'matter, baby?" carmen soothes you, his hands grazing over your legs and massaging them once he notices they're shaking just the tiniest bit from how hard he fucked you.
"just missed your face," you coo, puckering your lips for a kiss.
DROP WHATEVER THE FUCK IT IS YOU ARE DOING AND GO READ THIS AND SHOW THIS AUTHOR SOME LOVE OH MY GOD?? new favorite blog alarm is BLARING
every part of this was literally- i have no words for it but yall will experience it too GO. READ. IT. and also go boost it because it is criminal for it to have under like a million likes (just my opinion you know)
warnings : slow start, SMUT (minors DNI), porn with no plot, slapping (f!receiving) brief public sexual encounter, fingering (f!receiving), hickeys, biting, hair pulling, desperate + rough sex, crying, choking, praise, degradation, ultimately passionate and loving. made this one for the true yearners.
the sight in the bathroom mirror of the restaurant is sickly sweet. carmen's hand sliding between the plush of your thighs, fingers caressing the soft inner flesh...it's enough to make your stomach turn and your heart pump with the same blood that's rushing to your boyfriends erect cock that's pressing against your ass.
your hands grab the corners of the white marble sink as you fall to pieces at the sound of carmen's voice against your ear, his breath feeling hot and wet. as the hand that once nestled between your quads moves up to the crown of your pussy, ready to rub your clit in slow circles, he uses his unoccupied hand to shuffle underneath your t shirt and grope the meat of your breast. he squeezes tightly, pinching your hardening nipple with his thumb and index finger. he relishes in the surprised, incoherent noises you make the faster he stimulates your clit and the firmer his hand grows on your tit.
god, how the two have you have been dying for a moment like this. sure, sleepy fucks in the early mornings before he would get ready for another long day at what was just barely becoming the bear were nice. his cock would just gently caress your g spot and only inch near your cervix when you were absolutely close. his lips would be pressing kisses into your temples his hand keeping your leg lifted so he could thrust into you while you were lying down. but you needed more. a risky fuck as your back ached from the uncomfortable standing position just didn't suffice. tonight was finally your chance to get what you, and what carmen knew in his heart you deserved.
your frustrated face in the reflection of the water stained mirror contorted by pleasure is enough to tell carmen what you need.
"you want daddy to take you home, baby?" he coos to you, brushing your hair out of your face and pecking the side of your flushed cheek. carmens hand withdrawals stubbornly from your pussy and his grip of your breast has loosened into a gentle touch. you know he's taunting you, but it feels so warm to be held like this, filthy and practically begging for someone to walk in on the two of you despite everyone going home for the night.
your mind is so crowded by the fantasy that awaits you in his apartment that you can only get yourself to nod desperately, babbling nonsense. carmen can only draw a few conclusions of "please," and "wanna feel you in me," but it's more than enough before he rushes you to the car.
waiting has always been difficult for you two. you're practically writhing in greed for his touch, the pool of arousal in your panties only getting more and more saturated as his hand rubs the inner flesh of your thigh. he's made it a point to give it a squeeze at every red light, almost as if he's saying "be patient, almost there." his cock hardens as flashes of everything he wants to do to you attack his mind. he clears his throat, simply wanting to savor all of this.
your face glows in the red light, hiding your blemishes and making your eyes pop against your soft skin. once it turns green, carmen makes the beautiful mistake of watching the color bring out your little moles and the lines around your smile that have grown from laughing until your ribs hurt with this man.
"carmen—" you urge him, tapping his bicep. he shakes the awe off and steps on the gas.
he laughs, embarrassed. the apples of his cheeks are turning pink against his fair skin. a hand reaches to cover his mouth.
"sorry," he bites his lip to stifle his chuckle, "you were distracting the driver."
"by doing what? i was just sitting here!" you banter back, shaking your head in pretend disappointment.
"exactly. that's all you had to do."
the way carmen practically shoves you into the crawl space that is his humble apartment is just borderline animalistic. it's sloppy and it's scattered. his hands roam from your face, traveling down to your waist, and grabbing the flesh of your ass as he has you walk backwards until you fall into the plush heaven of his bed. his lips feel like feather-light strokes against yours, battling with teeth and tongue until he pulls away impatiently.
he fumbles with the button of his pants, wiggling out of them and kicking them somewhere where he knows he'll struggle to find them in the morning. you're sprawled out on the mattress, your hair falling perfectly and your arms on either side of your head, hands balled up in excited fists. carmen drinks this image of you, unbuttoning your short-sleeved black uniform shirt you wore to work that day. your breasts look supple and tender beneath your black bra. his staring only lasts for a split second before he tears off your matching pants, pouncing for your neck and sucking reddish purple hickeys all over your spotless skin.
"finally," he exhales into your hair that smells like floral shampoo and cigarettes, "you've been bare for fuckin' weeks."
seeing your pretty throat completely untouched ate at him on the days he wished he could just pull you into his office, pushing all of his paperwork off the tiny desk him and Nat shared and fucking you right then and there. this is his chance.
"you know how long i've been waiting—" he interrupts himself to place another bruise of affection on the right side of your neck, relishing in the sound of your little giggles that melt into moans of flushed arousal.
"—to have you like this? huh, angel?" carmen grunts, lifting his head from the comfort of your shoulder. he grabs your hips, pulling you towards him and aligning the bulge in his boxers with your clothed, warm pussy. the way his rough hands treat you like you could break beneath him is so entrancing. this moment is so tender.
"i know baby," you comfort him, your hand grazing over his forearm.
"I wanna see you—wan..."
carmen is interrupted again, this time by the honest look in your eyes. the look that tells him you need him, and you're not willing to be sweet about it anymore.
"what's that baby? speak up."
now you've done it. there was no going back now.
"be good f'me n' take this off. now."
his tone changes. it's demanding. he pulls the strap of your bra, letting it slap your skin on the way back down. the small cry that leaves your mouth has him teetering to the edge even more. you listen, sitting up just enough so you could reach your arm behind you, undoing the clasp. it's slow and purposeful. you want carmen to ache waiting for you. blue eyes watch your every move intently, and his dick is so hard it fucking hurts.
"don't play this fuckin' game with me, sweet girl. you've been so good all week," carmen snatches the bra from your manicured hand, throwing it behind him.
"you've been so good lately. why start now, huh? you wanna piss me off, that it?" he pesters you, grabbing you by your chin with just 3 fingers, forcing you to look him in the eye. his grip is so strong you can't kiss him to shut him up.
"I—"
suddenly, he lets go of your chin. you think you're free to cause your typical bratty chaos...but the palm of carmen's then unoccupied hand meets your cheek with a slap the second you blink. it's enough to sting, and enough to make your pussy pulsate. he thumbs your bottom lip, probing around the exposed inner flesh of it with the tip of his finger.
"what's that? use your words. i know you can," he mocks your former words.
now his hand is wrapped around your throat, hardly squeezing. and before you can try to answer again and regain your dignity, carmens hand has already reached around your torso and flipped you over completely. the moment your red cheek meets the pillow, you've somehow grown even hornier than before with the knowledge of what comes next. carmen's thick index and middle finger probe at your slit. you arch your back in response, having your ass fully in view for him.
"wow," carmen praises you, gently removing your panties and letting them pool at your ankles, "didn't even have to ask you to do that."
he kisses the small of your back, reaching around and prodding his fingers into your mouth to lubricate them. before you know it, his digits are deep inside your cunt, caressing your g spot and warming you up for what you've been waiting for all this time.
"just fuck me already—" you whine impatiently before carmen starts to wrap your hair around his hand, giving it a tug to remind you of your place. your stomach flutters with horny butterflies.
"i'm gettin' there."
he's had enough. carmen's hand presses on your lower back to reduce the arch. he hovers over you, letting go of your hair and instead wrapping his hand around your throat again. this time, the pressure makes you nervous. his grip is stronger. his lips are barely against your ear as he begins to whisper.
"but since you wanna be the brat that you love to be," he presses into your neck even tighter, "despite both of us knowing you're a needy little slut who loves this, convince me."
your mind goes blank.
"convince you?"
"yes baby," he kisses the cartilage of your ear, "convince me." before you can think of your next choice of words, your lovers teeth are digging into your shoulder which is then soothed by a sultry kiss. god, you feel like you could cum right now from all of this, and you're not sure how carmen has held out for this long until you hear him shuffling to pull his boxers down.
"carmen—"
"nope," he aligns his dick with your pussy, his precum coating your folds as he teases your desperate cunt that is just dripping for him. the head of his cock slides up and down before rubbing circles near your clit. "wrong answer. try again."
you've accepted your fate.
"please," you cry hoarsely, "please daddy. i'll be so fuckin' good—just fuck me."
"good job baby girl." you can practically hear the amusement in his voice. you wish you could see his smug fucking face right now, but you know exactly why he has you in this position; so your pretty eyes can't weaken him again. "such a good girl for daddy, aren't you?"
you played his little game and you won him over. finally, he pulls your hips closer, slowly pushing his tip inside of you. you're so slippery with need that he has to be careful not to shove his length all the way in. the hand that was once around your throat smacks your ass as he starts with slow, deep strokes against your g spot. he grunts, feeling your hole tighten around his dick when he slows down. your face is pressed against the pillow again, and the grip of your hands on the sheets grows stronger the faster he pumps you.
"oh, oh fuck," that familiar whimper rings in your ears. there's your sweet boy, drunk by the heaven of your pussy. he's deep in now, sliding quickly and slamming you full the millisecond you feel empty again. every thrust brings out a louder, more desperate sound out of you.
"i fuckin' love you," he wails, chuckling as you struggle to say it back between sobs of pleasure.
carmen's hand sneaks underneath and presses on your lower abdomen as he continues fucking you senseless. it nearly kills you with pleasure. you're screaming his name as you feel your orgasm inch closer and closer. thank god you taught him that little trick.
"fuck baby—" carmen practically sobs, his chest heaving and sweat dripping from his forehead, "i'm so fuckin' close. you take me so well, like a good little whore."
his mumbles are nearly incoherent now, and hot tears prick at your eyes and fall down your face.
"i'm gonna cum, bear, fuck—" you groan into the pillow again with frustration. that tight feeling in your stomach and your pussy fluttering has already come.
"go on, cum on daddy's cock."
as if your souls had intertwined the way your bodies did, carmen cums inside of your warm pussy, crying out your name as white streams of his seed paint your walls. you reach your end just seconds later, being left completely destroyed and out of breath. just like he intended.
you nearly collapse before carmen catches you. you're on your back again, and his hands cradle your pretty face that's all hot and stained with tears. you can finally see his face again. he presses a kiss against your forehead before rushing to grab a towel, but you stop him.
"carm, wait," you whine. he comes back with an eyebrow raised, worried that you're hurt.
"what's a'matter, baby?" carmen soothes you, his hands grazing over your legs and massaging them once he notices they're shaking just the tiniest bit from how hard he fucked you.
"just missed your face," you coo, puckering your lips for a kiss.
