megara

18+

[fricks]

"please? it's the only way i can fall asleep." ☆

you can hardly hear choso's words, they're muffled into the crook of your neck, but you can hear the desperation in his tone as clear as day. he always gets like this when he's been away... touchy. horny.

"i'm pretty sure i've seen you sleep standing up like a horse," you grumble, trying (and failing) to push the mass of body weight off you. "we just had sex, cho, i've got enough of you inside me as it is. we don't need to cockwarm."

you aren't wrong, he told you he's been 'saving up' for you, and it wasn't an understatement. he's only been away for a week, but you're almost bloating with what feels like a months worth of unspent cum inside of you. you'd think, if he weren't so insistent about keeping you all to himself, that he was trying to fuck a baby into you.

"even better," he lifts his head and looks down at you, his cock already hard again and pressing against your sore thigh. "i can... plug you up. keep it in."

"very unhygienic. do you know anything about PH?"

"what? i don't use that site anymore. it makes my stomach hurt. feels like cheating."

"no, i mean—" you blink up at your boyfriend. "wait, what?"

"why would i want to watch other people do those things? i'm not a cockholder."

"cuckold, baby."

"i'm not a cuckold."

you can't help the laugh that slips past your lips. it makes choso laugh too, though you're sure he doesn't know why the two of you are laughing.

laughter turns into kisses somehow, as it usually does, and then kisses quickly turn into a wet tongue trailing down the column of your neck. his tongue laves at the juncture of your throat and shoulder, slow and sloppy like it's new skin he's exploring and not the same flesh he's conquered ten times tonight.

"wanna fall asleep inside of you," he pleads. "i'll be so good, i won't move or anything. you'll hardly notice me."

well that's a fucking lie if you've ever heard one. choso is more than big, and has a tendency to force your body to tighten up around him in some twisted biological ploy to keep him inside of you.

still, the idea is appealing. you always find yourself melting into his pleads, especially since he asks so nicely... "fine," you groan. "okay. you can put it back in, but we are going to sleep."

"i promise," he practically moans already pulling one thigh open to fit himself at your entrance. "thank you thank you thank you."

despite having taken him countless times already, you still gasp at the stretch of him pushing inside of you. you wonder if you'll ever get used to it.

he drapes his weight over you once he's buried himself to the hilt and you let out a deep sigh in turn. you can only describe how well he fits inside of you as natural—like every inch of him was moulded to fit your heat without fail.

"see?" he whispers against your jaw, kissing the corner of your mouth before tucking his face back into the crook of your neck. "i could stay like this forever."

and for a little while, he does. he relaxes fully, the only indicator of him still being awake is the sweet hums he lets out as you card your fingers through his hair and scratch gently at his scalp. and, despite his weight on top of you, relaxation takes hold quick, and you find yourself drifting off into the comfortable embrace of slumber.

until he moves, of course. his shoulders tense and his face scrunches up against your neck in obvious frustration.

"don't," you keep your eyes shut beneath him. "don't you dare."

he shifts against you, cock twitching where it’s locked deep inside. "but—"

"choso."

he groans pitifully and lifts his head just enough to look down at you. "i need to move."

"you promised," you crack one eye open to look at the flush decorating his cheeks, visible even in the low light. you try and keep a stern look on your face, but you're already shifting your hips in anticipation. "we need to sleep."

choso's forehead drops down to press against yours. he screws his eyes shut, looking a lot more distraught than need be. "i know, but i..." he swallows hard, and you can feel the pulsing of his cock inside of you, "...i wanna fuck you so bad."

this is a repost from my old deactivated account. i didn’t steal this, and if you say otherwise im gonna put unsavoury things in ya bum and make you bark like a dog

[fricks]

"please? it's the only way i can fall asleep." ☆

you can hardly hear choso's words, they're muffled into the crook of your neck, but you can hear the desperation in his tone as clear as day. he always gets like this when he's been away... touchy. horny.

"i'm pretty sure i've seen you sleep standing up like a horse," you grumble, trying (and failing) to push the mass of body weight off you. "we just had sex, cho, i've got enough of you inside me as it is. we don't need to cockwarm."

you aren't wrong, he told you he's been 'saving up' for you, and it wasn't an understatement. he's only been away for a week, but you're almost bloating with what feels like a months worth of unspent cum inside of you. you'd think, if he weren't so insistent about keeping you all to himself, that he was trying to fuck a baby into you.

"even better," he lifts his head and looks down at you, his cock already hard again and pressing against your sore thigh. "i can... plug you up. keep it in."

"very unhygienic. do you know anything about PH?"

"what? i don't use that site anymore. it makes my stomach hurt. feels like cheating."

"no, i mean—" you blink up at your boyfriend. "wait, what?"

"why would i want to watch other people do those things? i'm not a cockholder."

"cuckold, baby."

"i'm not a cuckold."

you can't help the laugh that slips past your lips. it makes choso laugh too, though you're sure he doesn't know why the two of you are laughing.

laughter turns into kisses somehow, as it usually does, and then kisses quickly turn into a wet tongue trailing down the column of your neck. his tongue laves at the juncture of your throat and shoulder, slow and sloppy like it's new skin he's exploring and not the same flesh he's conquered ten times tonight.

"wanna fall asleep inside of you," he pleads. "i'll be so good, i won't move or anything. you'll hardly notice me."

well that's a fucking lie if you've ever heard one. choso is more than big, and has a tendency to force your body to tighten up around him in some twisted biological ploy to keep him inside of you.

still, the idea is appealing. you always find yourself melting into his pleads, especially since he asks so nicely... "fine," you groan. "okay. you can put it back in, but we are going to sleep."

"i promise," he practically moans already pulling one thigh open to fit himself at your entrance. "thank you thank you thank you."

despite having taken him countless times already, you still gasp at the stretch of him pushing inside of you. you wonder if you'll ever get used to it.

he drapes his weight over you once he's buried himself to the hilt and you let out a deep sigh in turn. you can only describe how well he fits inside of you as natural—like every inch of him was moulded to fit your heat without fail.

"see?" he whispers against your jaw, kissing the corner of your mouth before tucking his face back into the crook of your neck. "i could stay like this forever."

and for a little while, he does. he relaxes fully, the only indicator of him still being awake is the sweet hums he lets out as you card your fingers through his hair and scratch gently at his scalp. and, despite his weight on top of you, relaxation takes hold quick, and you find yourself drifting off into the comfortable embrace of slumber.

until he moves, of course. his shoulders tense and his face scrunches up against your neck in obvious frustration.

"don't," you keep your eyes shut beneath him. "don't you dare."

he shifts against you, cock twitching where it’s locked deep inside. "but—"

"choso."

he groans pitifully and lifts his head just enough to look down at you. "i need to move."

"you promised," you crack one eye open to look at the flush decorating his cheeks, visible even in the low light. you try and keep a stern look on your face, but you're already shifting your hips in anticipation. "we need to sleep."

choso's forehead drops down to press against yours. he screws his eyes shut, looking a lot more distraught than need be. "i know, but i..." he swallows hard, and you can feel the pulsing of his cock inside of you, "...i wanna fuck you so bad."

this is a repost from my old deactivated account. i didn’t steal this, and if you say otherwise im gonna put unsavoury things in ya bum and make you bark like a dog

[rubysunnday]

Day 18 of @janeuary-month - Headwear | Emma (2020)

[calmcal]

so highschool ― steve harrington

SO HIGHSCHOOL ― STEVE HARRINGTON

summary ... when hawkin's middle goes on a field trip to hawkins highschool, steve is left feeling very nostalgic, and he's brought you along for the ride

pairing ... steve harrington x reader (2.1k)

warnings ... coach/teacher steve era, teacher!reader, making out, one ass slap, mentions of king steve, totally not appropriate school shenanigans, steve being kind of horny, but reader is kinda equally horny, no smut

note ... kinda inspired by the t. swift song, kinda took a mind of it's own once i started writing it. if you guys have any requests you wanna send me, feel free to do so !

masterlist !

“Alright, everybody out, single file line!” Steve’s commanding voice echoes through the bus, eager children hopping up from their seats, looking out at the building with subtle awe.

You were in the rear of the bus, pushing along the stragglers with a cheery smile, though you were met with groans of unwillingness.

Not that you blamed many of them.

This was the last place you wanted to be spending your day.

Hawkins Highschool.

When you became a teacher at Hawkins Middle, there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that this was what you were supposed to be doing with your life, you were made for teaching and looking after kids.

Younger kids.

Not high school kids.

It was only very recently that you had yourself left high school, though your high school experience had involved fighting seriously dangerous monsters and threats from a world unlike your own, but that's neither here nor there.

The point being, you were not excited to be back, knocking boots on your old stomping ground.

Steve on the other hand.

He was excited.

“Stop smiling” You’d muttered as you boarded off the bus, behind the last student.

“Come on” Steve nudged you with his shoulder, falling in line with you. “You’re not even the littlest bit excited about being back here?”

The students followed Mr Keys, the only other teacher on this field trip, and quite possibly the only responsible one.

“This place is a cesspool of gross teenage hormones” You’d scoffed, which might have been an over exaggerated statement, but you were standing by it.

Steve shook his head, like he couldn’t quite believe his ears.

“Why are you so excited?” You’d questioned. “It’s not like your entire high school career had been great”

“Hey!” Steve shoved one of his hands into his suit jacket pocket, while the other came up to fluff his flawlessly styled hair. “I’ll have you know, I was totally admired in this very building”

“Right” You hummed. “King Steve”

The monarchy title that had been bestowed upon Steve, for doing nothing in particular, he’d earned it by just being a good looking guy who was mediocre at basketball.

This had been his playground for a long time.

The title had been stripped from him for a time, what with getting his ass handed to him by Jonathan, and then all the stuff that happened with Billy didn’t help him either.

But Steve had found his footing eventually, landing right where he should have, you often think he’s more confident now, than you had ever seen him. before.

It was kind of hot.

“King Steve was kind of a jerk” You’d teased as the pair of you took your first steps into the looming building.

“I was not!” Steve stated, brows raising high on his forehead.

“Totally were” You shrugged nonchalantly, a smile tugging at your lips.

Steve huffed a loud breath through his nose, looking sideways at you.

“I wasn’t always a jerk, you know” He mumbled as crowds of students were walking past.

You didn’t say anything.

Both of Steve's hands came to rest on his hips, looking a little grim as he took your words to heart.

“Maybe…I was a little bit of a jerk” Steve nodded once.

Now you felt a little bad, it's not like Steve was a bad person in high school. You really didn’t have much to do with him before your interdimensional adventures, but by then, he’d become more than his title…after having his ass handed to him several times.

The school field trip continued on around you, and you know you should be paying attention, this was your job afterall.

But you couldn’t stop thinking about the crestfallen look on Steve’s face.

As the tour continued its way into an empty classroom, you nudged Steve with a soft hand.

“You weren’t a huge jerk” You conceded, looking at him with a soft smile.

Steve looks at you, not saying anything, but there’s a soft pink hue that spreads across his cheeks, one of his hands reaches out, his pinky finger nudging yours. For a moment, you wrap your pinky around Steve’s, giving it a small squeeze, before you slip out of his grasp.

You figure you should probably do your job, looking after the kids you are in charge of, as they get an exciting lesson from a teacher you don’t recognise.

You walk across the room, towards a student who has their hand up, while Steve states rooted to his spot, though now he’s chatting with the few students closest to him.

You can’t hear what he’s telling them, but their eyes light up as he continues to speak, it makes your heart skip a beat.

You’ve known Steve through most stages of his life, it was the inevitable of living in a small town, but this version of Steve Harrington, is always going to be your favourite.

None of the kids seem to notice the way you and Steve edge around each other, how you can’t see the keep your eyes off each other, like gravity is doing it’s best to pull you guys back together.

The tour of the high school makes its rounds through the halls once more, and Steve and you are now shoulder to shoulder.

There’s a bubbling feeling in your stomach, you feel warm inside.

Steve has a subtle smile on his lips.

Mr Keys is now leading the kids into the library, which is twice the size of the library they are used to seeing, they are amazed and in a great turn of events…distracted.

Steve grabs your wrist, softly tugging the appendage.

You look at him, that sly smile on his face, and you can’t say no.

Steve doesn’t take you far, just out of sight, far enough that you can still hear everything around you, but you are entirely out of sight.

“What are you doing?” You whisper, there’s a giggle beneath those words.

“Feeling a little nostalgic” Steve murmurs back, turning a corner, looking to see if there are any lingering students.

When he’s satisfied that you are mostly alone, Steve corners you against the bookshelf.

The spines dig into your back, but it’s hardly a concern, when Steve begins to crowd you, sliding into your personal space with little concern, hands bracing against the shelves behind your head, blocking you in.

“Old stomping grounds?” You question playfully.

“Can’t say I’ve ever brought a anyone in here” Steve reveals. “I was more of a bathroom make out kinda guy”

“Gross” You crinkle your nose up, but there’s a teasing smile on your lips. “I’m kinda happy I never made out with you in high school”

Steve huffs.

“You totally could have” Steve’s brows wiggle in what you assume is supposed to be alluring, but he just looks a little goofy.

“I don’t make out with guys in bathrooms” You disagreed, placing your hands against his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath his button up shirt.

Steve inconspicuously looks over his shoulder, before looking back at you with a cheeky grin.

“But you’ll let me corrupt you here, in the library, where anyone can see you?”

When he puts it so eloquently.

“Shut up” You try to deny, but you're all flustered, avoiding his eyes now, looking over his shoulder.

Steve tuts.

Using one hand, he grasps your chin, ever so gently, pulling you back into his limitless orbit.

Those dark eyes, warmer than honey on a hot summer's day, are locked on you, as if you were the only thing he wanted to see, the only thing worth looking at.

Steve doesn’t say anything.

You try to find the words, but nothing seems to come out but a puff of air, a gasp at Steve’s sudden touch.

And that gravitational pull is working its magic, pulling you both closer together. You’re not even sure who started leaning in first, but with each inch that Steve moves, you mirror in tandem, there was no fighting this pull.

Steve’s lips are soft against yours.

The hand resting against your chin, slithers down to your neck, locking in behind your head, as Steve pushes your body further into the bookshelf behind you, his body molding against yours.

The kiss is slow, like taking a deep and measured breath, purposeful and impactful. Lips folding over each other.

The hands you have resting against Steve’s chest skirt down, landing on his waist, wrapping your fingers around the loops of his pants, pulling him all the closer.

Steve lets out a groan, it’s quiet, subtle, but it rumbles right through your skin, sitting somewhere close to your heart.

“I thought you were corrupting me” You whispered, pulling back only a fraction, which displeased Steve.

He groaned, chasing after your lips, eyes drooping, carefully watching the way your lips twist and turn around the words, feeling your breath fanning across his lips.

“Mutual corruption” Steve corrects, before he’s pushing back in for another kiss.

You're smiling as he kisses you.

You feel weightless as he kisses you, like you weren’t getting any air in your brain, it was foggy and all your thoughts rotated around Steve and how much you wanted to wrap your body around him.

Steve’s tongue licks at the seam of your lips, begging for your attention. You obliged, parting your lips a fraction, which has Steve groaning a little louder.

Too loud for the library.

And much too loud, considering you were currently at work.

You pushed Steve away, hand gripping his waist tightly.

You’re gasping for a breath, there wasn’t enough air in the room for you to even attempt at being cool about this.

Steve wasn’t much better.

He looked swept away, lips parted and freshly pink, his eyes were glazed over and hot, burning you from the inside out, the longer he looked at you.

“Okay…we need to stop” You didn’t recognise your voice for a moment, it was so soft, low and sensual in a way you weren’t used to.

As if, for the first time since he had hatched this plan, Steve takes a deep breath, those smoldering eyes sobering up.

“Right” Steve nodded his head, but he didn’t take his hands away from your body, keeping you close, like he wasn’t ready to let you go.

“We have to be professional” You nodded, but it sounded like you were trying to convince yourself more than Steve.

“Professional” Steve agreed, looking up from your lips and catching your graze.

There’s a little zing that zaps you right in the heart, and it warms your entire body as Steve smiles that dopily boyish smile right at you.

He kisses you again, it’s chaste and quick, but meaningful.

“We can totally be professional”

“Yeah” You nod your head, but your body leans entirely against Steve, chasing him for another kiss.

And who is he to deny you.

Another chaste kiss against your lips.

Then another.

Your fingers knead against his hips, digging into the fabric where his shirt meets his slacks.

The sound of a book falling to the ground, followed by a high pitched voice quickly calling out a ‘sorry!’ has you pulling away from Steve.

Another deep breath.

“Okay, really, we need to stop” You whisper, nodding your head.

“Right” Steve sniffs, releasing the back of your head, moving his arm from the bookshelf next to you, while you let go of his waist.

Steve takes a step back.

Finally you feel like you can breathe.

“We should get back” You say, smoothing down the fabric around your waist. “Professionals, remember?”

“Yeah, professionals” Steve echoed your words.

“I’ll go out first” You told Steve, finished with smoothing down your rumpled appearance.

“Cool, yeah, that’s a good idea” Steve nods, running his fingers through his hair, looking flushed and a little disoriented.

“But…” You paused as you stood beside Steve, there was a sliver of a sly smirk on your lips, Steve perked up at the sight. “We should continue this, later, and somewhere not on school grounds”

With a playful flourish, you slapped a soft spack against Steve’s backside.

With all the grace of a grown man, Steve lets out a quiet yelp, not expecting the slap. You giggle at him, as his cheeks turn a bright red.

“My god woman” Steve huffs, pulling at the collar of his shirt. “I freaking love you”

Now you feel a little flustered.

You took a step forward, but paused again, looking over your shoulder.

Steve stood still, cheeks still flaming red, but there was a tender smile on his face, watching you once more.

“See you later, Mr Harrington” You smiled.

“You can count on it baby” Steve winks.

[kryptidfiles]

Respectfully, 22B

Pairing: David!Clark Kent x Wife!Reader, Set in Mrs. Kent Diaries Summary: You're not as quiet as you think. The neighbor complains. Clark considers responding. But first! Day 15 of January Jumble Scribbles Event | wc: 490 (pls don't arrest me) Tags: SMUT, 18+, MDNI, Clark you smug handsome bastard. Wall sex just how I like it with Mr. Muscle. As always, unedited bc I don't know

Event Masterlist

The note was waiting under your door:

You're not as quiet as you think. Thin walls. Open windows. People have children, you know. Consider soundproofing. A gag. Or shutting the fuck up. -Respectfully, 22B

You showed it to Clark over breakfast. He read it twice, squinted, then sucked in a breath between his teeth. “Oh, yikes, it’s underlined —Wait—open windows?”

You both turned slowly toward the balcony. You’d absolutely forgotten to close it.

The worst part? You weren’t being loud last night. Not really. Not the real loud.

Not like now.

“Oh my God, Clark—”

His hand came over your mouth more out of instinct than discipline, a soft shh pressed into your cheek while your body ignored him entirely.

How could it obey when his cock was buried deep, hips rolling slow and unforgiving, pinning you to the drywall of your bedroom with barely-there strength? How? When you were already shaking from the second orgasm, your legs clutched around his waist, your voice determined to ruin any peace and quiet left on your floor?! Tell me!

“We promised to be respectful,” he murmured into your jaw, mock–solemn, teasing. “And you’re up here makin’ all these noises, hon…”

You keened against his hand, muffled and broken, your nails digging into his shoulders like it was his fault for being so deep, so thick, for hitting just right. Which it absolutely was.

His pace was lazy and indulgent now, like he had all the time in the world to fuck you through the wall just hard enough for your joints to bump, bump, bump in rhythmic defiance.

“Oh my god, Clark, right there,’” he echoed you the night before, full of smug affection. “That what you said, right?”

You squealed when he hit just right a-fuckin'-gain. He ravaged your neck, wet, hot kisses along your jaw, nipping at your ear.

“Think she liked the play-by-play,” he added, breath hot at your skin, still full of smug affection. “Maybe I should give her the encore.”

Oh, you hated him. You were going to kill him. 

Or maybe come again.

“Clark, baby, hol' on—Clark—!”

“I’ll—I’ll talk to her, hon. Bring muffins. A thank you note, too,” he promised, cock jerking as your body clenched around him again. “Dear 22B, thank you for inspiring me to—”

“Fuck, fuck fuck!”

"Make love to my wife—”

He thrust particularly deep, and you arched, crying out under his hand. It felt like he was trying to fuck you make love to you through the drywall.

“More passionate than last time—”

“Right thererightthere—Ah!”

You came with a sob, jaw slack, nails digging in. Clark buried himself as deep as he could get, so desperate to somehow merge with you, and came hard, hips stuttering while he spilled hot, unrestrained, utterly unashamed inside you.

For a moment, there was only breathing. Sweat. Soft exchanges of ‘I love you’s’ and other tender sweet nothings. The faint sound of the city through the open balcony as scenic backdrop music.

Then—

BANG BANG BANG.

From the other side of the wall.

You both froze, panting.

Clark chuckled quietly into your throat, still holding you there, boneless. “Might need two batches.”

You swallowed, nodding weakly.  “Add extra chocolate chips, baby.”

Tomorrow, you’d apologize politely and profusely.

[kryptidfiles]

Respectfully, 22B

Pairing: David!Clark Kent x Wife!Reader, Set in Mrs. Kent Diaries Summary: You're not as quiet as you think. The neighbor complains. Clark considers responding. But first! Day 15 of January Jumble Scribbles Event | wc: 490 (pls don't arrest me) Tags: SMUT, 18+, MDNI, Clark you smug handsome bastard. Wall sex just how I like it with Mr. Muscle. As always, unedited bc I don't know

Event Masterlist

The note was waiting under your door:

You're not as quiet as you think. Thin walls. Open windows. People have children, you know. Consider soundproofing. A gag. Or shutting the fuck up. -Respectfully, 22B

You showed it to Clark over breakfast. He read it twice, squinted, then sucked in a breath between his teeth. “Oh, yikes, it’s underlined —Wait—open windows?”

You both turned slowly toward the balcony. You’d absolutely forgotten to close it.

The worst part? You weren’t being loud last night. Not really. Not the real loud.

Not like now.

“Oh my God, Clark—”

His hand came over your mouth more out of instinct than discipline, a soft shh pressed into your cheek while your body ignored him entirely.

How could it obey when his cock was buried deep, hips rolling slow and unforgiving, pinning you to the drywall of your bedroom with barely-there strength? How? When you were already shaking from the second orgasm, your legs clutched around his waist, your voice determined to ruin any peace and quiet left on your floor?! Tell me!

“We promised to be respectful,” he murmured into your jaw, mock–solemn, teasing. “And you’re up here makin’ all these noises, hon…”

You keened against his hand, muffled and broken, your nails digging into his shoulders like it was his fault for being so deep, so thick, for hitting just right. Which it absolutely was.

His pace was lazy and indulgent now, like he had all the time in the world to fuck you through the wall just hard enough for your joints to bump, bump, bump in rhythmic defiance.

“Oh my god, Clark, right there,’” he echoed you the night before, full of smug affection. “That what you said, right?”

You squealed when he hit just right a-fuckin'-gain. He ravaged your neck, wet, hot kisses along your jaw, nipping at your ear.

“Think she liked the play-by-play,” he added, breath hot at your skin, still full of smug affection. “Maybe I should give her the encore.”

Oh, you hated him. You were going to kill him. 

Or maybe come again.

“Clark, baby, hol' on—Clark—!”

“I’ll—I’ll talk to her, hon. Bring muffins. A thank you note, too,” he promised, cock jerking as your body clenched around him again. “Dear 22B, thank you for inspiring me to—”

“Fuck, fuck fuck!”

"Make love to my wife—”

He thrust particularly deep, and you arched, crying out under his hand. It felt like he was trying to fuck you make love to you through the drywall.

“More passionate than last time—”

“Right thererightthere—Ah!”

You came with a sob, jaw slack, nails digging in. Clark buried himself as deep as he could get, so desperate to somehow merge with you, and came hard, hips stuttering while he spilled hot, unrestrained, utterly unashamed inside you.

For a moment, there was only breathing. Sweat. Soft exchanges of ‘I love you’s’ and other tender sweet nothings. The faint sound of the city through the open balcony as scenic backdrop music.

Then—

BANG BANG BANG.

From the other side of the wall.

You both froze, panting.

Clark chuckled quietly into your throat, still holding you there, boneless. “Might need two batches.”

You swallowed, nodding weakly.  “Add extra chocolate chips, baby.”

Tomorrow, you’d apologize politely and profusely.

[marwrite]

chipped ceramic

summary: ever the lovergirl, you've never been able to resist clark kent, your sweet & dorky coffee shop regular. everyone tells you to either make a move or let go. but when the world fades away, it’s your best friend kal-el you turn to; your confidant, your rock. your heart’s secret is safe with superman… or so you believe.

clark kent x fem ! reader

themes: fluff, you have no idea that superman is clark, funny, you're bold and dramatic in a very cute way, pining, mutual interest but again you have no idea, clark is a sneaky, lovesick man. enjoy! x

one | two

Your coffee is too hot, too bitter. One earphone is lagging very slightly behind the other. There's a pounding in your left temple, Kal-El has yet to let you know if he survived this morning's brutal alien attack at the bridge and of course, your favourite regular failed to make an appearance today.

Today is just the gift that keeps on giving.

A sigh leaves perfectly glossed lips- yours, with a hint of slight shimmer, that faint red that always has Clark Kent looking at you a bit longer than he should. You slathered a thick coat of it on this morning; puckering slightly in the mirror, giddy at the thought of his flushed cheeks and stammer.

"You look... uh, really good today." you imagined him saying. You swooned at the thought of his smile, that farmboy curl that never failed to sweep you off your feet. "Beautiful. You look beautiful." big hand wrapped around his order, broad like the rest of him.

And you imagined yourself giggling back; one manicured hand poised strategically in front of the gloss like it was a privilege for him to see. Even when you smelled like Arabica and five different milk alternatives. Even when your hair was knotted into a careless bun, and you hadn't a single clue what day it even was.

Somehow, Clark had a way of making you feel nothing short of gorgeous.

"Then why haven't you asked me out yet?" you dreamt about asking him that too, watching his eyes go all wide and sparkly, stunned by your boldness.

You thought about the different ways you could bring it up, maybe take the leap yourself;

"The usual? Black, extra hot, one ice cube? I'll throw in my phone number too, for good luck."

"Morning, Kansas! Got your order right here. Doing anything after work today?"

"Hi, Clark. What can I get for you today? Large black coffee? I know you usually don't take sugar, but I'm free tonight and I've been told I'm quite sweet after a couple drinks..."

Stupid. So, so silly and so, so stupid. You hit the steam wand with an exasperated sigh.

Your friends call you obsessive. Kal refrains from using such harsh words, but you know he's thinking the same; his eyes never lose that amused sparkle, no matter how harshly you smack him on the arm.

A few of your coworkers find it cute. Once, Lorna dug a sharp elbow into your arm the second Clark walked into the building, silently swapping out her role at the tillpoint to let you have your brief, passionate, five-minute interaction.

"Go get him, beauty." she coaxed.

But you refrained from thanking her, not wanting to accept it for what it was; that you were totally, helplessly, irritatingly, crushing on a coffee shop regular.

"It's a right of passage." Claire said ominously.

"It's not that bad," someone else quipped.

"It's pathetic." Michael patted you on the shoulder once, pursed lips clamped in place to stop himself from spewing out any more hurt. "You've got it bad, kid."

"It's sweet!" Lorna cried, "I think it's adorable. Oh, you guys. Let her have her fun."

You thanked them all with a grimace and a swift exit to the back, clammy hands wiped down the sides of your milk-stained apron.

Clark comes in every day.

Typically. His routine is simple; easy-going for a man so chronically late and so unapologetic about it.

He bustles into the café at precisely 8:55am every morning, despite work starting at 9. Sometimes, he gets a large black coffee; other times, a caramel macchiato that he tells you solemnly is for his friend Jimmy.

You're always there to greet him, all smiles and nonchalance and small-talk that you have to fight to keep under wraps.

"Front page, again," you'd grinned once, revelling in the way his cheeks reddened as you swilled oat milk around a jug. "Very well deserved, Mr Kent."

"You read 'em?" he asked you shyly.

"How could I not?"

"I don't know. You seem like a busy girl,"

"Never too busy for an article on Superman." you joked. You made a mental note to never replay the full conversation to Kal, ever; his ego simply didn't need that boost.

He cracked a small smile, slipping his faded leather wallet back into his slacks pocket with ease. You couldn’t help but take note of the little planet emblem on the front, the scuffed gold detailing on the corners.

Because for some reason, when it came to Clark, you noticed everything.

"Means a lot. Thank you," he sipped his drink, eyes relaxing at the taste, "This is great. Really great. I- you... you've got talent,"

"If you can count squeezing water through some beans as talent, then sure," you giggled. He laughed with you. "But thanks. Have a good day, Clark."

"And you, sweetheart."

He raised his coffee cup to bid you farewell, and you almost collapsed backwards into Claire.

"Easy, girl." she'd said warily. You apologised though you didn't mean it, and she told you to take five to compose yourself.

So, compose yourself you did.

You went out to the back, fingers already itching to make the call. You hit your most frequently used number and waited impatiently; teeth gnawing on your bottom lip in a way concerning to the twenty-dollar lip balm slathered across it.

Eventually, he picked up.

"Hel-"

"Kal. You need to come get me and fly me to Missouri."

No warning, no greeting. Neither was needed. Metropolis' sweetheart knew you well enough for neither to be necessary.

On the other line, Superman paused.

And then, he burst out laughing.

"Kal!" you stomped your foot, though he couldn't see you and was probably very busy, because you could hear the hustle and bustle of a large crowd in the background. Was he walking? "I'm being serious. I don't even know where Missouri is, but you need to take me there and leave me there,"

"Now, hang on just a moment," he chuckled. You burned holes into the pastry oven in front of you. "What's happened now?"

"Why do you assume something happened?"

"You sound like you're going to pass out,"

"No. I sound like I need to take a super long vacation to some city I've never been to,"

"Missouri is a state."

"Oh, my god. I'm calling Kara." you warned, taking the phone away from your ear and tapping it around to prove a point. You could hear him apologise in between laughs, urging you to bring the phone back.

When you finally did, the bustle behind him had quietened. You snapped, jokingly, "What do you want?"

"You called me, little lady."

"Because I am going through a crisis," you cried dramatically, before pausing and lowering your tone, "He came in again, Kal."

"Oh," you could envision his grin now; amused, as well as slightly bewildered. "Ah. The reporter.”

"He called me sweetheart. And I think I said something about squeezing a wet bean? God, I don't even know,"

"You said that?"

"I said that. So, are we going to Missouri or not?"

Ever so level-headed, Kal-El ignored your somewhat childish plea, instead focusing on the bigger picture with another heroic chuckle. "Isn't this what you wanted?"

"What? To tell Clark Kent that I squeeze my bean to the thought of him?"

"Woah. Think we missed a couple chapters there."

"Well, I might as well have," you folded your arms, leaning against the fridge and staring absentmindedly at the notes that scattered it. "You should have heard me. I think my voice went up four notches and my mouth still hurts from smiling."

Not missing a beat, Kal said, "He probably thought it was cute."

"You think?"

"Sure."

You groaned. Superman laughed again. Then, Claire popped her head through the doorway and very patiently beckoned you back outside.

"I'll call you later, Kal."

"Look forward to it."

And that was that. You slid your phone into your back pocket mindlessly, ready to tackle the fifteen backed-up orders that appeared out of nowhere during your not-so-short break.

The day flew by in a blur of spilled coffee beans and burnt milk. You tried very hatd to busy yourself with other things; orders, deliveries, stock-take. Anything to keep your mind off of the man in the too-big blazer that had yet to show you the least bit of interest.

You ended up being very grateful for the one person in your life that could tolerate your miniature spirals about the opposite sex. The one man on planet Earth that was far too kind to be disgusted, too noble to be embarrassed for you.

Your sinful thoughts of Clark shifted; forming into something much sweeter, as you thought of Kal-El and the bewilderment that came from just knowing him.

Your friendship with the last son of Krypton began... oddly.

Unusual, to say the least.

He saved you from a burning building one time. Okay, maybe not from the burning building itself- he saved you from your apartment block that stood directly across the one that was actually burning, at risk for being crashed into; absolutely perplexed when he found you sat cross legged in a your bedroom, eyes closed, the baffling epitome of ill-timed meditation.

You'd shrugged when he asked you why you didn't evacuate when the sirens went off; squirmed out of his grasp when he attempted to hoist you upwards. Sirens deafened you both, loud and shrill and persistent.

"Ma'am-"

"It's my time, Superman." you'd said solemnly, turning your face to the ceiling in a way that threw him, "I've lived a good life."

"It's... the building next door, miss." he deadpanned.

You ignored him.

"…Leave me be."

Kal just paused. Raised an eyebrow. Then eventually, he sighed, and with no word of warning- scooped you up and flew you to safety in less than six seconds.

You slapped him in the arm when he finally put you down, glared even harder when he stuttered apologies about how he had to, he couldn't just leave you there.

Eventually, you let up with a distracted pause; tilting your head to the side before gallantly stating, "You're a lot prettier than in the tweets."

That was the first time you ever made Superman laugh, and he's been coming back to laugh ever since.

At first, he came to visit under the guise of simply checking in on you. But it snowballed after that, random check-ins turning into unprompted nightly traditions.

He'd land on your fire escape at precisely 11:07pm every evening, suit scuffed, mind battered from a day of patrolling and doing lawful good. You'd offer him a tea or coffee, and it would always be in that chipped red and blue mug you were gifted years ago and somehow just never got rid of.

Naturally, the mug became his; never to be touched by any of your other friends or guests. It seemed like the more it was used, the closer you became.

"How was your day today?" his fingers would wrap around it gratefully, the colours of his suit camouflaging against the drink.

"It was good. Got my nails done and bought a new lip balm. Wanna see?"

"Sure."

It was different, how it began. Even weirder the way it continued.

Because for an invincible superhero that the whole world relied on, Kal-El wasn't some stuck-up, government clone that lived to serve and nothing else. He was a person. Human in the ways that mattered, even if his biology didn't agree.

He had a dog- a foster situation, he called it. He liked flying through the air and making shapes with the clouds. He hated when you swore, saying that the word fuck was both overused and crass. He loved breakfast, falling in love with it even more when you'd shown him that it could also be a contender for dinner, too.

"This is amazing." he'd said once, mouth full of bacon and eggs and hashbrowns. His entire figure swamped your cosy little kitchen stool, cape brushing languidly against the ground.

You just laughed, wiping a smidge of ketchup from his face as he blushed profusely and fought to look away.

"You're getting it all over you."

"Sorry." he mumbled, words slurred through a mouth of grease and goodness.

But, of course, there were certain things you didn't know about him. Couldn't know. He'd explained it to you over and over and over again, your persistence making him smile but ultimately, was also causing his heart to break.

"It wouldn't be safe for you to know." he always said, softly, gently, as though he didn’t believe you could take it.

And you- though stubborn to the core and relentless to no degree- somehow understood the severity of that alone.

It still didn't stop you from trying to get it out of him, though.

"Do you have a day job?"

Kal-El squirmed uncomfortably, "No."

"Do you have an alter ego?"

"...No."

"Do you think me and your alter ego would be friends?"

His eyes softened then. Your eyebrows quipped. "...Yes. If I had one."

You learned very quickly that Kal-El didn't have many friends.

It didn't surprise you. Every photo of him standing next to the Justice Gang looked edited; every headline of his solo. He told you stories of the people he'd saved, how he remembered their faces and how their heartbeats raced, but could never quite stick around long enough to find out more.

It was bitterly unfair, you noted, how someone so good could be so alone.

After a couple of months, you found out that he lived somewhere in the Antarctic. A freezing cold spire coded to his DNA was what he called home, had always called home, one filled with working robots and the occasional super-dog.

"I'll take you there sometime." he'd promised.

But here, in Metropolis, Kal housed a spacious penthouse with floor to ceiling windows. You'd been there more than a handful of times now; always through the window and never through the lobby. You didn’t even know what his building looked like, wouldn’t be able to pick it out of a line up.

But it was really one of the only few places you could go where the threat of being taped and posted all over the internet didn't loom; as long as you promised not to tell anybody.

That, he was quite stern about. He claimed it was more for your protection than it was to keep himself hidden- I can move anywhere, anytime. You can't.

It had you asking him where his deep trust in you came from, though you couldn’t deny the way it filled your chest with warmth. Even you had to admit- you weren't exactly the quietest, calmest, most reserved person to ever grace his life.

But Kal just chuckled. His shoulders nudged yours, smile boyish and shy, "I'm a pretty good judge of character." and that was that.

Your friends and co-workers knew him simply as your friend Cal. C instead of a K, so no-one had the chance to piece it together. They never saw him, just heard about him through stories you dulled down for the sake of secrecy.

If Superman flew you over the stratosphere the other day before taking you back to his apartment, your favourite hot chocolate already on the counter, then Cal drove you around on Monday to test out his new car, and you had drinks at his place before he took you back home.

It was all very calculated. But you supposed it had to be; being Superman's best friend was never going to be easy. Not even when he did everything he could to keep you safe, including (but not limited to) answering even the stupidest of phone calls, where all you did was gush and cry and freak out about the infamous Clark Kent.

You remembered the day you saw him for the first time.

It was the Monday after a painful weekend. Most of Sunday was spent face-down in your pillow, mumbling about how life wasn't fair and you were probably going to be a single old hag until the day came that you finally died.

On your phone, Kal-el was rolling his eyes; giving you a sweet, lopsided grin as he told you to stop being so dramatic.

"You're not going to die old and alone," he'd said amusedly, throwing a ball for Krypto to fetch and destroy somewhere in the Antarctic. "Your person will come. Just… gotta be patient."

You asked when, voice muffled. He just told you to wait.

And then, like the world had heard your silent pleas and Kal's contained agitation, Clark Kent stumbled into your life (and cafe) the very next day.

All sweet and shy and knocking into coats that hung off of the backs of chairs, apologising profusely like they had brains and hearts that beat. His curls, unruly as always, flopped comically over his forehead; the crook of his glasses taking your breath away with every slight, nervous scrunch of his nose.

He was the most beautiful man you had ever seen- familiar in a way you couldn't place, yet so unlike anyone else you'd ever met before.

You couldn't look away, no matter how hard you tried. Whether it was love at first sight or just pure, unfiltered obsession- you weren't too sure.

"Hey... hi. Please may I get a coffee?" he'd asked.

"Hi, hey. Which coffee can I get you?"

The tips of his ears reddened. Your stomach fluttered in agony. "Just a black coffee, please." then, he paused, eyes flickering from the menu to the far too large top hanging off your frame, "I like your shirt."

You thanked him, quietly finding it hilarious that the top you'd worn to work that day actually belonged to your dear friend Superman. Yet another thing you weren't willing to tell him, in fear of his already too big ego inflating even more.

You made Clark's black coffee. His fingers brushed against yours as he took it, gaze lingering a beat too long. Then, you called Kal and got sent to voicemail immediately after; leaving him a very passionate message about the man you were pretty sure was the love of your life.

Clark came in every day since.

Apart from today.

"Don't be so sad, sweets," Lorna nudges a bag of opened candy your way, brows quirking up with the movement. "He probably just got held up somewhere."

It's laughable. Pathetic. You shouldn't be this sad, this ridiculous, over someone you don’t even know, but you can’t help it.

You feel everything tenfold, and the droop in your expression is unmistakable- even when Michael taps you gingerly on the shoulder; knowing brow quirked, something square and leather clutched in his free hand.

A wallet.

With little gold detailing pinching the corners, and a tiny little planet stamped on the front.

Your world stops spinning, and you fall within the split-second of static as Michael hands it to you like it’s a personal gift from the Gods.

“No wonder your boy couldn’t make it today,” he grumbles. Your entire body goes cold with anticipation, “Probably spent all day looking for that thing- Claire found it wedged between the seats. Do with that what you must.”

And that's how, a full five days later, you find yourself buzzing into a swanky looking apartment building; Clark’s wallet clutched tight in one hand, a boiling hot black coffee in the other.

You feel weird. You feel intrusive. On the way here, you decided that if you were ever to be asked what fictional character you relate to the most, it would be the delusional, disgusting Joe Goldberg.

But you don’t turn around. You refuse to- it’s been days since he left his wallet at the café, and you just couldn't take it anymore. It's been sat untouched in Michael’s office, already collecting dust, calling out your name alongside a plea of return me, return me!

“Just do it, dear God,” Michael had groaned, flinging it towards you with two tattooed fingertips pressed against his temples, “I can’t take this anymore. Take it back and stop moping.”

You thought about swinging by the Planet and dropping it off there. But questions would be asked, eyebrows would be raised, and you didn’t really want to step into Clark’s place of work smelling like milk and tea and coffee granules- so, you opted for the next best thing instead.

You took his driving license out. Jotted down his address. Then, before anyone could convince you not to, you made your way straight there.

The woman at the shiny desk tells you that Clark’s apartment is on the very top floor.

In all honesty, that surprises you. You weren’t too sure how much journalists made, but the sum must be great for him to be able to live in such a fancy building. Most of the walls are made of glass, and the doorman even tilted his hat towards you when you stepped inside.

The elevator ride to the top is quick. You can’t remember the last time you were ever up this high- not unless you can count the nights spent zipping through the empty Metropolis air with Superman holding you close.

The thought of Kal-El makes you smile, but a pang of guilt also hits your chest at the lie you told him today. He’d asked you if you were free to come over, and you simply couldn’t find it in you to tell him the truth- that you were blowing him off to find Clark.

“I’ve got my mug and yours, and I even bought those little marshmallows you like,” Kal had said, very triumphantly, over the phone. You’d been busy stacking the dishwasher at the time to feel the full weight of guilt, but you were definitely feeling it now. “Thought we could watch that film you were talking about the other day. What was it called, again…?”

“I am so sorry, Kal,” you mumbled, wiping your soapy hands on your apron as you struggled to close the washer, “I’ve, uh… got plans. Tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Mhm.”

“Oh.” Although he tried to hide it, you could sense the disappointment in his voice from a mile away. “Oh, well- that’s alright. Will you be safe tonight? Wherever you’re going?”

You cracked a small smile, nodding to nobody but yourself. “Of course,”

“And you’ll call me if you need anything?” his voice lowered then, one filled with a silent plea for you to promise.

You nodded again, “Always.”

“Alright, then. See you soon?”

Your smile widened. There was something about how much Kal treasured you that hit something deep within your chest; blossoming a far-too familiar feeling that you had to force straight back down.

“See you soon, Superman.”

A steady ding sounds your arrival, ripping you out of the early memory with ease.

The top floor of Clark’s apartment building looks eerily familiar.

You pause the second you step out of the elevator; brows falling into a furrow, lips pursed. The once slightly-warm coffee in your hand is now threatening to burn a hole through your palm, and you just can’t shake the feeling that you’ve been here before.

But that’s stupid. Because you haven’t. And nobody in their right mind- not even you, in all of your whimsy and caffeine-fuelled delirium- would ever dare be deluded by that fact.

The hallway is quiet. Plush carpet, low lighting, floor-to-ceiling windows lining one side like a gallery of stars.

That’s what stops you. Completely.

Metropolis stretches out beneath the glass in a way that steals the breath straight from your lungs- all glittering veins of light and distant sirens, the river a dark ribbon cutting through the city. You drift closer before you can stop yourself, forehead nearly brushing the cool pane.

You’ve seen this view.

Not like this- not standing, no- but you’ve seen it. From higher, from warmer air, from the safe circle of an arm at your waist as the city unfolded below you like something made just for the two of you.

Your chest tightens, but you can’t place it. So you shake your head as if that alone might dislodge the feeling.

This is ridiculous. Clark Kent does not share a penthouse view with Superman. And if he did, then Kal would be cruel- truly cruel- not to tell you that the man you were probably falling in love with lived just next door.

Still, your fingers curl a little tighter around the coffee cup.

You force yourself away from the window and down the hall, counting your steps until you reach the door at the very end. It’s unassuming and plain, a dark wood coated in a glossy finish, handle a deep metal blue. Clark’s name is neatly printed on a label beneath the peephole, and your eyes rake over it hesitantly.

You lift your hand to knock, ready to either take the leap or embarrass yourself completely- but the door swings wide open before your knuckles ever have the chance to make contact.

"Oh-"

An apology tangles itself up in your throat as the man in front of you fills the doorway. Your restless eyes fight, wearily, to tear themselves away from the attractive ridges of his body.

Smart dress shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms. Those delicious slacks that cling to him just right. A press badge swings, still clipped at his waist, crooked like he’d forgotten it was there entirely.

His tie hangs loose, collar open- stance just a little too assertive to be Clark, a little too relaxed to be anyone else.

“Hi,” you breathe, relief washing through you so fast it almost makes you dizzy. Your eyes don't meet his. Your fingers fumble for his wallet in your pocket, your body ablaze underneath his stunned stare as you look anywhere but him, "Clark. Sorry, I-"

It takes a second longer than it should.

You look up, meeting his gaze halfway- and the double take is so quick, your neck clicks with the movement.

Time freezes. You almost choke on an inhale.

Because something is missing.

Something isn't right.

No glasses.

And the person looking right back at you isn’t the same person you thought you’d see tonight.

His eyes meet yours, blue and open and devastatingly familiar. The tilt of his head, the softness in his expression as recognition dawns- not confusion, not surprise, but something bordering on the painful edge of realisation.

A breath catches in your throat.

He says your name- softly, gently, as if not to startle you. But you're not paying attention, because your focus is on something else.

In his right hand, he clutches a mug.

Familiar, bright- formally yours.

Red and blue ceramic.

Drank from through laughter, sipped through conversation, put through endlesss nights spent at his and evenings spent at yours. It’s either unmistakable, or it’s uncanny.

Whatever it is, it’s slightly chipped on the rim.

Steam curls from it gently, the scent of hot chocolate filling the air between you. On top of the drink- floating in a neat little cluster of sugar and gelatin- are those little white marshmallows that you like best.

The world seems to tilt on its axis. Your fingers go numb.

And suddenly, a weight vanishes from your hand, the full coffee cup clattering at your feet; a warm overspill that stains your shoes a dark brown hue.

And Kal-El- Clark- moves without thinking.

His eyes are wide as he reaches for you, desperately, one step forward causing you to take three steps back.

His free hand reaches out.

But you’re already gone; turning sharply and bolting down the hall, heart racing, thoughts fracturing with every step, his broken voice swallowed by the echo of your footsteps.

thank you guys for reading !! love you always xx

[dogdevourer]

Guys what happened to coryosbaby pls help, I’ve been searching for what feels like FOREVER. Feels like queen just like fell off the face of the earth 💔

Pls help I’m just a girl and I just wanna read some fanfics 🥀🥀🫩

[onecojg]

coryosbaby i will never forget u 💔

[starsaroundscvrs]

𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘! 𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞... click HERE to join!

content warning ! f! and m!masturbation, use of toys (clitoral and vaginal simulation) pussy slapping (brief) perv!clark again, best friend/roommate clark, use of the word slut once, viewer discretion advised!

[ camgirl!reader x clark kent: you’re an internet sensation, the object of desire for millions of men on the internet…little do you know, one of your loyal supporters is over in the next room, a newfound but avid contributor to the honey pot. this layout is so ass but i’ll fix it later… ] ref: this ask!

clark didn’t mean to pry in on your secret. really.

it all begin with that shitty computer of yours—the one clark kept hounding on you to replace. it was impractical, honestly pretty useless. it hummed and took several minutes to process simple actions—not before completely shutting down. clark could see your frustration and that, in spite of your reassurances that it’s fine, clark, that it truly bothered you.

so, he bought you a new one, but not without the promise that it would be useful to him, too. he knew you’d never take him up on the offer if he didn’t suggest to you that it’d be perfect to share, a quaint shared home monitor that you could both access your work on; whatever hefty assignment perry gave you two. clark was too generous for his own good, even helping you secure your job at the planet alongside him and taking you in after you were let go from your last job—some stupid thing about budget cuts although you’d been a loyal associate at your insurance firm for some years now. oh well, fuck them, you thought to yourself when you remembered, although it still vexed you.

clark was your white knight through it all.

even so, you struggled. base pay as a brand new journalist at the planet wasn’t the best. you practically had to force clark to let you help pay rent although you were barely scraping by and didn’t have much to offer. that’s when the cam girl idea came to you. you could say it wasn’t your finest moment and being financially vulnerable made you more passive to the idea. the shitty “make bank right now from your own bedroom!” ad had successful coaxed you. your last shred of dignity seemed to go to hell. and well…now, here you were.

clark did question it a little bit, when the money began to rack in and suddenly you were bringing in a heft of groceries, telling him with a shrug of your shoulder that you’d been better at saving this month and could help pitch in on necessities from now on. the truth was, the almost millions of strangers who watched you fuck yourself on camera had been the ones to pay for it all.

you’d built a regular routine by now. you positioned the camera of your laptop perfectly—one you’d been able to buy thanks to your tippers, (unbeknownst to clark), and straightened your sheets as if you weren’t just about to ruin them. you were sure to make it so that the only part of your face anyone could see were your red lips; your trademark. you were clad in black babydoll lingerie today, complete with garters, stockings, and crotchless panties. the look complimented the lipstick deliciously today.

your collection of toys had grown too extensively to keep from protruding in your bedside table drawer, the rest you’d laid out on your bed for use upon viewer request. you were giddy the way you always were before you streamed, a smile playing on your lips when you finally hit start live! your legs were closed, knees pressed tightly together while you laid back on the plush of your pillows, manicured hands resting on your stomach.

𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘! 𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞...

the chat began to chime with the entrance of users on the site immediately.

“hellooo, sweet things!” you greeted your followers. “how are we doing today?”

CANDYMAN: Better now that I’ve seen you, Honey.

“awe, you’re too kind,” you hummed, teasing your hands over your tits. the most you’d give them until the tips began to roll in.

BRATTAMER69: What’ve you been up to, Honey? It’s so late…

“mmm, had to wait for my roommate to leave. missed you guys,” you sighed when your nipples began to harden at the prolonged contact. sore and sensitive with need.

CANDYMAN tipped $25 to The Honey Pot.

“thanks for donating to the honey pot, candyman,” you grinned, resting your hands back on your stomach to give yourself a break.

THIRSTYTHING: Damn. She sounds like such a cockblock

“no no, he’s nice. he has some trouble sleeping though so he’s just been in all day resting. he leaves in the middle of the night sometimes, so besides going to work he’s pretty nocturnal,” you laughed. the chimes of users entering amplified.

CANDYMAN: He?

shit, you cursed to yourself in your head. working in the industry for some months now, you learned it was best to keep sexual endeavors on the down-low. if anyone had parasocial relationships with their favorite influencers, it was the sex work community. it quickly become known fact to you that often, users had a possessive energy over you.

“uh, yeah…” you trailed off, unsure how to find a save.

CUMCAPTA1N04: Do you fuck?

“no! it’s not…he’s not…we’re not like that. i’ve known him for awhile now, y’know? he’s a great friend. it’d be weird if we did anything like that. besides, i like you guys better anyways,” you finished. another thing you realized about the industry—these fuckers loved the validation. no matter how fake it was. guilt began to prick at you, though. you knew you didn’t mean it. clark was your closest friend, your rock in the hardest of times. there was no one you really liked better than him.

CANDYMAN tipped $30 to The Honey Pot.

CANDYMAN: That’s what I like to hear, Honey

1GOODFUCK: I dunno. I think it’d be hot

CANDYMAN: That’s not what I’m paying for…

FUCKOLD: You at least let him to second or third base?

DICKUDOWN: Like a good little roommate?

you cleared your throat. “alright, candyman. anything you want me to do for you today?”

BONDAGEBANDIT: You look so pretty, baby. That the set I bought for you?

“it is!” you exclaimed, looking down at the lace that adorned your body and hugged your curves. “so glad you like it,” you said, smoothed out the wrinkles.

CANDYMAN: Why don’t you spread those pretty legs, baby?

BONDAGEBANDIT: Nah, it’s crotchless. Why don’t you make her tease herself before she gets down to it?

CANDYMAN: Because I’m the highest donator, dumbass…

you stifled a laugh. “okay guys. you know how it goes. best tip in the chat tells me what to do,” you reminded them.

CANDYMAN tipped $35 to The Honey Pot.

BONDAGEBANDIT tipped $45 to The Honey Pot.

BONDAGEBANDIT: Nice try, cheap ass…

CANDYMAN tipped $60 to The Honey Pot.

BONDAGEBANDIT tipped $100 to The Honey Pot.

“alright! it’s clear who the winner is for now,” you declared excitedly.

BONDAGEBANDIT: Put a vibe to one of those nipples, Honey. The pink one. And pinch the other one

“i like the way you think, bandit,” you chirped, taking the silicone wand from beside you and switching it on.

BONDAGEBANDIT: The strongest setting, Honey

“you betcha,” you freed your tits from the confines of your lace. more tips rolled in as they bounced over the bralette, sitting perky and taut. you brought the vibrator to a hardened bud, rolling the other in between your fingers with a gasp. “so sensitive. i’ve been waiting to touch myself all day for you all…”

CUMCAPTA1N04: So good for us…

“always,” you sighed, switching the toy between your tits. “c-can i touch my pussy now?”

CUMCAPTA1N04: Run it over your little body a bit. Then open those sexy thighs

“aye, aye, captain,” you joked, moaning out when you delved closer to your core, bringing the vibrator down over your stomach while the other hand rested on your tit. you moved down to your thighs, stopping over your empty clenching hole. you finally parted your thighs with a sigh, unclenching to reveal your pussy shining of slick from beneath your see-through crotchless lace panties.

CUMCAPTA1N04: Perfect.

CUMCAPTA1N04 tipped $15 to The Honey Pot.

CUMCAPTA1N04: Spread it open for us.

“you got it, captain.” the wand you’d left to rest on your thigh clattered beside you. you took the hand previously massaging your hand to spread your lower lips apart wide, your juices collecting on your fingers getting them drenched and sticky. you moved close enough to the camera so that your viewers were still denied full access to your face but could see your tight hole clench and twitch around nothing. “that good?” you’d gotten several more requests to slap yourself, to which you responded with several spanks to your wet hole that made you yelp but only made the tips keep filing in.

CUMCAPTA1N04: Amazing…you’re a goddess. How bout the vibe and a dildo? The lifelike one?

CANDYMAN: Or better yet, the thrusting vibrator with the tongue?

CANDYMAN tipped $20 to The Honey Pot.

“ooh,” you marveled reading the comment. “that’s a good one, it’s been awhile.”

more tips and comments began to spill in in agreement.

“alright then.” you perused the toys before your eyes landed on one of the naughtiest yet that you owned. a pink vibrator with the tip shaped like that of a cock and a tongue attached above it with several different vibration, thrusting, and tongue-licking pattern modes to try. the thrusting mode had a sliding ring for a realistic feel. the toy was practically made so that you hardly any work to do on your own, nothing but play with your tits.

CANDYMAN: Any mode or speed. Have fun

“i like the sound of that,” you smiled, the red lipstick vibrant in the camera frame. “going to touch a little first,” you said, gasping at the contact of the tight circles you rubbed on your slick clit, the other hand spreading you open. you teased your wet slit, stroking lightly up and down from your clit before finally taking the toy in your hand again. you inched it in slowly with a moan, taking it to the hilt with a tight clench around it. “ohhhh,” you cried aloud. “feels so nice after the wait,” you giggled.

you turned the thrusting mode on to the fastest, strongest setting. “oh, fuck!” you moaned.

BONDAGEBANDIT: Shit…

FUCKOLD: Taking it like a good little slut

“shit, i think i bit off more than i could chew,” you laugh nervously, clamping your hand over your mouth, eyes crossed when you pushed the vibrator in a slight bit more so that it was perfectly snug within your hole.

FUCKOLD: Why don’t you try the tongue?

“mmm, sure. just- ahhh! need a second,” you exclaimed loudly, twisting the nubs of your nipples. after a moment, you hit the button to turn on the tongue-licking motion. you fell hard back into your pillows, throwing your hands behind your head. “feels so fucking good. shit! too much!” you moaned, tears welling up in your eyes.

FUCKOLD tipped $50 to The Honey Pot.

FUCKOLD: Cum for us.

you clenched hard around the toy, the overstimulation of the tongue and cock working in tandem bringing you to a height of climax that had your back arching, afraid slivers your face might’ve been shown, only to see comments about how good you came, how pretty you looked.

THIRSTYTHING: Damn, that was hot

Subscribed now

FUCKOLD: You weren’t subscribed before, dipshit?????

you laughed at the quips in the chat, the futile stupidity of randoms fighting for you and over you in the form of chat comments.

“thank you, guys! god, that was so good,” you chuckled, still panting post-orgasm. the toy was sticky and drenched with your juices when you finally pulled it out of you. “how ‘bout i suck it all off clean for you guys since since you’ve been so kind and gave me an amazing orgasm?”

CUMCAPTA1N04: Hell yeah

BONDAGEBANDIT: Shit yes, Honey

you smiled, and opened your mouth to show your outstretched tongue. you swirled your tongue around the length and girth of the cock then took it deep in your throat, slightly gagging. the lipstick had smeared slightly around your lips now. you wiped away drool slipping from the corner of your lips. taking it from the inside of your open mouth, you showed off your work to your fans with a smile. “how’s that?”

BONDAGEBANDIT: Perfect Honey.

FUCKOLD: Such a pretty pussy and perfect mouth, wish I had them wrapped around me…

it was then that you heard the wrestle of the key inside your apartment door, that janky keyhole that needed fixing shoved around.

“shit,” you exclaimed, setting the toy aside. “roomie’s back. don’t want him to hear me talking to you guys,” you laughed. “great as he is, he doesn’t know about my side gig and i don’t want him to hear about it any time soon. have a good night—or day, wherever you are, guys!” you smiled, waving bye to the camera and thanking your tippers again before closing your laptop.

you were still covered in your own spend from the events of the night, an hour or half or so you’d spend attending to the demands of total strangers—surprising yourself at the length of your activities. it felt nowhere near that long, contrary to the reading of your digital clock. 12:34 am. geez. you needed a shower.

you wrapped your pink silk robe around your body—the expensive victoria secret one your tippers paid for— and took a loose clean towel with you. you hummed to yourself, making your way towards the bathroom when you bumped into clark.

“whoa!” you exclaimed in surprise.

“oh! so sorry, honey,” he threw his arms up in defense. it would be cute if the honey didn’t make you jolt in place.

“wh- what?” you looked like a deer caught in headlights just upon hearing the nickname.

“sorry,” he said again, taken by your own surprise. “didn’t mean to scare you.”

nicknames weren’t uncommon between you and clark. although you weren’t anything more than friends, clark didn’t shy away from the sweet occasional honey, or sweetie. you supposed after the events of your previous stream only being mere moments ago that you couldn’t help but be startled by the nickname.

“that’s alright, clark.” you said with a gulp, continuing on your path to the bathroom.

he nodded and let you past before you stopped in the doorway.

when you squinted, you swore you could see rubble in his hair, little specks adorning the crown of his head. he looked strange, his clothes ruffled and flannel shirt inside out like he’d only just changed before coming in, like there was something about his appearance he didn’t want you to see. maybe he’d just had a hookup. the thought made your heart sink a little bit. like you weren’t just fucking yourself on cam for millions of people to see.

“clark, come here.”

his eyes widened with worry, cautiously moving towards you.

you picked the rubble—little specks or whatever they were—from his hair, patting his head down with a shy smile after you finished.

“there. you just had something,” you clarified. clark was so tall you craned your neck a bit to look up at him. it was unlike any other time you interacted or talked together, only, this time, it felt oddly tense—unspoken secrets between the both of you seemed to thicken the air. you cleared your throat when you nodded. “busy night?”

“yeah. you wouldn’t believe…” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his head. “you?”

“uhhh…no. just stayed in. nothing much,” you laughed nervously. “i’m just gonna…” you gestured to your towel and the shower behind you.

“of course! don’t let me keep you,” he emulated your nervous laughter before you smiled and clicked the door shut. a shaky sigh left you as you slid down against the door, where clark still stood behind, eyes boring into the blank white of it.

clark seemed utterly stumped for the first time in what felt like ages. he had to stick through the aggravated cries of perry yelling about clark’s blank screen throughout his 8-hour shift. it wasn’t like there wasn’t anything interesting to write about; just the previous night when he’d stumbled in late when you were doing god knows what at that ungodly hour—he’d been strangling some extraterrestrial beast to its knees as superman—not before changing into some ragged flannel in the case that you’d be up and see him doing an awkward dance back to his room in your shared apartment—which you did. he sighed to himself. fucking writer’s block.

he was beat, and in spite of your sweet encouragement throughout the day, couldn’t bring himself to write more than a few words. so, he saved the shit for home, like any true procrastinator would. he made his way to the computer when you were out on some errand, getting your laptop fixed that he was unaware you even had, and how you had it.

he signed in to see you were still logged in. it was an unspoken thing that both of you logged out after each use, so he was surprised to see windows still opened. “oh gosh,” he yelped, seeing an ad of a half-naked blonde woman on the screen—one of those sketchy, almost comedic ads reading “annie from metropolis is fifteen miles away from you and wants to play.” he clicked off the ad after staring for much too long. it was probably one of those ads to the bootleg websites you loved so much to pirate movies, that clark argued was morally wrong. that’s what he figured it was, anyways. only to see—

“oh, fuck!” clark couldn’t stop the curse from leaving his mouth any quicker than it happened.

clicking the pop-up ad only revealed something worse, it seemed. he was met with the sight of you. well, bits and pieces of you. nonetheless, he connected the dots that it was you obscenely quickly. it all seemed to make sense, his worst suspicions confirmed when he clicked on a video of one of your live archives against his better judgment.

although all he could see of your face was your red lipstick, he couldn’t shake the certainty that it was you, all you. he’d know those lips anywhere—that special red you saved only for special occasions (or so he thought) that bedspread and bedframe, the stuffed animal peeking in the corner barely hidden from the frame that he’d got you for your birthday. your complexion and figure were the same.

it registered to him that he’d hear you moan into your pillows on occasion, when you’d thought he couldn’t hear or wouldn’t be back home for awhile—then hear you murmur as if you were talking to someone. it all seemed to make sense now. the video he clicked on was your most recent. the time published read 12:32am. just moments before he came home. no wonder you’d looked so flustered. while he was trying to hide that he was adjusting his pants seeing you in that pretty pink robe—and scared that you’d seen it and wanted to confront him, only to remove the rubble from his hair. oh, he was screwed.

he scrolled past the first few moments. his mouth fell slack open seeing you inch the fake cock inside your wet heat, that for so long he admittedly wanted to see. he tried to shake the thought but made no effort to click off the video. he recognized the toy, one that he’d remorsefully seen after rifling through your bedside table for some batteries he’d left in your room after changing your smoke alarm. needless to say he never went in without your permission again.

well, there was the time he’d come in for your laundry, taking your dirty used panties to his nose with some guilt. his slacks began to tighten as he continued watching you; listening in intently on your wanton moans, your cries on that fake cock and that tongue flicking on your clit. the toy worked your cunt hard while you played with your tits, arching back into your pillows.

“golly, i’m sorry baby…” he apologized as if you were there when he finally freed his aching hard cock from his boxers, rising from within its confines. he stroked it slow, coaxingly, as if hesitating now would make him any less guilty of what he was doing.

“so pretty,” he murmured, his eyes ran over the lace lingerie perfectly hugging your body. in all your years of friendship he was in disbelief that he never got the privilege of seeing you this way. god, he loved those crotchless panties. he wished it was you making you feel this way, your face twisted in pleasure, mouth fallen open and eyes screwed tight shut. he spat into his hand to make his cock slick and slide his hand up and down on it with more ease. “you’re unbelievable.” he was moaning out with you, quickening his strokes timing with the hard thrusts of the toy hitting deep in your cunt. he brought a teasing thumb to his leaky pink tip, the other reaching down to his heavy balls. “you make me so sensitive…”

he began to stroke faster, faster than the speed at which your toy was slamming into you. “gosh!” he cried, cumming when you did—your moans, that visible, prolonged clench of your pussy hard around the toy, and the final arch of your back egged him on. the video continued playing while he panted after a short huff. guilt began to gnaw at him when he heard you say, “shit. roomie’s back. don’t want him to hear me talking to you guys. great as he is, he doesn’t know about my side gig and i don’t want him to hear about it any time soon.” it occurred to him again that he’d found your account and explored it of his own volition…without you permission. “oh no…oh gosh…” his head fell into his hands. he was unsure how he’d go about pretending he never saw what he did from here on out. he suddenly realized why you’d been logged in from here—to see the stats of your income from the site on the right sidebar beside your videos—pushing tens of thousands, much to clark’s disbelief. or belief—he could in fact fathom the idea that this many people would want to watch you offer you up this much money. it was likely you had to use your shared monitor to check your earnings as your computer had been broken.

maybe he’d missed that janky knock of your keys slamming into that shitty door the way it always did, because—

“clark?” you exclaimed with a gasp, seeing him sat there with your lingerie-clad body blown up on the screen. his hands want to cover his crotch in a frantic hurry, and wipe at the cum on the front of his slacks and the keyboard.

oh, he was so fucked.

[bovineblogger]

[memorycycle]

first thing id do as a skeleton is drink red wine from a goblet and have it spill out everywhere . second thing id do is play my ribs like a xylophone

[luveline]

carmy! i have a request, it’s so basic but everything you write is golden. him and r are pining coworkers, and maybe someone else yells at her or upsets her or whatever and he’s like but i’m the only one allowed to shout at you and he hugs her (because you know… arms 👀)

—Carmy tries to make you feel better after a customer upsets you. fem, 1.5k 

“Fucking asshole,” Richie mutters as the door swings closed. 

Carmy would cringe if he had the energy, or a lack of self-awareness —it’s not as though he doesn’t swear like a starved sailor every other sentence. 

“Who’s the asshole?” he asks, feeling down his side for the bump of a box of cigarettes he doesn’t find. 

He’s taken to hiding them in the office. He’d love to pretend it was an act of lent, but in actuality, he never told Ritchie that the box of cigarettes left near the burner, that gave them their C-army rating, wasn’t Richie’s at all, but Carmy’s. He isn’t ever planning on having that conversation, so he’s trying not to carry a box around and leave it somewhere stupid again. 

“Fucking– you didn’t just hear that guy?” Richie asks, scowling. 

Carmy scowls back. “Yeah, that’s why I’m asking. What the fuck do you think?” 

It’s slightly too much aggression off the cuff, but Richie brings it out of him. “Some asshole just came in here and started shouting like a motherfucker because he forgot his stupid napkins. I thought Sunshine was gonna cry her eyes out.” 

Carmy clocks back in fully. “What?” 

Sunshine is the mildly sarcastic nickname Richie gave you before Carmy ever step foot in The Beef. It’s not that you’re moody, but you’re always tired, and you give these little shy smiles out to anyone who asks how you are. I’m fine, you say every time, followed by something deflective like, I’m just tired. Lack of vitamin D from working in this place. 

“Where do scumbags get off, making girls cry like that?” 

Carmy's eyes widen. “She’s crying?” 

Richie is capable of seriousness, despite himself. “Yeah,” he says, his anger swapped out for a low remorse, “I told her to go sit in the office until she’s feeling better.” 

Carmy pauses. “Should I go look in?” he asks. 

“Duh, Carmen. You’re the only one who can make her feel better. Which I resent!” He brings a rag end from his shoulder to wipe his forehead, which is gross, but whatever. “I’m fucking excellent at being a shoulder to cry on.” 

Carmy doesn’t know what that means. Richie says it like it’s obvious, but since when is Carmy the only person who can make you feel better? You’ve known everybody here far longer than you’ve known him, and sometimes Carmy thinks you probably don’t want a thing to do with him, does anybody in the kitchen? You’re smart, and you’ve been working here as long as anybody, started when you were genuinely too young and learning everything you know from the other. You have potential, like everybody here. You just didn’t get the right training, and you’re defensive (again, like everybody here). 

Carmy’s almost positive you’re gonna tell him to fuck off when he knocks the office door. He doesn’t know why he does it, nobody knocks in this shithole, but he does. Maybe he’s buying time; you’ll be feeling better when he pushes the door fully open, and he won’t have to navigate the treacherous depths of his feelings for you while he’s so busy trying to work himself out.

You sniff, muffled, like  a sleeve is held over your face. “Hello?” you ask. 

Carmy gets a burst of energy and doesn’t ask before stepping into the room. You can’t say no if he doesn’t ask, and you don’t, looking at him from the rickety office chair with distrust, and then sheepishness. 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t be in here.” 

“No, no, you can come in here,” he says. He has a bad habit of pausing too long and looking too close, hands clenched in front of himself. “You can come in here. Some asshole made you cry?” 

You shake your head with tears still wet on your cheek. You’re at home in the office, all the chaos and posters and paper trails a match for you dishevelled appearance. You’ve pulled your foot onto the chair, showcasing a shoe that’s falling apart and two pairs of socks pulled to uneven heights. Your hands are a riot, none of your jewellery but a mismatch of different coloured band-aids over a multitude of wounds. And your face glows with tears, shitty light of the desk lamp casting yellow onto your teary cheeks, your lips bitten raw. 

“I’m fine,” you say. 

Carmy doesn’t know what he was expecting, but he was hoping for a better confession. “Over napkins?” 

“Said I’m s’posed to put napkins in the bag,” you say, a monotony to your voice that’s forced and weak at once. “‘Cos I’m a fucking idiot, right, who doesn’t put napkins in the bag?” You sniffle. “Whatever. Richie said he can’t come back.” 

“He can’t,” Carmy says quickly. 

He fails to follow it up. There’s an idiot in the office, for sure, and it’s not you. 

Your mouth crumples and you look away from him, something achy about you as another tear falls down your cheek to curve into the skin above your top lip, making a home at your cupid’s bow. “I’m fine.” 

“You can be upset,” he says. “This job’s… hard enough, without people making you feel like shit for shit you didn’t do.”

You respond to his warm(ish) tone with a small smile. Your tear slips down your lip. Carmy wants to wipe it off. 

“What can I do?” he asks finally.

He wishes he could make you feel better without asking, and there are parts of him that want to turn tail and run, too, but Carmy stays standing in front of the half-open door watching as tears make their way to your chin. He doesn’t know why you’re still crying. 

Maybe he does. Carmy doesn’t usually cry. He just watches things go wrong without stopping them, or keels over in the alley for long, too fast minutes as his heart pumps a bruising rhythm against his ribs. 

“I’m fine, Carmy,” you say, wiping your face roughly as you stand from the chair.  

He scratches a hand through his hair. “Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.” 

“You don’t have to anything.” 

“Richie said I’m the only person who can make you feel better.” 

“You’re just the only guy who ever shouts at me,” you tease, sniffling softly as you do. 

Carmy shouldn’t yell at anyone, but he does. You’ve never cried. He wouldn’t yell at anybody if he thought it would make them upset like that, it’s just that yelling’s like talking where he comes from, and the kitchen doesn’t help. 

“So what? Am I supposed to beat that guy up?” Carmy asks. 

You laugh through what he hopes to be the last of your tears, scrubbing at your cheeks ineffectually. “Like you could beat somebody up. You’re all bark and no bite, Berzatto.” 

Sure. And he’s a loser, he’s more than aware of it; Carmy knows fifty seven different ways to prepare corn for eating and he doesn’t know a single way to make girls feel better, so he tries something he saw on TV. 

“Come here,” he says, holding his arm out insistently. “C’mere.” 

He leans in to grab you. You hold your arms out, but you still when he touches you like you're shocked. He’s a little shocked too. 

“Richie knew the guy, right?” Carmy asks. 

“He said he’s banned for life.” 

“Okay, great.” Carmy feels up your back slowly. Your arms are hesitant behind him. He’s the braver one for once, feeling at the dips and slopes of you with a greedy hand.

You smell… really good. He has a good sense of smell, can pick apart a meal's ingredients by scent alone if he’s awake enough, so he can tell you’re wearing that little solid perfume you keep in your cubby, gentle enough to not bother anybody in the kitchen, ever so slightly milky and sweet. He can also smell the salt on your cheeks. So weird to be able to smell your tears. 

Carmy pats your back and leans away. Your hands fall to your side. 

He wipes your face hesitantly, pinky to your soft cheek, until your tear stains are dry and you’re looking at him steadily.

“That was really weird,” you say. 

He panics, stepping away from you, “Fuck. Fuck, sorry.” 

You shake your head. “No, I’m just kidding. Thanks, Carmy.” 

“Dick,” he says. 

You smile brightly. Okay, his heart fell into his ass when you said it was weird, but you can tease him all day if it makes you feel better. 

“I better go tell Richie I’m okay,” you say. “Don’t you have a stock to reduce?” 

“Oh, you mean your stock?” he asks. 

Your smile makes him wanna grab your wrist, and it makes him wanna chase after you. You slink out of the office, waving a quick goodbye with your fingers, and Carmy stares at the place you’d been sitting while you cried for a couple of seconds to get a grip.  

He puts his hand on his chest and feels his pulse racing. 

“Fucking asshole,” he mutters, not sure if he means the customer or himself.

[nicksolemnlyswears]

THE BEAR AND THE BEE HIVE

summary: in which carmy falls for the sweet café owner that supplies him with endless americanos

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

word count: 14.4k

warning: it's a little bit of a slow burn. sorry. i'm a sucker for it and i feel like carmy is a slow burn kinda guy. 18 +, cursing, smut, p in v, oral (m. receiving), fingering, they use protection guys! i deserve a pat in the back. nothing too wild. oh, and very brief mention of suicide.

a/n: i started writing this way back in october and then it was nearly done and i abandoned it. well i finally got around to completing it tonight!

this is my first time ever writing for carmy and i tried my best writing this. i love carmy and the show but i didn’t expect it to be hard to write him as a character. i wanted to get him right so i took my time with it and didn’t rush it. hopefully you guys like my carmy. enjoy!

i think i've had this stored in my drafts for like 4 months and it's time for me to set it free.

The cigarettes were not enough anymore. No matter how many smoke breaks Carmy took, he still felt the edge on his shoulders. A fear laced with anxiety that overtook him.

After deciding that blowing through yet another wall in his restaurant was the way to go, Carmy took a break. He needed it before he used the sledgehammer to destroy the restaurant in its entirety, along with his dream.

He remembers a coffee shop only a block away from The Bear and thinks he could use a coffee right about now. Maybe the mixture of caffeine and nicotine will be able to relax his shoulders, if only for an hour.

As soon as he opens the door, the smell of ground coffee beans greets him. He looks around, taking in the cozy ambiance the decorative wood brings to the place and the splashes of warm yellow that lighten it up.

Then he sees you, and his focus shifts entirely. His eyes only see you.

"Hi, welcome to Bee Hive!" You chirp with a small smile.

Carmy freezes, forgetting why he's there in the first place. He slowly steps up to the register, where you patiently wait for him. It's just after the lunch rush, so you're in no hurry.

He finds he's acting like a teenager who has just seen a pretty girl. Only he's not a teenager, and you're more than a pretty girl.

"What can I get for you today?" You ask, not noticing the effect you've had on him. You take a sharpie out of your yellow apron, preparing to scribble down his order in a cup.

Carmy has perfected the empty on the outside but screaming on the inside face. Strangers don't tend to know he's almost always losing his shit.

"I-I don't…sorry," Carmy looks at you briefly before diverting his eyes. He apologizes in a flurry, looking for an excuse for his weird behavior, "Uh, it's my first time here. What do you recommend?"

"It's not a problem," you say softly as if to calm him, "I'm a simple girl. I love the latte, but if you're looking for something stronger, the americano is one of the favorites."

Carmy nods as you ramble about the drinks, where the coffee beans come from, and the different notes of each blend. He hangs onto every word that slips from your lips. The static in his brain clearing up for the first time in hours.

It ends too soon as you realize you're talking too much and probably overwhelmed him. You sheepishly smile at him and trail off, but he continues to stare, waiting for you to continue.

"I'll take the Americano," Carmy nods, giving you a tight-lipped smile. Although he had been hanging to every one of your words, he was too focused on the shape of your lips and the sweet tone of your voice.

"Good choice," you nod, grabbing a cup from the tray beside you, "What's your name?"

Carmy looks up, slightly alarmed, as if you've asked for his social security number. "What?" He thinks you'll be forward and ask for his number next, seemingly forgetting how coffee orders work.

"Your name? For the order?" You explain, trying to ease his worries. He's odd, but in an endearing way. You believe this is his first time here because you're confident you would've remembered him.

"Fuck, right, yeah," he nervously says, pinching the bridge of his nose, "My name's Carmen."

"Your Americano will be right out, Carmen," you tell him, capping your sharpie back up.

Carmy quickly pays and stands to the side to wait for his order. He forces himself to not look at you or in your direction as you take other customers' orders. He just knows he's made a fool of himself already. Not that it matters. Why would it matter? He's there for the coffee. Nothing else, no one else.

As he walks out of Bee Hive, he sips his coffee. His shoulders instantly drop, and his fear-induced anxiety starts to dissipate for the moment. He's unsure if the effect is because of the caffeine or the thoughts of your pretty smile.

Visiting your coffee shop becomes routine for Carmy. Whenever things at The Bear become crazy -or he starts to lose his fuckin' mind- he makes his way to Bee Hive with a cigarette hanging from his lips.

For twenty minutes, he's free of Richie's constant hounding, Sugar's struggles with the permits and scheduling, and Sydney's disappointment because the menu is still extremely underway.

Each time he's stopped by, you've been there to greet him, and each time, you've left a little heart by Carmen's name, which makes his heart race in a peculiar way. His hands would touch his chest to check if it was heartburn, but it didn't feel like that. It's not anxiety either cause he knows pretty well how that feels.

All he knows is he hasn't done anything to deserve such a gesture. He's convinced himself you draw little hearts for everyone because he's not special.

One Thursday afternoon, Carmy realizes he doesn't know your name. He looks for a name tag, but you're not wearing one on your yellow apron. He should know your name if you insist on making small talk despite his short answers.

He can't help it. He gets too in his head to answer like a normal person, so his answers come out choppy and dry.

"Alright, Carmen, your order will be right out," you say, handing his cup to one of the baristas. You always hold out and ask him what he wants to order. He has the right to change his mind anytime, but for now, he's stuck with the americano, which he drowns in sugar.

As curiosity eats at him, he gathers the courage to ask. "Thanks. Hey, uh, I've-I’ve never gotten your name…” Carmy says, cursing at himself for not formulating the question correctly. His hand comes up to grip his hair instinctually.

Your smile widens when he asks your name. The silly crush you've developed for your customer fluttering to life. It's just a crush over a stranger, nothing to write home about.

You tell him your name but follow it with "-call me Honey. Everyone knows me by that name. I'm sure if you ask my friends about me with my real name, you'll throw them for a loop."

You're rambling, hoping he doesn't think calling you by your nickname is weird. Then again, how can he judge when he has a sister people call 'Sugar' and he and his siblings also don the nickname 'Bear.'

"Honey." Carmy repeats your nickname, smiling as he finds it fitting. "In that case, call me Carmy."

"Nice to properly meet you, Carmy," you say, grinning.

Like all the days before, Carmy steps aside and waits for his coffee. He doesn't let himself continue the conversation or ask more about you even if it’s everything he wants to do.

It's rare for Carmy to be in a good mood, and whenever it happens, it doesn't tend to last. His goal of opening a restaurant in 12 weeks makes it impossible for him to relax and enjoy the ride. To prolong this unusual feeling, Carmy stops by Bee Hive on his way to The Bear.

"Have you made your boss angry, Honey?" He asks as he pulls out his wallet to pay. He ordered the americano as he always does.

"No…why do you ask?" You ask, tilting your head in confusion.

"Uh, 'cause you-you're always here. Do you not take days off? Not that I'm complaining. I-I like seeing you here." Carmy's words get quieter as he speaks, red creeping up his neck. So much for trying to make a joke.

You look around the room and tell him, "Imma let you in on a little secret."

Carmy follows your hand, waving him to get closer. The smell of cigarettes invades your senses as you get close to him. You'd never admit that the mix of his cigarettes and your coffee is addicting. As both lean over the counter, you whisper, "I'm the boss. I can't run away even if I wanted to."

"You own the coffee shop," Carmy pans in shock.

Carmy is more than surprised at your words. Especially now that he knows how expensive it is to open a business. You can't be a day over 25 and own a successful coffee place. There is hope, after all.

"I do," you nod, standing straight once more.

A couple of years ago, you had inherited a hefty amount of money from an estranged aunt. Fresh out of college and with no real plan, you thought it would be a good moment to follow your dream and open the cozy café.

"How do you do it?" Carmy asks, amazed at the girl smiling at him. "I don't know if you know, but, um, I-I'm opening the restaurant around the block. Used to be The Beef?" He finishes grimly as he points to his side of the block.

"Oh, yeah. The guys who worked there helped me move some equipment when I first opened two years ago," you reveal, "Tell you what, whenever you have a break, come around. I'll give you a free americano and tell you all about it. Neighbor to neighbor."

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Carmy agrees. "I'll take you up on that."

Weeks go by, and Carmy seemingly forgets about Bee Hive and your pending conversation. You try not to overthink about his absence or how you might've scared him away. He's probably just busy remodeling his restaurant. You know better than anyone how much time that takes.

Still, his presence has become part of your routine, and you can't help but look at the door each time the bell rings. You expect to see him walking up to the counter, the remnants of cigarette smoke coming out his nose as he breathes.

You're pretty close to your assumption because Carmy has been dealing with the fire suppression test. They didn't fail the test once but twice, and if they didn't pass it on the third try, their plan to open the restaurant in 12 weeks goes out the window. Fak has tried everything, and nothing works.

He'd sent Richie once on a coffee run, but the fuckin' idiot went to the nearest Starbucks. Carmy had been looking forward to tasting your coffee and seeing his name in the cup with the little heart because he's 100% sure he's the only Carmen you know. It's not a common name in these parts of town.

One very early morning, he's walking to work, and as he passes Bee Hive, he sees you inside, wiping tables down before you open at 6:30.

Impulsively, he knocks on the glass, not giving himself the time to overthink things. You turn to look at the window and see him standing outside, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his familiar plaid jacket to protect himself from the chilly March air.

"Hey stranger," you greet him, opening the door and inviting him in.

"Hi," he breathes out, staring at you, "you're here early," he tries to casually mention.

You roll your eyes dramatically and say, "It's a downside of the job. Did you know people want coffee at the crack of dawn?"

You try acting as nonchalant as possible. It's not like you missed seeing one of your favorite customers, his beautiful blue eyes, or the way he rocks a simple white t-shirt.

"I had no idea," Carmy smiles, bringing his tattooed hand up to his lips, "I, uh, usually drink mine at night." That much is true. On those sleepless nights when insomnia takes over him, the best remedy is coffee.

"Would you make an exception and join me for a morning coffee at the crack ass of dawn?" Anxiously, you play with the rings on your fingers. It feels like you're asking the guy on a date when it's just a friendly coffee.

"As long as you have some business advice to spare?" Carmy responds shakily. He briefly looks down the street to glimpse at his restaurant. It's too early for anyone to be there yet.

"Deal."

Throwing the towel over your shoulder, you make your way behind the counter. Carmy attempts to make small talk with you as you prepare both drinks.

This is the first time he's watching you in action since you tend to stick to the cash register when he's around. It's not a coincidence. After the first time he came to Bee Hive, you wanted to see more of him, so you stationed yourself at the register where you'd be sure to see him, and he'd see you.

"Here you go." You place his coffee mug on the table along with yours before disappearing momentarily and returning with an orange soufflé coffee cake. You're pulling all the stops for Carmy to leave a good impression.

Carmy thanks you and sips his coffee, "Wow, this is fire!" He expected to taste an americano, but what you prepared was entirely different. He can make out hints of hazelnut and caramel in the coffee.

"Thanks. I took the liberty of changing your order. You can always come back to the americano, though…" you shrug shyly, looking at him over the rim of your mug.

"I-I appreciate it. Thanks." Carmy throws you a nervous grin. He gestures with his tattooed hand to dig into the cake you brought out. He shouldn't be the only one eating.

You and Carmy share the cake as you talk about yourselves and the crazy businesses you own. Somehow, talking to you comes easy to him. He's still nervous and scared to fuck things up, but the warm coffee and your even warmer smile ease him into it.

"How do you do it? This place is always packed, and you seem like you run a tight ship," Carmy wonders, playing with the fork. The cake is long gone, although the notes of orange remain on his tongue. Would you taste the same?

"It wasn't without mistakes. I had to learn a lot from my fuck ups and listen to my team because although I'm the owner, they are the ones doing most of the work. Whenever there's a flaw, they are the first to know," you speak softly, afraid of ruining the calm ambiance you've set up, twirling the small amount of coffee left in your mug.

It's your favorite part of morning coffee. When you have just the smallest bit of coffee left, and you know you'll never drink it because it's cold, but it gives you an excuse to remain where you are.

"So, all I gotta do is listen?" It's funny you say that because Carmy listens, but his friend's voices get muddled somewhere along the way. As much as he tries to focus on them, they merge together and form a cacophony in his head.

"A lot of listening and a lot of experimentation. I've been open for two years, and it's only been in the last six months that I can confidently tell you we found our groove," you admit with a grimace.

Bee Hive is your baby, but bringing it to life was everything but easy. You messed up so many times, costing you so much money. You didn't know shit about owning a business or building one from the ground up. Doing research and putting your pride aside to ask for help got you through it.

"I've only been doing this for, like, less than a fuckin' year, and I already want to pull my hair out," Carmy admits with a pitiful laugh.

"I'm sorry I can't tell you it gets better soon," you say apologetically, reaching for his hand that rests on the table.

Carmy freezes, glancing at your hand on top of his. He hasn't got a clue what to fucking do with the display of affection. Was it a display of affection? He doesn't fucking know. "It's, uh, it's, uh, it's alright. As-as long as you give me coffee, I think I can make it through," Carmen furrows his eyebrows as he stutters through the sentence.

"I can't wait to see what the award-winning chef does," you say, bringing your hand back to your lap, none the wiser to Carmy's internal struggle.

He should've done something to keep your hand on his. Place his other hand on yours or fucking turn his hand around to grasp it. He liked feeling your warm skin on his. It hasn't been a minute since you pulled away, and he's craving it already. It's ridiculous. Is he really that touch-starved that he's seeking affection from a near stranger?

He coughs and darts his eyes between the wooden table top and you, "Fuck. You-you know about that?"

"I might've done some research after finding out you're opening the restaurant. I got curious. I'm sorry." Apologizing is your default thing to do. Messing things up is your area of expertise. You really didn't think he'd mind you mentioning it.

"No, no, no, uh, you don't have to apologize. You just caught me off guard," Carmy shakes his head, reassuring both of you.

"Okay, good," you lightly smile at him, averting your eyes when your gazes meet.

If there's a time for you to make a move, it's now. Taking a shaky breath, you speak up, "I was wondering if you'd ever like to-."

A loud knock on the glass door interrupts you. You and Carmy jump and look towards the source of the noise. It's one of your regular clients, waving at you to open up. Looking at your watch, you see it's 6:30 already.

"Shit. I'm-I'm sorry I took so much of your time," Carmy apologizes, picking up his mug and the plate to put away.

You grab his wrist to make him stop in his tracks, "Relax. I enjoyed talking to you. Maybe we can do it again soon?"

Carmy nods wide-eyed. He likes the idea just as much as you do. You take away the mug and plate with a soft 'okay.' He then follows you to the door as you unlock it and turn the sign to 'open.'

"I, um, gotta go work on the menu. I'll probably be back later for another coffee?" Carmen asks you as if he's asking for permission, which you find adorable.

"I'll be behind the register," you say, watching him walk away. He turns his head back for a moment, and you catch the smile gracing his lips as yours turns to mimic him.

"Oh, he's cute," your customer, an older lady, says, watching him go along with you. "It's about time you got a boyfriend."

"Mrs. O'Hara, here for your tea?" You ask her, ignoring the comment about your love life. That woman will set you up with anyone. She does love her tea, though, and expects you to provide it on time.

It's slow, but Carmen warms up to you. Instead of grabbing his coffee to go, he now drinks it at the café, coincidentally around the same time you take your break.

He's been hesitantly opening up. It's not like he's telling you about how fucked up his family is or how his brother committed suicide. More often, it's about the restaurant and his work as a chef, the struggles of getting every permit they need on a tight schedule since they are supposed to open in about four weeks now, or the occasional childhood memory. It's everything you need to know at this stage.

You love listening to Carmy talk, even if you have to coax it out of him sometimes. He's passionate about the restaurant despite all the stress that comes from it, and he adores the people he works with. He's shy but not in a dorky way because he's actually fascinating. Before meeting him, you never knew that collecting denim was a thing.

The smell of cigarettes that clings to him is also tightly laced with his character. When you step outside to get some sun and the scent of someone smoking hits you, your heart instantly speeds up, hoping it's him coming for his daily americano, or to come swoop you away into a sunset.

"-I fell on my ass in the middle of the street. I was freaking out, thinking I was gonna get run over by a car," you exclaim as you tell Carmy about the crazy Christmas you spent in New York last year.

"It's New York. You probably would have been run over," Carmy chuckles along with you. "There was this one time I was running late and-" His phone vibrating interrupts him.

"Sorry, it's just the fridge guy," he tells you with a furrow of his eyebrows. You notice he does that a lot when he's thinking deeply. Carmy silences it and looks back over to you.

"You should pick that up. A busted fridge is the last thing you need. Trust me. Been there, done that." You encourage him to take the call. The restaurant is more important than your story about how you bruised your coccyx in New York.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Carm! Call him back before you forget," you insist, grabbing his empty cup to trash it. You don't give him any other option, leaving him there to help your employees with a faulty machine.

He watches you closely, closer than ever before. He allows himself to watch how you frown at the machine and how your ringed fingers fumble with the knobs. His eyes keep trailing down involuntarily, and they take in how nicely your jeans hug your ass.

He goes into a spiral into these old pair of Levi jeans popular in the 90s and how they would fit nicely with the shape of your hips and legs. Carmy continues on the tangent, imagining himself peeling them off your body.

The phone vibrating in his hand snaps him out of it. Clearing his throat, he picks up the phone and walks outside. He waves at you through the window as he makes his way back to The Bear. Your frustration at the machine vanishes momentarily as you wave back, except the machine splatters, forcing you to redirect your attention. When you look outside again, he's gone.

Stakes are high at The Bear. There's less than four weeks until Friends and Family, and there is much to do. Marcus has returned from Copenhagen and is working on the desserts. Tina is doing her job as the new sous chef. Fak and Sweeps are helping out wherever they can. And Richie is being Richie, trying to be open but resisting change.

"I need coffee or a pop. Anything with caffeine," Sydney says, throwing her head back. She and Carmen have been working on the chaos menu for hours, and she keeps messing up. Carmy insists that it's okay that they'll adjust and get it right soon, but she's beginning to lose hope.

"Me too. I'd kill for an espresso," Natalie agrees, softly rubbing her hand over her growing bump.

"I thought you couldn't have caffeine cause of the baby," Richie mentions, remembering Tiff's time while pregnant.

"I don't need you to fuckin' tell me what I can or can't eat, Richie," Natalie yells, glaring at him. Although he's right, the doctor told her to limit her caffeine intake. Hard to do when she's up all night thinking about everything she needs to do for The Bear.

"Shit. I'm sorry for fucking caring," Richie screams back, lifting his hands up in defense.

"I can go to the coffee place down the block. Get everyone something," Carmy pipes up, looking forward to seeing you today.

Natalie is quick to shoot that idea down, "You can't. The fridge guy is coming in 20 minutes."

"Fuck, that's right," Carmy groans, digging his head in his hands. His fingers rake through his hair, messing up his curls. He wanted to see you and talk to you, even if it was for five short minutes.

"I'll go," Sydney sighs. She needs to leave the kitchen for more than five minutes, or she'll go crazy, "Just tell me what you guys want to order."

Natalie grumbles about getting decaf, Richie orders a plain black coffee, and Carmy asks for his americano. As Sydney leaves to ask Marcus, Carmy yells after her, "Please, go to Bee Hive. If you get Starbucks, I'm gonna fucking lose it."

Richie and Natalie exchange a look. Richie because he's confused, and Natalie because she knows something is happening with Carmy. He's never been picky over coffee. In fact, they have an old coffee machine in the office that now goes unused because he's always at that coffee shop.

"Sorry, I didn't get the fuckin' memo. Since when is Starbucks bad?" Richie frowns, looking to get a rise out of Carmy.

"I don't think it's about the coffee, cousin," Natalie responds, directing her gaze towards her brother, who is hunched over the counters, chopping vegetables.

"If it's not about the coffee, what is it about?" Richie questions, crossing his arms.

"Shut the fuck up, Sugar," Carmy grumbles, looking at his sister with a glare. He already knows where she's going. She tried to bring it up a couple of days ago after she walked by the coffee shop and saw him being friendly with you.

Natalie smiles and responds, "Carmy has a crush on the barista."

"That's ridiculous. I don't have a crush on her." Carmy shakes his head, avoiding Richie and Natalie's eyes on him. They always do this. They gang up on him if he shows even the slightest interest in a girl. They think they can help, but all they do is embarrass him.

"Come on, Bear. Why else would you go almost every day to get coffee?" Natalie asks, giving him a look.

"Because it's good fuckin' coffee. Jesus, it's not that deep." Carmy grabs the veggies he chopped and drops them into a container to use later.

"It's okay to admit you like a pretty girl, cousin! I'm excited for you! Makes you human and not a lonely hermit," Richie jokes, pushing on Carmy's buttons. "When was the last time you got laid?"

"I swear to God, Richie. Shut the fuck up," Carmy points at him angrily.

"No, I should go with Sydney and see who this girl is!" Richie says, walking out of the half-built kitchen.

Carmy follows him instantly, "You're not going fuckin' anywhere, fuckin' jagoff." He's turning red from anger, seeing Richie with his mocking smile. Natalie follows behind them, amused at the situation. It reminds her of the banters they used to get in with Mickey.

"Admit that you like her," Richie shrugs, giving him a choice.

"No, I won't," Carmy refuses. "You always do this shit."

"Then, I'm going," Richie nods, stepping towards the door.

"Fuck! Shit, alright. I like her, okay? Don't fucking go anywhere," Carmy yells, rubbing a hand on his face out of frustration. It's like he's not allowed to keep anything good to himself.

"Was that so hard?" Richie grins, clapping a hand on Carmy's shoulder.

"Don't fuckin' touch me," Carmy grumbles, walking back to the kitchen. Natalie follows him with a smile, shaking her head at Richie.

Carmy sighs and squeezes his eyes shut. He has yet to admit that he likes you more than he should. He's been avoiding it, afraid of what it might lead to, or rather, what it might not.

He couldn't let Richie go see you. He has a big fuckin' mouth and will tell you Carmy has a crush on you whether it's true or not. Just like that, he feels the sour taste in his mouth, his heartburn making an appearance. Carmy should go look for his pepto before it gets worse.

Unaware of the argument back at The Bear, Sydney walks to Bee Hive. She's walked past many times but has yet to have the time to stop and try it out.

As she waits in line, she reads over the drinks menu. It's clear that it's been carefully curated. Starbucks has nothing on this menu. She can see why Carmy would prefer to come here instead.

When it's her turn to order, Sydney takes out her phone to recite everyone's drink order. She also points to a few pastries, thinking Marcus would like to try some of them and get inspiration. That and she knows Natalie will enjoy them as well.

You're sitting at a table close to the pickup counter. You often find yourself all over the store, ensuring everything goes smoothly. Sometimes, you stop to talk to your regulars and see how they're doing.

You notice Sydney struggling with all the cups she has to carry. It's proving difficult despite the to-go trays your barista put them in. Deciding to approach her, you ask, "Do you need help?"

"Oh, no. I'm fine, thanks," Sydney responds with a nervous smile. She's trying hard to grab everything, including the box with the pastries.

You continue watching her struggle because you know she needs help. You let her try and figure it out for one more minute before stepping in again when she almost drops two of the drinks, "Need some help now?"

"Yeah," Sydney sighs, "I guess I can leave one of the trays here, go to the restaurant, and come back for the rest," she speaks mostly to herself.

"Are you going far?"

"No, just the restaurant down the block," Sydney responds with a sigh, scratching her eyebrow as she tries to figure out the logistics of carrying the drinks. She could get a box to put everything in.

You perk up at her response. The only restaurant down the block is Carmen's. Could she work there? "Carmy's restaurant?"

"You know Carmy?" Sydney asks, tilting her head. Maybe Nat was right. Carmy spends his time here because of the woman in front of her.

"He comes here often. Anyway, I can go with you to help you out. It's not far, and I'd feel bad if your drinks got cold." You offer to help her out because you're a nice person. Not because you want a chance to see the curly-haired man you are developing feelings for.

"You really don't have to…"

"It's really not a problem," you press, grabbing one of the to-go trays and motioning for her to lead the way.

Sydney sighs in defeat and nods, "Thanks. I'm Sydney, by the way."

"I'm Honey," you smile, following her outside.

You chat all the way to the restaurant with Sydney. She reminds you of Carmy in some ways, so you can see why they are friends. Before arriving at the restaurant, Sydney apologizes in advance for any sort of mess there might be, including yelling.

As you near the building under renovation, your palms start to sweat. Maybe you shouldn't have come. You're showing up unannounced, and he's probably too busy to talk to you anyway. You can slip in and out without him noticing. That's the goal now.

You open the door for Sydney, letting her go through first, and quietly follow her into the restaurant. There's no time to escape, as all eyes are instantly on you.

Richie is arguing with Fak when he sees you walk in. He narrows his eyes as Carmy looks in your direction from the kitchen. With just one glance to Carmy's face, he knows who you're supposed to be.

"Guess I didn't have to go anywhere. She came to me," Richie whispers, rushing out the door.

"Shut the fuck up. Where are you going? Don't embarrass me!" Carmy whispers out to Richie unsuccessfully.

"Oh, you'll do that all by yourself," Richie throws over his shoulder.

"Honey, hey, what-what're you doing here?" Carmy speaks, not giving Richie a chance to open his big mouth. He stands between you and Richie, blocking him for the time being.

"Sydney needed help with the drinks," you answer nervously, averting your eyes.

"Oh, thanks for that. You didn't have to," Carmy approaches you and takes the drinks from your hands. His fingers brush with yours momentarily, causing you both to blush.

"I did, or else you probably wouldn't have anything to drink," you whisper to him.

Sydney, Fak, and Richie all watch the interaction amusedly. Richie has a big teasing grin on his face as he makes a plan in his head.

"Hi, I'm Richie! Carmy's cousin," he introduces himself, shoving Carmy to the side and shaking your hand enthusiastically. "I gotta say Carmen right here is obsessed with your coffee. He's banned us from getting Starbucks."

Carmy curses under his breath as Richie does precisely what he tells him not to. He has the urge to throw the coffee at him and run away.

"Is that right?" You ask, amused, looking over at Carmy with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh yeah," Richie answers for him as Carmy tries to find the right words to say. "Cousin, why don't you give the nice lady a tour of the place?"

"It's not done yet. Could be dangerous," Carmy hopelessly says with a gulp.

"Nonsense! You'll take care of her!" Richie insists. He takes the coffee from Carmy's hands and pushes him in your direction. "Go give her a tour."

Richie, Sydney, and Fak all disappear to the office to stay out of the way and try to snoop simultaneously. Fak sends Carmy a not-so-discreet thumbs-up that makes you giggle.

He's internally screaming at his so-called friends but is glad to see you. It was all he wanted before Sydney left to get their drinks. It's strange having you here at The Bear, though. He's so used to seeing you in your own space back at Bee Hive.

Trying to make things better, you say, "Sorry you've been roped into this. You probably have better things to do. I can go-"

Carmy doesn't let you finish. "No, stay. I want to show you around."

"Let's see what you got then, Berzatto," you grin, following him to the kitchen.

Carmy takes his time showing you The Bear. He wants you to stay. He wants to spend time with you but doesn't really know how to say it. So he takes it slow, answers your questions about the restaurant, shows you the front and how everything will be laid out, and introduces you to the ones around, including the fridge guy working on the handle.

Sadly, you get a call from Bee Hive asking you to come back. Carmy walks you outside, dreading having to say goodbye.

"I'm really excited for The Bear to open. You have a great place and team," you tell Carmy.

"I really got lucky with them, huh?" He asks, playing with a dish towel.

"I gotta go. I'll see you later, Berzatto." You don't know where you got the guts to lean towards him and kiss his cheek.

Carmy stays still as his face heats up. You start walking away and throw him a smile over your shoulder. When you're a distance away, he touches the cheek you kissed. Back inside, Richie runs over to Sugar to tell her what he just witnessed.

It's late when Carmy leaves The Bear. As he walks to the train station, he has his hands stuffed in his jacket pocket. On his way, he sees a lone light turned on in your café. Crossing the street to check it out, he sees you're still there with glasses perched on your nose in front of the computer.

He tries the door, and to his luck, it's open. You look in his direction, startled, but relax once you see it's him.

"Nice glasses," Carmy teases, pulling out a chair to sit.

"Are you making fun of me?" You purse your lips, propping your chin on your palm.

"No, I…I think you look cute with them," Carmy admits. After a stern talk from Sugar and Richie, he's realized he should probably make a proper move on you because if what they say is true, you also have a crush on him.

"Thanks," you blush, the light from your screen making it obvious to Carmy, who can't stop the corners of his lips from turning up into a smile.

"Late night?"

"One of my baristas is moving out of state. I have to find someone new, preferably who has experience," you say with a sigh. Glancing at him, you add, "Are you perhaps interested in the position?"

"Poaching me from my own restaurant, nice. I'll let you know I'm an excellent worker," Carmy jokes, tapping his fingers on the table.

There's no doubt in your mind he's an excellent worker. He has to be if he's considered one of the best up-and-coming chefs. Or to work in one of the best restaurants in the world with three Michelin stars.

"I don't know. I'll need references," you speak as if not believing him.

Carmy smiles and softly chuckles, "Fair enough."

There's a moment of silence between the two of you that Carmy is quick to fill, "So, uh, have you had dinner yet by chance?" This is it.

You shake your head no and look at him with hopeful eyes.

"Wanna go grab pizza? I know a place," he asks, finding your gaze on him.

"Say no more," you say, closing your laptop and taking off your glasses. "I'm starving."

Carmy waits for you to lock Bee Hive and grab your things. Then, you both walk to the pizza place. To pass the time, you and Carmy talk about your days and anything that comes to mind. Nothing serious as you get to know each other.

Waiting in line to order the pizza, you tell him all about your nickname and how you were donned 'Honey' to everyone who knows you. In return, he tells you about his nickname 'Bear' and why his restaurant is named as such. For the first time, he dares mention Mickey.

"Best pizza in Chicago," Carmy says, taking a slice of the pie and placing it on your plate.

"I'll see about that," you murmur. You wait until he has a slice of his own and dig in simultaneously.

"It's good, but this is not the best pizza place in Chicago," you say after chewing the first bite, "I'm gonna get your chef license revoked."

"Are you? With what proof? Have you tried all the pizza places to know?"

"I don't have to because I've tried the best," you hum, taking another bite. The cheese stretches as you pull it away.

"Oh yeah? Which one?" Carmy questions you, taking a drink of his beer.

"Mine. The pizza I make is the best," you shrug modestly.

"Wait. You cook?" Carmy asks, giving you a look of surprise.

Cooking is a universal thing. Most people know how to cook up to a degree, yet only some are as confident in their skills as you are. You know you're definitely not up to Carmy's level, but if there is something you know how to do properly, it's pizza.

"Yeah! You're not the only good cook here, Berzatto," you sass back at him, dipping the pizza crust in the marinara sauce.

"Sorry for assuming," he raises his palms.

"You're forgiven," you chirp.

"When will I try this famous pizza of yours then?" Carmy wonders. An attempt to see if you'd like to see more of him.

"I promise I'll make it for you once you open The Bear. You're too stressed to fully enjoy it now," you respond. You were reaching out. Throwing hints that you want this to continue in the foreseeable future.

The conversation continues to flow with an empty pizza box in front of you. Customers come and go until it's only the two of you and a drunk customer picking up his pizza.

"Tell me about your tattoos. Were they an act of rebellion or something else?"

It's an excuse to touch his hands. You reach for them, turning them to see the black ink on his hands and fingers. You gently trace over them with the pads of your fingers. Over the hand that's stabbed, the letters S.O.U. on his knuckles and the forget-me-nots. The one you're dying to touch, though, is the one on his bicep; you'd give anything to feel the hard muscle underneath the rolled-up sleeves of his white t-shirt.

"Uh, my first tattoo is the 773. Got it when I left Chicago for the first time. After that, I sort of became addicted to them. I found they helped my anxiety when it was becoming too much. The pain distracted me and made me feel stronger than I actually was," he says, letting you touch him. He finds that he likes it. Your touch is soft and warm. Comforting.

"So what you're trying to say is you're a masochist," you say, bouncing your eyebrows at him. Your touch goes further up his arm to turn it and look at the fish tattoo on his forearm.

"I guess so," Carmy responds with a breathy laugh, "Do you have any tattoos?"

"Maybe…" You shrug as the pads of your fingers trail back down to his palm until you pull them back towards you. Carmy instantly misses the feeling, opting to cross his arms to retain the warmth you left behind.

"It's bad, isn't it?" He says knowingly. Your reaction told him everything he needed to know.

"The worst," you grimace, shaking your head at the memory of you getting it.

"So, rebellion or something else?"

"Rebellion. For all the wrong reasons," you groan, burying your face in your hands, "Growing up, everyone saw me as a good girl because that's what I was. Breaking the rules terrified me. So, as a teenager, I didn't want to be seen as a goody two shoes, so the summer before I went to college, I decided that getting a tattoo would make me a badass."

"Did it work?"

"God, no. I only got the outline done 'cause it hurt like a bitch. Then I went crying to my parents, fully having a meltdown, apologizing for disappointing them," You scrunch your nose as you say the following words, "They laughed in my face, called me a wimp, and told me to suck it up."

Carmy fully laughs at your story. Head thrown back, eyes closing, "What did you get?"

"That's a secret, Berzatto," you purse your lips, avoiding responding. You just know he'll make fun of you for it.

Everyone who has seen your tattoo has made fun of you for it, yourself included. It's so silly and not badass. Carmy will have to wait to see your tattoo, and you hope this continues so he can see it up close.

"Really? That bad?" Carmy stares wide-eyed.

"It's terrible," you nod, leaning on the table. "We should probably get going before the waitress throws a fit."

Carmy looks over his shoulder to see the waitress glaring at them. It's five minutes till close, and they've made no move to go. He turns back to you and nods towards the door. Carmy helps you with your jacket and leaves a tip on the jar for the waitress. At that, she happily calls after them with a 'Good night!'

"Do you live far?" Carmy asks, seeing how dark it is now that most places have closed. There are too many lamp posts that aren't working. He'd feel better if he could walk you home or you called an Uber. Preferably the former.

"Only a couple of blocks away. Why?"

"It's late. Let me walk you home," Carmy says decidedly, not giving you much of a choice.

"Thanks," you respond with a small smile.

The pace you set is slow. You don't want your time with Carmy to end just yet. He's such an interesting and sweet guy. He's a little awkward, but it adds to his charm, and you can see he's trying.

Somewhere along the way, his hand brushes against yours briefly. Then, it happens again, and you decide to bite the bullet. You grasp his hand in yours.

"Is this okay?" You ask when he falls silent.

Carmy doesn't have a lot of experience with girls. He can't even remember the last time he held a girl's hand. All he knows is he doesn't remember ever feeling this good. "Yes, uh, this is okay."

Carmy walks you up to your front door when you reach your house. You unlock the door but stay outside face-to-face with Carmy.

"Thanks for the pizza," you say, fiddling with your fingers. You were about to make one more move for the night. Because as long as Carmy allows you, you'll keep pushing for more.

"Sorry, it wasn't the best," he retorts, rubbing his jaw with his hand. You notice he does that a lot when nervous.

"Your company made up for it," you reassure him, "g'night Carmy." You kiss his cheek goodbye, watching as his cheeks blush.

"Night," he whispers.

As you turn to leave, Carmy stops you by grabbing your wrist, "Wait-uh, can I? Uh-shit. Fuck it." For a second, Carmy shuts out the excessive thoughts in his head and does what he's been dying to do for weeks.

Carmy cups your jaw and kisses you. It's soft and slow. He gives you enough leeway to pull away if it's something you don't want, but you reciprocate eagerly. You've been waiting for this all night.

As confidence surges through his body, Carmy throws an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. You wrap your arms around him, one of your hands resting on his neck, tangling on his curls. The tug of your fingers feels like heaven.

The kiss turns needy and desperate, your lips moving perfectly in sync. His tongue brushes over your lip; Carmy has been dying to test a theory. Are you as sweet as your name?

He's rewarded by a little noise in the back of your throat as he slips his tongue into your mouth. It's endearing, and he finds a way to make you do it again. With heads tilting to deepen the kiss, he concludes he was right. You're pure honey. Sweet and addicting.

When Carmy returns to his apartment, he gets the urge to create, to cook. He wants to bring your taste to life with his cooking. Something with honey.

"I was wondering if you'd want to come to the restaurant for Family and Friends."

You and Carmy are in your little office at Bee Hive. He stands between your legs as you sit on the desk. His lips are slightly red and swollen, and the hair at the nape of his neck is messier than usual.

"Hm, I could be persuaded," you pretend to think as you play with the golden chain around his neck, pulling him towards you.

"Yeah?" Carmy laughs, leaning to brush his lips against yours. When he feels you nod, he closes the small gap between the two of you.

His hands hold your hips, pulling you impossibly closer. He tastes like coffee, which is to be expected from the discarded cup beside you. It's funny how your relationship, if it could be called that, has moved all around Bee Hive from the register to the front and now to your office.

You're at a weird spot where you're not exactly friends because friends don't kiss, but you're not a couple either. It's a situationship for sure. You're content with what you have now, although you'd also love it if Carmy were to ask you to be more. You pin it on him being shy. He'll get around to it.

"What do you say?" Carmy questions as he kisses a trail from your cheek to your jaw.

"Consider me in," you giggle when he kisses a tickly spot.

Carmy brushes a strand of hair out of your face, remaining close to you. This is what he needs. After months of stress and anxiety of having to deal with The Beef, now The Bear, he needed you and your calming presence. Someone removed from the chaos, a safe haven.

He's quiet as his thoughts consume him, and you take the intimate position to fix his gold chain. Turning it so the clasp faces the back instead of the front. "I'm excited, Carmy," you say with a smile, brushing his cheek with your thumb.

"You can bring someone with you," Carmy offers nervously because he realizes he probably won't have the time to spend much time with you. "I-I don't think I'll be around much. I'm sorry. I'd understand if that makes you change your mind," Carmy drops his head as he braces himself for disappointment.

As the weeks pass, you learn more about Carmy and his insecurities. It doesn't deter you from wanting to be with him. Everyone has their issues. "Berzatto, stop. Look at me," you softly divert his attention, "I'd love to go and support you even if it's from the sidelines."

"You sure?" He asks once more.

If reassurance is what he needs, that's what you'll give. "Don't worry about me. This is your moment, Carmy. Enjoy it. I'll be around afterward."

"Thank you for understanding," Carmy responds, stealing one more kiss from you.

When he returns to The Bear, he helps Sydney prep the dishes they finally chose to serve. He notes how everything is laid out and anything they should fix before opening.

Richie struts into the kitchen with a suit on. Apparently, it's his thing now. Carmy figures staging at Chef Terry's restaurant had a good impact on him. All Carmy wanted was to show Richie he had what it takes. That he's not a fuck up.

"Glad to see things are going well with Honey," Richie thunders.

"What are you talking about?" Carmy says in a rush as he plates the lamb expertly.

"That thing on your neck," Richie says, motioning to his own neck. He has a smug look on his face.

"I don't have time for this, cousin," Carmy grumbles, wiping the plate where the sauce might've splattered.

Groaning, Richie grabs one of the new pans and holds it in front of Carmy. "I don't see anything," he frowns, looking at Richie for an explanation.

"Right here," Richie points towards the edge of his t-shirt around his neck.

Carmy pulls it back and finally spots what Richie has been referring to. There is a fading purple bruise on his skin, a hickey. You must've done it when he was back in your office. He'd been too busy touching you to notice.

Sydney, silently watching, pipes up, "No wonder he hasn't been as on edge lately." Carmy shoots her a glare, which causes her to shrug and laugh with a, "What? It's true."

"Ay, yo, Sugar, get in here!" Richie yells down the hall to the office.

"What is it?" Natalie barges in, afraid something went to shit.

Carmy ignores Richie as he babbles to Natalie what he found. His face is red, though, as Sydney nudges his side.

"That's enough about me. We have shit to do," Carmy shouts in his chef's voice.

Everyone in the kitchen, including Richie and Natalie, repeats, "Yes, chef!"

Walking out of the kitchen Richie, 'whispers' to Natalie, "I've always wondered if he likes to be called chef in bed."

"Fuck off, Richie," Natalie glares, but then it falls, and it's replaced with a teasing grin, "He definitely does."

"I heard that! Don't you two have better things to do?" Carmy screams at them.

"Yes, chef!"

Carmy keeps hearing Cicero's 'Uh-oh' throughout the whole day. He understands Cicero, he really does, but to call you a distraction?

His work with The Bear is only starting. They managed to make it to Friends and Family. Now, they have to keep up their best work to fill up the restaurant daily and have a waiting list. His work is far from done. He should listen to Cicero.

Cicero said it with the best of intentions. He doesn't want the Berzatto siblings to fail. He wants to believe they'll succeed and, most importantly, get him his money.

If there is something Cicero has learned throughout the years, it is that girls are distractions. They mean well, but oftentimes, they keep your eyes off the ball. Especially when it's a new relationship like Carmy's. Ultimately, it's up to Carmy to decide what he wants to do. Cicero has played his part by giving him his advice.

One last delivery is made to the restaurant an hour before opening. Richie is the one to receive it and place it in front of Carmy. "She's a keeper, Cousin," he says with a pointed look and a nod. He also wants the best for Carmy, and yet it doesn't align with Cicero.

You knew Carmy would be too stressed and all over the place to eat or drink, so you sent everyone at The Bear a drink and a pastry. One of the cups has Carmen's name with a little heart and 'good luck' written on it.

"Yeah, she is," Carmy sighs, turning the cup in his hands to look at the message. His thumb brushes over your handwriting longingly. Is listening to Cicero the wise thing to do? He's one of the most successful men he knows in his family.

When it's 10 minutes till open, Carmy changes into his uniform and looks in the mirror. His heart is racing, begging for Friends and Family not to be a complete failure. Walking out of the bathroom, Carmy is a man on a mission.

It starts relatively well, but like everything in Carmy's life, the kitchen starts welcoming in the chaos.

They are too slow getting the orders out, which causes Sydney to start doubting herself and asking Carmy to step in. He reassures her she's doing good. They just have to keep up the pace.

Then, one of the new chefs disappears mid-rush. Forcing Tina to work two stations and Marcus to step out of his to help Sydney. Carmy ignores some weird tension between them as he works on ensuring the dishes are good to go.

Next thing he knows, Sugar is rushing into the kitchen, yelling at him about forks. It's wasted time, as he can't do anything about it. A shrill reverberates inside his head as he looks at the ticking clock. It's enough to give him a headache.

With no one to take a dish to its table, Carmy takes it upon himself to do it. There's no time to re-fire or wait for someone. He places it on their table and pours the tea into their cups before retreating with an 'enjoy.'

He looks at his restaurant, and suddenly, the ringing in his head gets louder. Sitting in a booth is his old boss, staring back at him like he did back in New York. Like he was waiting for Carmy to fail.

His voice echoes in Carmy's head. Why are you so fuckin' slow. Hurry up. Go faster motherfucker. Talentless piece of shit.

Right before Carmy spirals, it all goes away. His focus shifts entirely as he sees you taking your seat for the night. The one he chose because he'd be able to see you from the kitchen. You have successfully blocked the mirage he'd conjured up.

You're there with your brother as Richie talks you up, thanking you for coming. As if sensing him, your eyes lock with Carmys. Shyly, you send him a wave, which he returns, thanking you in his head for getting there at the perfect time.

Carmy ducks back to the kitchen with newfound energy. Richie enters shortly after him.

"Chef, your girl is here."

"Thanks, Chef, um, do you have the notepad?" Carmy asks as he continues cleaning dishes and making sure each one is up to par.

"Here you go."

Taking the notepad from Richie, he begins scribbling. I love- No, too fuckin' soon. Thank you for- Nope, it's too stale.

I'm happy you're here, Honey. Wait for me after you're done? -Bear

"Here," Carmy hands it to him without even looking at Richie.

"Keep up the good work, Chefs," Richie yells out to the room before disappearing to the front of the house. The door swinging shut behind him.

"Yes, Chef!"

Something isn't working in the kitchen. They're too backed up, and no matter how hard they try, they're always a tad too slow. Through Sydney surrounding the wheel to Richie, Carmy steals glances out the kitchen window. You're smiling at whatever your brother says, your lips sipping the wine he chose. Carmy can get through this night because, in the end, you'll be waiting for him.

"There he is," you sing as you spot Carmy walking out of the kitchen. The chef's whites back in his locker as he sports his white t-shirt, jeans, and jacket.

Fak, who kept you company while Carmy finished up, speaks up next, "My brother, I'm gonna grab a sandwich and head home. Honey, it was a pleasure meeting you."

"You too, Neil!"

"Thanks for everything," Carmy tells him, giving him a hug and a pat like dudes do.

Carmy turns and grabs your hand to pull you close and kiss your cheek. "What did you think?"

"It was the most delicious thing I've ever tasted," you tell him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

There's a reason Carmy has had so many accolades despite his young age. He has a gift in the kitchen. The moment his food touched your taste buds, your life changed. He and Sydney outdid themselves, and the way everything flowed showed how much work they put into the restaurant.

"You're exaggerating," Carmy modestly says, his arms wrapping around your waist.

"I'm really not," you shake your head, pursing your lips. Carmy can't resist placing a small peck on your red-painted lips.

"What about your famous pizza?"

"No, it might be the best pizza in Chicago, but whatever I ate today topped it," you smile at him, scrunching your nose. "Consider your chef's license reinstated,"

"Thanks," Carmy laughs breathily, "Do you mind if we walk? I feel some of the rush still."

"Lead the way, Mr. Berzatto."

Carmy grabs your hand, leading you to the streets of Chicago. It's silent momentarily as the wind cools Carmy's heated face. He places his hand along with yours into his pocket.

"Did your brother like it?" He asks, breaking the ice.

"Oh yeah. I'm officially like the best sister ever," you respond, squeezing his hand.

You had accidentally forgotten that your brother had passed the Bar exam. So, you didn't have time to get him anything in celebration. You figured dinner at a lovely new restaurant would help while you got him a proper present.

"How did you feel throughout, though? It looked intense." You often found yourself looking through the small glass window into the kitchen. They were always on the move, looking for the next thing to do.

"It didn't just look like it. I'm used to it, though," Carmy admits with a sniff. Everyone's best and worst habits shone through for those couple of hours. It's an environment he's all too familiar with, in and out of the kitchen.

"That rough," you grimace.

"It's fine. We have a lot to work on, but it's a start, and it wasn't entirely terrible," Carmy says, thinking back on tonight. Before coming out to meet you, he wrote down a couple of things to go through with Sugar and Sydney.

"Good, 'cause I hope The Bear sticks around the block," you say, bumping your shoulder with his.

You invite Carmy into your house when you arrive. He takes up your offer, holding your hand to help you balance as you take your heels off. It reminds Carmy he forgot to mention how beautiful you looked today.

He follows you to the kitchen, watching your hips sway and your dress skirt swishing. Padding to the wine fridge, you pick out a bottle of red to celebrate.

Carmy indulges in looking at your legs as you stretch up to reach for the glasses of wine up in your cabinets. His blue eyes darken as your dress hikes up, exposing your pretty thighs.

His gaze darts back up at you when you turn around to place the glasses on the kitchen counter. You hand him the wine opener so he can do the honors because you suck at taking the cork out. It's why you mainly stick to cheaper wines with twist-off caps.

"Here is to The Bear and its amazing owner," you say, lifting your glass in front of you.

"Here's to not fuckin' it up entirely," Carmy follows, making you giggle. Your wine glasses clink, and you take a drink.

Placing the glass back down, Carmy pins you against the counter, his strong hands resting on the edge of it. You look at him through your lashes, a hand coming up to his chest to feel the steady thumping of his heart.

"You look beautiful. I like the dress," Carmy murmurs. It's better late than never.

The dress you wear is a pretty shade of light blue. Simple yet dressy. The neckline gives him a good view of your cleavage and has long sleeves to compensate for the shorter length. They currently cover the goosebumps lining your skin.

"Yeah? I picked it out thinking you might," you reveal, biting your lip. The shade reminded you of his eyes.

"You were right," he whispers, cupping your jaw. As pretty as the dress is, he's sure it'll look so much better on the floor.

Carmy closes his eyes as he leans down to kiss you. He's always struggled with words, so he hopes it's enough for you to catch what he's trying to say.

You smile into the kiss, blindly leaving your glass to the side to be able to touch him. Your palm presses against his chest and taut abdomen. He hides a nice amount of muscle under his t-shirts, a pleasant surprise.

Carmy easily lifts you up to sit down on the kitchen island. He steps between your legs, never breaking the heated kiss. The hands on your waist trail down to your thighs and under your dress. Carmy's tattooed hands squeeze your ass and thighs, earning him a moan from you.

This is the farthest you've ever gotten, and you're more than ready to have all of him. Carmy knows this, which leads to his thoughts getting out of control.

He has to make a decision now. Does he allow himself to be with you, or does he remain by himself like always? Richie's, Sugar's, Cicero's, and Sydney's voices all shout at him different things. Some are in favor, and others are in opposition. 'Uh oh.'

He can't lead you on and sleep with you if he will back out tomorrow. The voices become deafening in an instant, ripping him away from your embrace. His emotions bubbled over and spilled all over the place.

"Wait, stop, I just-" Carmy breathes heavily, taking a couple of steps back from you. Carmy's hand comes up to his forehead as he attempts to organize his thoughts.

"What's wrong?" You ask worriedly. Did you do something wrong?

Carmen's thoughts spill out his mouth without making much sense as he paces in your kitchen. "I can't stop thinking about it and owe it to my team..."

"Carm?" You slide off the kitchen counter, approaching him slowly.

"-keeps saying it's a distraction," he rambles mostly to himself. His heart is pounding painfully in his chest. If he didn't know any better, he'd think he was having a heart attack.

"Hey, hey, hey. What's a distraction?" Softly, you grab onto his arms, stopping him in his tracks, trying to find his lost gaze.

"You. Whatever this is," Carmy breathes, finally meeting your eyes, which he instantly regrets as your eyes turn sad.

The watering of your eyes is unintentional, as is the knot forming in your throat. "You think I'm distracting you?" You question barely above a whisper.

His response is instant, "Fuck, no, the opposite. W-When I'm with you or-or think about you, things get clearer, and it's-it's when I feel the most focused." Carmy holds your shoulders, comforting you because he never meant to hurt you. He can't stand the sad look in your eyes.

Slowly, you begin to piece together his rambling and conclude that other people have been telling him you're a distraction. You wonder if they don't want him to be happy. The Bear is the center of Carmy's life, and before that, it was the restaurant in New York. He deserves more than this crazy job.

"Then fuck what others tell you, Carmen. You deserve to have a life outside The Bear." Maybe you're selfish because you don't want to lose him, but you hope he believes your words.

"I-I don't. I don't deserve all your attention or your affection. I'm nothing special. I don't deserve you." Carmy says, shaking his head with furrowed brows.

Weeks ago, he had no source of enjoyment. He said it himself at the support group. Now, he has you, yet he can't bear the thought of you wanting to be with him. He feels like he's tricking you into a bad deal. That's what he is, though, isn't he? An overachieving fuck up with tons upon tons of baggage.

Carmen Berzatto is an anxious person with too many problems in his life. He has a fucked up family. His mother is a mentally unstable alcoholic. His brother was addicted to painkillers and decided that shooting himself on a bridge was better than living this life. That's without mentioning all the trauma he has from his job and the terrible people he's worked with.

What good does he have to offer you?

"Yes, you do," you reassure him, placing your hands on his cheeks. The cool metal of your rings soothes him somewhat, grounding him. "You deserve all that and more, Carmy. You're so sweet and kind and hard-working. You've been through shit. You deserve something good in life. Maybe it's me, or maybe it's not, but don't close yourself off."

You're begging at this point. Whatever this relationship is, it's just starting. He's not giving himself a chance. You like Carmy so damn much. He's funny without knowing it and thoughtful, too. There are so many qualities he doesn't realize he has.

His eyes watch you as tears line them. He's silently pleading for you to convince him. To get him out of his own head and forget the expectations others have on him.

"I'm not going to force you into anything, Carm. It's your call, but I've enjoyed our last couple of months together. I know we don't know each other completely, but I want to know everything about you. I have feelings for you, so whatever you decide, I'll support it."

Being honest is all you can do at this point. You pour your heart out and hope Carmy chooses you.

You and Carmy stand in the middle of your kitchen. Face to face, reaching out towards each other. It's clear as day that you want the same thing. It's only a matter of taking the right steps now.

"I can't let you go," Carmy responds, grabbing the hand on his cheek. His thumb brushes over the back of it.

"Then don't."

Carmy's decision is made. Without another thought, he smashes his lips against yours. He grabs the back of your neck, tilting your head to meet his heated kiss.

It's more intense now that the cards are on the table. Nothing to hold him back.

Tongues clash together as your bodies seek each other out. The temperature rises when Carmy lifts you up to wrap your legs around his hips. His hands are on the back of your thighs, holding tight onto you.

"Bedroom?" He asks, breaking the kiss, a trail of saliva between the two of you.

"Down the hallway," you breathe heavily, kissing down his neck.

Carmy makes it to the bedroom, opening the door with a bang. He spots your bed, placing you in the middle with him holding himself up on top of you.

He watches as your back meets the bed and your fair fans around you like a halo. The curvature of your breasts accentuated even more from the position.

Carmy hikes your leg further up his hips as he dips down to kiss a wet trail down to the neckline of your dress. He leaves open-mouthed kisses on the rounded flesh, nipping at the skin playfully when you arch your back to push more into him.

"Carmy," you breathe, cupping his jaw to pull him back to your lips. Grinding your hips, you manage to graze against his bulge.

"Shit," Carmy shakily curses, thrusting his hips to meet your touch once more.

Curiously, your hands wander across his body. Carmy's moans in your ear make your panties wetter than they already are.

You grasp the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and off. You're desperate to have him, your cunt aches for him. Your nails scratch down his firm stomach when he bites into your earlobe, softly calling your name.

"Unzip me," you pant, pushing him away and pulling your hair off to the side.

Carmy grabs the small zipper, pushing it down and exposing your pretty skin. As he slides the fabric off of you, he kisses your shoulders and back, taking note of the goosebumps on your skin.

His mind is in the present, and nothing can take it away from him. It's like a switch he managed to turn off in his brain. No more family drama, no more The Bear. It's just you...and him. Honey and Bear.

You stretch your neck to the side, giving Carmy more space to pepper kisses across the delicate skin. The dress pooling at your feet exposes your chest, and Carmy's hands come up from behind you. His fingers shyly brush up your stomach, tickling you, until they find your breasts.

He draws a moan from you as he squeezes them in his palms, pushing you back to meet his chest; turning your head to the side, you find his lips.

The kiss breaks when he slides one of his hands into your underwear, dipping his finger to feel your wetness. Your arm reaches back to dig your fist in his curls.

"You're soaked, Honey," he moans, finding your clit to tease it.

"Been waiting for so long, Carmy," you whine as your hips stutter along with the flicks of his wrist.

"I'm sorry. I'm here now," he purrs into your ear.

Carmy can hear the distinct 'shlick, shlick, shlick' of his fingers against your clit. It spurs him on as he slips a finger into you. He can't wait to have his cock inside of you, snug and warm.

"Oh my god, Carmen," you gasp when he prods another finger into your entrance. Hanging onto his arm across your chest, you roll your hips against his fingers.

"I got you," he says, digging his fingers deeper into you and curling them.

Your knees buckle as the tips of his fingers curl and hit your g spot repeatedly. If it weren't for him, you'd be on the floor. With your tummy tensing under the weight of the pleasure, you stutter out, "I'm gonna cum."

Carmy's hand is wet from your juices as he ups the ante. Just as your walls begin to squeeze around his fingers, he pulls them out to circle around your clit.

"Oh, f-fuck!" You squeal, throwing your head back onto his shoulder.

The way your clit softly twitches under the pads of his fingers fucks with Carmy. It makes his cock throb and leak into his jeans.

Untangling from his embrace, you place a breathless kiss on Carmy's lips. His slick digits dig into your hips as he prolongs it.

Blindly, you find the edge of his jeans and unbutton them. If Carmy notices, he doesn't say anything. You want to give him one more reason to stay with you.

He moans into your mouth when you grasp his length through his boxers. He's rock hard as he desperately ruts against your hand.

With your hold still on him, you push him to sit on the bed. Carmy looks up at you lustfully. You plant a single short kiss on his lips before kneeling on the floor between his legs. You leave love bites down his chest while looking up at him through your lashes.

Carmy brushes away any hair that falls on your face, his blue eyes focused solely on you. When you reach the waistband of his pants, you pull them down along with his underwear.

His length pops up from its confines, slapping against his tummy. Its tip is a pretty pink shade, with a thick length and a slight curve to it. You salivate instantly at the sight of it.

Carmy's nervous under you. It's been a long since he's been with someone else, and he's never been the most confident.

"Relax," you say teasingly, kissing around his lower tummy to calm him.

Finally, your hand wraps around his cock, lightly pumping it. Leaving sloppy kisses down his happy trail, you feel Carmy's stomach taut in anticipation.

It's been so fuckin' long.

With your eyes staring into his hungry ones, you kiss the pink head that glistens with pre, teasingly brushing it against your lips. Keeping eye contact, you lick his length from base to tip. You alternate between kissing and licking for a minute, enjoying watching Carmy squirm.

"Fuck, Honey," Carmy throws his head back at your torturous pace.

"Look at me," you sweetly say.

Taking mercy on him, you part your lips to take his length into your warm, wet mouth, bobbing your head to a steady rhythm. Prying one of Carmy's hands from the bedsheets, you place it in your hair, encouraging him to use you.

"Good girl," he moans, fisting your hair to force you to take more of his cock. You let your hands rest on his thighs, feeling the strong muscles underneath.

Carmen observes you with hooded eyes as you hollow your cheeks, sucking him expertly. He's obsessed with how your lips leave behind a tinge of red lipstick on his skin.

"Shit-Fuck me," he yells into the room when you swallow around him.

You want him to cum, but Carmy has other plans. He doesn't think he'll last long if you make him cum now, so after the stunt you pulled, he pulls you off his sensitive cock.

The sight in front of him is erotic as a string of saliva connects you to his cock. The tears lining your eyes and blushed nose add to that pretty picture.

"c'me 'ere," he says, helping you up and kissing you as he leads you back to the bed. He tugs off your wet panties, throwing them somewhere in the room.

You lay back on your pillows with Carmy slotted between your legs. It's torture having him so close and yet so far. Now that you've gotten a taste of his cock you need more.

Carmy touches the inside of your thighs, inching his way closer to your cunt. He instantly notices how fuckin' wet you are. You're dripping even more than before.

"Sucking me off, got you this wet, princess?" He asks, leaning his forehead against yours.

"Mhm, Carmy, wish you would've cum in my mouth," you admit, tilting your head up to brush your lips against his.

"You have such a dirty fuckin' mouth," he chuckles darkly.

Where did this side of you come from? You're usually so sweet and delicate. He should've known you would be a freak in bed. To think he almost let this all go.

"Carmen, please."

"Please, what?" Carmen teases, lining his cock against your opening, wetting his cock.

"Fuck me," you moan, kissing his jaw.

"'m gonna fuck you good, princess," he promises, with a shaky nod before he remembers, "Fuck! I-I don't have a condom with me."

"I should have some in my drawer," you mention breathlessly.

Carmy opens the condom in record time but is surprised when you take it from his hands and roll it down his shaft yourself. You just want an excuse to keep touching him.

With your leg hiked up, he aligns himself and slowly pushes in. You both gasp at the sensation. Carmy, for one, is trying to not bust a nut so soon because you're so tight and warm.

Meanwhile, you hold onto Carmy's back as he stretches you out. It's been so long, and your toys aren't nearly as thick as him. You breathily moan in his ear, which he takes as a good sign as he begins thrusting more forcefully and deeper.

Carmy hopes this isn't a dream, and if it is, he hopes he doesn't wake up anytime soon. He has one hand holding onto your thigh and the other holding himself up. His gold chain dangles above you as he picks his head up from its spot on your shoulder. You take the chance to tug on it, returning his attention to your lips.

"You feel so fuckin' good, princess," Carmy groans, squeezing your thigh.

"I love your cock, Carmy," you whine, feeling the drag of his cock on your walls. The pleasure is all-consuming, leaving a fuzzy feeling in your brain.

"You like when I fuck you like this?"

"Yes, yes, yes, keep going."

His hips snap hard against yours, hitting that spot each and every time. His pelvis hitting your clit. He squeezes your thigh, hips, and sides before his hand squeezes your tits, too, playing with your nipples.

Suddenly, he straightens up, pulling you down the bed to have you flushed against his pelvis. He's a sight for sore eyes that forces you to keep your eyes open.

His thrusts are more forceful like this, where he digs his fingers into the fat of your hips to pull you towards him with each snap. It makes your tits bounce, hypnotizing him.

Through your lustful gaze, he looks like a marble statue. His chest glimmers under the lowlights of your room as sweat clings to him, his chain jumping against the blushed skin of his chest, and his fucking hair falling over his pretty eyes. The set of his jaw could've been sculpted by Michaelangelo himself.

Your hands indulgently reach down to touch him in any way you can. You can only reach his stomach, where a nice pair of abs appear due to the effort.

"You like what you see?" Carmy teases. He's entirely lost on you because otherwise, he wouldn't be as cocky to say that.

"You're so handsome," you pitifully say. Your brain not computing as it should, but how can it when it's being fucked out of you?

Carmy doesn't know how to respond. It's not often he's called handsome or looked at as lustfully as you're looking at him. Thankfully, he doesn't need to say much as your eyes roll back and you squeeze your walls around him.

"Carmy, I'm so close," you pant, trying to find any part of him to hold. He offers you his hand, lacing your fingers together.

"Just a little longer, princess," Carmy groans as you clench around him. "Fuck, don't do that to me."

He glances down at the spot where you and him meet to see a ring of white on the base of his cock. He's enthralled with the way you stretch to accommodate him and the way your pink walls drag along his length when he pulls out. Fuckin' beautiful.

Putting all his knowledge to use, he thumbs your clit, making you jolt. He needs you to cum now, or he won't make it. His balls feel like they're about to burst.

"Carmy," you cry out, tightening the hold on his hand.

You teeter on the edge for only a second until you cum, waves of pleasure washing over you. Carmy curses from above you as your tightening walls choke his cock, making him cum too. He stutters his hips a couple more times, riding out his orgasm.

He leans back down again, catching your lips in a small kiss. His body slowly relaxes against yours as his head rests on your neck, breathing in the scent of sweat and perfume.

"That was good," you breathe heavily, rubbing your hands up and down your back. You're just starting to think clearly.

"Fuckin' amazing," he adds.

There's a beat of silence before you both burst out laughing.

A bubble encases you, and it can't be popped as long as you stay in your bedroom. Carmy doesn't want to leave; it's late already, and in a couple of hours, he has to get up and go to The Bear to repeat the process.

For once, he forgets about that and focuses solely on you. He has a couple of hours to spare. Sleep is overrated.

You face each other on the bed, talking in hushed whispers. Your fingers trace the '773' tattoo on his bicep like you've always wanted to do. It tickles Carmy, so he grabs your hand and kisses your palm.

"Now that I'm thinking about it. I didn't see your tattoo," he whispers to prevent disturbing the peace.

Your face warms at his words. You had forgotten about that. He's seen a lot of you in the past couple of hours. What's a bit more of skin?

"You missed my big bad tattoo?" you joke, poking his nose.

"Show me," he says with a lopsided smile.

You make it dramatic, rolling your eyes and giving him a big sigh. Sitting up on the bed, you peel the bed sheets from your body. Carmy props himself up on his elbow in anticipation.

Right there, on your left side and under the curve of your breast is a small outline of Winnie the Pooh's face. Carmy touches it, biting his lip to hold back a laugh. Unsurprisingly, it's precisely what he expected from you.

A few chuckles pass his lips as he pulls you back into his arms.

"Don't laugh. It made sense at the time," you whine, covering yourself back up.

Carmy pulls you to his chest, kissing your temple, "I'm sure it does. Pooh Bear loves his Honey," Just like he does.

"Exactly! Someone gets it!"

And he does because Carmy, aka The Bear, is quickly falling for his Honey.

A couple of days later, Carmy is back at your house helping you prepare the famous pizza you promised him. He lets you take the lead on everything, preferring to follow your instructions rather than let his mind run wild. It's not like you'll let him do most of the work anyway; it's your recipe, and you're protective over it.

"Can you chop up the veggies?" You ask him as you lay down the dough in a pan.

"Yes, Chef," he nods, kissing your cheek as he digs through your kitchen drawers for a knife.

"Oh, I like the sound of that," you muse, shaking your shoulders as you knead the dough to spread it.

"Don't let it get to your head, Hun," Carmy smiles, slicing the vegetables expertly.

Cooking with Carmy is surprisingly easier than you thought. He's not controlling over the kitchen or judgy. He lets you do your thing in peace, following your orders no matter how strange they might be. This is your kitchen, not his.

As you spread the sauce and cheese over one of the doughs, Carmy gets a call. He wipes his hands with a rag and picks it up. You only hear his side of the conversation.

"No, I'm off tonight. I'm with my girl. Call Sugar. She should be able to help you with that. Great. Thanks."

Carmy had promised himself that he would try to balance it all better. He has his team to help each other out. The Bear is a priority, but so are you because you help him keep whatever sanity he has left.

Carmy hangs up, and when he returns to you, he notices the grin on your lips as you put the toppings he chopped on the pizza.

"What's with the smile?" Carmy stands behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he props his head on your shoulder. Your hair tickles his nose, smelling the notes of coconut of your shampoo he digs his head farther into it.

"I'm your girl?" You ask, the smile still present on your face. He'd missed your initial reaction when you heard him call you 'my girl.' You almost dropped the container of pepperoni that was in your hands. It's a shock cause he never asked you to be his girl.

Carmy pauses and tenses up against you. "Uh, yes? Hold up. Turn around," he orders, as he places his hand on your hips to turn your body around.

"Yes, chef," you respond cheekily, your arms around his neck, careful not to touch his sweater with your messy hands.

"Aren't you my girl?" He frowns, rubbing a thumb over your hips.

"I could be, but I don't remember you asking," you pretend to think.

Carmy never directly asked you to be his girlfriend, and you never asked him to be your boyfriend. You might as well be a couple since you've been dating long enough. You decide to seize the opportunity now to get it out of him. Having a proper anniversary day would be nice because you hope this lasts.

"I see, my mistake," Carmy nods, catching your vibe, "Honey…"

"Yes, Carmy?" You blink innocently at him.

"Would you do me the honor of becoming my girlfriend?" He finally asks.

You could joke around but decided against it cause the moment is perfect, "I'd love to," you nod, giving him a small kiss.

When the pizza is cooked, you bring it over to the dining table. Serving Carmy a pretty slice. Excitedly, you wait for him to bite into it and taste it.

"What do you think?" You ask expectantly.

"You were right. Best pizza in Chicago," Carmy agrees with an unbelievable laugh. He's got a lot to learn from you. It's the truth, or maybe he's blinded by his feelings. Only time will tell where you and Carmy will end up.

The End?

thank you guys for pulling through and reading! i know it's a slow burn but i hope you liked it! i certainly enjoyed writing it even though it took me like 4 months.

if you liked it, i would appreciate you liking it, commenting or reblogging. if you have some feedback feel free to send it my way too. i wanna get better at this whole writing thing!

thank you! bye xx

[formallery]

about: max hates the way billy treats girls, steve is nothing like billy 

c.w: mentions of sex but nothing explicit, billy being awful to women but again nothing explicit, soft fluff because steve is a girl dad, some canon divergence with how the fight with billy went in the s2 finale, angsty with a tooth-rottingly fluffy ending, no pronouns for reader but mentions of reader wearing makeup

a/n: max is my daughter i love her so much, i wish they elaborated more on her and steve’s relationship in the show because i just know she wishes he was her older brother instead of billy, divider by @cursed-carmine

Billy is weird with girls. Sometimes they call the house asking for him and Max hears Billy say crude words on the phone, words that would have her mouth washed out with soap if her mom heard her say any of them. More often than not there’s a girl in his passenger seat when Billy drives her home, very obviously displeased by Max’s very existence.

And sometimes her mom and his dad— not her dad because he’s back in California— go out late and Billy will bring a girl over, never the same one. He never tells her to get out or leave because he doesn’t care, but Max quickly realizes she should with the disgusting noises they make. She usually goes outside, skating up and down their street until the girl leaves.

He never drives them home and they leave the house with makeup ruined and walking funny. He never lets them stay the night either. Some of them look upset when they leave, others don’t really care.

There’s been a few girls who walk outside and cry on the curb in the dim streetlight. It’s never loud sobbing, just quiet sniffles as they hug themselves. Max never talks to them, she has no idea what she could ever say to them.

Today it’s one of those nights again. His dad booked a fancy dinner in some restaurant across county lines so he won't bring her mom home until the early hours of the morning. This also means whatever girl Billy brings over is going to be there for a long time.

Under usual circumstances this would be fine, Max would just skate downtown to kill time, except it’s the middle of June and a storm is rolling in.

She thinks it’s ridiculous, why is there rain in the middle of summer? It was never like this in California, they had some bouts of rain in December and April but never the summer. Even when it did rain it never lasted long or was bad enough that her mother invested in proper rain attire.

Which is how she finds herself walking down the street, her jeans and converse completely soaked. The crappy poncho her mom bought at Melvald’s was in the clearance section for a reason because her hair is soaked through and she can feel water soaking her shirt.

She wants to go home. Not that dump on Cherry Lane but San Diego.

She feels hot tears welling up in her eyes when her shadow starts to elongate in the puddles and she hears the rev of a car engine behind her. Great, some asshole is gonna splash water all over her. Instead the car slows to a gentle stop next to her and when she turns her head she sees a familiar red BMW, Steve’s already rolling down the window to talk to her.

“What are you doing?” he frowns, and she can see you in the passenger seat craning your head to look at her. “It’s pouring out here.”

Max’s mouth goes dry, what is she doing out here?

“Walk,” she finally says, hoping the lump in her throat isn’t obvious.

“C’mon get in,” Steve replies without missing a beat, nudging his head toward the passenger side. “You’re gonna get yourself sick.”

“I’m fine,” Max insists, because she really is about to start crying and she doesn’t want to be in his car when that happens.

“Max get in,” your voice cuts in, frowning at her and exchanging a glance with Steve, like you two can communicate without speaking.

She does, only because you’ve been the coolest person ever to her since you stabbed Billy with a tranquilizer syringe and threatened him with a baseball bat.

She gets in the backseat, probably ruining Steve’s fancy leather seats with how soaked she is, and immediately notes the grocery bags. Not junk food but actual ingredients, great Steve was gonna cook you dinner and now she’s crashing your date night.

Steve is already slipping off his knit sweater and cranking up the heater. He sets the car in park in the middle of the road before turning around so he can hand her the sweater.

“You wanna actually tell us why you were walking around in the rain?” He has a disapproving frown on his face but for some reason Max doesn’t feel like it’s directed at her.

She wants to refuse the sweater but she’s shivering in the backseat and it feels warm in her hands. So she takes her crappy poncho off and slips it on, hoping the two of you mistake the few tears escaping her eyes for rain.

“Hey we’re not gonna tell your parents,” you say gently, reaching out to smooth down her soaked hair. “We just wanna know, I promise.”

“My parents are out for the night,” her voice cracks when she talks and she really hopes you two just think she’s cold. “So Billy invited a girl over.”

She’s looking down at her soaked shoes because looking at either one of you feels scary right now. Even then she knows you two are exchanging glances, communicating without speaking again. She remembers her mom and dad doing that, when she was younger and they still loved each other.

“Okay,” Steve says after a beat, his voice softer and reaching out to fix the sweater so it sits evenly on her. “You’re gonna come back to my place with us, and then you can use my phone to leave a message for your mom that you’re sleeping at a friend’s house. Sounds good?”

Max nods, trying to rub her hands and warm them up. Steve takes the car out of park and starts driving back to his place. The two of you are quiet throughout the drive and she doesn’t feel like starting a conversation. Every so often her eyes dart back to the grocery bag, the thought of Billy making a girl dinner is so laughable it feels absurd.

After a few minutes the BMW rolls into the driveway and you come over to her door with an umbrella while Steve grabs the grocery bags from the other side. It’s ridiculous for you to walk her twenty feet over to the door with the umbrella but she humors you anyway.

She follows suit when you and Steve slip off your shoes by the front door before walking in. The two of you actually own proper rainboots and Steve gives a glance at her thoroughly soaked converse.

“Alright I’m gonna start cooking dinner,” Steve tells her, gesturing to the grocery bag. “Why don’t you go take a shower?”

“I don’t need–”

You both give her a look.

“...Fine,” she relents after a moment, because it does feel like her bones are rattling inside her body.

“Perfect,” you take her hand, leading her over to the staircase. “I’ll show you where it is and get you some clothes.”

You take her upstairs, stopping by one of the cabinets in the hallway to grab some towels before leading her into Steve’s room. It’s mostly what she’d expect from a teenage boy, some movie posters, a basketball laying around, and a desk that obviously has seen very minimal studying.

She does catch the fact that there are multiple pillows on the bed and the sheets are a nice cream color instead of bachelor navy blue. There’s some books and a candle on the nightstand, along with two mugs holding the remnants of last night’s tea in them.

“Here we go,” you say, finally looking up after having rummaged through the top dresser drawer. Based on the clothes Max can see in, it’s your designated space in Steve’s room.

You hand her the towels along with some fluffy pajama pants, they have little teddy bears on them, along with an oversized t-shirt.

“Bathroom’s down the hall on the left, just yell if you need anything.”

She mumbles acknowledgment and you turn to leave, then Max calls out your name before she realizes it.

“What’s up?” you turn around. Her chest feels tight, everything feels wrong and right at the same time. This is how things should be for her, but they’re not and she’s terrified this brief moment will be stolen from her in seconds.

“You’re not gonna call my parents… right? You or Steve?”

Your face softens and you walk over to her. Wrapping her in a hug and pressing your lips to the top of her head.

“No we’re not,” you murmur and rub her back. “You just have to promise me one thing, okay?”

Max’s shoulders are shaking as she cries into you. Quiet sniffles like the girls who sit on the curb outside of their house after Billy decides he’s done with them. “What is it?”

“Next time something like this happens,” you whisper, still rubbing her back. “Call us, we’ll come get you.”

She nods against you and you hold her for a few minutes until the crying subsides. When she pulls away you press a kiss to her forehead before leaving.

She follows your instructions, going down the hall and to the left to find the bathroom. There’s two of everything. Tooth brushes, towels, body washes, and shampoo and conditioner sets. She can’t resist being nosy and taking a peek in the bathroom drawer. She finds a makeup bag and inside all the products look minimally used.

Steve must have bought it so you wouldn’t need to bring yours back and forth.

The idea of him standing in your bathroom carefully writing down the products and their shade names to buy them is so silly and sweet enough to make her giggle quietly.

Max takes her time in the shower, letting the steaming hot water warm her body. She also wants to make sure she’s fully composed because it’d be way too embarrassing if she started crying again.

She steals your body wash and washes her hair with Steve’s shampoo and conditioner because she thinks it’s funny. The boys make fun of him for preening with how much he invests in his hair products. It’s stupid considering how nosy they got when Dustin revealed he knew Steve’s hair routine. He never actually told any of them.

She dries herself off thoroughly after the shower and examines the skincare products on the counter. Not the cheap soaps she convinced her mom to buy after her face started breaking out. Fancy expensive ones that you need adult money to buy. Two of everything again, things Steve bought to make you more comfortable in his space.

She uses your facewash and dabs on a little moisturizer out of curiosity, it smells like clay and she likes it a bit. After wrapping her hair in a towel she heads out of the bathroom and walks over to the stairs. 

The smell of garlic hits her nose and just as she’s about to head down she clears the click of the front door. Then your feet padding on the floor as you walk into the kitchen and tell Steve: “She’s a size six.”

“Hmm you think red rainboots are a little too on the nose?”

“She likes the color so it’ll probably be fine. Just maybe make the pants and coat a different color?”

“How about all yellow? She can look like the Morton Salt girl.”

“Well she would look adorable, but she’d also probably kick you.”

“Red boots it is. I’ll get a small for the pants and a medium for the coat.”

“Steve, that jacket is stupidly expensive.”

“Which is why I’m getting a medium so she can grow into it.”

Max doesn’t tell herself it means anything, she never does, but the next morning she finds a bag of rain gear on her porch.

[plaugiest-deactivated20260525]

hear me out, steve sneaking into your house to study and then railing you on your bed full of stuff animals

steve harrington ruining you on a bed full of plushies

this wasn’t supposed to happen. originally, it was supposed to be just you and your fellow lecturemate— studying course material for an upcoming anatomy and physiology project.

a project which basically consisted of being able to thoroughly explain how the reproductive system works, by understanding the body’s internal organ stimuli and external structures alike. so when exactly did things take a turn?

did it all begin the moment he had to climb himself through your window because your father didn’t allow ‘boys’ inside of the house? not even for a study session with your classmate, though you’re a legal adult in college now.

or did it begin when harrington began teasing you about all the toy animals piled on your bed? his attention drifting toward a subject so, interestingly irrelevant. either way, none of it makes sense— not when he’s balls deep kissing your cervix with each thrust as all the open textbooks and body models are disregarded on the floor and at the end of your bed.

your spine arched perfectly, body rocking back and forth as you’re hugging the fluffy pillow underneath your chest. “we… we are so gonna fail this project—” you whine, softly huffing as catch your breath.

“what do you mean fail?” steve asks, his hands roaming all over your soft body before letting out a low, breathy laugh. “how can we fail when we’re first hand experiencing the physiological effects right now?” he leans in— pressing his chest to your back as he murmurs in your ear as his words drop straight to your core.

“god, you’re so disgusting.” you whine into the pillow, feeling each of his thrusts drive deeper and deeper inside of you as steve hums to your response. “i'm disgusting?” he repeats in a slightly condescending tone, "you're disgusting." he adds with a tease before rising up, as his pupils blow wide from the perfect view he has of your body.

your body small before him positioned with that perfect arch of your spine that drives him utterly insane— insane in a way that sends a godly amount of pleasure straight to his dick, “wait.” steve pauses as one of his hands trace down the column of your back, “i-i'm definitely the more disgusting one.” he lets out a guttural groan before bringing a hand up to run his fingers through his soft, burnished coloured locks.

he snakes his hands around your hips, pulling your ass flush against his pelvis forcing a soft moan from your lips as the tip of his dick kisses sweet against your cervix. “mmph, wait.” you gasp, fingers clutching your pillow. “don't let my stuffies see this.” you mumble against the pillow, making the corners of steve's mouth tug into a grin as he lets out an awed laugh.

“your toys literally saw us for the past ten minutes.” he groans, his knees buried into the mattress as he slowly slides out of your cunt til' only the head is prodding your wet hole. “saw us studying...” he says, slowly inching his length back in, “kissing... touching... and now fu—” “shut up!” you cut him off.

“i don't want them seeing anything else you add.” raising your head up before making direct eye contact with a pink, unicorn plushie as steve wiggles it in front of your face. “get. her. out. of. my. face.” you practically slap the stuffed toys out of steve's hand as he fauxs a pout at you swatting the unicorn away.

“c’mon, relax sweetheart.” he says softly, plush lips lightly grazing your ear. “she was staring, it just felt rude not to say hi.” steve smiles against your skin, teasing— rocking his hips just enough to make you hitch before whispering against your ear as he turns the stuffed animals around to face anywhere, but you.

“it’s only me lookin’ at you, yeah.” his thumb smoothing over your hip as you squeeze around his words, then trailing his free hand towards the column of your neck. his palm dwarfing the bottom half of your pretty face as he cups your jaw making you look up at him upside down— giving you a mean, deep thrust as you gnaw at your bottom lip, holding back your moan.

“just keep those pretty eyes on me— that's all i want.”

[supernovafics]

𝐖𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐔𝐏 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 4.2k words

summary: in which going through a break up is hard, but what’s harder is having to spend the majority of your night in the WSQK van with your ex because no one knows you’re broken up yet

warnings: explicit language, forced proximity (kinda), a lot of bitchy!steve and bitchy!reader, dustin being dustin<3, brief mentions of the loss of a parent, eddie mentions, angst (because i fear i’m incapable of not writing angst)

author’s note: a part two will be coming !!!! (allegedly)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Your plan was to avoid Steve for the rest of your life. 

It was a completely impossible plan because pretty much everything about your lives were intertwined; friends, work, even your mom was obsessed with him and you had a feeling that it was going to take a lot of convincing for you to get her to stop randomly calling him over to fix something around the house like she’d grown so accustomed to the last two years. 

However, even though it was impossible for you to never have to see his stupidly cute face ever again (you wondered if you would eventually get to a point where you didn’t think he was cute), you could at least ignore him. 

And that was exactly what you set out to do when you woke up the morning after the break up. 

Robin would be the first one to know about it, and you were sure that she’d understand that there was no way that you and Steve could work side by side at The Squawk as sound techs/doing anything and everything else that was needed around the radio station anymore. You’d already come up with the perfect solution to that problem— he’d do mornings and lunch, you’d do late afternoons and the evening, and you two would alternate nights. 

You sipped on the strongest cup of coffee, using the harsh bitterness as a form of encouragement, before leaving your house and heading to the radio station. You promptly sighed when you saw Steve’s car already parked in the nonexistent parking lot; every bit of courage you had quickly dwindled down to nothing. 

The only good thing about him showing up before you was that it probably meant that he’d already told Robin about the break up, so you luckily wouldn’t have to be the one to say it.  

However, the universe apparently decided not to be on your side this morning because you were entirely wrong about that assumption. 

“There’s gonna be a crawl tonight,” was the first thing Steve said to you when you walked in, and you immediately knew what his words meant.

It would be stupid to bring up the break up and tell everyone now when all attention needed to be focused solely on the crawl. It was still a new thing to all of you; this would only be the sixth one, and a million things could go wrong. Therefore, you and Steve announcing your break up would be the epitome of terrible timing. 

And that also meant that you and he couldn’t act like anything was wrong or “off” between you two, which meant that you’d have to go through one more day of “being” in a relationship. 

Which triply meant that your plan of ignoring him forever was also entirely out of the window for the time being. 

Shit. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Even though there had only been five of them so far, your designated spot on crawl nights was the passenger seat of the WSQK van. With Steve in the driver's seat and Dustin in the back doing the actual complicated work. 

That set up was practically written in the nonexistent bylaws, so you knew that going against it would look weird, and you didn’t want to be the one to fuck with the “norm” and potentially throw everything else off too. 

You all needed this, and you needed it to work, so you were okay with sucking it up and forcing yourself to be in a car with your ex-boyfriend for a few hours. 

“Okay, I’ve tried to pretend that things don’t feel disgustingly weird in here, but I can’t do it any longer,” Dustin’s voice broke through the silence that had been prevailing in the van for the past thirty minutes. “What the hell is wrong with you guys?”

Steve sighed as he kept driving down the quiet street. “What are you talking about, Henderson?”

“Usually, I have to constantly yell at you guys to shut up up there so that I can concentrate on keeping track of Hopper, but this entire night you guys have been deathly quiet. What’s wrong?”

“Maybe your yelling finally got through to us?” Steve said, dodging the question at hand. 

“I wish I were that intimidating,” Dustin responded, obviously not believing Steve’s words. “Seriously, what’s up? Did you two get into an argument about who’s prettier, or who loves the other one more?”

It was almost comical how far off from the truth Dustin was, but it made sense why he’d think that you and Steve were in some silly or lighthearted argument, because that’s all they usually were.  

“We broke up last night,” You answered, not turning your eyes away from looking out the window and at the houses slowly passing by as you said the five words. 

“Weird joke.”

“Not a joke, Henderson,” Steve jumped in, and if he was surprised that you had just blurted it out like this, so abruptly when you could’ve just made something up or kept avoiding the question, he didn’t show it.  

“Oh,” Dustin mumbled. “Shit, what happened?”

“Enzo’s,” You answered first because you wanted to say something before Steve did.

Dustin let out a confused sound. “What?”

“It was about a dinner reservation,” You explained; it was barely an explanation, but it was pretty much the gist of what happened. 

“You guys broke up over a dinner reservation?”

“Yes,” You said simply, and then immediately heard Steve scoff under his breath. You looked at him, eyes narrowing. “What?”

“Nothing,” He shrugged. “If you wanna say that it was only about that, then sure, whatever, that’s fine.” 

“What would you say it was about then?”

“You being stubborn.” 

You rolled your eyes and let out your own scoff. “You’re insane.”

“Okay,” He said and then turned his attention solely back to the road. He didn’t fight you on your words, which annoyed you a lot more than if he had said something more. 

“Alright, none of what you guys just said helped me understand what happened between you two, so can you just do a play-by-play of what happened last night?” Dustin asked.

Steve let out an annoyed sigh. “Henderson, we’re broken up. That’s that. Why does the why and how of it all matter to you so much?”

“It matters because as a founding father of this relationship, I obviously don’t want to see it end,” He answered in a ‘duh’ tone, which made Steve immediately shake his head. 

“How many times do I have to tell you that you’re not the reason that we started dating?”

“Really? So, who’s the one that told you about the girl who worked at the bookstore and who I was certain that you’d immediately hit it off with?” Dustin said, and then didn’t hesitate to continue because the question was obviously rhetorical. “Yeah, that’s right, me!”

“I knew about her way before you got back from camp,” Steve told him. “The Waldenbooks was only two doors down from Scoops.”

“Yeah, but I’m sure you would’ve never actually talked to her if I hadn’t made us go there to get the Russian to English dictionary.” 

“Dude, I would’ve totally—”

“We should do it,” You interrupted Steve on whatever long winded tangent he was about to go on. “Let’s give him the play-by-play of what happened last night.”

Steve glanced at you. “You’re only siding with him because you wanna disagree with me.”

“Not true.” It was entirely true, and Steve knew that. It was why he gave you the most deadpanned look ever, and you only gave him a dry smile in response. 

“Maybe this could be like couples counseling. I’ll be your guys’ therapist right now,” Dustin said, which made you slightly regret siding with him because you didn’t really like the thought of this night being turned into 'therapy hour.'

“No way,” Steve quickly responded, taking a quick look back at the teen. “I already know you’re just going to agree with her no matter what, even though your loyalties should lie with me because I’ve known you longer.”

“I promise to be a completely unbiased party,” Dustin told him. “Now, someone start the story.” 

The long story short was that it had all been a stupid argument about nothing that actually felt like it was about everything, but neither you nor Steve were ready to admit that. 

“We were supposed to go on a date,” Steve started before you could even think about what to say first. “I planned the whole thing—”

“Wait, hold on. Turn left at the next street,” Dustin interrupted him mid-sentence. Steve made the turn, and then Dustin was quiet for a second, taking a moment to make sure that the signal was still strong and everything was still going to plan. “Okay, continue the story.”

He was damn good at multitasking.

“I showed up at her house at eight,” Steve continued. “And when she opened the door, she immediately rolled her eyes.”

“Ouch,” Dustin mumbled under his breath. 

“I could tell with the way you were dressed that we were going to Enzo’s and I hate Enzo’s,” You said, feeling the need to defend yourself.

“You’ve never said that.”

“Okay, well, I’ve never said I liked it.”

“You liked it just fine a year ago,” Steve said, and he didn’t give you any time to rebut his words before he kept going. “Just admit that you would’ve hated anywhere I wanted to take you.”

“Is that true?” Dustin asked. 

You sighed as you crossed your arms and let your head fall back against the headrest. “No, that’s not true at all.” 

Steve scoffed, and you didn’t have to look at him to know he was also rolling his eyes. “Bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit.”

“Okay, so what about last week when I said we should go to the movies? Or the week before that, when I suggested just driving around and listening to music?” He asked and took a quick glance at you. “Do you also suddenly hate those things too?”

“Yes, Steve, I hate going to the movies, and I hate music, and I hate cars and driving. I hate everything, actually. Is that what you wanna hear?” The sarcasm was evident in your tone, and you looked at him only for a second before turning your gaze back to the window. 

He shook his head, clearly annoyed. “It’s impossible to talk to you.” 

“Ditto.”

“Are you guys sure you wanna break up?” Dustin jumped in. “You got the old married couple vibe down perfectly.”

“Shut up,” It was said in damn near perfect unison, which made you and Steve look at each other and then promptly look away. 

“I don’t think it's proper etiquette to verbally abuse your therapist,” Dustin said in a tone that was almost too Dustin-like. “Especially when he’s just trying to lighten the mood.”

“‘Lighten the mood’?” Steve responded, eyebrows furrowing. “Are you a therapist or a comedian?”

That got an abrupt, quiet laugh out of you that you immediately tried to cover with a cough. 

“Was that a laugh I just heard?” Dustin asked, not missing a beat. “It was at my expense, but I’m okay with that if it means we’re making progress.”

You could feel Steve’s eyes on you, but you refused to meet them. “Not a laugh, just a cough.”

“Yeah, of course,” Steve mumbled. 

“Okay, we never got a final answer to that last question, so let’s go back to it,” Dustin said. “Would you honestly have hated anywhere that Steve wanted to take you on this date?”

The short answer was genuinely no, but of course, there was more to it than that, and surprisingly enough, you actually wanted to be completely truthful. 

“It wasn’t about Enzo’s or the movies or any of it. It was about how you were doing everything. After all of that terrible shit happened last year, you started treating me like I was some delicate thing that would break at any given moment, and you started holding on so fucking tight, and that’s what I hated,” You said and then breathed out a sigh. “You just became so… clingy.”

The moment the word fell from your lips, you regretted it. You weren’t trying to hurt Steve, but even you could admit that was probably the worst thing you could say to him, and Dustin’s immediate surprised gasp only confirmed that. 

You looked at Steve, but his eyes were planted firmly on the road, and he didn’t say anything. It was too dark to read his face, and also too hard because you could only see half of it. 

The van became silent for a few moments, uncomfortably so, until Dustin told Steve to make another turn, and he did. 

You kept staring at him, willing him to meet your eyes. “I’m s—”

“Sure, yeah, maybe I became kinda clingy, but at least I cared about the relationship,” Steve started before you could finish. “You stopped caring after everything happened. And I know you’re hurting, but you never wanna talk about it— about your dad, about Eddie, about anything that happened last year. All you did was push me away when I was just trying to fix it.” 

You pretended that you didn’t feel so affected at his abrupt mention of your dad and Eddie. “And Enzo’s would just magically fix everything?”

“Obviously not, but I don’t know, I just wanted to do anything to help make you feel at least a little bit better,” He admitted softly.  

There was nothing that you felt like you could say to that. The fact that he said “wanted” in the past tense reminded you of what you two now were to each other. And for the first time since it happened, the thought of him not being yours and you not being his anymore actually saddened you, and it was impossible to push the feeling away. It mixed harshly with the annoyance and anger that this entire conversation had already brought out in you.  

Dustin broke the quiet. “Who initiated it?”

You turned back to look at him. “Initiated what?”

“The break up,” He elaborated, and for a second, you completely forgot that this whole thing was about you two explaining to him what happened. 

“She did,” Steve answered. 

You rolled your eyes at how irritated he sounded, as if it all had been entirely your doing. “Okay, yeah, I said the actual words, but you pretty much started it by first asking if there was any point to us being together anymore.”

Steve breathed out an annoyed sigh. “Was I even wrong to ask that when you basically just confirmed that you hated everything I was doing in our relationship?” 

“No, you weren’t wrong. Surprisingly enough, you were very right,” You told him, sarcasm clear in your tone. 

Dustin immediately took notice of the sharp energy shift. “Um, okay, I think we’re making the opposite of progress now, so maybe we should just—”

“Let me out here,” You interrupted him before he could finish whatever he was about to say.

Steve gave you a confused look. “What?” 

“Stop the van and let me out here,” You told him, meeting his eyes just for a second. “I wanna go home, but I’m not gonna fuck up the crawl by asking you to take me, so I’ll just walk.”

He shook his head at what he considered a terrible idea. “No way, your house is like twenty minutes away from here.”

“It’s fine. I don’t care,” You said with an exasperated huff. “I just cannot be in this car with you anymore.”

“Fine,” Steve responded and pulled over to the side of the road. 

“Thanks,” You said, giving him a dry smile before you got out of the van and slammed the passenger door behind you. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The three quick knocks against your bedroom window came around one in the morning, and you were certain that it was Steve. 

He was the only person who would come to your house this late, and the three knocks were his signature. There was a time when hearing the familiar quick taps would flood your stomach with giddy butterflies. Now you were only hit with something that felt melancholic because of how different things were.

You pulled back your curtain and saw him on your roof and at your window. You pushed it up a little. 

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to make sure that you made it home okay,” He answered with a nonchalant shrug. “That you didn’t trip and fall on your walk and end up lying hurt in a ditch somewhere.”

That was exactly the way his mind worked, and at one point in time, it was the most endearing thing ever to you. It still kind of was. 

You pushed your window open further so that you could step out and join him on your roof instead of letting him in your room. “You don’t have to do that anymore. You don’t have to care.”

Steve gave you a look. “Two years of caring isn’t just gonna turn off in one day.”

He was right, but you refused to tell him that. 

“Everyone asked what happened to you when we made it back to The Squawk after the crawl,” He said as you two settled yourselves on a flatter part of the angled roof. “Dustin told them that you weren’t feeling well.”

You nodded at that. “Any big news to report from the crawl?”

“Nope. Same results as last time. No Vecna, no anything,” Steve answered with a quick shake of his head. “What were you doing here?”

“Putting together a box with all of your stuff that I have,” You told him. You’d been in the middle of folding his last t-shirt when he knocked on your window. “I’m not done yet, but I’ll probably have it for you tomorrow.”

“I haven’t even thought about that yet,” Steve said, which was a response that you expected because it hadn’t been the first thing on your mind either. You really only started doing it because you were angry. 

After your twenty-minute walk, your annoyance from the night still hadn’t worn off, and when you spotted a smiling picture of you and Steve taped up above your dresser— that had been there since the summer you met— you got the sudden urge to get rid of everything. 

You found an empty box in your garage and then started packing up his t-shirts and hoodies that you pretended you weren’t sad about having to part with, along with some movies that he had left at your house, and other random things that technically belonged to both of you but you’d rather he just have them. 

“Well, you need to think about it soon because I want my Queen tape back,” You said. “I’m also pretty sure I left my one red swimsuit at your house, and it would be nice to have that back too.”

Steve nodded at your words and then got quiet just for a second. “What about gifts?”

Instinctively, your hand went up to touch the necklace hanging from your neck, but it stopped short because you didn’t want Steve to see you do it. It didn’t cross your mind yet if you should give him back the necklace he gave you on your one year anniversary; it was silver and had a book pendant hanging from it, and you still considered it the best gift you’d ever gotten from someone. You rarely ever took it off, and you especially couldn’t imagine doing so now. 

“Gifts are… whatever you wanna do with them, I guess,” You ultimately answered. “You could definitely keep the Walkman I got you, if you want, but I will once again say that I want my Queen tape back.” 

Steve held his hands up in mock surrender. “Got it. You will get Sheer Heart Attack back, I promise.”

“Thank you.”

A comfortable quiet began to linger, and just for a moment, you felt as if you were back to how things used to be. After everything happened at the mall, you two spent a lot of time out here on your roof, staring up at the night sky and soaking up as much of the summer weather as you could. It was during those early stages where everything between you two was new and sweet, and it was hard to be apart from one another. And even when that “honeymoon phase” settled into something more real and deeper than either of you had initially expected, it all still felt so damn good. You missed that feeling; you missed it so much more than you wanted to admit. 

Just like caring wouldn’t magically go away after two years, neither would the love you had for him. 

“I’m sorry,” You abruptly said, breaking the silence and sighing into the cold air. “I’m sorry that I made you think that I stopped caring about us. Honestly, I cared so much that the thought of losing you too— just like my dad or just like Eddie— really fucking scared me, so I started pushing you away instead, and I didn’t even realize I was doing it until it was too late, and at that point it felt easier to just keep pushing instead of fixing things. And you didn’t deserve that. And I shouldn’t have called you clingy; you definitely didn’t deserve that either. That was really fucked up. I’m sorry.” 

That was probably the most honest you’d been in ages; to Steve, to anyone else, to yourself even. And it felt good, even as sad and depressing as your words were. Without all of that bottled up, you felt like you could breathe just a little bit easier. 

“You were kind of right, though,” Steve responded. You could feel his eyes on you, and you didn’t hesitate to meet his gaze. “I did become clingy. I was basically doing the same thing as you, but the opposite version. I was so scared of losing you that I held on way too fucking tight, and I didn’t even realize it until you called it out in the van.” 

It made sense; so much sense that you felt like you should’ve recognized that a lot earlier, but you had been so lost in your own head and ruining things in your own way that you hadn’t seen any of it. 

“So we both messed everything up because we were scared idiots,” You concluded, and Steve let out a quiet, almost sad laugh.

“I guess so,” He mumbled as he pushed a hand through his hair. “So, now what?”

Maybe this fully honest conversation about everything was what you two needed to move in the direction of actually fixing things; one conversation definitely wasn’t enough, but it was a good start. But also maybe none of it would be enough, and you couldn’t bear the thought of things being okay only for a little bit before having to just go through all of this again. 

Although breaking up last night had been a decision that was made in haste from both sides, it didn’t feel like something you should go back on now. 

“Tomorrow we’ll tell everyone we’re broken up, and we’ll also tell them that we’ll be able to coexist just fine,” You answered quietly, finally looking away from him.  

You almost said that you two could be friends, but the word wouldn’t fall from your lips. There was a part of you that would rather be nothing to him than have him go from being the most important person in your life to just a friend. 

You could also imagine the lines getting blurred way too easily; the break up was too fresh, and you couldn’t picture having a normal, friendly conversation about random nonsense with him anytime soon. 

In this moment, you were fine with going back to the plan that you’d decided on this morning— ignoring Steve as much as you could. 

“Okay,” Steve nodded at your previous words, and you weren’t sure why there was a part of you that thought he was going to argue them. 

“Okay.” 

Another beat of silence lingered for a moment.

“I should go,” He said, and you gave him a half-hearted nod in response. “Close your eyes. I don’t want you to see how I get off the roof because it probably won’t be graceful.”

That got a soft laugh out of you, and you covered your eyes with one hand. “I’ve already seen you be 'not-so-graceful' a bunch of times up here, but okay.” 

“It feels more embarrassing now that we’re not dating,” He told you, and you didn’t have time to say anything back, or really even process how him saying that for the first time made you feel, before you heard some movement next to you and then an awkward-sounding thud. 

“Bye.” 

You took your hand down from your eyes and saw Steve now standing on your front lawn and looking up at you. 

This wasn’t the last time that you’d ever see him or even the last time you’d ever talk to him, but somehow this moment did feel pretty monumental, somehow more monumental than what happened last night— this moment weirdly felt more finite, like the true ending to something that was technically already over.

You gave him a small smile that you hoped didn’t look as sad as it felt. “Bye.” 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

let me know ur thoughts<333

(i must shamelessly (and humbly<3) mention that i also have a substack 🫶🏾) 

[madamechrissy]

Sex, Lies, Ugly Truth

art in the banner is by @3-aem ! god they make the juiciest art, go follow <3

Pairings - Your mom's boyfriend Satoru x F! reader

Summary- here's just one thing worse than having to stay with your estranged mom for just a few days while your apartment is getting renovated - and that's the six foot four white haired man banging her out every night. And does he own a fucking shirt!? You can't stand being around them, your mom's much younger boyfriend who's closer to your age. What's worse is... you liked him first. He's arrogant, annoying and you're disgusted by him - he doesn't actually make you wet that's... nothing!? And you don't want to fuck him, not at all! No way you wanna fuck your bitch ass mom's boyfriend. right?

Warnings - oh boyyy aha, forbidden love, abusive mother (reader) mentions of past eating disorders, verbal abuse from reader's mom, sm tension and build up, sex doesn't happen till after Toru tells your mom byeee, but fingering does happen before that, oral (f and m receiving) backshots while on the phone with your mom -yeppp - damaged ass reader and Satoru, they have issues, hints of stepcest I guess but he's not rly your stepdad lol, Satoru is 32, reader is 22 so AGE GAP, reader calling him daddy as a joke - maybe. Oneshot - WC - 13.2k

This is literally so toxic aha, my mommy issues haven't gone away. read the warnings! and if you fuck with this brand of crazy, I'll see you in the comments

The first day staying under the same roof as Satoru Gojo

Staying at your mom's for a couple weeks was horrible to say the very least, not just because she was an insane bitch, and not just because you swore you'd never come back here. Not because the memories of being in your old room - transformed into a mural of her pictures and crowns from various pageants she’d been in, you think she changed it the same day you left.

No, not because you love having your freedom, and busted your ass to make sure you never have had to stay here, not because you hadn’t talked to her in so long you have no clue what to say to each other. And not just due to the fact that she was only allowing you here because your father called and asked her to do one favor for once - he lived way too far away.

No, there was another reason that you were miserable, and that was the moans emanating from the next room.

How many rounds could that man go?

And did she have to scream so loud!?!

You slam a pillow on your face, screaming into it while your mom is screaming out - Gojo! There, there! - and then to make it worse, you hear a filthy smack. You feel nauseated at this point, about to throw up if you had to hear one more moan, when finally he seems to finish up.

Jesus, that was a longer session than usual. Does the man do anything but fuck you’re really not certain. Huffing, you throw off the covers of the little futon she’d so graciously brought out, the woman was well off, mind you, but none of that ever helped you any. You wonder if he’s after her money or something, because he was gorgeous, but you suppose your mother was as well.

It still seemed odd, he wasn’t much older than you, but it’s not as if your mom wasn’t notorious for fucking younger guys - even some of your high school friends as soon as they turned eighteen. That was one of the reasons your dad moved out of the country, and you couldn’t blame him for it, she was by far the worst human being, but everyone didn’t know that.

In fact, it was really only you and your dad, along with a couple close friends of yours that knew how horrible she was. Keeping custody of you - for ‘appearances’ - had been hell. But everyone saw her as the ideal, doting mother - after all she spent all her time taking you to every competition there was, and made sure you looked and acted perfect for them.

As soon as you shed the ‘perfect image’ she decided to quit acting.

Shaking off reminiscent thoughts, you get up now and walk over to the door, glaring at the endless photos of her in bikinis and gowns, no one loved themselves more than your mother did, truly. You peek out and notice it’s finally gone quiet in that room, heading to the kitchen to grab a water, downing it to fight back the nausea.

That’s when he walks out, smirking at you, shirtless, nothing but boxers slung over his narrow hips - the reason this was even worse for you.

Satoru Gojo.

"Gimme, I'm dehydrated." This mother fucker snatches the watter bottle then, gulping it down, you watch his Adam's apple Bob as he does, sweat dripping across perfectly sculpted abs. You stare for a moment as your mom walks out, or should you say waddled out, glaring at you now.

"Gojo, come back to bed." She doesn't acknowledge you, and Satoru frowns a bit, the never ending tension between you two prevalent. Satoru actually never knew she had a daughter till he saw you come to the house yesterday, but she sure doesn't seem to have any affection- in fact she hasn't even introduced you properly to him, it was more - this is my daughter.

"Need a break." Gojo says, you bend down to snatch up your bottle, and he can't help but eye your ass in those shorts, looking away quickly now.

There was a big problem staying at his girlfriend’s house for the past couple nights, and that was - 

Satoru wants to fuck his girlfriend's daughter.

His girlfriend is forty five, Satoru is thirty two. And it just so happens you're twenty two, so you’re honestly closer to his age just a bit, but Satoru loves older women, he loves milfs, girls his age or younger were never much interest. He probably has mommy issues, no, he definitely does, there's nothing better than having his head stroked and having a meal made for him after fucking a Milf's brains out- 

Except, maybe, getting to ever touch you.

Gorgeous. You're so gorgeous, effortless and seemingly unaware.

You dress in all black, the opposite of what he expected with your mother who was literally beauty pageant winner for her state for years, her crowns are displayed everywhere. But not a single picture of you to be found, and you'd win them all too with your beauty. But you seem to shove it all away, baggy shirts and ripped jeans, you have not a speck of makeup on your face. Big buffalo plaid jackets as if to hide a body he now sees is fucking banging.

Your mom scowls over at you as she ties her robe. "Stop bothering him and go to your room."

"I just got water because hearing you all fuck for hours was making me sick. I'm not bothering him. He took my water."

"I don't care, when are you leaving again?" You blink a bit.

"I told you it's just a week while they're fixing that roof leak, and I won't bother you again. I'd have asked dad but I can't be that far from work."

"The sooner the better, and don't judge me for having a life, my sentence of you is over now." Satoru pauses, the woman he's been with for months was always sweet and perfect, until you got here.

Seeing your eyes water he clears his throat. "She wasn't bothering me, I did snatch her water up."

Your mom's face has plastered back on a fake smile, the beauty queen smile that’s so cold it makes you shiver, as she brushes up and down Satoru's bare arm, you hate how pretty he is. How much you think of him, and how her hand is all over him, it makes your stomach turn.

"You're right, sorry sweetie I'm just tired." She cooes, all fake she comes and hugs you. Satoru frowns, hoping he read that wrong, you stand still, unmoving, eyeing him over your mom's shoulder then. "I'll try to be quieter -" she leans against your ear. "So you're not so jealous of me hmm?"

You bite back tears, shoving her off. Satoru hadn't heard anything so he has no clue as she comes up to him that you're sobbing in your room. You almost forgot how much you hate that bitch. Yes, you hate your mother. Who pushed you beyond your means to compete when you were younger, damn near starving and working you to perfection, and when you turned eighteen and threw all your tiaras in the trash, lit your gowns and sashes on fire, she never fucking forgave you.

You haven't talked to her in four years, tired of living in her goddamn shadow, your father left her ten years ago and you see why. He hates her as much as you. They fought all the time over letting you have a choice of who to move with, but she ultimately won custody.

And now she takes the guy you were thinking of working up the courage to talk to.

Satoru Gojo. 

You saw him every day as you studied at that coffee shop right by your college, flirting with everyone, so light and free with his bright smile and confidence, while you wallowed in the corner. But you never did say hi, you're sure he never saw you, but to come home and find him shirtless and grinning was almost too much.

Your apartment unfortunately had a horrible leak upstairs and you had to leave, this was the last place you expected but it was right across from work. Never asking her for a thing you hoped maybe you could mend some bridges, but she's as cruel, beautiful and cold as ever. As a younger girl, you craved to have any of her attention, looked up to her, but now you know it’s not worth anything.

Maybe that's the type of woman a guy like Satoru Gojo went for, not you.

What did it matter!? He’s as off limits as it gets.

You hear them moaning again and shove in your earbuds, throwing a blanket over your head and praying for the week to end.

*****

Three days of staying under the same roof as Satoru Gojo

“Shit, sorry…” You’ve stepped right into the bathroom while Satoru’s walking out the next morning, skin glistening with the shower he just took, steam rising out of the door behind him. He smirks down at you as you careen into him damn near, hitting his hard body and almost falling before he catches you.

“Sorry for what?” He sets you right, lazy in his assessment of your face, blue eyes impossible to read, while your eyes drift across his nearly naked body, falling to the towel that’s not hiding shit, bringing a flush to your cheeks. “What, never seen a naked man? You freak out all the time.”

“Well if you ever wore any fucking clothes,” you shove him out of your way, scowling at his smirking face. “What?”

“You’re cute. Bet you’re a whole virgin.”

“Oh fuck yourself, none of your business, fucking Mrs. Robinson.” Satoru chuckles now while your hands brush against his slippery skin a little too long, making him pause, seeing color decorate your cheeks. He falters then, looking down at you, so clearly unused to any attention, clearing your throat and dropping your hand.

“How do you know what Mrs. Robinson is, you’re a baby.” He teases, arm resting in the doorway, that towel daring to dive lower with every moment, you avert your eyes now, digging out your makeup bag from the drawer to wash your face.

“You’re not much older than me, right?”

“Ten years older. You’re still a baby.”

“I’m closer to you than she is.” He blinks a bit, you wish he’d leave, but he’s just lingering like a little fucking pest.

“I guess. You’re nothing like her.” You scoff then, he didn’t mean it as an insult but he sees it is one, your jaw setting while you dry your face with a soft towel, and fuck if you’re not prettier bare faced than anyone he’s seen with a face full of product.

He shouldn’t think like that.

“I’m definitely nothing like her.”

“You don’t call her mom, huh?” He raises a brow, while you’re slathering serum on your skin, cool and tacky as it dries, counteracting the steam and the overheating of your skin from his proximity.

“No, I don’t. It’s none of your business, you all will be back to an empty love shack in days.”

Satoru chuckles then, shaking his head as you glare up at him. “Love shack, what’s with these old ass references?”

“I enjoy old things too, just like you enjoy old women.” He snorts now, rolling his eyes.

“She’s not old to me, one day you’ll be there too.”

“Sure will and won’t be fucking dudes that look like babies.” Satoru leans forward then, that perfect, pretty face right against yours, you freeze when he tilts your chin up, breath brushing across your lips.

“I’m no baby.” His whisper is too much, you swallow nervously, stepping back while he wreaks havoc on your nervous system, heart hammering when his snowy lashes lower, hand falling. “Why do you care what she does and with who?”

“I don’t. But I am not surprised, she was a hit at the high school graduation party.” He blinks in confusion at your words, you shake your head now. “You’re new to her. I almost feel bad for you.”

“Do you now…” You shove him aside, hating how good his skin feels again, hating whatever the fuck he does to your tummy being too close, shoving those thoughts far back.

“I do, she runs through toys like you.”

“We’re dating, not just fucking, you know.” Your lips quirk up, patting his shoulder, only for him to grip your wrist with his huge hand, taking it over, pausing your steps. You turn back to glare at his grip, then up into those arrogant eyes. “You know something I don’t?”

“Let’s just say, she’s a bitch.” You shake him off again. “But you are too.”

“Me!? You’re the mopey, emo little brat glaring daggers at me, sweetheart.” His voice murmurs, his breath against your skin as he leans down, you yank your wrist out of his grip.

“Don’t call me sweetheart!” You hiss as the bedroom door opens, as you two quickly separate, but she’s eyed your proximity, smiling coldly as she assesses you, the look that’s always made you feel so small, holds less than it did before, but it’s still there, the haunting memory of it all.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” She says it so nasty to you then, you just glare once more at Satoru and nod, walking past, her hand halting you, her mouth against your ear, making you shiver in disgust. “Stop looking at him, you’ll never have someone like that.”

“I don’t want him.” You whisper back, earning her laugh now, while she fake hugs you, and you just want to fucking fall into a hole.

“Have a great day, honey!” She smiles and steps forward to Satoru, you can’t stop looking back over your shoulder at them, sighing when his eyes catch yours over her shoulder, unreadable - but you swear you see something flicker.

You can’t even think that way.

You’re stupid.

*****

Five days of staying under the same roof as Satoru Gojo

The man does not own a tee-shirt, you’re completely convinced - he’s always half naked, as if this is how he exists. Well, he clearly has dress shirts, he wears them when he heads off to run his business, you’re not even sure what that job entails, apparently some trust fund baby considering he’s never there. He left for the past couple of nights to go home, thank god.

When he does he brings her with him and she doesn’t come back until late, driven home in some fancy limo, but you get a reprieve.

You suppose he looks good in his Armani suits as he leaves every morning though, always getting some breakfast made from ‘mommy’- yuck. You have to watch them kissing in the kitchen as you fight waves of nausea, but the past couple days you haven’t heard that ridiculous fucking, and he barely kisses her, eyeing you intently when he does press his lips on her cheek.

“Satoru, do you have to go to work today?” She pouts as she blinks those long lashes at him, and he sighs, smiling and touching her cheek, as you vividly wish it was you, which you hate yourself for. You avoid his eyes, sipping on coffee before you head to work yourself.

“I do honey, don’t worry I’ll come stay tonight.” She pouts again, he just smiles a little stiffly, walking out as you head out the door, hands touching the knob at the same time, making you both pause. You clear your throat, pulling your hand back like it’s on fire, as he lets you out first, feeling your mom’s gaze burning a hole in the back of your head.

“Want a ride to work?” He asks quietly, heading over to the black car with a driver holding the back door.

“You don’t drive, huh?”

“Why should I when I can pay someone too.” His pretentious smirk again has you itching to smack him, but the thought of not having to catch a bus is tempting. “You know you wanna.”

“Whatever. Thanks I guess.” He bows as if he’s some gentleman and not an idiot, you slide in next to him, sighing as his thighs spread way too far, brushing against yours. “Manspread much?”

“You hate me don’t you?” You blink in confusion, looking away and biting that lower lip, the lip that fucks him up mentally to look at. Being this close to you alone is making his body react, his pulse racing, even as he keeps a neutral look, he aches to drag your lips against his.

He’s been trying to avoid you since that morning in the bathroom when you touched his chest, burning his skin like a brand. The pull is too much, to where he can hardly remember what he was thinking with your mom. She’s gorgeous, she’s his type, she’s got everything Satoru needs after spending the day at his boring ass family company, but her daughter won’t stop tempting him.

How he saw your breasts spill out of your tank top this morning, your scent that he can’t describe filling a room, it’s all horrible - and shit timing, as now your mom has been talking about getting more serious. Before he saw you, he was hopelessly enamored with her beauty, her clear confidence, but he can’t stop looking at the shy, insecure girl far too eagerly.

He’d show you how gorgeous you were if he had a chance-

The fuck is wrong with him?

You’re her daughter.

“I don’t hate you, Gojo.” You say softly, turning to look up at him now, so much pain behind your eyes it nearly takes his breath away.

“You sure act like it.”

“I know. I have to.” You clear your throat nervously, tucking strands of hair behind your ear, his fingers itching to sweep it back, breath catching when you look up at him, eyes so intense he can’t look away.

“Why do you have to hate me?” He asks quietly again, trying to remember - you’re young, you’re his girl’s daughter, while you remember, he’s your mom’s boyfriend, and you can never act on anything.

“You know the answer,” you whisper, leaning forward a bit, when he leans down, the car cruising gently through the busy streets, entrapping you both in the black tinted windows. “Don’t you?”

“Do I? Seems like you hate her, and I’m hated by default,” he brushes that hair back finally, the contact bringing heat to your cheek, he feels it against his fingers, exhaling when you don’t pull back. “Do you have a good reason to hate her?”

“I do.”

“What-” The car comes to a stop now, jostling you just a bit, as the driver apologizes for hitting the brakes too hard, throwing you right against Satoru’s hard body, you inhale that cologne, expensive and musky, almost making you salivate before he pulls back a bit. “Shit, you okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” You pull back before it feels good, sliding away again and looking out the dark window. “It’s too long of a story.”

“We have a drive to talk.” He wants to talk to you, fuck he wants to do a lot more than talk, last night he’d seen you when he tried to fuck her, and he had to stop, much to her irritation.

He kept fighting the need to jerk it to the memory of your pretty tits, to picture you instead of her, to shove it all down and try to remember himself.

He’d be glad when you weren’t around, tempting him.

“It’s too much to even begin, but… let’s just say living in her shadow, and with her expectations were brutal.” Satoru tilts his head, big hands on his own thighs, sitting still so as not to further touch you, or do more. “I gave up pageants when I turned eighteen and she disowned me.’

“You did them?” He asks softly, you sigh and turn to look back at him.

“Yeah, since I was three. I… don’t wanna get into it all.” He sighs, was it just that your mother was so upset you gave up on her dream? It felt like more. “I don’t hate you though. Okay? Aside from constantly making her scream out like some goat-” he bursts into laughter then, making your eyes narrow. “And never wearing a shirt.”

“You really hate that.” He muses, you want to tell him more about her, but he’s not your therapist, not your friend, and as much as you despise your mother, it’s just not your place to spill it all. So you leave it at that, sighing and pulling out your phone, checking the time.

“Besides all of that you’re okay I guess.”

He smirks just a bit. “I’ll take it.”

“I will never call you step dad.”

“Oh god, fuck I hope you won’t.” You both laugh it off a bit, the tension, the unspoken words in the air, as you slip into a soft silence, the two of you busying yourselves now, both trying to ignore it. Whispering in your minds - it’ll be over soon.

*****

One week of staying under the same roof as Satoru Gojo

The amount of stress your mother puts you through is unreal, when Satoru is there at least she puts on enough of a show not to do too much in front of him, as to appear perfect. You went out with a few friends for the night - a much needed getaway, and free drinks - sounds like the perfect remedy for dealing with her bitchiness.

You wish you just had some extra money for a hotel, but you just paid all your bills and pay day is a couple days away. As soon as that came in you were going to just grab a hotel for the last couple of days - they are stupid expensive with the holiday right now, but anything was worth leaving her as quickly as you can.

Stumbling in, your mother eyes your clothes with disdain. “You look like a slut.”

You snort in laughter at that, opening the fridge and grabbing another drink out, the seltzers you bought to knock out at night when you had to hear her and Satoru fucking. You crack it open and sit on a chair, crossing your legs that are well revealed in the dress that does barely cover anything. You look hot as fuck though, you already know it.

“Says the woman who had like an entire frat run a train on her in her forties?” You raise a brow, and your mom smacks you right in the face, you smile nastily at her. “Ya mad your ass can’t wear this shit anymore?”

“You’re a stupid little bitch, everything I did for you - and you turn out like this?”

“What, work for a living? A degree? How’d I turn out so bad.” You swipe your cheek then, and her gaze drifts across you with cold eyes - the same color as yours, but they just have no fucking soul to them.

“The biggest disappointment. You could have had a modeling career, but now you’ve let yourself go.”

“Let myself go?”

“Remember how you looked senior year?” You shrink back at her nasty words, biting at your lower lip then, you try to act tough but it’s difficult at times to not let old insecurities hit.

“I was starving because of you.”

“Exaggeration, my god. I did that so you could look your best.”

“My best, huh? I think I look hot, so you can suck a dick. Where is Satoru, by the way? Can he shove one in your mouth?” You smile as your mom gasps, and that’s when the door opens, and you hear Satoru’s footsteps on the floor, still rubbing your stinging cheek as your mother instantly puts on her front.

“You’re a little bitch.” Your mom whispers, yanking your drink out of your hand then, slamming it on the table. “What a waste of your looks, down the drain.”

Usually your mom would stop when Satoru got here - perhaps your saving grace was that. But as he walks into the kitchen, his snowy lashes blink in confusion at seeing her. You catch his eye over her shoulder, smiling then. “Why don’t you fuck her so she’ll be in a good mood again?”

Your mom gasps as you take your drink back, standing and getting away from her overwhelming presence, taking a breath and acting ‘normal’ while Satoru’s gaze drifts across your outfit slowly. You feel every inch of your skin caressed by blue eyes, like he’s touching you.

You can’t think that way, even if she’s a bitch.

“What’s wrong?” He asks then, setting down his jacket, your mother finally seems to notice he’s there, putting on a pretty pout and batting her lashes.

“Just her being mean to me, Satoru.” She walks up to his arms, and you laugh then, so loud you’re crying, swiping tears as you truly feel you’re losing it, seeing her run her long red nails across Satoru’s chest as he looks at you.

There’s too much in the look.

“Maybe if you get dick in your mouth you’ll shut up.” Your words earn your mom’s mouth wide open, while you stretch, knowing half your breasts are fucking out, your thighs fully revealed in the short, tight skirt, hoping to piss your bitch mom off more.

It’s petty but.

It works.

You bend over to snatch two more drinks up, and Satoru has trouble tearing his vision from the sight, picturing bending you over and cursing himself for it. Your mom is whining to him, bitching about you, but your evil little smirk towards him and her turns him on more.

“I’ll be gone tomorrow night, then you won’t have to see me again mommy dearest.”

“I know you didn’t just call me that.” Her affronted tone just makes you giggle, drunk honestly, even more, walking back to your old room - her pageant trophy room - and sighing then, leaning against the door.

You can act as if you’re not hurt by her words all you want, but they hit and they hit deep, hearing the quiet murmurs of her and the man you’re fast desiring far, far too much. You slide down to the floor - you’ve talked endlessly about how your mom never loved you to your therapist - but it still feels like shit, not that you think she could love anyone but herself.

After downing your seltzers, you’re thoroughly drunk - something you haven’t been since freshman year of college, when you go out into the quiet kitchen, in search of a bottle of water. You tense when you see a shirtless Satoru, his strong back illuminated by the soft light over the stove as ice clinks into a glass. He turns his head, catching sight of you before you can dip back to the room.

“Hey.” He usually has something snarky to say, but that’s all he manages, turning toward you and leaning on the counter, you try to avoid your gaze on his body, on the light trail of hair under his flat belly button - but you’re too drunk to avoid it.

“You get her off enough? Maybe she’ll be okay tomorrow.” You murmur, and his jaw tenses then, while you walk up, stumbling just a bit when you get to the fridge, one of his hands dart out to your arm, wrapping around it gently. You pause, eyes darting up to his.

“You all right?” You scowl, yanking your arm out of his hold.

“What do you care for?” Your whisper is angry, he sees so much anger, and though he doesn’t exactly know what was said, hurt was written all over your face.

“Can I not care?” He asks softly. You scoff, looking away.

“No, you can’t.” He sighs now, sipping his drink as you bend down, grabbing another drink instead.

“You shouldn’t have more, you’re torn the fuck up.”

“Oh, thanks dad.”

Satoru scowls now. “Don’t call me that.”

“No?” You’re annihilated, he’s absolutely right, removing the barrier you have put up for him, fingers drifting up his chest, bare and hot to the touch. He tenses, as your fingers drift down over his abdomen, and you step closer. “Should I call you daddy?”

Satoru scowls, thin brows deep over his blue eyes, and his cock is throbbing under his sweats, he wills it to go down, feeling like a horrible fucking man. He couldn’t get hard for her tonight, not when every time he was touching her he pictured her daughter instead, pictured how tight and slick he bets your cunt is, pictures your perfect tits in his fucking hands.

“You’re drunk and stupid, sweetheart.” He grips your wrist, as you quietly giggle, and you look far too hot, drunk mess and all. “You’re too drunk to know what you’re doing.”

“I know what I’m doing, Gojo. I just hold back when I’m sober.” He exhales, and your eyes dart down, raising a brow when you see a far too impressive bulge. “Need to go fuck mommy some more?”

“You’re a brat.” He whispers, pressing you against the cold steel of the fridge now, a thigh pressing between yours, and your heart races. His proximity has you dripping wet in moments, the strong thigh between yours, his breath ghosting over your lips as he bends down. “Touch me again like that and see what happens.”

“Gonna spank me, step dad?” He pins your wrists right over your head, muscled thigh pressing up against your overheated cunt then. Your eyes roll back, you’re too gone to act like you don’t want him, arching your hips up and earning his soft little moan, as he rests his head down on yours.

“Shut the fuck up, you’re… just shut up.” He whispers, a desperate, needy little voice now. “If you weren’t… If I wasn’t…”

“What, big man? Can’t finish a sentence?” You roll your hips again, he feels you soaking him, he can’t stand how badly he wants to slip his cock inside you then, lift your right on that fridge. “Don’t wanna make mommy mad, do we?”

“I can’t stand you.” His lips are a centimeter from yours then, and your breath catches. “Need me, don’t you? Cunt is soaking wet.”

“It’s n-not.” He smirks, letting your wrists go, you shove at his chest, when he pulls back just a bit, gripping your chin.

“It’s not?” You shake your head and he pulls back his leg, looking down at it. Your entire body heats up as you see it, the wet spot darkening his light sweats. “What’s this then, hmm sweets?”

“N-nothing.” You look down in horror, when he swipes it with his thumb, leaning forward again, silvery white locks falling over his forehead then.

“Nothing?” You nod, and he swipes that thumb over your lips, moaning as they’re coated in a gloss, while your cunt throbs around nothing, aching for his touch.

“Mmm, fuck, why do you have to look like that?” He whispers, lips leaning close again, his hands on your hips, your nails slip up his side, contemplating leaving marks for your bitch ass mom to see - hating yourself for it.

“Go back to bed, mommy will miss you. Go fuck her.” He glares even deeper, just looking far too attractive when his lips brush against yours barely, before there’s a noise and he immediately backs away, as do you, heart pounding. What the fuck were you even doing!? “I’m drunk.”

“Yeah, you are.” He whispers, fists clenching as he huffs, turning and pulling his cock up into the waistband of his sweats, annoyed as shit by your laughter. “You’re such a brat.”

“Am I, or are you just wanting to fuck a mom and a daughter? Didn’t you get off enough al-”

“I can’t fuck her, okay?” You blink a bit at his declaration, you scoff, rolling your eyes. You won’t believe him. “That’s your fucking fault. I’ll be glad when you go.”

“Good, so the fuck will I.” You shove at him now, and he hates the hurt on your face. “Don’t want you, creepy old stepdad.”

“Old!?” You smile, mean and nasty, only making him want to fuck that expression right off your face. “I’m not your fucking stepdad.”

“Sure you’re not.” You pat his bare shoulder, walking past him now, barely able to breathe when you walk back into your room, leaving him cursing, eyes shutting tightly when he leans against the fridge, heart racing.

Satoru Gojo has never hated someone until you, for fucking his brain up and whatever morals he does have. He’s by far not a cheater and never has been, but all he can picture when your mom sucks him is you instead, shutting his eyes and pulling on hair that looks just like yours. He hates whatever the fuck you’ve done to him, and how bad he feels for telling you he wants you gone.

He does want you gone so things go back to normal, he can be the milf fucker he’s always been, he can live his life and fuck away all his problems with the career he’s been shoved into. But laying next to her that night he’s staring at the ceiling, wondering what you taste like.

******

One day left staying under the same roof as Satoru Gojo

You and Satoru have avoided each other completely, you work and come home, packing up the few things you have left so you can stay with a friend who’s offered you to come with her for the next few days. It was tiny and cramped there, but anything was better than staying here, and not just because your mom is an evil bitch who loves to trash you every moment.

It was him, the reason you wanted to leave so fucking bad.

“Should you eat that, honey?” Your mom says, so fake sweet as you nibble on a candy bar, you didn’t eat shit at work so you instantly busted out a snickers.

“Should you fuck men half your age, mommy?” Your mother glares, and Satoru overhears, though he stays in the hall.

“He’s not - also your ass is just looking really big in those shorts, you know.”

“That’s good, I like it.”

“Your hair looks oily.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

Your mom scoffs again, snatching the bar and throwing it out, and you glare up at her. “I just care about you. No makeup, you dress like shit, and you’re munching on a candy bar? How much further do you want to let yourself go?”

“I work for a fucking living, I don’t make money off fucking men and having them take care of me. So back the fuck off. I’ll be gone in the morning.”

“Thank god, Satoru can’t stand you.” You blink a bit then, wishing that didn’t hurt as much as it did. You could handle her trashing you in every other way, but the man that you can’t rip your fucking mind from actually hating you stung.

“Huh?”

“He can’t stand you, and you’re not going to come between what I want. I see you, looking at him.” She tilts your chin up then. “You think you’d ever get a man like him? That’s funny. Maybe before, when you were still competing. Now?” She laughs, and you feel tears running unwillingly from your eyes. “Not a chance, so stop dreaming about him.”

“You don’t know shit.” You smack her hand off you. “I’ll leave now.”

“Go right ahead-”

“Hey, what’s for dinner?” Satoru walks out then, and your mom pauses. “Who’s cooking?”

“She’s leaving.” Satoru checks his Rolex on his wrist then, frowning.

“It’s nine already, buses aren’t running. Why not wait till the morning?”

“Because she-” your mom puts back on her airs now, smiling so saccharine and fake. “No, you’re right, Satoru. She should stay and eat some dinner.”

You scoff, since the bitch just threw your only food for the day in the trash - but you do get paid in the morning, and it would be more convenient to just stay. “I’m not eating with you. But I’ll leave in the morning. Good night mommy dearest.”

“I swear to-”

She’s cut off with you shutting yourself in again, laying on the bed and shutting your eyes, wishing her words didn’t cut so deep like knives, stomach growling. Even later when you smell food you don’t come out, until a soft knock is on your door, and you finally drag yourself out of your bed you’re just rotting away and crying in.

“What do you want?” You say softly, looking up at the tall man - who really should wear a fucking shirt - in the doorway.

“You should eat something.” He murmurs softly, you sigh, shaking your head.

“I’m not hungry.” Your tummy inconveniently growls, and he frowns now rather than an amused smirk you’d expect.

“You should eat.” He repeats, shocking you when he grips your hand in his, bringing you out to find he’s set a plate aside for you.

“I don’t need you to feed me.” You nibble while standing, cutting up a piece of chicken however, chewing thoughtfully as he watches you, far too intensely. “What, are you gonna just watch me?”

His heart aches for you then, having overheard her. It all fits with the conversation he had with you in the back of the car, the pressure she had you under all made sense. He’d only seen glimpses of it, her cruelty toward you, but they’re glaringly apparent. When she’d tried to fuck him earlier, and brought you up, he couldn’t do anything with her, thanking god she went to sleep early.

He needed to see you.

You were so clearly not okay from her.

“Stop acting like you care.” You murmur then, nibbling another bite, not even sitting at the seat before you turn away.

“Finish eating.” His commanding tone is far too fucking sexy, in fact all of him is - and you could almost forget about last night, in your drunken haze, but the problem is you remeber it vividly, tasting your arousal on your lips.

“You don’t tell me what to do. I have a dad.” He laughs without humor then, shaking his head and leaning low, pressing one hand on the wall, lifting your chin with the other.

“Stop acting like I’m even close to old enough to be your dad.” You bite your lower lip that trembles, you inhale that hundred dollar a spray cologne that’s haunted your fucking senses all week.

“You fuck my mom, so.” Your little glare hits him so good, your mean little words that just make him more obsessed with you, picturing you constantly. He’d jerked off in his office just remembering your heat against his thigh today - simultaneously feeling horrible and the inevitable pull of you, intoxicating like the liquor he’d drunk to just lay next to her last night.

He can’t get hard around her - not when you’re in the next room.

“Does that make you mad, that I fuck her?” He asks then, your scowl deepens, teeth clenched as you shove at his chest.

“Why would it?”

“Seems like it bothers you,” his fingers brush your hair back, goosebumps rise on your skin, tummy clenching with the hot desire. “Seems like you’d want me inside you instead.”

“Ah, you wish, conceited ass of a man. I don’t want you.” You’re lying through your teeth, and it’s like he knows, the blue eyes seeing right through your fucking bullshit. “You don’t want me either, so stop fucking with me.”

“I don’t?” He’s close, too close, you shove him away then, shaking your head, her words ringing in your fucking ears.

He’d never want you

Out of your league

You’re nothing

Maybe they did still get you, words you’d long since stopped giving her the ability to speak. Years of striving for her affection, of wanting to be perfect and win so that you could get just a bit of her praise. The moment you broke free was the best time you can remember, throwing those tiaras away - but you fear you’re just barely a step away from falling back into the sadness that she caused.

Worse is this tall, beautiful fucking man acting interested.

“You would never want me,” his mouth drops open at that. “So stop fucking acting like it.”

“You think I don’t!?” You scoff, walking away now, heading to the bathroom to perhaps put some water on your face, but this fucker follows you in, shutting the door, coming up behind you now, and you see his reflection in the soft lighting around the mirror, see the way he’s looking at you.

“Get out. Stupid. I’m not your milf okay?” You gasp then, as he tilts your chin so that you catch his brilliant blue eyes, the bathroom is too small suddenly, when his chest presses against your back.

"Look at me," Satoru whispers, you shake your head, tears falling. "I said look at me." He tilts your chin to look to the side as he leans over you.

"What?" You whisper through your teeth, trying to be quiet in the dark room, as Satoru’s hand slips down your bare arm, the other arm wrapping your waist, dragging you against his hard body. You whine out softly at it, being pressed against him, before you can stop yourself. When he leans lower, cool breath against your lips.

"You're beautiful, okay? So fucking beautiful..." You shake your head at that, earning his sigh, gripping your chin so tightly you feel his strength, only making the sweet ache worse. "You are. All I can think of is fucking my girlfriend’s daughter on every surface, you know what that fucking does to me?" His hushed, desperate voice makes your tummy clench with desire.

You have tried to fight it, but the resolve weakens every second you stare into his cerulean gaze, words you don’t want to accept. "Satoru... I… mnh!"

“Shh, sweetheart,” he groans now, shaking his head, kissing up your neck as his hand splays your stomach, drifting to your heat, breaths faster and heavier, mixing with yours. "Is it just me? Being fucking horrible?"

You shake your head, crying out softly when he finds your hot cunt over your shorts, soaking the thin fabric of them immediately. He moans so sexy against your ear, as the longing keeps swirling around the two of you. "You're not horrible, I am..."

"No, she's a fucking bitch. I didn't know she... was that mean. I like psychos, but that?” Your eyes shut, ass brushing against his thighs, feeling his hardness press against the small of your back.

“She’s just how she’s always been. Mnh… you shouldn’t.”

“I know I shouldn’t, okay? Fuck, you just take it. Let her treat you that way, why don’t you stand up to her, hmm?” His fingertip finds your clit, pressing up as your head falls back, and his cock twitches, aching to come inside you when you soak his fingers through your shorts, gasping and writhing against him.

"I'll be gone tomorrow. It's f-fine... Satoru, what are you… mnh!” You cry out, he brings a hand to your mouth while you watch your reflection in the mirror, he's taking over every sense you have.

“God you're soaked, so fucking hot, so tight.” He leans down, slipping a thick digit in your tight little entrance, making you scream out weakly against his hand. His blue eyes dilate, in the dark, quiet hushed sighs against his hand mixing with the sound of embarrassing wetness echo across the walls. “Lemme make you feel good, hmm?”

You just nod weakly, so tired of pretending like you don’t want him, entranced by the image in the mirror of him overtaking you, fingers angling up as your juices pour down his hand, you whine out, trembling as he keeps hitting just that spot, the one that makes your eyes roll back. Your ass arches back for more, knowing she’s in the next room and could hear or see fucks you up too much.

Your mommy issues clearly are still prevalent.

After hearing all her loud high pitched moans from this man, knowing all of his attention is on you is addictive, his lips brushing the shell of your ear while his fingers curl in your slick walls, gripping him and quivering. “Can you keep quiet so I can see your pretty face when you cum?”

You nod weakly, his words are destroying you, and any resolve you currently have, any part of your brain that knows this is wrong is gone, you want to cum for him, as he is bending low to angle his fingers deeper. You gasp and bite your lip as he does, as the squelches of your hungry cunt echo in the small space.

His breaths come heavy as he feels your walls, as you feel every line of his long - fuck they’re so long - fingers curling against your spot over and over, thumb pressing your twitchy little clit. “Satoru!”

“Shh, sweetheart,” he’s lost in you, cock leaking precum as he studies your face in the dark reflection, feeling you grip him so fucking good, picturing stretching your perfect little cunt out. “Like this?”

You nod, swallowing as you cling to his bare arms, feeling his muscles bunch as he moves his fingers, you are blinded when he rolls his thumb just right, as his other hand grips a breast under your tank top, brushing against your nipple. It’s all too much, you bite back the moans that threaten to rip from your throat, instead whining out softly, gasping and hiccuping as pleasure waves through you.

You’re soaking his fingers, dripping down them when he leans low, capturing your lips, drinking in your little cries as his fingertips brush your spongy spot, over and over, while you shatter in his hold. Your saliva drips across your tongues as his fingers slow, thumb pressing up your twitchy clit again, while you’re lost in his embrace, his taste sweet on your tongue.

You should feel bad you’re dripping down Satoru Gojo’s fingers, had they been inside her earlier? Would he touch her with them? You wish it all didn’t just make you wetter, more sensitive for him, when he eases them out, sucking them into his mouth now, moaning when your flavor hits his tongue, the filthy thoughts just echo louder as your pussy pulses from the aftershocks.

“Fuck you’re so sweet,” he moans then, turning you and lifting you until you’re spread on the counter, your thighs shake as he presses against you, hard and thick, kissing you with your juices dripping across his plump lips. “God I wanna bury my face between your thighs.”

“Satoru, this is insane.” You whisper, as he’s hungrily kissing down your neck, moaning a little too loud. “Shh!”

“Fuck, maybe she should hear,” his eyes are batshit insane then, brilliant blue almost glowing, long fingers spreading your thighs apart. “All I can think of is you.”

“Shut up,” you’re shaking your head, hands slipping through his silky locks as he kisses down your chest. “Fuck me.”

Satoru blinks at that, when you’re reaching down to touch him, he exhales, hands trembling as they hold you, kissing your lips again and losing himself, cock brushing your soaked cunt. He hears the door click across the hall then, pausing and cursing. “Shit…”

“Shit!?” He covers your mouth, glaring with his snowy lashes lowered over his blue eyes.

“Shut up.” He’s kissing you again, hot and desperate as your mom is calling out his name, you can’t stop the soft whine from your lips. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Shut me up.” His hand lifts a thigh, groaning quietly as he hears his fucking name again, cock leaking so much precum, throbbing so much it hurts.

“Satoru honey, where are you?” He sighs now, and you shake your head.

“Go, I’ll stay for a few.” You whisper softly, he is aching to stay, but the situation at present is horrible, and he doesn’t want you getting hurt because he can’t keep his hands off his girlfriend’s daughter.

“Don’t leave tomorrow until we talk.” He says then, against your ear.

“Maybe.”

“Ugh.” You smile a bit at his scowl. “I’ll be right out, just in the bathroom!”

“Okay honey, I miss you.” You feel sick, watching him walk out, you let out a held breath, thighs shaking, trying to wrap your mind around the fact that he made you feel better than anyone ever has, that you've never cum like that.

Worse, how he had kissed you?

This was some sick, cruel fucking joke, falling for your bitch ass mother's boyfriend. You can't trust him. You know you need to slip out in the morning, to try to forget him and how good it felt to be in his arms.

******

The last morning staying with your mom

You want to wait for Satoru like he asked, but laying there and counting down the moments until you know the buses run, you couldn’t stay.

You can’t do this, even to her, have some sort of affair?

You can’t be the other woman - especially to your own mother, even if she’s fucking awful, the guilt is eating at you. It would be different if it was some petty revenge to her for all these years, if it was just sexual attraction, but you absolutely know it’s way more with Satoru, kissing didn’t feel like that, nothing felt that good, being consumed by Satoru and losing yourself in him.

You’re trying to slip out that next morning, when Satoru Gojo grips you by your wrist, out of nowhere, you look back and his azure gaze is furious. “I asked you to wait for me.” His tone is so hurt, you can hardly stand it.

“Gojo, we have to forget it.” Your broken words ruin him, he’s breathless as he looks at you, two bags slung over your shoulders. “I shouldn’t have.”

“No, why not?” He caresses your cheek, bending over you then, his sweet breath bringing back the memories that kept you up all night, of kissing him back, of his fingers now on your wrist that were inside you.

“You’re hers.” You hear her then, panicking and shoving at Satoru, but he doesn’t move an inch.

“Get the fuck away from him!” Your mom’s words make Satoru chuckle, and the sight of it confuses the fuck out of you, as he looks back at her, raising a brow.

“I’m pinning her to the door and you’re yelling at her right now?” She sputters, your heart fucking races, the heat creeping up your cheeks, burning as she stomps over to you both, furious so clearly.

When you were younger it would have scared you, but Satoru is here, and in the short week, you oddly trust him, feel the comfort, something to be said about it that you haven’t admitted to yourself yet.

“It’s her trying to take what’s mine, jealous of me always.” She grips your hand, your bag falls to the floor as she scowls down at you. “Never show your face here again, leave my life the fuck alone, stupid little bitch.”

“I didn’t-” She raises her hand as if to smack you when Satoru grabs her wrist, she looks at him in shock.

“You won’t raise a hand to her again, she might not stand up for herself when you do, but I will.” He drops her wrist now, raising a thin brow and bending down, picking up your bag for you.

“Satoru baby, you don’t understand all she’s put me through,” she’s trying to be sweet again, crocodile tears dripping down her cheeks, long lashes blinking, her lip is even trembling. She’s always been great at that. “I don’t want to hurt her, but she is horrible to me.”

“I’ve heard and seen far, far too much this week. You are an evil bitch to her, and you won’t get to be anymore.” He shoves her off him dismissively as she tries to cling to him now, then she scowls at both of you.

“What, because she’s younger!? Is that who you are? Some sick game to fuck us both?”

“No, she’s actually just better than you. In every single way, and you hate it, don’t you? That’s just pathetic.” You look down, unbelieving he’s standing up for you like this, your mom lets out an affronted scoff while Satoru picks up his phone.

“You don’t want her, you can’t.” She’s losing her composure, her act, it’s all falling apart as she starts to panic.

What could be worse than you ever outshining her? You’re supposed to live in her perfect shadow.

“Why are you so jealous of your own kid? You got some crazy issues, you know that? Not even hot crazy, either, just a batshit narcissist.” He clicks his tongue, sighing and smiling down at you, with lidded eyes. “Wanna stay at my penthouse until your apartment is ready, sweetheart?”

“What!?” Your mom is blowing a whole fucking gasket - you should feel bad for stealing her man, but you really can’t find it in you.

“Yes, if you really don’t mind?” Satoru grins, those bright white teeth, and picks up his dark shades off the side table, your mom is tugging on his dress shirt, and he brushes her off, looking over his sunglasses at her.

“Satoru I’m sorry, I just… I was acting out too much. It’s her, the problem! Look how happy we were before?”

“I’m sure there are plenty of young men for you out there, maybe younger than me so they are too dumb to see how fucked up you are.” She’s glaring as he takes your hand in his, and you can’t stop the happy little giggle from your mouth as you both leave, and you hear things getting thrown at the door.

“Satoru, that was insane!?” You whisper, he brushes your hair back then, sighing.

“I wanted it to go a little smoother, that whole exchange. But no, of course you were bratty and didn’t wait.” He tilts your chin up and you kiss him, smiling against his sweet, plush lips.

“You’re not step-dad anymore, maybe the appeal is lost-”

“I’m gonna beat your ass.” He’s scowling as you giggle through your tears, when his car pulls up, he hands your bags off to the driver, climbing in and holding out his hand, tugging you in the back. “You do need a good ass beating.”

“I think I had enough mental beatings,” you grumble a bit, he frowns at that as the car revs up, and he tugs you against his chest. “You noticed?”

“Yeah, hard not to. Last night was when I saw how fucking much she hates you, the way she talks it’s just not how a normal person does. I’m sorry you…”

“I’m good. I promise.” You look up at him then, kissing him softly, while your hand slips down his chest, hearing his hitch of breath.

“You can eat whatever you want at my place, okay? Also your ass is very nice.” You blink back tears, mixing with your tremulous smile from his sweetness, and you’re flustered- you’re literally a wreck.

“You heard it all?” He nods, swallowing, his brows together.

“It’s why I came to you. I’m so disgusted that I even…”

“How could you know? She’s beautiful, she knows how to play people.”

“You’re more beautiful than she could be,” he murmurs, kissing you again, messy and hungry in the back of the huge black luxury car, having you straddle him, your mom’s ex boyfriend, feeling his phone vibrating against your thigh now. “I swear if it’s her I’ll have you cum right on the speaker.”

“Gojo!” He’s sighing, his big hands drifting over your waist, when your phone starts going off too, but you’re too lost in his kisses, in his scent, in how good he fucking feels.

“Feel so good on me, fuck I wanna bury my cock inside you,” he is desperate and needy then, feeling your heat against his cock, when you drop to your knees, making his lips part. “Sweetheart…”

“Want your cock in my mouth,” he’s whining out at that, helping you unbutton and unzip his slacks, until his cock springs free, making you gasp.

You knew it would be big, but you didn’t know it’d be that big, a solid nine inches and thick, veins running and wrapping under his shaft from the base to his blushing pink tip. You moan softly at it, soaking wet under your panties from the sight, that clean yet musky scent. Satoru brushes your hair back softly with long fingers, eyeing you down there, making you feel so sexy with just a gaze.

“Want me to suck you down my throat?” He nods quickly, and you do just that, after spitting on his cock and slathering your saliva as the phone keeps vibrating, but his hands are enwrapped in your hair while you look at him under those lashes.

“Fuck, look at you, can you take it all?” He’s taunting, a mix of devotion and talking shit, so intoxicating you can’t take it, tummy full of so much pressure you whine out at the sensations, gliding his tip inside your mouth now, hot and hungry while you taste him. You swirl your tongue on his tip, fingers brushing across the soft white hair right over his cock.

His eyes never leave yours as you move, as he fucks up into your throat, hissing at just how fucking good your mouth feels, how pretty your eyes are as you look up at him. You’re whining out, vibrating around him, while his hands tug your hair into a ponytail, fucking into your mouth harder, harder, you’re slobbering down his cock so messy and filthy how you take him.

“So beautiful, fucking look at you,” you whine at the praise, from his soft lips, which he’s biting and releasing, making the sexiest moans from the back of his throat that drive you to get wetter and wetter. You reach down, touching yourself under your skirt when he yanks your wrist. “No.”

“No!?” You glare, and Satoru smirks, shaking his head.

“I’ll bet the one touching you, licking you- ah!” You’re sucking him again, even as he grips your little wrist tightly, sucking one of your little fingers, so lewd and sexy you can’t stand it, grinding on nothing for friction, as the car comes to a stop, Satoru huffs, yanking you up. “Open.”

You do just that, and freaky ass ‘stepdad’ Satoru Gojo spits in your mouth, you gasp, swallowing it and feeling the need grow so much it’s painful, kissing desperately, hand still stroking his length up and down. “In me, please.”

“Shit, yeah,” he adjusts himself, leaving the belt unbuckled as the two of you ride up the elevator to his stupidly fancy and clean penthouse, once the door is shut he presses you against it, hands slipping up your sides, gripping you everywhere. “Wanna taste you again, fuck…”

“Taste me then, mnh!” He’s on his knees right before you, the way he looks up at you is so intense it takes your breath away, as he shoves your skirt up, lapping a hot stripe up your slick panties, already soaked. “Oh my god, more, more!”

“Demanding little thing,” he teases, stroking fingers up your soppy panties, groaning as he then pulls them down, letting them fall down to your ankles, still clad in those ridiculous combat boots. They’re so hot he just keeps them on, throwing a thigh right over his shoulder, breath ghosting on your bare cunt. “Fuck, look at you, you’re so pretty.”

“Y-you don’t have to say- ah!” Your hands entangle in his silky, silvery white locks, soft as your fingers grip and pull until it hurts, but he wants more.

“Fuck my face, that’s it, taste s’good, mmm,” his whispers against you vibrate against your clit, and you’re screaming out, head falling back against Satoru’s door, as his mouth devours your cunt, so hungry and desperate for you.

His impossibly long tongue makes you furious that your bitch ass mother ever got him in this way, toxic and petty, it just makes you fuck his face more, hips rolling while that tongue plunges into you. He’s licking and stroking between your folds, right up in your hole, straight nose bumping your clit. Your thighs shake, his fingers pressing into them, your gummy walls are convulsing around his tongue.

The sound of him sucking up all your wetness - well he’s trying to, but you’re so fucking wet it’s pouring, his cock is leaking precum - already sensitive from that stupidly talented mouth, and now this? He can hardly remember your mom’s name any more, in fact he can’t remember anything right now, but how he should have been doing this, just drinking your sweetness up down his throat.

Devouring your pretty pussy, pulling your plump, puffy lips apart to slide that tongue in and out of your quivery little cunt as you scream out hoarsely. “Oh my god, don’t stop, don’t stop, please!”

You’re sobbing out his name, panting as he licks and nibbles your twitchy little clit with sharp teeth, making you gasp out at the shock of the pain and pleasure, your nipples pressing against your top, tummy clenching as you feel your orgasm so close. He’s slipped two fingers up inside your hole, looking up at you as his tongue flicks your sensitive clit again.

“You’re so messy, aren’t you baby?” He taunts softly, all you can do is weakly nod, while his fingers now know your spot way too fucking well, pressing up against your g spot while he stretches you hot. “So sweet now, is this what you needed?”

“Shh, jerk.” He chuckles against your cunt, before sucking your little clit into his hot mouth and fucking moaning, making you feel like you’re going to collapse. It’s so good, so fucking good, and you’re so close. “I-I’m gonna, Satoru, oh god-!”

He doesn’t let you go over the edge though, pulling away with a pop of pink lips,covered in your arousal like a gloss. You yelp, looking down at him with a desperate expression, your cheeks flushed, chest heaving. He can’t stop thinking how fucking pretty you are like this, desperate for him, whining and wiggling.

“Why’d you stop!?” He stands now, slipping up your sweater, groaning when he realizes you have no bra on, seeing those tits he’s jerked it to bounce gently.

“Want you to cum around my cock, like a good girl. Can you?” He’s way too fucking hot, it’s actually unfair. You nod weakly, he sighs, cupping your breasts and watching your eyes roll back, his thumbs brush your nipples, already hard and aching for more.

Satoru unlaces your boots, leaving your knee socks and skirt on, you just look too sexy in them, unbuckling himself hastily as you tug his shirt off him. “Please, hurry, fuck…”

“Demanding, thought you hated me not wearing a shirt?” You glare at him, just making him chuckle, before he’s down to nothing, fully naked and gorgeous, as the light streams in through the blinds of those floor to ceiling windows, casting shadows across his perfect form.

“Fuck…” You’re kissing across his chest, when he shocks you, lifting you up like it’s nothing, pressing you right on that door again, the cool wood against your burning hot skin, tip drooling and leaking against your cunt. “Mnh! Please!”

“Need my cock so bad inside you?” You just nod weakly, done pretending or teasing, you’re still throbbing from the way he edged you, and when his leaky tip bumps your clit it almost pushes you over the edge. You’re clinging to his neck, kissing him as you roll your hips, soaking wet and begging with your body.

“In me, g-god, just - ah!” Satoru shoves his cock so deep in one stroke you’re left breathless, blinking rapidly at the ridiculous stretch, so full you can’t think, you’ve never been stuffed like this. Your eyes lock, his are so bright they’re insane, his lips and chin coated in your arousal, holding you by your ass right under your skirt as your legs tremble around narrow hips.

“Fucking feel you, my god,” he’s whispering in wonder for a moment, blinking snowy lashes to try to orient himself, to not cum just from one stroke like some dumb teenager from pussy.

But your pussy!?

“Prettier, tighter,” he’s whispering, and the words itch that toxic, fucked part of your brain, the mix of craving Satoru and the petty part of you that hates her. He can tell too, smirking. “Wetter than her. Feel better, fuck than anyone.”

“Shut up, so full of - ah!” He’s fucking you now, you got that moment to adjust, bruising your lower back when he fucks you against that door with no mercy, thick cock bullying your quivering little walls with filthy smacks of skin and your squishing cunt. “Oh my g-god!”

“I’m telling the t-truth you… bratty little fucking… god she’s so tight, mnh…” Satoru’s lost then, hips bucking up and rolling just so, and he watches your pretty face hungrily. “Cum f’me, all over me, make a mess.”

“Ah!” You’re gushing, just making the sounds in the enormous penthouse you’ve barely noticed louder, mixed with his moans as he fills you up so good, when he pushes deep and rolls those hips, watching you intensely as you cum, his eyes so brilliant blue and fucking starved for you. “Ohmygod fuckfuckfuck!”

“That’s it, fucking you dumb, huh,” he’s groaning, feeling your slick coat him, your mouth in a slutty O when he looks back up, feeling your aftershocks pulse around his cock. “God, baby, you came so hard f’me, bet you never have.”

“B-bet you never… felt pussy this good,” your bratty little whisper makes him smirk, slamming into you and pulling you off the door, you’re clinging to him in shock without the support, but he’s lifting you up and down his thick, lengthy cock like you’re a little fuck toy. “Ngh!”

“You mean better than your mom’s?” You scowl, gripping him tighter with your thighs as he just walks around with your fucking cunt around him, smirking as he lifts and drags you back on his cock again. You’re clinging to his back, nails pressing in and leaving marks.

“Psycho, mmm!”

“Says you, need to know if your pussy is tighter? I already told you, but no, gotta know every part that’s better? You’re so fucked up baby.” You glare, biting the shit out of his lip and earning his moan, as you draw just a little bit of blood, a bright red droplet that makes him grin.

“Maybe I am fucked up.” Your answer makes him chuckle, picking you up again, fucking you suspended in the air as you cling to him, whining. “Feel s’good, so thick mmm!”

“Am I the biggest you’ve had? The best?” He’s whispering, husky and needy now, you could bluff and taunt him, but you just nod eagerly, and he exhales, pulling out with a wet squelch, making you whine. “Hang on to me.”

You do just that, heart racing while Satoru carries you now, and your dark spots fade for a moment, long enough to get glimpses of his gorgeous, expensive ass fucking penthouse, making your mom’s place look like shit when you thought hers was fancy. Everything is spotless, surprising you only briefly when he makes it to his bedroom, tossing you right down on it.

You bounce gently on a black silky comforter, taking several breaths, looking around then glaring. “She fuck you on here?”

He grins at you, nodding and unzipping your skirt, groaning as he sees your hips for the first time. “Fuck you’re sexy,” he caresses you softly for a moment, fingertips drifting down the jut of your waist, the curve of those hips, before grabbing them, looking at your cunt. “All beat up already, huh?”

“Shut it, back in.” He grins, fingering your knee socks and sighing.

“They’re too hot, they stay on.” His open admiration of you makes you feel so fucking good, the way his eyes worship you, leaning low and kissing you again. “So fucking sexy, y’know that?”

“Mnh, s-so are you. But you know already, conceited- ah!” Satoru’s cut you off with a bite to your lower lip, sexy glare on his face now.

“Couldn’t even walk around her house without getting wet for me, could you?” Your glare just turns him on more, while he bends down, sucking your nipple into his hot mouth as you cry out, his teeth sinking in.

“Ah!” He moans, going right to the other. “Y-you wish.”

“Bet you played with your cunt, maybe right next to your mom’s room huh?” You bite his shoulder so hard it makes him moan at the pain. “Shit.”

“Shut it. You wish I did, bet you jerked it thinking of me? Your girl’s daughter, freaky ass-” He’s bit you again on your other nipple, the pain shooting up and making your sore cunt wetter.

“I did,” you blink, so disoriented, eyes now looking up to his in shock. “Yeah, I did, thinking of that slutty dress you wore that night.”

“Shit… really?” He sighs, and before you can say anything else, Satoru turns you around now, bending your ass up in the air, moaning at the sight, the dimples in your back, the way your ass looks, he moans and slaps each cheek, as you whine out, head falling back.

“God, look at this ass, fuck…”

“Prettier from the back than mommy is?” He scowls as you look back and giggle, smacking the fuck out of your ass now. “Ah!”

“You’re so damaged,” he smacks your cunt, you’re just drooling now, eyes rolling back, so ready to be filled by him. “Already told you, prettier pussy, yummier, tighter - gotta hear how much better your ass is too?”

“Mmm! Was teasing,” you whisper, when he slips his cock back inside you, this time so deep he bottoms out in one stroke, you scream out at it, hair now in his hold as he fucks into you. “Gojo!”

“You’re so damaged baby girl, god it’s hotter than it should be,” he’s losing it inside you then, your wet, slick little cunt gripping him even tighter, balls smacking your clit with every brutal stroke, as his other hand grips your ass, marking it over and over. “Feel so much better.”

“Yeah, daddy? Ah!” Satoru’s smacked the fuck out of you again, it stings so good as he slams his cock deep, tip drooling along your cervix. “Oh my god!”

“Stop running that mouth,” he leans over, gripping your throat with one hand, long fingers wrapping it entirely, bent over you with a arm braced on the other side, as his cock is stretching you, feeling so fucking perfect even as it hurts, how big his cock is. “You’re so fucking slutty, huh?”

You nod weakly, as he starts squeezing your throat now, making it all fuzzy and heady, you’re gasping for a breath as he presses on your pulse point, cock pounding you from the back, you’re gasping for breaths as filthy smacks fill his huge room. “Oh, Gojo!”

“Satoru, call me Satoru…” he’s whispering desperately, needing it from you, and you feel his cock thickening inside your slutty, drooling hole.

“Satoru, ah!” You’re lost as he chokes you while fucking so deep, rolling his hips, making you shatter for him, walls quivering around his cock, trying to milk him for everything he has. “Satoru!”

“Wanna fill your pretty little cunt with all my cum,” he whispers, squeezing harder as he hits just that spot, and you feel the pressure in your tummy explode, screaming out as the orgasm hits. “Oh god baby, yes, cum again f’me hmm?”

You can’t not do just what he asks, blinded as he saps your oxygen with his fingers tightening over your throat, you’re fuzzy and dizzy as you scream, the sound hoarse and weak. He’s moaning and kissing you, drool spilling out the corner of your mouth, releasing your throat a bit and just gripping under your chin now. You’re shaking, cunt so wet it’s dripping onto the dark blankets.

“S-Satoru…” you whisper again, making him whine when your head falls back, he’s biting across your neck, groaning. “Feel s’good in me…”

“You feel s’good wrapped around me, f-fuck…” the phone goes off again, in the pants discarded on the floor, and he smirks as he bends down, grabbing it.

“What are you…” Satoru presses that green answer circle, before sliding back in your cunt, psycho grin and dilated blue eyes vivid as you hear her voice. You look at him, covering your mouth as you hear her voice, but he leans down, whispering in your ear.

“Make noise.” You shake your head - you can’t be that fucked up!?

Can you?

“Satoru please, just come back. I’m sorry.” She’s sobbing, her sweet little meal ticket is gone after all, he’s slamming his cock deep in you as you scream into your palm, making him laugh a bit.

“Sorry, I’m not… coming… back that is, hah-” he’s hitting those backshots harder, the filthy sound of your cunt echoing, your eyes roll back, drool spilling on your palm now as you hear her voice in the background.

“She’s manipulating you!? She wants what I have. Satoru- what’s that!?” He chuckles, bottoming out and stuffing you so full your hand falls and you scream out.

“That’s your daughter, god she’s so much tighter than you.” You gasp and glare back at him, only making him hit it harder, until there’s no denying the filthy sounds.

“Oh you are… you both… you’re a whore I swear-”

“Ah!” Satoru’s rubbing your clit, murmuring in your ear.

“Cum f’me again, hmm?”

“You’re insane!?” He grins, and you shake your head, but soon you’re shattering again, earning his moan.

“So, I need to go, gotta get your daughter pregnant.” You gasp again, mid orgasm, as your mother sputters and he hangs up on her, chuckling.

“Y-you… she’s… Satoru!”

“She won’t call again now I bet,” he’s leaning low until you’re in prone position, turning your face and kissing your soft lips. “I wanna fill you all up, baby, hmm?”

“Do you, daddy?” He glares, but his cock pulses, and you giggle, breathless, earning him shoving hard, pulling at your hair. “You like that.”

“Shut it,” he’s moaning as you tighten around him, aftershocks pulsing, as he pictures doing just that, knocking you up. “Beg for it, slutty little brat.”

“Please, daddy,” he whimpers at that, and you bite your lip. “You’re damaged too, huh?”

“Not as damaged as you,” he’s huffing, kissing you as you laugh. “You can laugh? Need to fix that.”

“Gonna teach me a lesson daddy- ah!” Satoru Gojo is so deep you feel him fucking everywhere, making you tremble, as he’s throbbing inside you. “You like it!”

“Shh. Yes.” Your breathy giggle is cut off when he chokes you again, so intimate like this, teeth sinking in your neck now. “Beg for it.”

“Daddy please fill me up - mnh!” You’re both lost then, Satoru won’t admit it but hearing you call him that makes him sensitive, whimpering as he busts deep inside your perfect little hole, your gummy walls grip his cock and pulse around it, while his white sticky load coats them. “Oh my g-god!”

“Fuck, feel her… milking my cock huh?” You just nod weakly, when he cups you under your chin, kissing you messy and desperate, you’re cumming from the warmth, from all that cum pouring down his cock, mixed with your gossamer strings of arousal swirling down his cock, his balls, to the bed.

“Mnh, Satoru…” He’s kissing you deeper, teeth sinking into your lips as you both come down, easing his strokes and softening just a bit, still so thick inside you, making you feel so full.

“You’re so fucked up, baby.” You gasp, glaring now as he eases out. “It’s okay, all your issues? Hot as fuck.”

“You’ve got your own issues then, hmm?” He smirks, pressing kisses along your shoulder blades now.

“Too many to count. Not the only one with shitty parents, sweetheart.” Satoru turns you over now, and you brush a hand across his cheek, sighing.

“Then tell me them all, daddy.” He scowls again, and you can’t stop the grin on your face, Satoru lets you get away with it a bit, because it’s just so pretty to see on your face.

“Can’t tell if you have mommy or daddy issues or both?”

“Mommy issues. You can give me daddy issues though.” His glare is so cute you can’t stop the soft smile on your lips, as you lean up, body reeling from him.

“Should beat you, I swear. I’ll grab water.” You nod, and he leaves for a moment, you lean up, his cum leaking out of you, you search for any part that feels just a little guilty for fucking and stealing your mom’s man.

But it’s not there.

You see a picture of them on the side table then, sitting up and frowning a bit as he comes back, boxers slipped on, a blunt and lighter along with water. “Wanna smoke, sweetheart?”

“You’re corrupting me, step dad.”

“I swear to god stop.” You grin again, as he sits next to you, frowning as you study the photo. “Throw it out.”

“No…” you take his lighter and light the flame, burning the image of your mother and letting it die out in the ashtray, before handing the lighter back to him. “I burned all my sashes and dresses too.”

“Part of me wants to see you in a pageant dress, but the other part knows how much you hated it.” He says softly, watching the picture burn and lighting up a blunt now. “I’d fuck you in a sash and tiara though, nothing else.”

“Would you now?” You tease, he nods, inhaling the smoke, and handing the blunt to you, his perfect body covered in dripping sweat from you. “I may have one I didn’t get rid of.”

“Shit, don’t make it hard again.” You’re straddling him, inhaling the blunt and blowing the smoke into his mouth, he’s gripping your waist, already hard under his boxers, as you two fall into each other, each finding the other’s issues unreasonably hot, both damaged as fuck and honestly morally grey - but you really don’t mind fucking your mom’s ex boyfriend all night until you’re dripping his cum.

Your mom never does call you again - what a shame :’) 

Sooo the pageant mom idea was fromm @huntyhuntycunty , also took inspo from them having met before from @yenayaps ! alsoo ty @blkkizzat for making me motivated to finally finish this hehe I love you girls <3

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