Pyromilk

Life’s too short

[pyromilk]

𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘦! ~ 21 ~ 𝘚𝘩𝘦/𝘏𝘦𝘳 ~ 𝘔𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘶𝘴 𝘌𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺𝘦𝘳 ~ 𝘔𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮 ~ 𝘛𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 ~ 𝘈𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 ~ 𝘊𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘋𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳 ~ 𝘍𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘦 ~ 86'𝘥 ~ 𝘖𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺𝘦𝘳 ~ 𝘞𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘌𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺𝘦𝘳 ~ 𝘙𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘙𝘢𝘵 ~

𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝!

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚎𝚊𝚛

𝙲𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚗 𝙱𝚎𝚛𝚣𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚘

𝟾𝟼'𝚍 𝚁𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 (𝚂𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜)

𝙰𝚙é𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚏 (𝚙𝚛𝚝 𝟷) 𝙴𝚗𝚝𝚛é𝚎 (𝚙𝚛𝚝 𝟸) [𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗!]

𝚁𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 "𝚁𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚎" 𝙹𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚑

𝙾𝚑, 𝙱𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚞𝚙

𝙼𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚎𝚕 𝙱𝚎𝚛𝚣𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚘

𝚂𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 (𝚂𝚖𝚞𝚝!)

[pyromilk]

Has anybody made a Hannibal Lecter x Reader fic that's like Secretary coded (aka James Spader and Maggie Gyllenhaal being FREAKS) or am I just yearning for something that doesn't exist

[pyromilk]

Hooooly fuck what was drunk me cooking last night

Enjoy the Dean Winchester Drabble ig

[pyromilk]

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZThfmJk7n/

thought of you, friend 😽 enjoy ❤️

Blessed me with such a beautiful edit. I adore you 😭

He’s my idol

<3

[lipgasm]

thanks for tagging me @sydenplace !!!! ^_^

ummm I don't know how many songs to put lol... is there even a limit??? idk man

1. don't dream it's over — crowded house

2. #17 — aphex twin

3. hungry heart — bruce springsteen

4. B6 my heart will stop in joy — the caretaker

5. killer cars (mogadon version) — radiohead

6. 19 — dean blunt

7. the outsider — a perfect circle

8. schism — TOOL

9. fingerbib — aphex twin ( basically every aphex twin song tbh LOL )

10. identification — infinity frequencies

11. micheal has been fired from his job, micheal has been burnt to death — no love in the house of gold

12. daughter - remastered — pearl jam

13. scream of the butterfly — acid bath

14. metamorphosis — your arms are my cocoon

15. sweetmeat — pigface

16. latex — chemlab

17. führe mich — rammstein

I've repeated these songs an insane amount of times and I'll keep doing it 🥹❤️‍🩹

um i don't know who to tag,, lol

I'll just tag some people I find super cool??? I rarely interact with people on here if you couldn't tell LMAO

@alpinecoalescence @starliecharlie @str8fromtheamygdala @trixxked

ummm you guys are really cool so I'll tag you guys,,

my apolocheese if u guys have already done this 💔

that's it.

ok bye

[trixxked]

Wait ty i find you super cool too!

I listen to so many songs so ill just cut it short at 15

1. T.O.N.Y - Solange

2. My Heart - Paramore

3. Figaro - MF DOOM

4. Limited edition - Cusp

5. Charm/Chore - BedRumor

6. The Boy - The Smashing pumpkins

7. Cupid De Locke - The Smashing Pumpkins

8. UFO - f5ve

9. Heaven - Halle

10. Crave - Paramore

11. Faceshopping - SOPHIE

12. Is it cold in the water - SOPHIE

13. Already Over - Sabrina Carpenter

14. Superstitious - No Na

15. Green Eyes - Erykah Badu

I dont have many mutuals so ill just tag people i enjoy with their content/ find super cool :D

@matthsluv @fru1t4fr0gs @wwinterwitch @pyromilk

[pyromilk]

Omg!!! I’m honored!

I’m just putting my recently listened, I listen to a lot so it’s just easier imo

I also don’t have many moots so I’ll just like…tag people I follow.

Also hi people I tagged I’m sorry I think you’re super cool :,)

@catbayunthestoryteller @ambitiouspotions

@eubomubo @kabloswrld

[pyromilk]

Just thought to make the Carmy fic multi-course chapters (where each chapter is a course…idk if that was obvious) and I feel so brilliant

so SMART

as I’m ACTIVELY procrastinating on a paper that will legitimately make or break my grade

Ggs guys

[sometiktoksarevalid]

[ekjohnston]

*weeps uncontrollably at 9 o'clock in the morning*

God, I love randos on the internet who just want to be kind.

[magicratfingers]

[ambitiouspotions]

ROTATION | NEIL FAK

summary — opposing schedules around the holiday season don’t leave much time time for your beloved handyman.

word count — 3.8k

warnings — 18+ MDNI, (neil fak x f!nurse!reader), descriptive smut, vulgar language, pent up horniness?, established relationship, fak has big fingers and a fat dick, uh idk wouldn’t say this is anything out of the ordinary

author’s note — sorry i’ve been unfocused and so fucking busy between work and home and my fiancé started technical college /: also i have more fak in my drafts just someone find me time to write them pls

taglist — @pyromilk , @halfway-happyyy , @imactuallylosingitt

the holidays were encroaching, which meant an influx of people showed up at the er with some sort of ailment. and the main cause of your patients’ complaints? stress. the holidays caused stress: indigestion, heightened anxiety, cooking mishaps, light-hanging disasters, children managing to swallow batteries, and heart attacks. it wasn’t anything new; you knew every year it would happen, which was fine, until the holiday turnaround decided to be a swift punch to the gut. your schedule completely flipped, so instead of dealing with these complaints on the day shift you were so comfortable in, you were placed on nights. you had to be a team player just until the new year when they’d flip you back around again.

it sounded good in theory—the whole being-a-team-player-thing—until you also realized that it left no time for your personal life. you were sitting on a stack of overtime checks and no time to use them except to let your bills passively get paid in the background. you were exhausted, but you weren’t the only one; you weren’t just carrying the burden yourself, but also with your boyfriend, neil, and his two cats named, both named ralph.

the new—not improved schedule—went as follows: neil was on the way out of the door by the time you got home. he was always gentle, seeing you lug yourself and bag inside as he was scooping his keys and cap from the kitchen table. the kitties would happily chirp as they saw you making your way through the door, already having eaten breakfast, but hoping for a little more food from their mommy. you’d lean against his chest for a brief moment, his arms wrapping around your torso and soothing your lower back for what seemed like the shortest moment on earth before he would tilt your chin up and kiss you. he would then follow it with some sort of rambling: “i’ll call you later—uh, no—i’ll have to text you in between gigs. got like a ton’a shit to do before the new year.” or “you are fuckin’ fire, babe. you do it all, mhm? yeah, i notice.” or even “i swear to god we’ll do somethin’ later. we gotta get caught up, okay? yeah, okay. we’re gonna figure it out.” all good things ultimately came to an end because his final alarm would start raging from his phone, reminding him of the work he had planned for the day. no matter what he’d kiss you one more time, squeeze your ass for good luck, and then he’d be gone. which left you and both ralphs to contemplate when the next moment you’d actually get to spend with him.

today was no different, neil was on his way out, having to settle for the normal quick snuggle. his mustache and scruffy, overgrown five o’clock shadow nudged against your ear. striped ralph was perched on the countertop, orange ralph was sliding against your leg as you shoved your bag on the kitchen table to return his hug. your hair was lopsided on your head, your eyes were red and tired, and your body was in desperate need of a shower.

“you look like a million bucks, babe—always, i swear to you i’m not lyin’ at all,” neil mumbled, working soft pecks against your cheek until he met your lips. you smiled through the kiss, accepting his compliment that most people would think was sarcastic, but neil was genuine; he didn’t have the ability to lie well—at all. it didn’t mean it couldn’t make you stifle a laugh because you felt like your entire body was hanging on by a thread as he started to squeeze the plumpest part of your ass, ending his groping with a smack.

if there was any good way to ruin a moment, neil’s phone had that down pact. you felt his body weight press further into you with a loud, annoyed sigh as he silenced the alarm ringing.

“fuckkk,” he exaggerated longly with a grunt.

neil shoved his keys in his pocket and patted striped ralph’s head quickly. “get some rest, don’t worry about the laundry or the dishes, and i swear to god ignore the crack in the bathroom tile i forgot my pliers were in my pants and i accidentally slung ‘em when i couldn’t get my pants off my foot when i went to shower last night and—y’know what? just remind me i need to get the stuff this weekend to fix it when i get the other junk to fix the hole behind our bedframe. oh, and i love you,” he yammered as he made his way to the door, lingering in the frame for just a moment while you managed to almost incoherently mumble a quick ‘i love you too,’ before he shut the door.

you hadn’t fully started processing everything he said until you were in the shower. the hot water was resetting your body for the morning. you were idly going through his words. rest, no laundry or dishes, he’ll fix what he broke—sounds good. you had seen the crack in the tile when you stripped your scrubs, no biggie. the hole behind the bedframe, aesthetically not great, but you didn’t mind it either because that was the night he was rocking the bedpost so hard that the thin wall crumbled.

it had been at least a month and a half since then. the suds cascaded off your body as you used the hand-held nozzle to wash them away, thinking about that particular night the headboard began knocking against the wall in front of you, soon after your head was buried in the sheets, your lower half being split by his shaft, and neil had both hands full of his favorite woman. it was a night where you actually had time to be bent over with a meaty cock. unlike now when you both pass by each other before your respective shifts.

you bit your bottom lip as you angled the nozzle a bit lower, propping your leg against the slick tub ledge for leverage. the stream made you buckle upon impact; it had been far too long since you had gotten any real attention. you huffed, hanging the shower head in its place and blinked tiredly as the stream pelted your face.

the want between your legs was still there, your fingertips trailing over your pubic hair and slightly parting your folds. it felt foreign and a little wrong only because you knew it wasn’t what you were truly craving. you felt defeated, even the subtle rub of your thumb against your clit made you buzz, but how could you even continue? neil, who usually opened you wide, was across town probably fiddling with a project you didn’t want to understand.

it didn’t matter much anyway when orange ralph started pawing at the shower curtain and furiously licking his paw when the water touched him.

you sighed, stepping from your sexless shower and opened the cabinet—out of towels. that would be right, you had only been washing them, not folding them. neil was going to fold the absolutely abysmal pile of laundry that had stacked disgustingly high. so you trekked, shivering to the laundry pile on the sofa and started pulling at random sections until you found a towel.

you rubbed your unshaven legs dry, dragging the cotton cloth around your body until you instinctively clutched it as you heard the doorknob jiggling. the ralphs had darted for the open bedroom, too excited to lie with mommy rather than the guest at the door.

neil reappeared, staring for what he considered an appropriate amount of time at your water-flecked skin. “fuck sorry, well not really for lookin’, but because i scared you,” neil apologized, scooting inside to the kitchen table to shuffle around the mail and half-drunk coffee mugs to potentially find his set of fillet welding gauges. he left them next to his keys every day, and suddenly they had disappeared. the moment he got to the job site he haphazardly plucked through all of his pockets, unable to find the worn leather case that contained his gauges.

“just startled me,” you shrugged, although your gaze didn’t leave him. his thick dickies jacket was not yet coated in the grime of the day, although his brow was sweaty, likely from rushing.

“yeah, sorry but, where are my gauges? did you wash ‘em? did you throw ‘em away? i know i gotta a lot a’shit, but i need those.” his shoulders dropped upon fiddling with the overstuffed junk drawer thinking he had found his among the other crap.

“dammit, no. this is my pocket knife though,” he muttered, shoving it in the interior of his jacket.

you pawed through a few more clothes, feeling his clean uniforms for any lumps in the pockets. neil peered over your shoulder after his rendezvous in the kitchen. his hands found a comfortable spot to rest on your waist.

“anythin’?” he asked as his breath bounded off the top of your shoulder and hit the back of your ear. your body paused for a moment, a little weak in the knees as his hands dragged over your hips out of habit.

moments prior you were poorly attempting stimulation thinking of that particular wall-breaking incident which started with the very same placement of his hands. his wide, tattooed fingers caressing your love handles and pinching them right where your scrubs would dig in after a long day.

“babe, did you find anything?” he repeated, a little slower this time, until you focused on his words.

“what?” you felt his hands loosen, making you straighten your posture, not completely bent over while fiddling with the pockets of his uniforms. “oh no. no, i didn't find them,” you cleared your throat. your face was a little warm and your mind was distracted.

neil’s soft eyes shifted down, raising your towel just an extra inch to peek at the curve of your ass. your searching halted and your heartbeat quickened.

“i found somethin’ better.”

“neil, you’re already late.” as much as it pained you to say and go against every feeling resting deep in your core he did have priorities that did not concern being inside of your cunt that was already slick with arousal.

you tugged the bottom of your towel down as you slid past him. his face dropped, looking like a puppy that had just been bopped with a rolled newspaper for chewing shoes.

“no, i know, but like i’m already here and i probably gonna be more late because i have to go to the hardware store and get another set of gauges.”

you looked over your shoulder, neil’s hand was still raised from peaking under your towel. while shifting from one foot to the other you hummed as he pulled you close to his chest. his rounded face nudging your ear, pressing himself even closer.

“c’mon, i barely get to see you anymore, and now you’re basically naked and you look really fuckin’ hot,” neil continued his coercing although you didn’t have to be convinced. you only brought it up so his conscience wasn’t guilty when he was stumbling over his words in front of richie and carmy when his projects at the restaurant were unfinished.

you exhaled, untucking the cotton towel from where it was rolled close to your chest. it was not a difficult decision to make. neil followed the shape of your body, resting his hand on the bottom of your stomach as your rounded bottom became flush against the bulge of his belly.

a simple gesture which meant i want you allowed his hand to roam further down, cupping the front of your pussy. there you were being complacent in his tattooed palm as he spread your cunt apart and maneuvered through your folds.

he circled your clit, feeling that bud perk up happily for him. noticeably swollen and prominent, your clit was so desperate for his touch. he was slow at first, not wanting to overstimulate you immediately, especially with how wiggly you were from his rubbing.

he didn’t stop until he could drag his fingers from your clit to your slit and it be fully sloppy with arousal—that's where the real fun began.

your eyes immediately closed—just like you remembered—the feel of his middle finger dipping right into your hole. you were fully sat on his middle finger as he reassured you, “i gotcha. i’m holdin’ you so relax, baby. i gotcha i promise.”

your stiff legs relaxed against his weight. soft sighs escaped your mouth, whimpering when he pushed his ring finger inside to spread you further. you steadied your hand on the wall beside you, leaning into the side of your forearm. his digits were swimming in your wetness with an easy and steady motion.

neil was continuously kissing the top of your ear, not minding the awkward angle if it meant you were already singing his praises with a couple of fingers. he was such a pleaser, a fixer, a fucking good man. pumping you full of his fingers to stretch your neglected little pussy before he edged his cock inside—that was love—true love.

his erection was fully stiff, nudging you every time your hips wiggled to bear down on his palm to lengthen his swift, yet carefully adjusted fingers. your arousal only grew, dripping directly into his palm, the overwhelming pool of greed growing in your belly as his digits curled upwards.

“all for me, baby? hm? gettin’ all kinds of worked up for me?” neil teased, while rubbing just below your belly button with his free hand.

all you could do was nod, while the sweat built at your temples. this was so needed; he was so needed. you could do it yourself, but why would you when he was so much more capable? neil knew what you needed and knew the right place to fix your problem. he was edging at your g-spot with a wide smirk on his face as he kissed the side of your head again.

you reached back unsteadily guiding his hand on your stomach to your lips to kiss his fingers. your wobbly legs and moans quickening from his fingers between your folds. they were to the very last knuckle, already filling you so pleasantly but it just wasn’t quite scratching the itch you needed.

“neil, bub, c-can you, uh—” you couldn’t even utter the rest of your question as you gasped. your eyes rolled for a brief moment, crumbling in his palm.

“can i what, baby? what do ya want from me?”

your kissed his hand again, grounding yourself in the very moment you rocked against his slick fingers.

“fuck me. please, f-fuck,” you whimpered as his fingers curled again. you balled your hand into a fist against the wall, a little frustrated with how much you had let yourself miss him. unfortunately, you were even more frustrated with work because caring for others meant you were neglecting neil, and yet he was still caring for you.

neil slipped his fingers out. your burning face was hiding in the side of your arm as he fiddled with his belt and pants. the sound of his zipper. his shirt pulled up to sit on his hairy belly shelf as his uniform jacket framed his figure. his pants and briefs pooled at his work boots as he brought you back against him.

he guided his hardened shaft towards your entrance, stabilizing the backs of his legs against the couch to support you more easily. his tip edged slowly inside of you. he could feel your back muscles tensing against his chest. you squeezed his hand uncomfortably, taking his girth as slowly as he was giving it to you.

“i still gotcha, baby,” neil consoled as he exhaled the shakiest breath. you were already gripping him so tight and he was only halfway inside of your cunt. your walls clenched tightly in anticipation of his entire shaft. “you’re okay. alright? you’re good, baby.”

he was right; you were fine. you had to relearn his size after longing for it. some mornings you’d wake up in a cold sweat after the wildest dreams, thinking you could roll over and teasingly drag your hand across his covered cock, but no. he was always at work. neil was the same, at night with his dick throbbing in his boxers waiting for the moment you might accidentally wiggling your perky little ass against him. that would’ve been a luxury that never came.

“oh my god, bub. fuck,” you whined as his cock sent a full shockwave of pleasure through your body. neil’s hands were gripping you as tightly as your pussy was around his shaft. one arm was across your chest, gripping your chest, caressing across your breasts, and the other was holding your hip to keep you upright.

his thrusts were dizzying, having to continuously rub your face into your bicep to focus on the overwhelming pleasure. the sticky, sweet noises that neil thrived off of were pouring through the room. every motion in your pussy was a step closer to unwinding. his balls knocked against you furiously.

your cunt was creaming around his dick, all your slick building around his shaft and pubes. you were so undeniably wet, his heavy weight only adding to the harsh pace of his rhythmic motion. there was a slight squat in his stance to ensure his stiff manhood was completely coated in your sex.

the upper half of your body was limp, your tits jiggling against the arm he had bracketed around you. your sore legs were throbbing in your calves and thighs, but you had to push through. his cock was nailing your cervix and your walls were squeezing his girth while he panted in your ear.

his eyes were shut tight. you could feel his cock hardening by the second. he was trying to focus on literally anything else but your body, but couldn’t. his solid shaft twitching, your legs getting weaker at the unexpected pressure inside of your cunt.

he couldn’t even utter the words that he was going to cum; he just did. white hot seed filling your already creamy pussy more. he was still fucking into your womanhood, not wanting to give in to his erratic orgasm without letting you finish.

your ass was clapping against his meaty thighs, desperately inching closer to your climax. so stuffed with his cum and dick your eyes abruptly opened. your legs trembled more. your nails dug into his wrist. “y-yeah, oh my god,” you yelped.

neil’s balls ached since they were completely drained, but he had such a greedy erection that still didn’t want to subside while he was surrounded by your pussy.

“right there. right there. right there,” you repeated helplessly, feeling the first hit of your orgasm. your mouth hung wide, pulling his arm tighter around you as you shook. “c-cumming, yeah, bub. i’m cumming.” you gasped, as your legs buckled. that was certain. the feeling you could have a thousand times over again and it would never get old.

as he pulled his cock out unsteadily, you gripped the side of the sofa. your thighs were completely soaked and sticky like his manhood. he made quick work of wiping you both with your discarded bath towel. your head was dizzy having to focus on breathing rather than moving.

neil kicked his boots and pants off lazily then hoisted his boxers to their upright position.

“hey, left foot,” neil mumbled, tapping your ankle, pulling a pair of fresh panties out of the laundry and onto your body. “yep, right foot,” he concluded, kissing the most rounded part of your ass once your underwear was fully situated.

neil rose with a groan then he sat back on the couch creating a divot between his legs for you. he gathered you close again, turning your face just slightly to peck your lips. his burly arms protected your nude chest as you found comfort.

you didn’t realize how much your feet truly hurt until you sat down in the middle of his lap. his cap was crooked on his head and he looked like he was holding back the same level of exhaustion as you. the workload was surely catching up to the pair of you.

“let me sit like this for just a fuckin’ second,” neil complained tiredly, drained from the load he released.

“don’t care as long as i can go to sleep within the next five minutes,” you murmured tiredly.

“i’m just not goin’ to work. carmy can call teddy or sammy or literally anyone else,” neil huffed, eyeing his discarded pants on the floor, knowing any second someone would be calling and asking where he had been after he mentioned he only forgot something at home. “you gotta answer it if they call. and you gotta say i threw up or one of the ralphs jumped out the window or—”

“neil, baby,” you said sternly to fully catch his attention. “if i answer that phone they will not be happy that i did because once i manage to crawl into bed i am not going to be a pleasant person until my alarm at 4:30 goes off.”

he rubbed your arms gently feeling the chill bumps start to arise. he leaned over lazily to the pile of laundry and tugged at one of his tattered garage band t-shirts and pulled it over your head. you groaned as you pulled yourself from the sofa, a twinge of pain in your lower back coming back to play. neil squeezed your hip lovingly as you inched forward lazily to the bedroom. the ralphs were batting the side of the door as they heard your steps on the hardwood.

“imma be right behind you, just gotta make up an excuse.” it was clear that he was anxious, tossing his cap on the table and shrugging off his work jacket. his inability to lie was eating at him not even reaching for the phone under the layers of fabric.

you stopped in your tracks on the way to the bedroom, turning on your heel to find his phone in his thrown pants’ pocket, and also managed to locate the elusive welding gauges while you were at it.

“babe, i swear to god i looked in there,” neil claimed, wide mouthed as you set them on the table. sometimes things had a matter of working themselves out.

you stifled a laugh, only glad to know that his hand had so easily slipped past them previously. “just glad you didn’t look well enough.”

and with a simple text to carmen you hope it would be sufficient.

neil: my lady needed help. super sick. see you tomorrow.

a little extra time with neil would not be the worst thing in the world. although your new schedule would eventually end, you wouldn't take this day for granted because now you'd be in bed at the same time and in the house for longer than a few measly minutes.

[pyromilk]

86'd Romance

Carmen Berzatto x Fem!Reader

"Apéritif"

This song inspired me lowk.

I Need him BADDDD.

Going to make another part, probably, we'll see.

Hate and love writing fanfics bc it's fun, but also I get so stressed about writing them ooc...

Warnings: Cursing, smoking, anxious people... that's about it

Word count: 2,501

Enjoy!

You really were something. From one wunderkind chef to another, Carmen would recognize it. He wasn’t happy to, god, he wanted to deny it, rub his accomplishments in your face to bring you down. But the rivalry wasn’t like that.

Bloody and cutthroat, you two were. You never talked to each other, never exchanged pleasantries, or discussed new dishes. It was a civil yet simmering animosity between you two. Trying to show each other up at every turn, every ticket, every service.

But you sabotaged it. Ruined it.

A grueling dinner shift, one too many bigoted comments from the head chef, another one too many dishes thrown to the trash, mise en place ruined by said head chef for the fun of it. You snapped.

“No— No! Fuck you! Fuck this place—” You grit your teeth, it looked like a vein would burst. Your voice was shrill, screaming at the smug man before you. “Do you understand the work I put into this place? The holidays I missed, the birthdays, Jesus— my nephew doesn’t even know who I am because of how much fucking time I spend here!” You took a sharp breath, like no amount of air could be enough. The constricting feeling in your chest only grew tighter. “You’re an awful person! I hope your wife fucking leaves you— Hope whatever kids you have hate you!” You rip off your apron, throwing it to the ground before hastily grabbing the knife bag beneath the counter. “I don’t need this shit,” you laugh, lacking any amusement, mostly to offset the tears that threatened to spill. David-fucking-Fields didn’t deserve your tears. “Fuck off and die, Chef. Genuinely.”

With that, you were gone. The sound of the backdoor shutting closed reverberated over the other chefs silently working, the yelling didn’t stop the machine that was the kitchen.

Only Carmen was the one who stilled his hands, his gaze lingering on the metal door through which you disappeared behind. David cleared his throat, adjusting his collar before shrugging. “Keep it moving, we need table 33’s crudo.” A resounding ‘yes, chef,’ echoed as he roamed the kitchen, like a shark following blood in water. He stood beside Carmen, “You’re taking over her station.” He said simply before continuing his prowl. No unnecessary cruelty, no snide remarks, Carmen almost felt proud of himself despite the extra work.

“Yes, chef.”

He expected you to break something on your way out, smash plates, and sabotage this hell-hole of a kitchen. It would solidify his better standing in David’s eyes. But you didn’t. He didn’t blame you for it.

He resented you for something else entirely.

His world revolved around the kitchen and you. He was so entrenched in what you were doing, how he could do it better, how to do his own out-of-this-world dish and leave you in the dust. And now suddenly, you were gone. Of course, he had his own aspirations, but who would drive him to be better out of competition? He wouldn't say he resented you for leaving like that. He resented you for leaving him like that.

You were MIA until a year ago.

He had glanced at your Instagram page every now and then, mostly out of curiosity, partly out of self-assurance that he wasn’t in a worse spot than you. Inheriting his dead brother’s restaurant only to gut it and turn it into something he had always dreamed of was certainly impressive. (If you ignore the barely profitable margins). He would hope every now and then that you were on his level. It would give him more of a reason to earn that Michelin star, a bit of competition (even if it was one-sided).

You were doing pop-ups mostly. Ghost kitchens, avant-garde cuisine in unsuspecting places. Always a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, always you, a fresh face and a smile that was happier than anything he had seen in New York.

Did that spark some jealousy? Definitely.

You probably had your shit together, probably had a better work-life relationship now than he ever did, and weren’t dealing with a man like Cicero breathing down your neck.

Fuck.

You were in Chicago. He clicked on your recent post, a pop-up in a restaurant near the Navy Pier. Small, intimate, stylized like a small French bistro. The hours and the day are posted in the description, next Sunday. He could swing it. Out of professional curiosity, of course. Syd was always bugging him about not doing things for himself enough. Maybe this was something. His face twisted slightly, shaking his head before setting down his phone beside him. No, no way. He couldn’t see you after all this time. It didn’t feel right.

But fate was always laughing at him. His phone buzzed, Sydney’s name popped up on the screen. He picked it up, reading it lazily.

‘Didn’t you use to work with her?’ Attached was a link to a news article about your pop-up. He tensed his jaw slightly, replying.

‘Yeah.’

‘for a bit.’

Sydney was quick to respond: ‘We should go, it's on a Sunday.’

His thumb hovered over the screen, warring with himself.

‘Sure.’

Something in his stomach churned. He didn’t know why he dreaded seeing you again. Maybe it was the shared past, some fucked trauma bonding that only bred loathing against each other. Did you even want to see him? Why was he worried about that? Jesus, hopefully you wouldn’t interact at all— his fingers twitched, itching for a cigarette. Fuck. He grabs the gum in his pocket, popping one in his mouth and chewing like no tomorrow.

So there he stood, the warm glow of the windows peeking out into the street. The building sat at a corner, with awnings and outdoor seating to make it resemble a bistro in France. The lettering in the windows was a deep red.

“Cozy,” Sydney remarked with a slight smile, “didn’t even know this place was here, honestly…” She glanced around, noting the exterior and its slight charm. Carmen only nodded tersely, gaze flickering from the door to the lettering. He almost wanted to be annoyed with it, just to displace his climbing anxiety.

“She’s uh…good. We didn’t really talk much, but her cooking was good.” He muttered, feet planted to the pavement.

Sydney nodded, “Well, don’t look too excited,” she huffed lightheartedly before gesturing to the door, “Our reservation is now, so… we should probably head inside.”

With another terse nod, he followed behind her. Inside, it was nothing short of comfort. The food smelled fucking delicious.

“Reservation under Adamu,” Sydney smiled to the hostess, earning a polite nod from the young lady before she guided them through the small dining room. Round tables were scattered throughout the room, one wall being comprised of booths, the walls adorned with paintings and family photos. A myriad of shelves with wines and trinkets galore. Cluttered like a grandmother’s wall.

When they sat, Carmen was quick to look at the menu. It was a simple pre-fix menu.

The appetizers are a choice of seared foie gras, gougères, or escargots. Hell of a strong start, definitely not a menu for picky eaters. Sydney’s voice interrupted his inward musings. “So,” she began, “what's the story?” She idly sipped her water. “Like— I’m sure she left for a different reason, but…were you two cool? Did you both hate your lives?”

Carmen’s nose scrunched, “We…we were pretty competitive.” He said quietly, his gaze still skimming over the menu. Confit de canard…Lapin au Vin… “Didn’t talk to her much, but she was always in the back of my mind, yknow? Like…everything was on the line, trying to prove I was better than her. Trying to make new shit, trying to innovate. She did the same…then…things just boil over.”

In-house dry-aged ribeye.

Sydney also skimmed over the menu. “She quit?” She muttered.

Carmen nodded stiffly, “yeah…cussed out my old chef and stormed out…Now I guess she’s just doing her own thing.”

She smiled, gaze still lowered, “Well, good for her…curating a menu without the stress of working under someone…or stress about restaurant maintenance…” Sydney’s voice trailed off, “The menu is a bit upscale.”

Carmen nodded, shoulders a bit tense, “she was always a bit pretentious.”

The desserts were a simple pick between a Basque cheesecake or crème glacée. An option to have both was added in small text beneath it. That earned a dry huff of amusement from him; he remembered you obsessing over perfecting a vanilla custard ice cream. Odd, he remembered something like that.

The rest of dinner was pleasant; the dining room was packed, and the soft melodies of a jazz band playing in the corner carried through the room. Carmen and Sydney discussed their notes on the dishes, talked business, and discussed possible new menu items. Carmen’s gaze kept flickering out to the kitchen door, dreading (or hoping, he couldn’t tell) that he would catch a glimpse of you. When he finally caught a glimpse of you in your chef whites, he felt his heart sink. His gaze quickly snapped back to the duck breast before him, pushing it around on his plate before taking a bite. Sydney noticed the change of course, but she chose to save it for later, simply enjoying her rabbit stew.

But you knew he was there. You had an idea, at least. News circulates fast, the Beef rebranding to the Bear. Carmen’s work is being showcased in Chicagoland. You were envious; he had his own place, his own vision. Pop-ups were too sporadic for your liking. You knew the Bear was closed on Sundays, you planned your pop-up to land on that day, hoping that he would be lured to it from whatever unspoken bond the two of you had.

You felt conniving, maybe like you were scheming to prove your cooking was still good. Better than his, at least.

So, you told their server that you had dessert covered.

You had planned his dessert and one extra in case it called for such an occasion. You wipe your hands on the rag at your hip, grabbing the two dishes before making your way out the swinging doors.

“Poires pochées,” you begin, your voice making Carmen flinch out of his thoughts, “Served with a side of French vanilla custard…” You set the plates down alongside some spoons with a patient smile. “I had a hunch to make this for a particular special guest.”

Sydney beamed, looking at the pear, glazed and warm, “Wow— uh…doesn’t the recipe call for saffron? You really went out of your way for us?” She replied.

Carmen stayed silent, gaze fixed on you.

You simply hum, looking to Sydney after a moment of holding Carmen’s gaze. “It’s no trouble…and I don’t believe we’ve been introduced?”

“Oh— Sydney, I’m the CDC at the Bear…uh…Carmen’s restaurant.” She replied, holding her hand out to shake yours.

You smile, taking her hand and shaking it. You introduce yourself, “You must be a very talented chef, then,” you reply lightheartedly, “he can’t be the easiest to work with.”

The sound of a scoff came from Carmen, quickly getting your attention. His face twisted slightly as he quickly looked to the dish before him, “expensive ingredients don’t mean it's good.” He muttered, his spoon lifting to slice through the pear.

You gave them a tight smile; you didn’t know what else to expect from a man like him. Sydney smiled apologetically, “Thank you again,” She interjected, “uh—food was fucking delicious….expensive ingredients or not—“

The tension could be felt by all three of you. “Thank you for coming by. I’m glad you enjoyed the food, Sydney. Enjoy your dessert.” You gave a small wave, not sparing Carmen a glance before returning to the kitchen. No need to drag out something like that; the food speaks for itself. That you were still there, and still fucking good.

Carmen took a bite of his dessert, somewhat drowning out Sydney’s lecture on common human decency as he stared at the swinging kitchen door. Who did you think you were anyway?

When dinner was done (they had learned you covered their tab, simply stating it was for old time’s sake…anything to keep Carmen down), Sydney and Carmen parted ways. Syd already had a ride home with her dad; he figured if he left now, he’d still catch the train back to his apartment.

As he walked along the sidewalk, his gaze flickered over to a figure in the alleyway. It was you smoking a cigarette. The smell alone made his fingers twitch subconsciously to his pocket, fishing for cigarettes that weren’t there. You spotted him, of course, being out after hours always kept you keen on your surroundings. You quickly look away, gaze flickering back after a moment to find him staring dumbly at you. You gave him a halfhearted wave; you were still halfway through your cigarette, and you didn’t want to waste it. So you braved the awkward moment.

He barely lifted his hand to wave back, quickly glancing away before instinctively running his fingers through his mussed curls. With a sharp exhale, he walked over. “You uh…still smoke?” He began.

You nod simply, “and you don’t?”

He shook his head curtly, his hand rubbing his chin as he thought of what else to say. But you beat him to it.

“Thanks for coming by,” You say simply, “It's kind of nice seeing you…kinda like seeing an old friend.”

Carmen scoffed softly, “We— we weren’t friends.”

“Well, fuck you too,” The words slip out with a breath of laughter, “Whatever the fuck we were. It was nice seeing you again.”

He nodded stiffly, “Yeah… it's uh…weird seein’ you. But— sorry…’bout what I said earlier.”

“It’s whatever,” you take a long drag of your cigarette, blowing the smoke away from him. “I would’ve said the same thing if I were you…”

He nodded once more, “Yeah. You’d probably say it if you came by the Bear.”

“Should I?” you hum.

“Should you what?”

“Visit the Bear.”

He stared at you like a deer caught in headlights. Your lips were pulled into a slight smile.

“I mean— I can’t…Can’t stop you, yknow?” He chewed his cheek slightly, “So…If you want.”

You flick your cigarette to the ground, “I might.” It was noncommittal, and it was driving him crazy.

His face scrunched, “Don’t— don’t do that. It's a yes or no.”

“Jesus— It’s a yes.” You narrow your eyes slightly, “Squeeze me in on Wednesday. Just send me a message if you can manage it.” With that, you reach into your apron pocket, grab a pen and a tiny notepad, scribbling your number on it. With a tear of the paper and a curt passing of numbers, the two of you didn’t exchange any more pleasantries. Simply parting ways like a wall was put between you two.

[Unknown Number]: 7pm work?

You: Yeah, it works.

Carm: Two?

You: No, just me. Unless you’re offering.

Carm: Then who would cook?

You: Fair, see you then.

Read 1:35 AM

ok bye guyz

[supermutten]

The portrait of Will Graham

[pyromilk]

︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶

Michael Berzatto x Fem! Reader

Smut!

Wow!

Wordcount: 4,122

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, porn with an idea of a plot?, unprotected pinv (please wrap it up), creampie?, Minor size kink?, dirty talk, lots of cursing, drinking, allusions to substance abuse recovery, yk it's The Bear, it has to be mildly depressing.

Mikey is alive and well, doing rehab, and is relatively healthy. Carmy owns the bear, and Mikey is kinda just chilling.

No use of y/n. Might be a little OOC, but meh, it's indulgence for this hunk of a man.

“Sweet thing, you can barely stand.” Mikey’s hand rested on your waist, his thumb idly rubbing the fabric that rode up your torso as the two of you made your way to his apartment. His voice was hoarse from the lingering smoke in his lungs. A remnant of the Marlboro he smoked in the car on the way back from the bar. You lean against him heavily, soft giggles escaping you with each clumsy misstep. “Thank god you’re here…” you muse, “big ol’ wall…so strong.” A soft hiccup escaped you as you reached up, pinching his cheek like some doting older woman.

How did you end up like this? A myriad of factors, really. You worked as a server at some upscale restaurant, just getting off from a double. Meaning, you hadn’t eaten all that much (save a fry or three from the fry bowl), lacked sleep from the closing shift the night before, and a new dose of medication that most certainly said not to mix with alcohol. When one drink became multiple at a post-shift hangout with coworkers, you knew who to call before some other person took advantage of your vulnerable state.

Mikey.

The phone call was anything short of nonsense. “Mikeyyyy!” You drawl, a large grin coming to your lips as the line picks up. A huff of amusement came from the other end. Mikey ran his hand over his chin, fingers running over his stubble before speaking. “Yeah, I’m here, sweetheart. You drinkin’?” His voice had a slight rasp to it; he was likely still at the Bear, doing god knows what.

“Yeah…I’m drinkin’…think I had too much, can you pick me up…?” Your voice was almost sing-song-like as you traced your finger over the rim of your cocktail. One of many you had that night. “Sure, sure…I’m there, just give me a sec, yeah? You at that bar across from your job?” (Wasn’t the first time this happened.)

He held the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he went to his brother’s office, reaching over the many invoices that lay scattered atop the desk to grab his keys and wallet. “mhm…” You hum, “can’t wait to see youuuu!” With that, you hung up, laughing alongside some shitty joke a coworker made.

He arrived at the bar 10 minutes later, making his way inside the building to find you clearly enjoying yourself. He made his way over, the smell of alcohol making his stomach churn as bad memories threatened to flood his mind. He knew he should set some boundaries, tell you to call someone else when you get like this. But it was you. How could he say no?

There you sat on the stool, grinning without a care in the world. Makeup slightly smudged from wear of a long day. Hair down and falling over your face, a slight flush on your cheeks from the warm haze of the liquor you’ve been drinking. He swore you were beautiful no matter the circumstance. Tonight was no exception. But he couldn’t have you, not right now, not when he was still barely managing having good things in his life.

He took your hand in his, waving to one of your coworkers before smiling wryly down at you. “You’re a mess,” he muttered, helping you off the stool. You moved without hesitation, placing some cash carelessly onto the bar before following Mikey like a fawn learning to walk. “A little,” you muse, “but I’m havin’ fun.” Your words slurred, and your grin was uninhibited. Mikey shook his head, accompanied by a fond exasperated eye-roll, as the two of you walked out the door, his hand around your waist as he guided you to his car.

“I’m sorry…” You murmur after a few steps out of the bar. You were suddenly hyperaware of what you were putting him through.

A sober thought in an inebriated mind.

Mikey’s brows furrowed, glancing down at you just as he opened the passenger door. “Jesus, sweetheart. The fuck are you sorry for? Nothin’ to be sorry about.” Before you could rationalize any emotion, tears pooled in your eyes. “God, I’m terrible, aren’t I…? Draggin’ you out here and you’re doing so well—“ “Hey, whoa, whoa,” He quickly interjected, “you’re alright. You aren’t terrible; you didn’t drag me out here. I coulda sent Richie to pick you up, but I came instead. It’s nothin’ really.” He assured, “You’re thinkin’ too much, sweet thing.” He pressed a chaste kiss to the top of your head before guiding you into the passenger seat. “No more crying. Hate seein’ that.” With a tearful sniffle and a nod, you settle in the passenger seat.

The drive was quiet, save for the soft tunes from his radio. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel, feeling your gaze on him every so often. “What’s on your mind now?” He asked softly, bringing the car to a stop at a red light. He reached into his pocket, fishing for his crushed Marlboro Reds and bringing one to his lips. You purse your lips, your hazy and unfocused gaze looking to how his lips wrapped around the cigarette, the slope of his nose, the bags under his eyes, the sharp edges of his jaw— You blinked, quickly looking away. “Nothin’.” A lie. You both knew it was. “Just…feelin’ bad still.” He huffed, rolling down the window as he exhaled a plume of smoke. “Don’t,” he replied, “nothin’ to feel bad about.” The cigarette tip glowed as he took another drag, a faint light that barely showed his features. “Feel better if you’re around me anyway.” His voice was casual, but the admission was careful.

You nod, “…I like being around you too.” You murmur.

Silence settled around you two once more. The faint crackle of the drag of a cigarette, the whispered tunes of the radio, and the soft breeze of the wind. You sigh softly, resting your head against the window. “…can I spend the night?”

“…Yeah. ‘Course you can.”

So here you were. Perched atop the edge of his bed, the shirt he tossed into your lap held between your fingers. “You can’t be comfortable in those clothes,” he gestured vaguely to your mussed work uniform, “wear that and I’ll take you home in the morning.” Mikey gave a slight dismissive wave of his hand, “I’ll be on the couch.”

You furrow your brow in protest, “you leavin’ me?” you said quietly, your voice small even in his tiny apartment bedroom. “I’m not leavin’…” he replied, “just don’t want you thinking somethin’ happened when you wake up, sweet thing.” He walked over, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head. “Don’t think I could live with myself if you run away and change your name or somethin’.”

Jesus, you were weak. Even in your inebriated (and sobering up) state, each achingly soft nickname and gesture made you melt. Before you could return any form of affection, he was heading out the door. Were you upset that you were sleeping alone? A bit. But it wasn’t your place to make demands in such a state.

You change out of your shirt and dress pants, slipping on the oversized shirt before crawling into Mikey’s bed, settling into the covers that smelled of stale cigarettes and some variation of an Old Spice fragrance. But, beneath it all, it was still undoubtedly his smell. Sleep didn’t stay, however. You look at the clock, 5am.

With a few groggy blinks, you stand, making your way to the bathroom. With a few seconds of dry heaving over the toilet and a quick splash of cold water to your face, you realize where you are. And boy, did you feel like an ass. You go back to the room, slipping on your pants and grabbing your phone, ordering an Uber before making your way out to the front door. The living room was dimly lit by the TV, some infomercial playing quietly as white noise for the sleeping Berzatto. But, with a misplaced step and the sound of carelessly placed shoes being kicked across the living room with socked feet. Earning a sharp whispered “Fuck!” Mikey woke up to the noise. A soft, disgruntled huff escaped him as he cracked an eye open to see you in the dimly lit living room. “Where you running off to, sweetheart?” He muttered, voice groggy from sleep. “Sun ain’t even up yet…”

You tensed, looking to him with a sheepish smile. “I uh…was just headin’ out…” duh. of course you were. Mikey muttered something, shifting on the couch before patting the sliver of cushion beside him. “Too early…” he muttered, tossing an arm over his eyes, “I’ll give you a ride in a few hours.” You huff, sitting on the edge of the couch and looking down at him. “Yeah…but…I dunno.” You begin, and you idly look at your phone, seeing the Uber driver making their way closer. “I’m not like…taking advantage of anything…am I?” You murmur, “or like…messing you up? Yknow with the whole sobriety thing…” You wince at your words, hell of a way to word it.

Mikey shifted, angling his body to look at you from where he lay, his arm slipping behind his head as he looked to you thoughtfully. “I mean…if it were sometime last month, I’d let it be a problem.” He murmured, “But sweetheart, I want to help you. And if that means being your designated driver, I don’t care.” ‘As long as you need me. ’ He wanted to add on, but refrained from doing so.

You look down at him, studying his features. There was something almost melancholic about how he looked to you. Sad puppy eyes behind the hint of a smirk on his lips. “…I’ll stop doing that to you.” You murmur, “drinking like that…It’s not fair.” Mikey huffed a breath of laughter, his hand coming up to run along his stubble. “S’not a problem, sweetheart, but…thank you for thinking of me.” The two of you stay on the couch, silence ebbing between you as the colors of the TV flickered faintly. You lean down, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“I’ll go back to sleep then.” You murmur. Mikey grinned, “Yeah, sounds good.” He hummed as his gaze flickered to your phone. “Should probably cancel that.” You wince again, “shit— right.” You glance at your phone, seeing the Uber driver just now arriving. Guilt pricks at you as you cancel the ride. Dragging out some poor driver at 5 am certainly didn’t make you feel good. You sigh, looking to Mikey once more, who was still looking to you. “What?” You mutter, leaning slightly against his chest. “You’re staring.”

“Why would I want to look anywhere else?” He replied.

Even when exhausted, he could still be a snarky thing. You roll your eyes, a faint flush coming to your cheeks. “Anywhere else would be better,” You retorted before leaning down, pressing another kiss to his cheek. “I’ll see you in a few hours, yeah?” You murmur, hovering close to his face as you speak. For a moment, some force refused to let you pull away. And he felt it too. “…yeah, in a few hours.” He murmured, his gaze flickering down to your lips.

This was stupid. You both knew it. But here you were, letting the subtle glance at your lips make your heart flutter. With a slight mental kick of encouragement, you finally do what you’ve been dreaming of doing, pressing your lips against his. The kiss was tentative at first, like you both were afraid the other would push you away at any moment. But as his calloused hand came up and tangled in your hair, tugging you closer to him, you both melted.

The kiss heated, growing more desperate by the second as your hands cradled his head. His hands slipped from your hair to your hips. Fingers splayed along your ass as he tugged you onto his lap. A soft hum of content escaped you as you sank your hips against his, the layers between you being his sweats and your work pants. Though you could still feel him beneath you, which made you shudder.

His tongue darted out to meet yours, claiming your mouth in a now filthy kiss as he guided your hips to roll against his with his strong hands. You kissed like it would be the last moments on earth together, all tongue and teeth. All denied eudaemonia finally came to fruition. He pulled away, leaving you breathless and lightheaded as a soft whine escaped you from another grind of your hips. His hand gripped the nape of your neck, not roughly, but enough to guide you to tilt your head and allow him to lavish your neck with hungry kisses and bites. “Mikey…” you mewl as you grip his shirt, hips rutting against his shamelessly now. He groaned softly, his hands now slipping beneath your borrowed shirt and feeling among heated skin. Rough hands against soft flesh made you shudder in anticipation. “Jesus…need you bad, sweetheart…feel it?” And you did, you felt his arousal pressing insistently against the seam of your parted thighs. Every tantalizing inch, he certainly was well-endowed. And it made your heart race even more.

You nod feverishly, hands scrambling to tug off your shirt to expose the black bra beneath. His hands deftly undid your bra, sliding it off before kneading one breast with his hand and lavishing sloppy kisses along the other. Nipping at its peak before switching. You whimpered and moaned atop him, your hand braced against the armrest of the couch as your body arched into his ministrations. With another roll of his hips, his erection was almost painful; he needed you. Needed some release. Mikey shifted, setting you down onto the couch, and with trembling hands, he tugged down your pants and panties in one swift movement. He let out a shuddered breath at the sight, you breathless and debauched beneath him. Your lips are kiss-swollen, and red marks are blooming along your neck and chest from his own lips.

If he were a better man, he’d stop.

Good thing he wasn’t.

He tugged off his own shirt, revealing his torso. God, it was almost criminal. His arms had a bit of bulk, not lean, not scrawny. His chest and arms flexed slightly as he loomed over you again, caging you between him and the couch. His stomach had a slight pudge to it, but there was no doubt that there was muscle beneath. A little happy trail led down to where his sweats hung low on his hips. You felt your mouth salivate, like you wanted to nibble and suck at every inch of his skin. He pressed another kiss to your lips, short but not at all lacking passion, before he trailed his lips down your jaw and to your neck. He licked and bit every inch of skin, like he was trying to prove to himself that he had you.

His mouth trailed down your navel, his breath hot against your skin as his stubble scratched your skin slightly. When he finally made it to your core, he looked up at you with those damned brown puppy eyes. His pupils were blown with desire, but still hesitant enough to look to you for affirmation that this is what you wanted too. “This ok…?” He whispered hoarsely. You spread your thighs further, whimpering slightly from needing some stimulation. “Please…” you whisper, “m—more than ok…god Mikey…I need you.”

Mikey nodded as he finally dipped in, his tongue gliding along your folds, collecting the slick of arousal that pooled there. (You felt like you had touched heaven.) He groaned at the taste, “Jesus…baby, you taste fucking delicious…” he murmured before pressing his tongue firmly inside you. You gasp, thighs trembling with the effort to not clamp around him as he devours you. His nose bumped against your clit with every swirl of his tongue. Moans spilled from your lips like water from a fountain, your hand coming down to tangle in his black hair and tugging in encouragement. “fuck— Mikey!” You moan out, voice becoming pitched as he continues to tongue-fuck you. Your hips rolled against his mouth shamelessly before he inserted two fingers without warning.

You gasp, back arching off the cushion of the couch with the stretch before melting into another wanton moan as his mouth now latches to your clit. He sucked at the bundle of nerves as his fingers pumped in and out, curling to find that sweet spongey spot of your walls. Your body trembled and writhed beneath him. It should’ve been embarrassing, becoming so ruined by just his mouth and fingers. But you weren’t, not when he looked up at you like you were something holy. Like it was something he was given the honor of doing.

With a final drag of his fingers, you come undone with a keening whimper as your thighs clamp around his head. He eagerly lapped at your sex, greedily taking all that you gave and working you through your release. When your trembling calmed, he pulled away. His tongue darted out to wipe his lips before crawling back up to capture your lips with his. You guess you did taste sweet, only if it were coming from his lips.

He pulled away, panting, “need you…” he muttered, his arousal pressing insistently against your thigh. “You ok…? Can I?” He whispered, peppering your face with soft, languid kisses. You nod, capturing his lips with conviction before snaking your hands down to the waistband of his sweats, tugging them down to finally release his arousal. It snapped up to hit his stomach, the tip flushed an angry red and glistening with pre-cum. He hissed against your lips as the air hit his cock, his hips twitching pathetically for any form of friction. Your hand wrapped around him, pumping his erection before swiping your thumb along the slit of his tip. He groaned, deepening the kiss as he thrusted into your hand.

He finally had enough, his hand gripping your wrist and tugging it away before positioning himself between the apex of your thighs. He pulled away from the kiss to look down at where you two met, his hand guiding his arousal to run up against your clit. You whimpered underneath him from the sensation before he finally pressed the blunt head of his cock into you. You gasp, your hands coming up to grip his forearm that was braced beside your head as he slowly pushed into you. When he finally bottomed out, he let out a trembling breath he didn’t know he was holding, his gaze fixed on how you took him so well. Your folds parted by his girth— The sight alone made him twitch. His gaze flickered back up to you, watching you in slight awe as you let out soft pants, eyes shut as you adjust to his size.

“You’re doing so good f’me…” he said hoarsely, “Jesus, sweetheart…could stay like this forever…buried in you for the rest of my fuckin’ life…” he rambled breathlessly as his hips fought the urge to move. “Mikey…” you mewled, hips twitching against his. There was his green light. With every ounce of ugly desperation he kept buried underneath snark, this is where he was laid bare before you. Finding sanctuary in worshiping you. He pulled his hips back before finally easing back into you. Earning a noise of pleasure from both of you, a duet of sin.

He set a slow rhythm at first; his thrusts were experimental as he tried to find the angle that made you sing. Soft moans drew from your lips as your hands gripped his shoulders, feeling like you were being split in two in the best way possible. Feeling so utterly full as his thick cock dragged against your walls. He adjusted, shifting so he sat back on his haunches, tugging you closer to him as he lifted one of your legs to drape over his shoulder. With another thrust in that position, you let out a sharp cry of pleasure, his tip kissed your cervix, and his veins rubbed against your spongy spot of bliss. “You like that?” he hissed, “fuck…f’course you do…Only I can make you sing like this, yeah, sweet thing?” You were dazed and utterly blissed out as he continued his slow yet achingly deep thrusts. Your hands gripped the cushion above your head, lips parted in an ‘o’ as you struggled to catch the air that he was punching out of you with each utterly maddening thrust.

And when he finally picked his pace up?

You saw stars.

He finally let his restraint dissipate, replaced with pure carnal desire. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the apartment, drowning out the infomercial that played across the room. He gritted his teeth, groaning as he thrusted into you harshly, the feeling of your walls clamping around his cock like a silken vice was a sensation he’d never want to give up ever again.

“fuck— baby- fuck! You feel so good…god, you were made f'me weren’t you?” his voice was strained; his voice wavered between his groans. You were too cock-drunk to respond. Moans escaped you with every thrust, earning a chain of desperate and wanton ‘uh, uh, uh’s as your nails dug into the plush of the cushion. Your breast bounced with every thrust and your back was arched like a taut bow. “m…Mikey…! God— Mikey! please…I’m so close…!” He groaned, his head resting against the curve of your leg, pressing sloppy kisses against the swell of your calf before one hand pressed against your stomach, feeling his cock penetrate you even through your taut stomach. His other hand gripped your hip, anchoring you so he could fuck you more thoroughly.

Your moans came out as desperate cries of pleasure, your name spilled from his lips like some sacred prayer that could only save him from perdition. With a few more thrusts, your walls clamped down on him like you never wanted to let him go. The knot finally snapped, and you came undone, tears of pleasure streaming from your eyes as you gushed around him, likely ruining the cushions beneath you. He hissed out a string of curses as his own thrusts faltered and stuttered, “f-fuck…sweetheart…where do you want…it?” he hissed, trying to hold on long enough for you to answer. “Inside…! god please- Mikey, I need you to come inside me!” Your voice came out as a broken sob as you opted to cling to his forearms instead.

With the sound of your sob, he thrusted once, twice, and on the third, he slammed into you, remaining there as he finally came. His seed is deeply rooted in you as you felt the warmth in your womb. His thrusts were shallow as he rode out his climax, and the sound of a whimper could be heard as his final rope was shot. He looked down at where you were still joined, a mix of your releases a mess between the two of you. All over your thighs and along his pelvis. He pulled out, earning noises of overstimulated pleasure from both of you before he sank onto the couch beside you, his big arms tugging you close against his chest as both of you tried to catch your breath.

The two of you didn’t speak for a moment, the implication of your actions slowly coming to mind through the haze of ebbing pleasure. You were the first to speak, “I don’t want this to be a one-off thing.” You whisper. You lay your head against his chest, your ear listening to the race of his heart from the exertion of your activities. Your hand traced patterns against his stomach, a fish, a heart, an X.

He hummed, his eyes fluttering shut as his hand held your waist in a silent act of possessiveness. “Then it's not.” He murmured, “won’t want to let you go after this, sweet thing.” You nod, your eyes also beginning to flutter shut. You both knew there was more to discuss, deeper conversations that would likely lead to pain and frustrations. But for now, every caress and shared breath was a silent declaration of love. That, for once, the pursuit of happiness could include another being. And as the two of you drift off to sleep, the faint deep blue from the rising sun that could be seen from the edges of the blinds, the faint hum of the TV, and its own faint glow. Things were good. Mikey felt like he deserved that much.

︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

[muerdida]

⠀ ⠀†ྀ ꒰͡⠀angelcore　dividers⠀͡꒱ 

⠀⠀₊༘ . like/rb　if　using 𓂂𓏹℘⠀

[pyromilk]

Oh, Buttercup

Richie Jerimovich x gn!Reader

(no use of pronouns tbh)

Word count: 1,416

A/N: Season 1 Richie, might be a little OOC? I dunno I wrote this at like 5am. Just fluff. Slowburn? Idk just a little blurb I guess. Reader is a sweetheart or wtv. Also lmk if this is good I have no idea.

Richie wasn't the type to dream. Here in this shithole of a restaurant, he put his hours into it; it didn’t leave room for dreaming. Not after Tiff, not after Mikey, not after all this change. He was spiraling, trying to cling to any semblance of normalcy in his life, any semblance of his dead friend. So when Carmen brought over some other hotshot chef who probably was as neurotic as Berzatto, or as insufferable as Sydney, he had a thing or two to say. But Jesus, it was hard to. He tried being snide, tried being an ass. But every word exchanged was met with a sickeningly sweet smile from you. You moved well in the kitchen, never yelling, never really talking (now that he thought of it). All he would hear coming from those lips would be a clear, “behind”, “corner”, “sharp”, “hot”…and maybe a few other 5 words. The first day you worked was hectic. He hid your knife, like they did with Carmen, like they did with Sydney and her stupid onions. You didn’t panic, you just fucking pouted, shrugging it off and grabbing one of the shitty, unsharpened knives from the metal strip that held the rejects. Carmen was too lost in trying to get the damn POS to function. Sydney offered to help find the knife, but you simply shook your head with that damned smile, “I’m ok,” you hum, “just tells me we need to sharpen these knives.” Richie was livid; he didn't know why. He wanted a rise out of you, some damn emotion besides those doe eyes and the sweet yet reassuring smile. He was the one who handed you back your knife, his face pulled into a frown like he was being inconvenienced by it. He didn’t like it. So yeah, maybe he was dreaming. Maybe that smile told him he wasn’t ‘bad news’. That when he's entering a room, there's a person who won’t tense their shoulders. There's a person who isn’t preparing for the worst. Until now, you hadn’t had a real conversation with him.

It was Monday morning, and the kitchen was getting into swing with prep. Carmen was stressing about an invoice for bread. Sydney was trying to talk to Tina. Then there was you, perfect you. You came in a bit later, carrying trays of coffee with a myriad of creamers and sugars in a bag that hung off your wrist. You handed them out, making idle conversation before going to Richie, his coffee being the last one on the cardboard carrier. “I uh…got you coffee.” You offer with a soft smile, “I honestly didn’t know what anyone liked besides like…Sydney. So I brought a ton of shit to add to the coffee if you need to.” Your tone was light, your words floating effortlessly with an edge of nervousness coming from your words. Like, if he were to stay quiet, you’d ramble on to fill the silence— just so you wouldn’t feel that this attempt at conversation wasn’t a failure. Richie nodded, his face indifferent but failing to hide how his gaze lingered on your face. “Yeah, thanks, sweetheart,” he plucked the coffee from its spot, taking off the lid and taking a sip. “What, you tryin’ to butter me up or somethin’…?” he commented, unable to shake off the wry lilt to his voice. You giggle at that, “Maybe I am, but it isn’t wrong to try it.” You take a sip of your own coffee, “I figured we’d talk, you’d realize how cool I am, and maybe you’ll stop hating me because Carmy hired me.” Richie scoffed, “I don’t fuckin’ hate you, that's…dramatic.” “Yeah, but I’ve learned you’re a dramatic person.” “Yeah, but I don’t think I could hate somethin’ like you.” You smile up at him. He immediately regrets his words. Too vulnerable, too quick. Knocking on the counter beside you, you reply with a soft tone, “Well, good to know.” You muse, bringing an end to the conversation. “Should head to prep…Coffee only works so well to hide the lack of work I’m doing.” With that, you turn on your heel, leaving Richie to stand there and wonder what the hell he meant by saying 'something like you'.

After that, you would bring coffee for him every shift you worked together. Small conversations eventually led to longer ones. Longer ones led to inside jokes, stories, and knowledge of each other. Hell, you two hugged each other goodbye. If he slipped a chaste kiss to the top of your head? You didn’t seem to mind it one bit. He started calling you ‘buttercup’, a little thing of sunshine, seemingly flourishing wherever you were put (also because he was awfully suspicious about how nice you were, buttering him up). Maybe he had it bad. Maybe the others were noticing. But this little bubble you two had was something he didn’t want to fuck up. He didn’t want to fuck you up. He was a divorced man with a shit apartment, lord knows his figure wasn’t the same, nor the bags under his eyes. You were perfect in his eyes, and he felt selfish for wanting to cling to you. After a particularly grueling dinner service, Richie stood in the back alley, leaning against the brick wall and smoking a much-deserved cigarette. The sound of the back door opened. He didn’t bother looking, assuming it was Carmen or maybe Sydney coming out to have their nightly panic attack. But to his surprise, the footsteps came closer. There you stood, in your blue apron, your hair a mess from either the whirlwind of the kitchen or from your hands running through it multiple times. You leaned against the wall beside him. “…could I bum a hit?” you ask quietly. Wordlessly, he held the cigarette out to you, “I didn’t know you smoked.” He said dryly, his voice slightly hoarse from his screaming match with Carmen. You shrug, “I only do it when I get home after work,” you take a sharp drag of the cigarette, letting the familiar weight of the smoke fill your lungs before exhaling. “Smoking during a shift makes you smell…hate that feeling.” You hand the cigarette back to him, “but today was shit. So…I think I earned it.” Richie let out a scoff of amusement, shaking his head slightly. “Fucking tell me about it.” He said wryly, “shit barely makes sense in there some nights.” He took a long drag of his cigarette, then passed it back. The two of you stood there, leaning against the brick wall and looking out to nothing in particular. The street light illuminated your features with a warm yellow glow as cars passed. The air had the smell of grease and the city. It wasn’t until he snubbed out the cigarette that he looked at you. His gaze flickered over your tired features in some sense of appraisal and worry. “You’re workin’ yourself bare, buttercup.” He mused, lifting his hand to press his knuckle against your jaw, nudging your head lightheartedly. “Maybe I am,” you huff, retaliating by lightly swatting his hand away, “but lord knows I can't afford a vacation now, with everything…” you gesture vaguely back to the restaurant behind them. Richie nodded. Of course, he knew. They were all on this sinking ship together, weren’t they? “Who knows, maybe somethin’ will work out.” He offered, tilting his head slightly as he looked to you. “But yknow, I think I’ll really snap at Carmy if you’re not there…So maybe it's good you’re stayin’.” You giggle softly. A noise that Richie often heard from you, but would never get tired of. “Yeah…good thing.” The two of you fall silent again, looking at each other. Really looking. You weren’t sure who made the first move, but it was likely you. You lean in, pressing a soft yet tentative kiss to his lips. The stubble of his chin brushed against your own chin, eyes fluttering shut. He was shocked, his hands hovering uncertainly over your hips before deciding ‘fuck it’ and resting them there. The kiss was short and sweet, not making it any less electric. You pull away enough to meet his gaze, a big dopey grin on your lips. “I wanted to do that for so long,” you admit, a soft tint of pink coming to your cheeks. Richie grinned in return, running a hand over his stubble with a disbelieving chuckle. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who was dreaming.