hoosier-daddys-posts - Tumblr blog

hoosier-daddys-posts · 4 months

Text

The slow burn, the build, the tension it’s everything *chefs kiss* they’re meant for each other

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

#carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #syds fic rec

2K notes · View notes

hoosier-daddys-posts · 1 year

Text

@staff like wtf? Ikyk

#app update #stupid

10 notes · View notes

hoosier-daddys-posts · 1 year

Note

SO... i was thinking about something super angsty.. and hear me out ...

number 3, 20 and 34 from the angst prompt list with hangman, feel free to do as you please ma'am

pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x reader prompts: 3. “I trusted you! I gave you everything I had!” 20. “Why can’t I ever be good enough for you?” 34. “I will never forgive you for this.” warnings: cheating, angst, fighting, pregnancy, heartbreak (I made Nat the bad guy I am so so so sorry) note: I might be convinced to make a part two prompts list | masterlist

Jake had been distant for weeks. Everyone could see it, not just you. You thought you were going insane, thinking that maybe he was just being cold towards you, but even Coyote noticed that Jake wasn't being his usual cocky self.

You had been planning this dinner for weeks. Not only was it your third year anniversary with Jake, you also had exciting news to share with him. About two weeks ago you had come down with what you thought was the stomach flu. But when you looked at the calendar on the fridge, it had dawned on you that your period was late. You called Rooster in a state of hysterics and he came over almost immediately with a box of pregnancy tests and chocolate.

Humming a song to yourself, you finished wrapping the gift that housed a framed picture of your ultrasound and a onesie that said "baby's first flight suit" (something that Bob had actually bought for you). Your heart started racing as you heard the sound of Jake's truck pulling into the driveway.

"Y/N?" Jake called out to you as he shrugged off his bomber jacket. His head turned at the sound of your heels clicking across the floor. He felt his heart drop at the sight of you. You were dressed adorably, in a cute baby blue dress that fit your body just right. Your hair was curled and your makeup was just a step up from what you normally did.

"Welcome home, handsome," You kissed his lips.

"Babe," Jake said and you grabbed his hand. He followed you wordlessly as you brought him into he dinning room. The guilt that he was feeling now suddenly felt like cinderblocks tied to his feet as he looked at the set dinning room table. Two plates set with a delicious meal and candles lit giving the room a soft glow.

"Happy Anniversary," You smile.

"Yeah, Happy Anniversary," Jake moved quickly, and pulled out your chair for you. You thanked him and sat down, pushing your chair in, "You made this yourself?"

"I did," You nodded, Jake sat down at the head of the table, "Your mom said it was your favorite celebratory meal."

Jake didn't say anything as he grabbed the knife and fork, digging into the meal you made. Dinner was relatively quiet, minus the conversation you tried to make with him. Every answer you got from him was short and a bit snippy. You tried to push down the feeling that maybe he forgot your anniversary.

"God, sweets, this was good," Jake said, leaning back in his chair and wiping his face, "Even better than my mom's, but don't tell her that."

You giggled and took a sip of your ice water, "Desert?"

"You made desert?"

"I did," You answered, "Lava cake brownies."

"You're too good for me," Jake said, batting his green eyes at you. You shook your head with a smile and got up from your spot. Your heart was racing as you walked to the kitchen, serving up a plate of the brownie and grabbing the gift box.

"You can do this," You whispered to yourself, as walked back into the dinning room. Jake's eyebrows were furrowed as he looked down at his phone, typing away on it. That was strange, you thought, Jake never used his phone at the dinner table. In fact, he almost always kept it in another room while the two of you shared meals together.

"Everything alright?" You asked, setting the plate down in front of him.

"Y-yeah, Coyote had a question about something," Jake said. Your heartskipped a beat, Jake was lying. You shook it off as he looked at you, "What's the box?"

"Your gift," You said, setting it down on the table and then sitting back in your spot.

"Babe," Jake grabbed his hand, "I'm so sorry, but I totally forgot about our anniversary. I've been so busy with work, it slipped my mind. But I promise, I'll make it up to you."

"It's okay, Jake," You said. You were a little hurt, but you could brush it off, "This is enough of a gift for the both of us."

Jake nodded and grabbed the box from the table. You held your hands to your lips as you watched him carefully slide the bow off and open the box. Jake's breath hitched in his throat as he came face to face with the picture frame. He felt like throwing up as he gently touched the glass and then looked up at you.

You expected to see the look of shock and love in his green eyes, but the look on his face had you second guessing everything. His green eyes looked guilty as he looked at you and then back down at the frame.

"You're not happy?" Your voice cracked.

"No, I am, I really am," Jake said and shook his head, "It's just. . . I have been so fucking horrible to you that I-I don't deserve this."

"What are you talking about?" You ask, and Jake just looks at you, his eyes turning red, "Jacob, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"I'm so sorry. . ."

He didn't need to tell you, you already knew what he was sorry about. You scoffed and looked away from him, feeling tears running down your cheeks.

"Again?" You laughed, "You did this to me. . . AGAIN?!"

"I'm sorry, it just happened and I-"

"When? When did this happen?"

"After the uranium mission."

"Nine fucking months ago!" You yelled, standing up from the table.

"Babe, I'm-"

“Why can’t I ever be good enough for you?” You whispered. Jake's heart broke at the sight as you began to pace the floor. He looked back down at the picture and felt sick.

"I forgave you after the first time you did this to me. And everyone told me I should've just left. That I should pack my bags and go back home because a man like you will never be satisfied. A man like you will never ever settle down and love one woman. But you know what Jacob. . . I ignored them. Why? Because I knew that you better than they did. That you loved me. That I could be your one and only, that I could be enough for you."

You slammed your hands down on the table, making the dishes clatter and Jake jump in his seat, "I trusted you! I gave you everything I had!”

"Sweetheart, please settle down, it's not good for the-"

"Don't you tell me to settle down right now, Jacob," You sneered and shook your head. Red, hot anger was coursing through your veins as you started laughing, "It was Nat. . . wasn't it."

Jake looked down at the picture again and nodded.

"Oh my fucking god. . . her baby. . . it's yours, isn't it."

"Yes."

You laughed, covering your mouth as you tried to contain your laughter. Jake looked up at you, like you had officially lost your mind. Natasha had found out she was pregnant not long after the Uranium Mission, and told everyone that it was her boyfriend's baby. Nobody thought otherwise, believing the story that she had said.

"Y/N, please, sit down," Jake said again.

"Nope," You shook your head, still laughing, "Get the fuck out."

"Y/N. . ."

"GET OUT OF MY FUCKING HOUSE!" You screamed. Your laughter had turned into tears, "Now! Or I swear to god I'll start screaming fucking bloody murder. GET OUT!"

Jake scrambled up from his seat and walked to the door, "Please, can we talk about this."

"There's nothing to fucking talk about," You said, opening the door.

"Y/N, don't do this," Jake said, standing in the doorway and grabbing your hands. You looked at him. You leaned in and kissed his cheek, whispering in his ear.

“I will never forgive you for this.”

You pulled your hands away and slammed the door in his face.

#syds fic rec #top gun fan fic #jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #this made me cry a lil #jakes an a**hole

833 notes · View notes

hoosier-daddys-posts · 1 year

Text

Not me waking up and seeing my parents watching Top Gun: Maverick before me

Edit: I woke up to football/beach scene

#syd rambles #I wanted to watch it before them #top gun maverick

3 notes · View notes

hoosier-daddys-posts · 1 year

Note

Can we get a blurb where carmy really wants to watch this old cooking show with you. You’re cuddling on the couch but his hands are dangerously close to your 🐱 and he is oblivious to your discomfort until he notices and gives you want you need

UUURRHRHDHEVEFKEBELEHFKFHEJDCEHEUEUBFNZJEIRBEEJEDUEJDOSKWKFIDD YES WE CAN ALL HAVE A BLURB

Hands hands hands hands hands hands hands

“We are now in Italy, on the lookout for Mrs Ricci, a 70 year old woman who makes the best Carbonara in Rome. Follow me.”

You sighed against Carmen’s chest as you watched the host - some random guy from some cooking show Carmy used to watch when he was younger, greet an old Italian lady.

It was calm today. The restaurant was closed for the week, for a rare holiday break, so you had Carmen all for yourself, and vice versa. The restaurant was sometimes draining you both, even though now, after three years of Carmen owning it, things moved smoothly. The two of you were now on the couch, eating overly sweet ice cream and rubbing each other’s arms and legs. Carmen’s hands were resting on your thighs, massaging the supple skin that he loved so much, and as you drifted in and out of a bit of sleep, you felt his hands drift higher. You looked up at him, but he seemed utterly concentrated in whatever cutting technique the old lady was demonstrating.

You sighed and sat back deeper into his embrace, trying to ignore the feeling of his tattooed hands tracing your own inked thighs. After a few minutes though, you couldn’t help but let your thoughts wander.

What if he just pulled the sleep shorts to the side, exposing your pussy to the cool air of the AC, slipped his fingers into his mouth then into you? And you’d fall back against his chest and grab your breast and-

He pressed his fingers into your thighs, still concentrating on his show. Fuck. You just wanted him to do something. Anything. You didn’t care if it was him putting his thigh between your legs or tweaking your nipples, you needed something. You started squirming, the heat and pulsing between your thighs becoming more annoying, especially since your boyfriend of many years, who was supposed to know you better than anybody, wasn’t even able to see your discomfort. Pfff. Men. You rolled your eyes and swatted his hands off of you, fake pouting. He didn’t even say anything! Just fucking grabbed your waist (which you let him do) and continued to watch his stupid fucking show.

You groaned and wiggled again, making him kiss your temple and shush you. “Tsk baby, stop moving please”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Cause”

“…Kay”

You groaned again, and moved your pelvis, trying to get his hands to move lower, to their previous position. When that didn’t work, you grabbed Carmy’s hands, and slapped them on your inner thighs, dangerously close to your pussy.

“C’mon Carmy…”

“What?”

“Oh my fucking god. Just touch me, okay?”

“Touch what?”

He had a look of oblivion on his face, and you knew that he hadn’t been receptive to your struggling or whatever pheromones horny women secrete. You softened your voice and grabbed his right hand. Guiding it up your thigh, you placed it on top of your covered mound.

“I want you to touch this… Touch me right here…”

He started grinning, Cheshire-like canines baring themselves to you.

“Ooohh… my baby is needy huh?”

You internally cheered, but kept an innocent face and nodded

“I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring you, honey, is that what you need? Need me to touch your pretty pussy huh?”

You spread your legs as Carmen put his hands in your raggedy, lose shorts and pet the curls on top of your pussy, making you sigh in anticipation. His other hand was slowly making its way up your stomach, and he started massaging your breast over your shirt. Slowly, he dipped two fingers lower, teasing your folds, feeling a light sheen of wetness coat his fingers. He shivered and hummed, feeling his own cock stir to life. “Gonna make you feel so good baby, so so good.”

You smiled and got even more comfortable, letting him finger you softly under the low light of the tv. The hand on your breast was circling your clit as he pumped two of his strong fingers in and out at a slow pace, making you so soppy you could hear it.

“Do you hear how wet this pussy is? Fuck baby, this is like heaven; pussy that gets wet just for me… oh she likes that huh? Likes when I talk dirty like that?”

“Yeah, yeah, you fucking know it, stop talking and make me cum Carmen”

A huff. “Brat”

His skilled fingers tweaked and rubbed and slapped until he grabbed your throat, kissing you at an awkward, desperate angle that made you clench around him, gripping him like a vice. He moaned in your mouth, forced your jaw to stay open, and before you could say anything, a dollop of spit landed on your tongue. The climax that was raking through your body was intense, a lone tear streaming down your face as his fingers never stopped fucking you.

“C’mon ride these fingers, make them wet, wanna smell you all day… that’s a good girl, so good for me… yeahhh”

When he pulled his fingers out, you swore you’d come again when he put them in his mouth, savoring your juices like the sweetest thing on earth. You shook your head in disbelief and settled into his chest a little bit more, feeling finally satisfied.

———

Ok ok 😩😩

#syds fic rec #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear #the bear fanfic #carmy berzatto x reader

423 notes · View notes

hoosier-daddys-posts · 1 year

Text

sit around and miss you

pairing. frank castle x female! reader. an. hello!!!! pls reblog & comment if u like !!! love u warnings. 18+. female receiving penetration, spit play (!!in mouth!!), detailed descriptions of violence, use of the word sir, references to somnophilia (but not actually happening), mouth covering? with hand. frank’s a big meany who loves you.

synopsis. frank’s antsy after a night shift, especially when his buddies were talking smack about how he’s leaving you in bed all alone.

Keep reading

#syds fic rec #frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle fic

5K notes · View notes

hoosier-daddys-posts · 1 year

Text

𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

she’s visiting carmen at his work with nothing but innocent intentions, but things get completely turned around, really quickly.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: smut with no plot, established relationship, fem aligned reader, dirty talk, manhandling, grinding, spanking, creampie, cumplay, and not canon compliant

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3028

Rubbing her thighs together helps nothing to repress the ache she feels as she watches Carmy.

She doesn’t know exactly what it is but, seeing him angry, cursing and yelling with a knife in his hand never fails in making her instantly wet. The kitchen is a little crowded today when she walks in, trying to catch Carmy’s eye as she watches him deal with his annoying staff. She mostly felt a little conflicted, amused at his annoyed facial expressions and sly eye rolls on one hand, and on the other, just fucking horny and needy at his authoritativeness.

Carmen Berzatto was all man and she fucking loved it.

Keep reading

#carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear #syds fic rec #the bear fanfic

2K notes · View notes

hoosier-daddys-posts · 1 year

Text

i’m sorry but i love calling ppl sweetie lovely n hun when they’re nice to me ima be the old lady calling everyone pet names 😭 sorry in advanced for being a future creepy old lady

#reblog #me at work #sorry not sorry

772 notes · View notes

hoosier-daddys-posts · 1 year

Text

footsteps

masterlist

pairing: matt murdock x f!reader

summary: your undeniable chemistry, the perfect night. it's been a long time coming, and finally, matthew murdock is in your apartment.

warnings: NO SHE HULK SPOILERS but def inspired, matt murdock's filthy mouth, matt murdock's cocky personality, smut, p in v (unprotected), oral (f receiving), someone say size kink???

a/n: credits to @buckypascal for making gifs of the scene. also, new post format?! lastly, tagging @mattmurdockspainkink and @chronicoverachiever for being there on that night and screaming about this entire episode with me 💀🙈 love you two LOTS 💗💗

You don’t waste any time getting into the apartment. Not even to fumble for your keys. They go straight in to turn the lock, and then they're yanked out. Thrown somewhere. Anywhere.

Nothing else matters now but him. All this time; every path, every decision, every bit of banter exchanged between the two of you has come down to this moment. You’ve known Matt for a very long time, but tonight… tonight feels more than familiar. Even if you’re in brand new territory.

The thick material of his suit grabs at your fingertips, tactile panels and armour-infused fabric gliding underneath your palms, clinging to the sweat that’s started to form. But you can’t think about that. You can’t think about being nervous, not when his mouth is on yours and his tongue swipes against your bottom lip, begging for entry. Right now, you shouldn’t be thinking of anything else. And rightfully so, you can’t.

Matt leans into the kiss, deepening it as a gloved hand comes up to cup your jaw, allowing for the tiniest of whimpers to slip past your lips. He stumbles, taken aback slightly at the way you’re kissing him, with a tenacity… a ferociousness he hasn’t yet experienced with you. You’re insistent, and it shows. It shows as you anchor your hand to the small of his back, nevermind that it’s all Kevlar you’re feeling and not his skin.

Oh God, his skin. The urge to see it, to touch it, to savour it, is staggering. Even though the night's only beginning, you’re impatient, and he knows it.

It’s a good thing he’s impatient too.

“You’ve got too many clothes… uh– too much suit–” you mumble, breaking away but still maintaining your distance. Or lack thereof.

Matt chuckles against your cheek, and it sounds like a promise. “There’s a zip at the back, sweetheart.”

He pulls you forward again to nip at the column of your throat, and then to leave a mark at the base of your neck, soothing the spot only with a flicker of his tongue. You can feel him straining against you now, and he’s shifting his hips, trying to get his bulge to settle where it wants to between your legs.

He’s antsy, and you get it. You understand. It’s not as if the two of you have been tiptoeing around each other for months, juggling a delicate balance of flirting and friendship and whatever the fuck else you’d describe your dynamic as.

But here you are.

Here you are.

You will yourself to pull it together as you kick your shoes off, Matt doing the same. He sets himself back upright promptly to remove his gloves, and then his helmet. You’re a little surprised at how haphazardly he tosses it onto the couch – a perfect throw, of course – considering that the suit is new and his helmet… well, his helmet cements his moniker, right? And–

Oh, enough about the helmet already.

His hair is ruffled, chesnut brown going a little orange when it catches in the yellow apartment light. He throws a billy club at the switch on your wall, muttering something about, ‘who needs a light, anyway?’

He’s handsome, and all he’s doing is standing there, his stance a little wide, and the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. You don’t need to tell him how he makes you feel; he knows it so acutely it’s as if he’s cracked open a window to your innermost desires. You suck your cheeks in, feeling heat rise to your face as you approach him. Your expression goes dark and you think you have to stop in your tracks, if only to squeeze your legs together, but your body overrides that sensation. It tells you to keep going, to disregard the second heartbeat that's manifested, so you do, fingers fumbling for the strap on the back of Matt’s neck that conceals the zip.

It’s an almost wordless exchange except for what’s whispered under your breaths; the ‘is this okay?’s and ‘yes’es that flow so easily. He reassures you as you struggle with his suit, telling you ‘it’s– the zip’s right there’ and ‘c’mon sweetheart, you got it’. And you do, in fact, got it, because now you’re tugging it down his back, exposing every inch of his delicious self to the ether and beyond.

The zip goes down to his tailbone, and the second it has no more give, you’re pushing the suit off his shoulders, coaxing the material down and off. Down and off. You’ll admire him later. There’s something else in the way first.

When you get to his waist, you repeat your newfound mantra. Down and off. Down and off. You don’t care that his abs look carved from marble, like a statue handcrafted by Michelangelo himself, or that his cock – holy fuck, his cock – is almost staring you in the face – the suit goes over his ass, down his thighs, and he kicks it off, stepping on the pant legs to get the last of the fabric off his ankles.

Now, you can look at him. And look you do.

“You know I can tell that you’re eye-fucking me, right?” he grins, lifting his arms away from his body slightly, palms turned to face you. He’s caught in an almost-shrug.

You wave his words off to run your gaze up and down his frame, starting with his broad shoulders, the scars flecking his torso, and the tiniest trail of hair from his navel to beyond his boxers. His abs contract a little with every intake of breath, flexing and rippling as if they have a mind of their own. Your eyes continue to glaze over his body, working methodically from head to toe, focusing on a different part of him each time. You can barely recognise the quiver in your own breathing when you’re done.

“Bedroom,” you command, taking one of his hands in yours, squeezing it tightly as you lead him away.

He answers with a smile.

Then, as you approach the threshold of your door, of the very place you’ve thought about having him over and over and over again, his hand slides up to tighten at your wrist. He spins you towards him, backing you up until you’re against the wall. He pins you in place, and then his lips meet yours. This time it’s intimate, and not just because of what’s about to happen. It’s intimate for all the right reasons, for all the times he’s made you laugh, or listened to you grumble about the stressors of the world. It’s for every time he’s come to you, battered and bruised, close to broken, and every time you’ve nursed him back to sanity. To health. Matthew Murdock was — is — your one-in-a-million.

Your one-in-a-million groans as he nips at your pulse, using his knee to knock your legs apart. You’re lost now with both hands tangled in his hair, while his begin to roam over your breasts before settling on your hips. Matt moves his thigh in between your legs, and presses it upwards where he hears you throb. You bear down on the hard muscle, a steady stream of moans accompanying the arching of your back. That’s the gratification you’ve been seeking, the pleasure he knows you deserve. And that he can give.

“There you go,” he purrs, waiting for your arms to go slack so he can slip the straps of your dress off your shoulders. That moment comes easily as he grinds his thigh into your pussy harder. You wonder if he can feel the growing, damp spot in your panties — his sharp exhale tells you everything you need to hear.

He reaches behind you to unhook your bra with an ease that surprises you, and then everything else follows: your dress, your panties, his boxer briefs — they’re nothing more than meaningless clothes, troublesome barriers, as they fall to the floor into one clumsy pile.

And, for a moment, as the two of you step inside the bedroom, you linger there, arms wrapped around his waist as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. He’s inhaling your scent, committing you to memory, as if nothing else – nothing – will ever come close to this. To you. He’s warm under your touch, and although his muscles are rock solid, he’s soft. He’s always had a gentle quality about him, and it’s become more apparent with every subsequent layer removed, physical and mental.

Matt braces his hands on your hips, squeezing ever-so-lightly to hold you there. Right now, he towers over you, still emanating that faint devil energy that always becomes more prominent with the suit, but you know you’re safe. It’s safe with him, and it always has been. He tilts his chin downwards, feeling your breath fan across his face.

He chuckles softly, and the sound makes your body erupt into goosebumps. It doesn’t help your case, but he drags his fingertips up your arms, touch featherlight and leaving you wanting more. He says your name, and it rolls off his tongue.

When he says it, it sounds like it was made for him.

He whispers your name again as he kicks the bedroom door shut, scooping you up to lay you out on the bed.

. . .

Moments later, there he is, forearms bracketing your face, mouth on your body, mapping every contour and curve you have to offer. He’s hungry for you, leaving wet kisses on your collarbones, moving further down to play with your breasts. He latches himself onto your nipple, sucking and circling with his tongue, grinding himself into your mattress in rhythm to your moans. You’re positive the dampness pooling between your thighs is trickling down them now. And that’s all thanks to him. Matthew.

Your Matthew.

He continues down your stomach, marking you as he pleases. You’re looking at him through your eyelashes, one hand curled tightly in his hair, trying to control your breathing, but it’s difficult. That coil in your stomach, the one that’s been loaded since the first time you laid eyes on Matthew Murdock… it’s reaching breaking point. And you need to let go.

For a moment Matt’s expression is pained, but it shifts back to focus as he nears your pussy, licking his lips to affirm the scent of your arousal sitting heavy in the air. You realise his expression is one of discomfort, but only because he wants you. He doesn’t know how much control he has over his own body. He wants to drag this out, to have you until the night gives way to the morning sun, but he needs you, more than he’s needed anything else in his life. So, there isn’t much pretense as he slides his palms under your ass and lifts your pussy to his face.

God, his tongue feels like heaven.

He licks a broad stripe up your centre, tasting you for all you are, before moving to your clit, drawing tight circles with the tip of his tongue. Still, Matt needs more. Somehow, this isn’t enough. It feels as if he’s waited his entire goddamn life for this, and if that’s how long eternity feels like, then he’s going to take advantage of every moment, of every chance to study your body and burn your pleasure into the fabric of his brain. Tasting you like this isn’t enough, so he flexes his arms, and he tightens his core, and rolls you with him until he’s lying on his back.

Matt Murdock eating your pussy is one thing, but Matt Murdock eating your pussy as you’re sitting on his face?

“Fuck– fuck, Matt, just like that,” you gasp, one hand outstretched towards your headboard, the other wound in his hair.

He says something, but it’s muffled against your cunt, and it only makes you clench harder. With the way he’s lapping at you, and then the way his tongue begins to stretch you out, you realise you’re going to implode very, very soon.

He lifts you off his mouth, and the corners of his lips twitch upwards. “Now, angel, would you like to cum for me now? Or do you want my cock?”

Maybe it's the way your banter works, but the retort flies from your lips faster than intended. “Do you really have to ask?”

His mood switches in an instant, and it should scare you — but it stirs up something wicked inside. It’s as if Matt can read your mind, or pick at this new unravelling thread, because he flattens his tongue against you again, as if something’s changed in your arousal.

“I was being nice,” he growls, and something like taunting flashes across his face. He’s testing the waters a little. Maybe he’s trying to figure out exactly how you like to take it.

“Yeah?” you respond, smugness lining your tone. You shuffle downwards to where he’s holding up his cock, having stroked it once… twice, just to show off his impressive size.

There it is again, that taunting.

Well, lucky for him, he’s not the only hellraiser this side of town.

You have him buried to the hilt in one agonisingly smooth motion, squeezing your thighs at his sides as his cock nudges against the spot that edges your vision in white.

He hisses as string after string of curses tumble from his lips, as suddenly he's enveloped in your warmth and your wetness, unable to think and almost unable to move. He has his hands on your waist, gripping so tightly you think it'll bruise, arms and abs flexing as he fights every urge within himself to cum inside you without giving you what you deserve.

He's pretty when he moans, and it's not just the blissed out expression on his face as you begin to move. His sounds are rich, and a little husky, laced with the kind of desperation you didn't think he could possess. You start to roll your hips, planting your palms on his broad chest as he lets you guide him into oblivion. Every drag of his cock along your walls sets your nerves alight, and he makes you feel so full you think you might burst.

He pleads your name. He begs you to go faster.

"What do you want, Matthew?" you drawl, lifting your hips up to bounce on his length, to writhe on top of him the way you realise he loves.

He's desperate, yet the authority in his voice remains. "Want you to cum for me, angel."

Your nose scrunches as you fuck yourself on him, breathing coming out in heavy pants as he hits that spot over and over and over again. His mouth curves into a devilish chuckle as you explode on his cock, fingernails digging into his skin as you pulsate and flood around him.

He takes this opportunity to reclaim his dominance, to flip you onto your back, pushing you into the sheets as he drives himself into you. His hips snap against yours ruthlessly as his forearms cradle your head and his mouth meets yours. The intimacy prompts you to wrap your legs around his waist, and clearly you still have a couple good thoughts left in you, because Matt's got a weakness for this.

He breaks away from the kiss to tip his head back and groan, allowing you to pull him in deeper. Sweat blooms across his hairline as he lowers his weight on your body, nuzzling his face into your neck, breathing you in and holding you so damn close. His rhythm never falters, but his strokes change, especially as he uses his hands to push your legs back as far as they'll go.

And, as if what he's doing isn't good enough, he wrestles one hand free to rub your clit.

Oh, holy shit. If this is how you die, so be it. So fucking be it.

"Matty," you whimper, interlacing your fingers behind his neck, pulling him in to kiss you again.

"Yeah, angel," he rasps, and his lips are back on yours. They're soft, and yielding, and flawlessly moulded to you.

"Matty," you whisper, and you take him over the edge with you.

. . .

In the afterglow, with the ghost of a kiss lingering faintly on your lips, you turn to him. He punctuates your question with a sentence of his own.

"When am I going to see you again?"

"Come to New York with me."

You think of the invisible footsteps right outside your bedroom door; the ones an eternity in the making. You think of how it'd be to leave your own in his apartment, to leave him with what he's given you.

It scares you a little, because your life is here. Away from New York.

It scares you because your answer is overwhelmingly easy.

From the tentative smile on Matt's face, and the blush spreading across his cheeks, you know it's the right one.

#syds fic rec #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock fanfiction #daredevil fic

4K notes · View notes

hoosier-daddys-posts · 1 year

Photo

664K notes · View notes

hoosier-daddys-posts · 2 years

Text

bradley bradshaw, ass man.

pairing: bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader

summary: bradley loves your ass. that's it. that's the summary.

warnings: explicit, minors do not interact! vaginal fingering, rimming (female receiving), frottage.

word count: 2.3k

author's notes: from now, and until the end of time, thanks to the creator coven! love how we all mutually agreed that rooster was an ass man.

likes / comments / reblogs are very much appreciated! thank you for reading! ♥

From the moment you met Rooster, you knew that he was an “ass man.”

You met at the beach - he was out with his friends, and you were there with yours. You had been content to read your book and chat, gossip, enjoy the sun and each other’s company, and he had been tossing a football around with his friends. Said football landed on your towel, you and your two friends letting out startled shrieks. It was Bradley who approached, all smiles and all apologies, and you were instantly fucked.

The two friend groups ended up spending the rest of the day together, with Bradley’s friend Jake convincing the three of you to join in some football with them. None of you were particularly sporty, but it was more or less an excuse for the boys to get close to the three of you (although their friend Natasha had her eye on your best friend, and you knew for a fact that if Natasha had asked, she could have her).

Bradley was particularly keen on grabbing at you, and picking you up whenever you had the ball. He also playfully smacked your behind a few times, but he seemed to do that with everyone. Though at one point he threw you over his shoulder and gave your ass a playful smack. You would have stopped him if you hadn’t liked it so much.

The day had bled into the night, and he took you home at the end of it. He threw you over his shoulder again as he carried you into his house, and then tossed you onto his bed.

It had been a couple of months since that day and you’d barely left.

—

It was a lazy Sunday morning, the kind that the two of you were rarely afforded. You’d slept in, convincing Bradley to forgo his usual morning jog, made waffles and coffee, and sprawled out on the couch together doing a crossword. It had been absolutely perfect.

Morning was beginning to blend into the afternoon, and you were quite content to do absolutely nothing with the rest of your day. Bradley had done a bit of lawn work and was throwing himself through a shower, while you laid in bed, reading a book.

“How was your shower, babe?” you asked idly, focusing on your book when you heard Bradley enter the bedroom.

You’d shifted positions in bed about five times before ultimately settling onto your stomach, which would likely only be comfortable for another few minutes. When Bradley didn’t answer, you looked over your shoulder, finding him standing at the foot of the bed, smiling at you.

“Babe?” you asked, laughing a little at him. “What’s up?”

“That ass,” he replied, grinning at you. “I walk in and you’re just flaunting that thing.”

You laughed again, turning back around onto the bed, eyes scanning the pages of your book. “Babe, I can assure you that I don’t flaunt it. It’s just fucking there.”

Bradley had walked over to the side of the bed that you were laying on, the dresser containing his clothes on that side of the room. He looked over at you, grinning coyly, before turning his attention fully back to you. Bradley set a knee down on the bed beside you, you made a startled noise, and suddenly Bradley was straddling the backs of your legs.

“How’s the book?” he asked, leaning over you and whispering into your hair.

“Mmm, it’s good. Not great though.”

“Fantastic,” Bradley added, reaching for your book and tossing it across the room.

“Bradley!” you shrieked, moving to roll over so that you could face him, only to have one of his strong hands on your shoulder and pushing you back down onto the bed.

“You said it wasn’t great!”

“That doesn’t mean I wanted you to throw it across the bedroom!”

Bradley covered your body with his, still damp from the shower, and you let out a playful squawk, trying to get away from him but truly you had no intentions of being anywhere other than under his weight. And given how intent Bradley seemed on keeping you in one place, attempting to get away from him was a fool’s errand.

“I don’t buy for a moment that you’re actually trying to get away,” Bradley murmured, his lips pressed against the shell of your ear. You giggled a little as the hairs of his moustache brushed against your skin; it always both delighted and tickled you in every possible way. “Besides, this is all your fault.”

You playfully scoffed, feeling Bradley move back onto his knees. “How on earth is this my fault, Bradshaw?” you asked incredulously, trying to look over your shoulder. Bradley replied with a playful smack to your ass. “Oh, I see.”

“These shorts that you’re wearing leave absolutely nothing to the imagination,” Bradley said, hooking strong fingers into the waistband and beginning to tug them over your bottom. You smiled and bit at your lip, wriggling just a little so that Bradley could help you out of your shorts. “They’re far too short and far too tight,” he added, though there seemed to be a headiness to his voice. “You’re just better off without them.”

“I’m better off without them, or you’re better off without them?” you teased, gasping a little as your skin was exposed to the cooler air. You were wearing some rather revealing underwear beneath your shorts as well, more of your cheeks spilling out than they would in a common brief.

“Fuck,” Bradley rumbled, and you got the feeling that the playfulness that had encompassed the previous few minutes was giving way to something else.

He grabbed the globes of your ass firmly in his hands, kneading them with his fingers, pushing the flesh up and digging his blunt fingernails into them. You sighed, eyelids slipping closed, already forgetting what book you had even been reading before he’d sauntered into the bedroom.

“You’ve got such a pretty little ass,” Bradley murmured, delivering another little smack to one of your bottom. “Don’t know how I got so lucky.”

“I’m beginning to think that football ended up on my beach towel on purpose.”

“Nah, Bob just can’t pass for shit.”

You laughed, the sound a little breathless as you felt Bradley shifting behind you. Looking over your shoulder, you watched him pull off the towel wrapped around his waist, and were greeted with the sight of his hard cock smacking up against his stomach, already looking incredibly wet - and not because he’d just gotten out of the shower.

“Bradley,” you sighed, laying your cheek down on the pillow.

He fisted his cock lazily a few times, his eyes roaming over your back and your ass, before he was swallowing thickly and pushing your legs apart. Bradley settled between your legs, gently kissing the curve of your spine, the dip just before the swell of your ass. His hands gripped you gently, reverently, and you shifted the tiniest bit in an attempt to get some friction against your clit.

“Can I, sweetheart?” Bradley hummed against your skin, warm from a morning of laziness and warmth beneath your comfiest clothes.

He didn’t need to elaborate.

“Yes.”

You listened to something that sounded like a groan and a sigh of relief escape past his lips before he gripped at your underwear, shimmying them down your legs. You carefully helped to kick them off without kicking him in the face, the crotch, or anywhere else for that matter.

The only thing about being on your stomach that you didn’t care for was that you couldn’t see him. You couldn’t see his face, attempt to figure out what he was thinking, or see what was coming next. That was part of what delighted you, but Bradley already sounded so wrecked and he hadn’t done anything but kiss you and take your bottoms off.

Bradley’s lips brushed against the swell of one of your cheeks, and you pursed your lips together tightly. He’d grabbed, slapped, groped, and spanked your ass plenty of times since you’d started seeing one another, but as far as you could recall this was the first time that he had kissed your ass. Those kisses soon turned into playful nips, and it being a sensation that you weren’t accustomed to, you wriggled against the sheets once more.

“Okay, sweetheart?” Bradley asked, pausing in his ministrations.

You nodded mutely, before responding with a broken “yes.”

Suddenly, he was spreading your cheeks apart, and you inhaled sharply. You had a vague idea of what you were in for, but nothing could have prepared you for Bradley’s tentative tongue against your asshole. The sound that came out of you was one that you hadn’t made before, and then that had you making another unfamiliar sound.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Bradley rasped, amazed. “I’ve barely done anything.”

“Don’t care,” you moaned. “Feels good. Different.”

Bradley pressed a kiss against the back of one of your thighs and smiled against your skin before returning to where he had been moments before. You clutched at the sheets beneath your body as Bradley’s tongue gently laved against your hole, his hands kneading at your rear, fingers digging into the supple and soft flesh. He was soon tonguing at you more enthusiastically, the slip and slide of his tongue against you feeling and sounding deliciously improper.

You gasped his name, and pressed back against his face.

“Yes, that’s it,” Bradley groaned in approval. The gentle push and pull of his hands momentarily deviated into giving your ass another hearty smack, and you cried out, arching against the bed once more.

As if Bradley eating your ass wasn’t shocking and wonderful itself, he then did something completely unexpected. You heard him spit before you felt it against your hole.

“Did you -” God, you sounded absolutely wrecked and were still writhing against the bed, “- did you just spit on me?”

“It can get a little dry back here,” Bradley replied, an air of mirth in his voice before his tongue was dragging against you once more.

New kink unlocked. You needed Bradley to spit on you a) from now on, and b) on and into other orifices as well as your asshole.

For the first time, the brush of his moustache against your skin didn’t leave you giggling, but left you wanting more. Every sense felt heightened, and that was before the tip of Bradley’s tongue was breaching you.

“Oh my god,” you whined, pressing your forehead against the mattress. If anyone had asked you before that day how you felt about your partner rimming you, you probably would’ve been ambivalent toward it. Now you were sure it was going to feature on your list of requests in the bedroom. You figured that Bradley wouldn’t have any protests.

Just as Bradley’s tongue pressed inside, he was dragging two fingers along the wetness between your legs. Relieved to have the contact, you threw your head back and gasped, before pushing back - onto his thick fingers, onto his tongue.

“Bradley,” you gasped, fucking yourself slowly on his fingers.

“You’re so fucking dirty,” Bradley groaned, plunging his tongue back into you, his fingers hooking into you in just the right spot. “Fuck baby, your pretty little cunt is just pulling my fingers in.”

You were going to say something clever, but he ripped a fervent wail from you instead. There were a cacophony of noises in the bedroom - your cries, Bradley’s fingers plunging into your cunt, his mouth devouring you through his own gentle moans - and it quickly became too much. You bent toward him as you came, trapping his face and his fingers exactly where you wanted them, exactly where he had put them.

“God,” Bradley gasped, pulling his fingers and his tongue from you, though he seemed reluctant to do so.

You were laying against the sheets, mewling as you felt Bradley moving again to straddle the backs of your thighs. Through your post-orgasm haze, you glanced over your shoulder to watch as he situated his cock between your cheeks, wet with saliva, and some of your wetness that he’d dragged there.

Mouth opened to speak, Bradley answered your question before you asked it, hands grabbing at the globes of your ass and pushing them closer together, dragging the head of his cock against your hole, and fucking the tight channel he’d created.

“Baby,” Bradley whined, head thrown back. “Baby, holy fuck.”

You laid there squirming, feeling a little oversensitive after coming, as Bradley rutted against you, fucking between your cheeks. Knowing he had already been far gone while eating you out and fucking your with his fingers, you weren’t at all shocked when you felt him twitching against you, fingers digging into your ass, hot come shooting across your back.

Bradley fell forward, catching himself from falling directly onto you by bracing his hands against the bed. You were still undulating against the bed, pressing back against him, and he shuddered, turning his head and pressing a kiss against your cheek.

“Sorry that was brief,” he murmured, breathless as he planted kisses on you everywhere that his mouth could reach.

You turned your head too, kissing Bradley awkwardly on his mouth, tongue licking at his bottom lip. When you pulled away, you were still searching for something to say, not because you couldn’t think of anything, but because your brain felt like it had been through a food processor.

“Bradley,” you began, looking into his blown brown eyes, “you spit on me.”

“What?”

“You spit on me!” you laughed.

He wasn’t certain if he was in trouble or not, and managed a small laugh. “Was that okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah, that was okay,” you chuckled, your hand curling behind his head, fingers working their way slowly through his curls, scratching at his scalp. “I don’t know what I’m more mad about though. That it turned me on, or it took me this long to figure it out.”

/end.

#syds fic rec #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #top gun fanfiction #rooster bradshaw x reader

2K notes · View notes

hoosier-daddys-posts · 2 years

Text

#reblog #comedy #funny content

9K notes · View notes

hoosier-daddys-posts · 2 years

Text

men’s tits reblog if you are a true men’s tits lover

#reblog #men titties

43K notes · View notes

hoosier-daddys-posts · 2 years

Text

Gold Rush

PAIRING: Nick “Goose” Bradshaw x Mitchell!Reader

REQUESTED: Yep!

SUMMARY: All the years of silent pining and anticipation between you and Goose are put to test when he realizes that if he doesn’t make his move, he’s going to lose you— and maybe Maverick and Bradley help a little.

CHARACTERS: Nick “Goose” Bradshaw, Pete “Maverick” Mitchell, Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw.

WORD COUNT: 7.5k

WARNINGS:Goose is a single dad in this one (Carole is my sunshine, but I had to get her out of the picture). A creepy guy at the bar. Probably a bit of OOC.

A/N: This took longer than necessary because I wrote two versions, an angst one and then this softer one. I’m not completely satisfied with the result, but here it is, thanks for the patience!

Keep reading

#syds fic rec #nick bradshaw x reader #goose x reader #top gun fanfiction #nick goose bradshaw

2K notes · View notes

hoosier-daddys-posts · 2 years

Text

🔥🥵

Dog Fight || Bradley Bradshaw x Reader (18+)

You fucked me so good I almost said, “I love you”

Prompt: You and Rooster had fling during your first time at top gun. It ended with you both swearing you never caught feelings and going zero contact. Now, when you’re both called back to Top Gun, you spend two weeks denying your feelings until they all come rushing to the surface.

Warnings: Blood (just a nosebleed, briefly mentioned), smut, unprotected sex, brief choking, soft dom rooster.

Reader’s callsign is Hyde (i.e jeckyll &)

…

“So, is no one else going to mention the burning sexual tension between Rooster and Hyde?”

You turn your head and stare through Hangman, hoping that this is enough to intimidate him into shutting his pretty-boy mouth. He grin widens the moment he realises he’s gotten under your skin.

It takes everything not to take the pen in your hand and launch it at his head.

It wouldn’t usually bother you. It’s just that it’s Rooster. Not only that, but it’s the fact that Rooster is sitting one row behind you — and he’s wearing the same goddamn cologne he wore back then, and you hate to admit that the scent of him still gets you a little bit excited.

You were talking to Coyote in the Hard Deck when you smelled it first. A soft white musk scent. You had known it was Rooster before you even turned around. Just one intake of that surprisingly soft, enthralling scent and suddenly you were back in the barracks of North Island’s base, his palm over your mouth and your knees over his shoulders.

“Leave ‘em alone, Rooster’s blushing.” Payback adds into the teasing. You turn, maybe a little too quickly, to check. Rooster’s hazel eyes meet yours and he’s blank-faced. Maybe there’s a little rose hue to his cheeks, but there always is.

“Come on, when are you two just going to admit that you want to screw each other’s brains out?” Hangman continues, his arm resting across the back of the chair next to him.

“Or that you’ve already fucked.” Bob joins in and the group goes silent. Rooster’s brows furrow. Everyone looks equally stunned for a moment and you’re so grateful that the attention is off of you because Bob just said his first swear word, maybe ever.

Once the initial shock of Bob’s first curse word wears off, Hangman’s brow quirks at the notion that the two of you may have already slept together. He honestly can’t believe he didn’t think of that himself.

“Now that is quite the thought, Bob,” Hangman turns in his seat and leans closer, “Didn’t I hear that you two kids were in Top Gun together the first time around?”

“Aviators!” Maverick’s voice carries across the hangar, interrupting the gentle bullying that has been happening. Rooster sighs in relief behind you. You turn your head just slightly, glancing at him over your shoulder.

His eyes are still on you.

“Today’s exercise is all about team work,” Maverick begins explaining before he has even reached the front of the room. Everyone’s face slowly reflects their confusion as they realise he’s not in uniform. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and jeans. “You guys suck at working as a team and today we’re gonna take a little field trip to figure that out. Meet at the beach in front of the Hard Deck at 9am sharp.”

Your eyebrows furrow as you pull up to the Hard Deck’s parking lot and see Phoenix and Bob sitting on the hood of Phoenix’s Porsche, waiting for you.

You look at what they’re wearing.

“Phoenix, tell me we aren’t working out!” You call as you pull the keys from the ignition. It’s almost eighty degrees — you had assumed it was going to be an icebreaker type of day.

Phoenix presses a hand over her mouth as she takes in the flimsy bikini top you’re wearing. You’ve got a button up over it, and black shorts on your bottom half — but the two of you both know that you’re less than appropriately dressed for the day.

“Didn’t you get Mav’s text?” Bob asks, he sounds almost like he feels bad for you.

You grab your phone from the hands free set inside of the car and check, shaking your head, “No?”

“Dogfight football, he sent a text to everyone so they would know what to bring.” Bob explains as he and Phoenix hop down from the hood of her car. You check the time, it’s 8:58. No time to change.

“Please switch with me.” You put your hands together in a prayer-like motion and step quickly toward Phoenix. She laughs and shakes her head just as quickly,

“Fuck no!”

You groan. You take a moment, eyes closed, to prepare yourself for the morning you’re about to endure. You button the shirt, letting out a breath and pretending that you’ve composed yourself.

“Alright. Fine,” You agree, “Let’s get this over with.”

You regroup on the beach, Maverick has already begun talking by the time the three of you join the back of the crowd.

Rooster is off to the left. Your eyes linger. He’s a head and shoulders taller than Harvard, standing at his side. He’s tanned, ripped and practically glowing. His hair is more sunkissed than when you last saw him, it’s curlier too.

Phoenix follows your gaze, craning her head to see, spotting Rooster. She turns her head back to you and raises her eyebrow suggestively, her lips quirking up into a smirk. All of her suspicions are confirmed at once.

You shake your head at her, rolling your eyes as if she isn’t right about it all.

The game begins. Rooster’s on the other team. You kind of wish he was on yours, you know you’d have less contact that way. You last maybe fifteen minutes before the overshirt becomes unbearable in the heat.

“C’mon, Hyde — can’t striptease to distract us just ‘cause you’re losing!” Harvard calls out as you slip the material off of your shoulders and toss it down on top of Bob’s backpack for safe keeping. You smile at him and raise your middle finger.

The bikini top is a simple unlined black piece that ties behind your neck and between you shoulder blades. The lack of support is unmatched.

You do your best to minimise the movement, but you also refuse to let your team lose because of your bad choice of clothing. The red ball lands in your hands and you take off running.

Coyote is on your left and Payback’s on your right. They’re both so tall, their legs are longer than yours and they’re gaining on you as you break into a sprint toward your team’s end zone.

Your foot makes it over the line and you throw the ball at the ground, spinning and throwing your arms into the air, jumping in celebration. Phoenix laughs as she tackles you into a hug from behind, both of you stumbling, happy as you try to catch your footing.

You feel eyes on you and your laughter stops. Rooster’s wearing sunglasses but his eyes are on you. Well, they’re on your chest. They flicker back up to your face and he realises he’s caught. He turns quickly and pretends to be immersed in the game.

You swallow, shaking your head. You’re broken from the moment, laughing as Coyote playfully jibes at your touchdown celebration, pretending to bounce around in the sand before you.

You playfully barge his shoulder and press forward with the game. You try your hardest, but you can’t ignore the way your eyes keep meeting his.

Rooster scores the next touchdown for his team — it’s like he’s been trying extra hard since your touchdown. His celebration is similar to yours, but more macho. You are stilled in place at the sight before you as he and Coyote collide mid-air.

He’s laughing, stumbling just a little as his feet hit the sand again. You watch as he dances under the burning sun, performing — much to Coyote’s delight. Rooster has the other pilot in fits of laughter with his little shimmy.

Maybe you should be laughing too. At anyone else you would be. There’s just something so familiar about watching those muscles in his stomach ripple and contract.

Your mouth goes dry at the thought.

You haven’t let yourself think about him like that in three years. You and Rooster had been in Top Gun together the first time around. He was a couple of years older than you — partially because he was held back a few years early on in his career and partially because you were particularly skilled for your age, so had gotten there early.

Top Gun is a thirteen week programme. For twelve weeks, Rooster was yours. Secretly, of course. You couldn’t let anyone know that he’d gotten you into bed so easily.

Twelve weeks in the San Diego heat. Sneaking around. Stolen kisses in storage lockers, condom wrappers in the waste baskets in Admirals’ offices, him sneaking out of your room each morning before sunrise. You walking with a slight limp on the way to training that one morning.

You hadn’t ever been anything exclusive and neither of you had brought up such nonsense for the entire programme. Until the night before graduation, when Rooster had asked you ‘what comes next?’ whilst he had been inside of you.

You still remember that fight. Both of you storming off, slamming doors and cursing at each other. You were still pissed off that he hadn’t even finished.

You’re broken from your stream of explicit memories as Yale trips into you whilst running to catch the ball. His elbow hits the bridge of your nose as he swings out his arms to catch his balance. You both hit the sand.

You don’t even really make a noise, beside the initial startled gasp. You blink, waiting for the pain to really hit you.

“Fuck, Hyde, I’m so sorry - I didn’t see you.”

You feel a wet droplet hit your chest, bringing your hand up to touch tenderly at your nose. Then the pain hits you. You wince, pulling your hand back and finding your fingers are bloodied.

“Oh, shit, she’s bleeding.” You aren’t sure who makes the announcement but Rooster’s standing before you next. You’re on your ass in the sand, blinking up at him. He watches a droplet of blood hit your chest and slide across your breast.

“Come on.” He extends a hand — the first words he’s said to you since the two of you had gotten here two weeks ago. You reach out and put your palm in his, letting him help you to your feet.

“You alright, Hyde?” Maverick pushes through the crowd that has gathered around you. He reaches out and puts a hand on your shoulder, features creased with concern.

You open your mouth to answer him but are interrupted by a sudden head rush. You stumble, snapped back to reality as Rooster’s fingers curl around your biceps and steady you.

“Woah, careful — uh, Rooster, could you take her up and ask Penny to take a look at her for me?”

Rooster looks between you and Maverick. Your lips are parted and bloodied but your eyes are on him. So trusting and pretty. He shoots Maverick a look. Maverick knows who you are. He knows all about the girl who broke his nephew’s heart at North Island.

“Yeah, I got her.” Rooster agrees. Whatever happened between the two of you was three years ago, he reminds himself. Plus, it’s not like he wants anyone else to head up there with you. Maverick passes a key into Rooster’s hand.

You wipe your nose with the back of your hand, shaking your head and swallowing, the taste of copper on your tongue, “No, I’m fine, seriously.”

“Y/N, you’re not coming back until Penny gives me the all clear.” Maverick is stern with his answer.

Rooster’s thumbs stroke at your biceps, he’s still the only thing keeping you upright, “Can you walk?” You nod.

He grabs your overshirt from Bob’s backpack and nods for you to follow him. You trip just slightly as the damp sand becomes soft sand near the top of the beach — it’s nothing to do with your fall and everything to do with the fact that you aren’t watching where you’re going. Yet, Rooster’s hand slides around your waist immediately.

“I can carry you.” He offers.

“I know.” You mumble in return, pinching your nose to stop the constant stream of blood.

Rooster looks at you and smiles just slightly. He unlocks and holds open the front door to the Hard Deck for you and motions you in. You take a seat at the bar, leaning across and grabbing some napkins, holding them up against your still bleeding nose.

“Penny?” Rooster calls out. He leaves your side for a moment to search the bar for her, poking his head into the back room. He shakes his head as he realises she must be on the beach.

“Wait here.”

You shrug. Still bleeding, you weren’t planning on going anywhere anyway. He disappears into the back room for a moment, returning with a first aid kit. This bar has its fair share of incidents. Rooster pulls up a stool in front of you, nudging your knees apart so he can sit as close as possible.

You lean your head back.

“No, don’t do that,” Rooster’s fingers curl around the back of your neck as he guides your head forward, pointing your nose back toward the ground. He feels you tense up, releasing you immediately. “You’re supposed to lean forward.”

He leans across the bar and scoops some ice into a plastic bag, then wraps that in a napkin.

“Move your hand for me.” You do as he says, hissing quietly as he rests his makeshift cold compress against the bridge of your nose. You press the tissues to your nostrils, still bleeding.

“You okay?” He asks quietly. You look up at him and shrug, “Been better.”

He chuckles, nodding his head, “Yeah, you hit the ground pretty hard.”

“You saw?” You’re inexplicably embarrassed by that. Rooster has seen you in most positions, but the thought of him seeing you get knocked on your ass makes you groan and squeeze your eyes shut. Until you realise it hurts to shut your eyes like that.

“Saw you checking me out.”

Your cheeks burn. You look at him furiously. He’s smirking, “I was not.” Your tone is a smidge defensive.

Rooster chuckles and shrugs his broad, tanned, bare shoulders, “So how come you didn’t see Yale sprinting down the pitch at you, baby?” You squeeze your thighs together. It’s been so long since you heard him call you that.

“The sun was in my eyes.” You answer a little too quickly.

“The sun that was behind me, was in your eyes? — so you were looking at me.” He has you there. You give in, caught for a moment.

“Hey, I saw you looking at me too. After I scored.” You counter. Rooster smiles at you, brushing your hair back away from the injury. His sunglasses mask it well, but you catch his eyes glance down at your chest.

“Can you blame me?” It’s hot and his voice makes you want to melt faster than the ice in his compress. “It’s been a while since I saw them bounce like that.”

You kick his shin, trying to hide the fact that you’re thrilled that he has brought it up. “Pig.” You chastise playfully.

“Just brought back some memories is all.” His lips are just hinting at a smile. You brush your ankle against his, putting your foot on the footrest of his stool. You wonder if he can tell that you’re so happy that he remembers it all as clearly as you do. He can. You look like the cat that got the cream. But bloodier.

“Good memories?”

Rooster lets out an amused huff, taking the compress away from your nose and inspecting the bridge delicately. It’s tender, but both of you know it isn’t broken. He fishes his phone from the pocket of his tight shorts and turns on the flash.

Your lips part in surprise as he reaches out and grabs your chin. He leans in close. You hold your breath. He lifts the phone and shines the torch into your eye, making you flinch and pull away.

“Come on, I need to check if you have a concussion or not.” He grips your jaw and turns you back to face him. He knows exactly what he’s doing, you realise. He leans close again and you breathe him in.

He lifts the phone and shines the flashlight into each pupil, his grip on your jaw keeping your eyes on him.

“You seem fine to me,” He decides, “You feel okay?”

You pull the tissue away from your nose, pleased to find that the bleeding has stopped, and nod at him. He grabs a set of antibacterial wipes from the kit and lifts your chin once more. You’re silent, just watching him as he cleans you up.

“Stop looking at me like that.” Rooster mumbles, making you blush. You furrow your eyebrows at him,

“Like what?”

“You’re the one who walked away, Hyde.” Rooster reminds you calmly as he wipes the blood from your lips, his other hand on your chin, keeping you still for him.

“I didn’t walk away — I just said that I wasn’t sure!” You protest. Rooster rolls his eyes,

“If I remember correctly, you actually said, ‘What? You thought I was going to fall in love with you or something?’” He mocks your voice as he talks and you narrow your eyes at him. You kick his shin again, a little harder this time.

You know that what you said was kind of mean, but he had you backed into a corner by that point in the argument and you were really frustrated.

“It was just sex!” You blurt out. The same thing you had said three years ago. Rooster stills his hand, the wipe resting on your breast as his brown eyes stare into you.

He gives you a slow, curt nod and sets the wipe down on the side. You sigh as he pushes himself up from the stool, “Rooster, wait-“

He drops the key Maverick gave him onto the bar, “Lock up when you’re done, kid.” You glare at him. He knows you hate it when he says that shit to you. He’s just a couple of years older. You watch him tuck his stool in and turn to leave.

“Rooster, come on, you know I didn’t mean-“

He slams the front door behind him. You growl in frustration as you push yourself up from your stool. He always was such a drama queen.

By the time you make it outside, your shirt balled up in your hand, he’s across the parking lot and headed down the beach in the opposite direction from the group. They’re still playing and they haven’t noticed the two of you yet. You look at them, then back at him, and take off jogging down the beach.

It takes you a while to catch up, he’s already across the cove and standing on the rocks by the time you catch him.

“Fuck, could you slow down for a second?” You pant as you clamber up the rocks. He ignores you and drops down onto the other side. This beach is empty, he continues along its shore away from you. “Rooster!”

He turns finally, in time to see you wobbling as you try to drop down the same way he did. Rooster walks slowly back toward you until he’s towering over you, “If you tell me it was just sex one more fucking time, y/l/n, I’m gonna lose it.”

You smile softly, trying to deescalate, “It was just-“

Rooster grabs your face in his hands and crashes his lips to yours, your back hitting the wall of rock behind you. You hum in surprise as your arms wrap around his shoulders.

The kiss is all anger and hard breathing at first, until Rooster grips the nape of your neck and licks into your mouth. The jagged rocks behind you press harder into your skin as he pushes himself harder against you. You tug at him eagerly, dropping your shirt onto the rocks. Rocks be damned, you want him as close to you as possible.

His hands slide between your bodies and pop open the button to your shorts, dragging the zipper down. You pull away from his lips, breathing hard. You’re looking at him like he’s crazy, reaching out and grabbing his hands to still him, “Here?”

“Live a little.” He murmurs, pressing his lips forward again slipping his tongue into your mouth. You hook your thumbs into the sides of your shorts as you shimmy them down, leaving you in the bikini before him.

He’s seen you in much less, but your cheeks heat as he pulls back and skims his fingers along your waist, taking in everything that’s different and everything that’s the same all at once.

“Stop staring, you’re making me nervous.” You complain, pushing your hips forward against his. Rooster’s hands come up and grope at your breasts as he pushes his body against you, “God, I missed you.” He admits, capturing your lips in a kiss.

You gasp as he tugs at the string behind your back, pushing his hands under the material of the flimsy black bikini. You whine softly against his lips. His hips press you back against the rocks whilst his thumbs brush delicately over your nipples. He stifles a groan as he feels them harden against his fingers.

Rooster pulls back for just a moment, to rip that stupid thing off of you and then duck his head down to suck your nipple into his mouth. You close your eyes, catching your breath as he nips and sucks at your breasts.

You’re so focused on that, you don’t even notice his right hand trailing your side until it’s already between your legs and nudging the bikini bottoms to the side. You gasp as he sinks a finger into you, the pad of his thumb pressing to your clit like he hadn’t ever been away. He knows your body like he knows how to fly.

“Shut the fuck up.” Rooster breathes, straightening up and looking down at you through those gold sunglasses. You tremble, nodding at him and taking your lip between your teeth. “Don’t want anyone else seeing you like this.”

You whimper as he sinks to his knees before you, nipping at your ribs, grazing his teeth across your hip bones. Rooster smiles just slightly as you take the sunglasses off his face and trail your fingertips across his cheek. You’re always so gentle.

He pulls the bottoms even more to the side, lifting one leg over his shoulder and burying his face between your legs. You take a sharp breath at the sudden contact, sliding your fingers into his curls. The sun hits his eyes as he looks up at you, they look especially brown in the midday sun, amber and shining.

He feels you clench around his fingers as he adds a second, groaning quietly against your core. You lean your head back against the rocks behind you, closing your eyes and just letting him touch you. His fingers work you open while his mouth focuses on your clit.

“Rooster, please just fuck me.” You whisper, tugging delicately at his roots. Rooster plunges his fingers into you, twisting them expertly and making you gasp.

He looks at you expectantly.

“Please.” Your voice cracks slightly, desperation never more evident. Rooster straightens up and pulls you against him, his cock strains against your navel through his denim shorts as his lips move against yours.

You know that the two of you have a limited time out here in the open like this. Your last time was unfinished and you had been walking around frustrated by that for three years. There had been instances in between with other people, but no one who could finish what Rooster had started.

Your fingers work at the button on his shorts, you’re trembling and it takes some willpower to have your hands comply. You manage to pop the button open, dragging the zipper down and pushing at the waistband of his boxers and shorts together.

“Needy little thing, aren’t you?” Rooster murmurs against your throat, his breath hitting you ear and making you shiver against you. He grabs your undershirt from the rock and drops it onto the sand, wrapping one arm around your waist.

You hum as he presses your back into the sand, then you gasp as he turns you onto your stomach. That’s what the shirt was for, your cheek rests against it - protected from the sand - as he lifts your hips.

You feel him pushing his shorts down behind you, pushing your hips back and feeling his exposed cock brush your core. Rooster revels in the desperate sound you make as he drags his cock between your folds, his lip between his teeth as he watches the tip sink into you.

“Fuck,” Rooster breathes out, fingers curling around your hip as he watches his dick disappear into you. You watch him over your shoulder. He’s so focused, brows furrowed and his lips parted just slightly. “Missed seeing you like this, baby.”

You push back against him eagerly, gasping as he pulls almost all the way out and drives back in, almost knocking you off of your knees and onto your stomach. You cry out, fingers curling around the fabric of your shirt under you.

You feel him laugh breathily as he kisses your spine, “Gotta shut that pretty mouth, Hyde.” Easy enough for him to say. He’s relentless, dragging against your walls as he bottoms out again and again. You’re doing your best to keep quiet for him.

He pulls you tighter against him and presses his chest to your back, dragging his lips across your shoulder.

“Rooster, holy-“ A strangled noise escapes your throat as your knees buckle under you, the only thing keeping you from hitting the sand being his grip on your waist. “Shit.”

The breath is knocked from you as he pounds into you, you’re a whimpering mess, face pressed into the crook of your arm and his hand on the back of your neck keeping you there.

Rooster grunts, leaning forward and pressing filthy, open-mouthed kisses along the length of your back. You push back against him desperately.

He pulls out suddenly, making you whine at the loss of contact. He turns you and plants your ass onto the shirt, tugging at your hips until your head falls back against the sand.

“Want to see that pretty face when you cum.” He murmurs, guiding his cock between your legs again. Your heart flutters as his palm slides up to rest at the base of your throat. He doesn’t squeeze, he just leaves it there, making sure you’re going to be still for him.

You arch your back, pushing your chest up against his as he fills you up. You push against his hand on your throat, grinning as he presses you back down against the sand.

“You like that?” He whispers. Your lips part as he drives himself impossibly deeper into you, squeezing his fingertips just slightly around the column of your throat. Both of you know that you do, he can feel you clenching around his cock.

You feel indecent under his unwavering gaze. No one has ever made you feel as wanted as Rooster. There’s always such desire in is eyes each time he looks at you. Everyone’s noticed it by now.

Rooster remembers suddenly why it was so fucking hard to let you go the first time around. Your pretty lips flushed and kiss-swollen, parted ever so slightly. Those gorgeous, trusting, eyes that twinkle with mischief each time your eyes are on him. Your pussy.

He grunts, his hips stuttering, “I can feel how fucking close you are, honey.” His thumb strokes at your throat as he leans down and slips his tongue into your mouth. You moan against his lips, breathing hard as he moves back to observe you again.

You had missed him. Had missed the way his curls hung over his forehead when he’s on top of you, the way he fills you up, his golden skin and the feel of his stupidly big hands on your body.

Maybe it’s the sun in your eyes, maybe it’s the intensity of it, but you’re seeing stars when he makes you cum. You don’t even realise you’re moaning his name until he moves his hand from your throat and covers your mouth.

“God, I love that sound.” He whispers, shaking his head slightly as you let out a muffled whimper against his palm. “But you gotta be quiet for me.” You nod, dazed as he takes his palm away and plants it in the sand behind your head.

“Fuck, Rooster,” You whimper, lifting your head and pressing a delicate kiss to his throat. “I-I…” You stop as you catch yourself in what you’re about to say. Your eyes widen at the realisation of what he almost just coaxed you into admitting.

Rooster doesn’t seem to notice, he rests his forehead against your shoulder, looking down between your bodies as he drives himself into you.

“D’you want me to pull out?” He kisses your collarbone in a surprisingly delicate motion, gripping your hips so tightly it feels like he might crush them.

“No.” You pant, maybe a little too quickly. You catch the smug look on his face as he glances up at you, you couldn’t care less — he should be smug, he’s the only person you’d ever let fuck you on a public beach during a work exercise.

He slides his hand around to cradle the base of your skull as he pulls you closer to him, picking up the pace. You whimper against his shoulder, sensitivity making you grip his bicep.

He groans softly against your throat as he comes undone, pulling impossibly close against him and driving himself as deep as he can go. He stays there for just a moment, leaving lazy kisses against the curve of your neck.

You whine as he slowly pulls out of you and tucks himself back into his shorts, zipping and buttoning the denim as he rises to his feet. You wobble as you push yourself up after him.

Rooster’s brows furrow as he watches you cover you chest with you hands whilst you grab your bikini top, “Are you serious?”

“I…”

Rooster walks to you and ties the bikini behind your back silently, then presses a kiss to your cheek, “You’re gonna have to start trusting me one of these days.”

“I do trust you.” You admitted, so quickly that it surprised even you. Your already warm cheeks burned. “I just…”

Rooster grabbed you shirt from the ground and shook the sand off of it, “I’m not asking you to tell me you love me, Hyde. Just… wouldn’t kill you to let me in.”

“I think I just did.” You muttered as you stepped into your shorts and buttoned them. Rooster’s palm hit your ass, his lips pressing gently against your shoulder as he handed you your shirt.

“Don’t get smart with me, L/N.” He grabbed his sunglasses and put them on once more, stepping up onto the rocks and offering you his hand. You take it and let him guide you back over the rocks until you’re on the sand, crossing the beach toward the hard deck.

You let him walk a little in front of you, both of you just walking at the speed your legs naturally carry you. His legs happen to carry him a little faster. You wonder what the hell that was back there. The urge to tell him you loved him.

It was confusing and even more terrifying. You shook your head and determined the cause to be some weird primal urge. Not the fact that you’d been thinking about him and your time together for the past three years.

“Do you think they’re all inside?” Rooster asks, noticing the crew are now gone from the beach. You cross in front of him, shrugging your shoulders and lifting your hand to shield your eyes from the sun as you try to spot someone through the windows.

Rooster sweeps sand from your back.

“Yeah, I see Payback.” You confirm, stopping to let him rid you of the evidence before the two of you head inside.

“Hyde, you okay? — where’d you go?” Maverick is the first to spot you, he’s just as concerned as he was before.

“Just needed some fresh air so we went for a walk.” You explain, pushing your hands into the pockets of your shorts. Rooster nods along in silent agreement.

You watch Bob elbow Phoenix, pulling her attention away from her conversation with Fanboy. Bob uses his beer to motion toward you and Rooster, but not towards your faces. You follow his gaze and look down at the matching imprints of sand on both of your knees.

You aren’t the best at reading lips, but it’s clear as day when Bob looks right at you and tells Phoenix, “You owe me twenty bucks.”

…

Tag List:

@20th-centu-fairy-girl

@nattygee

@blendedcookiez

@em2213

@blindedbyyourgrace17

@vensidia

@wwwpxper

@imhereimqueerandicannotdrinkbeer

@sparrows-corner

@worldsoldestpizzaslice

@needf0rspeed

@saltyturtlejudgeflap

@auggie-16

@666abby6666

@fantasy-addict354

@a-sweet-little-fangirl

@filteroppsidonthveone

@nqberries

@starksbabe

@ahhmeils

@sydneejean

@lizziespidiepridie

@thedeviltohisangel

@levylovegood

@lovingonshawn

@impossiblebagelcowboyfreak

@americaarse

@pleasedontblameme

@sl13-ce

@inglorious-imagines

@spooky-titties

@walkonthewiidside

@sanzuharuchiyoswife

@rororo06

@amandacavill

@serendiipty

@1-800-imagines

@amandarebell

@earth-to-lottie

@darkdaysandfakesmiles

@n3ssm0nique

@littlewhiterose

@lovemesomevesey

@annakatf

@tarohemianrocketmanapspdy

@acdassenza

@shadowvera

@jonginvlog

@simpandslut

@ig5989

@bonnieelizabethparker

@shaded-echoes-recs

@criminalyetminimal

@americaarse

@lunamoonbby

@perpetuelledaydreaming

@everything-i-love-in-life

@xxlilyxx90

@hotchmeeeeeuppppp

@erinwrld

@hootylou

@pizzaprincess07

@thelifeofthelifeofme

#syds fic rec #top gun fanfiction #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw x reader

4K notes · View notes