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actually-safer-to-kiss · 7 months

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Girlfriend Interrupted

Summary: Reader had a bad day at work and Spencer's complaints are not the best timing.

Couple: Spencer/Fem!Reader

Category: Hurt/comfort

Content warnings: Mentions of food, hunger, and prolonged time without eating

Word count: 887

The bus rumbles across the old asphalt and bricked crosswalks while hissing at stops. All you could do was lay your head against the window and try not to fall asleep or accidentally smash it into the glass after hitting a precarious pothole. You were three stops away from home and all you wanted to do was lock yourself in the apartment and gorge on the least healthy meal you could find.

You had a healthy meal planned for lunch today actually; a salad filled to the nines (the nines being roasted chicken, nuts, pomegranate, and honeydew). It was perfect. So perfect in fact that someone stole it from the fridge when you were in the middle of beating a deadline. And even after being successful in that, your boss still found time to yell at you for something another co-worker did. You weren’t sure which one, but it wasn’t you. You’ve been nibbling on a granola bar on the ride, but your mind is occupied by the leftover lasagna in the fridge.

And you find it there, waiting for you under the stark refrigerator light. You yank it from the bottom shelf and don’t even consider looking at the microwave. You barely looked at the dishes you left in the sink after breakfast this morning and remember how behind you were when getting ready for work, telling yourself you’d put them in the dishwasher before Spencer got home. You did say you’d do that. And Spencer doesn’t like dishes in the sink.

Instead, you grab the blanket from the back of the couch and settle in the dark, pulling up a YouTube video you’ve been meaning to watch. You rest your phone against the book spines Spencer had specifically picked out to be displayed for their guests (mainly your parents during the holidays and his co-workers). Most of them are about astronomy, nothing you’ve cared to pick up. They’re detailed enough to keep Spencer entertained and sturdy enough to keep your phone upright while you slurped up tomato sauce and ricotta cheese. And so you snuggled in like a kid watching Saturday cartoons, sugary cereal at the ready.

And it’s when you think of your boyfriend again that the door behind you opens with a creak. The thud of his cane echoes across the wood floor as that same door clicks as he shuts it. You manage to say “Hey, Spence” through your glorious mouthful of a rushed dinner. But Spencer says nothing back. He’s been struggling not just with his knee acting up again after his previous surgery, but with being unable to travel with his team. The thud of Spencer’s cane trails from the entryway to the kitchen. It was a tough day for both of you, no doubt.

Your sympathies started to wane though when Spencer interrupted your video.

“Ugh, Y/N. I told you I don’t like dishes in the sink.”

“I know.” You tried to say without a mouthful. “And I’m sorry. I was running late for work and needed to get going before—”

“And you left the fridge door open, too. We talked about needing to cut back before our lease renewal. The National Weather Service expects an uptick in accumulation by late December.”

You pause your video and turn in your seat. “Sorry, I was going to do it when I got home, but I needed to eat because someone stole—”

“And you’re eating the lasagna from the tray? We have clean bowls. You could easily grab one from—”

“Let me talk!” You ended up shouting. It was sudden for both of you. You’re never one to raise your voice and Spencer has never been one to fuck up bad enough to witness it. It forces Spencer to freeze in place, like that accumulation he talked about just rushed through the apartment on your command. It would be funny if it was some sort of command if you already weren’t teetering on the edge of tears. The sting in your nose already started traveling to your eyes. They welled up and Spencer quickly became a blur as you started to sob, the trials of a bad day finally getting to you. You let your chest heave and tears streak down your cheeks, hoping at least a portion of the stress will subside afterward.

You didn’t expect Spencer to be right next to you. You didn’t hear his cane once on the floor. It was against the arm of the couch. And he was on the floor, resting on his knees. Of course, you’re too distressed to point out that is the last thing he should be doing if he wants to avoid more surgery so badly. Plus he’s busy with taking the meal off of your lap. “Come here,” he tells you. He’s holding your hands. His hands are just as frigid as the lasagna. But he pulls you up as he tries to stand, meeting you on (somewhat) equal footing to bring you into a hug. It’s warm, obviously. All of his hugs are warm. He wears cotton-only cardigans and wears layers of clothes even at the peak of summer. “I’m sorry.” He says. “Just let it out. I’m here.”

“Spence. Your knee.”

“It’s fine.”

“You need to—”

“Be here. Which I am.” And he holds you tighter.

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itsprashimusic · 3 months

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Maybe Leave The Cooking To Me

Summary - You love to cook, and Lando loves to help, but this time it goes sideways.

Pairings - Lando Norris x fem!Reader

Warnings - minor injury, reader has good relationship with parents, reader is same age as Lando, fluffy.

W/C - 1.4k

A/N - my first fic for f1 lets gooo Happy reading<3

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It was the end of a triple header meaning that now you had a break you were craving. The Monday meetings were done with, you and Lando were on the flight back to your Monaco apartment. The exhaustion caught up with you and the both of you were out within seconds of your heads hitting your pillows.

It was now a Tuesday night. There was some music playing in the living room, Lando was somewhere in the house, and you were in the kitchen. You wouldn’t call yourself a chef, but you loved to cook and learn new recipes. Travelling the world with Lando made it so that you would not get to cook very often, so when you did get to cook you would take the chance.

You sat on the counter contemplating what to cook. Before you shifted to Monaco your mom had written out a recipe book for you with all different kinds of recipes which she had found and curated to your and your family's taste and liking. So you sat on the counter, reading through the fat book.

"Babe, what do you wanna eat?" you yelled to Lando, your eyes still focused on the book. You didn't get a reply, but 5 seconds later he walked into the kitchen. "I'm not really sure," he said while walking up to you. He walked in between your legs and tilted the book in your hands so that he could read it.

"Oo, how about spaghetti? You always say how you wanted to make it." He said and pointed to it. "By that I meant making it from scratch. It is too late to do that." you reply and turn the page.

"Then just boil the spaghetti we have and make the sauce." The excitement in your eyes when you heard him say that made him chuckle. You got off the counter and began rummaging around the kitchen looking for all the ingredients. "Red sauce?" "Red sauce" he confirms. You get out the tomatoes, chillies, garlic, herbs and spices while Lando takes out the spaghetti.

You give him the simple task of watching the pasta boil and reminding you when it was 20 minutes. He dutifully did his task and even drained the water and left the spaghetti in the colander. It was getting late and the two of you were growing hungrier, but knew that the food would be worth the wait.

While waiting for the boiled tomatoes to cool you were cutting some onions and garlic. "Can you get the grinder out?" you asked Lando. He was a bit deep in thought, so only hummed before retrieving the asked for item. "What are you thinking about?" "I could've overtaken Russel at turn 14." he said.

"Baby, it's ok," you abandoned the half cut onions and wiped your hands. You walked over to Lando and gently made him look at you, "Could you have done something then? Yes. Can you do anything about it now? No. It's no use dwelling on something that can't be changed. The best you can make of it, is to be aware of it and try and avoid repeating it in the future. Hmm?" you hummed at the end with a nod. Lando looked at you and nodded along.

To get his mind off of the last race you got him to make good use of his muscles and crush some dried chillies. The cooking went on. You peeled the tomatoes, put them in the grinder and set up the wok on the stove. Lando was slicing some pieces of soft chicken which he wanted you to add in the sauce.

The sauce was half ready when you turned the gas off and went to the sink to wash your hands. "Is it done?" he asked you. 'No' you told him and dried your hands, "It still has some chunks which didn't get ground." This is where your casual Tuesday night took a turn.

Lando, being the muppet he is who can't cook, poured the chunky liquid into the grinder bowl, covered it and put it on the machine. You then faced him and saw what he did. But you did not have enough time to tell him to not do what he was about to do.

He turned the knob and within less than a second the hot tomato sauce spewed out of the bowl and all over you, Lando and your cosy kitchen.

You would expect that a formula 1 driver's quick reflexes would not just be limited to when they are driving. But if you saw the scene inside Lando and his girlfriend's kitchen on a Tuesday night after a triple header, you would be greeted with quite the opposite. The once clean kitchen was now covered in red food. You and Lando were covered in near-boiling hot pasta sauce.

When the sauce spewed out, Lando's first reaction was to let out a slightly high-pitched scream and you quickly turned the loud nightmare-like-sounding machine off. Neither of you said anything, you just looked around the kitchen, taking in the mess, processing what happened, and slowly registering the pain you felt where the sauce lay on your bare skin.

Thankfully most of the spilt sauce got on your t-shirts and not on either of your faces, but some did reach your arms. Lando was the first to say something "Ow, that hurts, that's-that's starting to burn, ouch." Without wasting much time, you grabbed his arm and took him to the bathroom. You turned the shower on, "keep your arm under the water. Do. Not. Move."

You went to the sink and shed your tomato-covered top and left it there. You got Lando to do the same and then joined him by putting your own, now slightly burnt, arms under the spray of cold water. "Baby, why did you start the grinder with a hot liquid inside of it?" you asked him, your voice soft and full of concern, "I'm not mad, just wanna know why."

"You said you had to grind it." His voice sounded broken, you wanted to hug him tight and never let go. "Lan, you have to wait till it has cooled down. The steam inside created pressure which caused the lid to pop open and the sauce to scatter everywhere." He just gave a quiet 'oh' in response.

"How much of your arm got burnt?" you asked and he showed you the parts which hurt. You left the bathroom and came back with two handkerchiefs and ice packs. With the help of rubber bands you secured the ice packs to his forearms. "Where are you going?" he asked when the two of you changed your clothes.

"To clean the kitchen and salvage whatever is left of the sauce."

"Let me help, please."

How could you say no to that face he was making? After some back and forth he got you to also attach an ice pack to your forearm. you grumbled but nevertheless allowed him to take care of you.

You both clean in silence. He cleaned the counter, cupboards and the grinder while you cleaned up the floor where most of the sauce got. 10 minutes later the now salvaged sauce was on the gas with the chicken in and almost ready to eat.

Lando got out two plates and served you both some spaghetti. Your stomach rumbled, which made him giggle. The two of you quickly began laughing. Some people process and handle things by crying, some yell, some throw things around the house and some just sit in silence and wallow and wither away. But you had a different way of coping with emotions and stress. By laughing. That was one thing you and your boyfriend had in common. You both would laugh to process things.

It was kind of the reason the two of you got together in the first place.

Soon the sauce was ready and was severed. You both took your plates and forks and sat on the couch, something ready to play on the TV. The ice packs had come off by then, but Lando insisted on wrapping the cold napkin around the red part of your hand which was not covered in ice earlier.

He finished wrapping your arm and you leaned forward to kiss his nose. Before you could reach though, his lips caught yours in a short but sweet kiss. You both ate your spaghetti and watched what was playing on the TV, occasionally making comments about it here and there.

"Babe"

"Yea?"

"Next time, maybe leave cooking to me?"

"I’m with you a 100 percent on that one"

A/N - this fic came to be because I read a lando fic where reader was eating chicken pasta and decided to cook spaghetti for the first time and ended up burning myself(dw i'm fine, the burn was very minor)

Hope you enjoyed reading<3

#itsprashimusic #formula 1 #f1 #formula 1 x reader #lando norris x reader #lando norris #desiblr #x desi!reader #ln4 x reader #ln4 #f1 imagine #f1 fics #formula 1 fics #lando norris fic #lando norris fluff #lando norris imagine

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raggedytiger · 3 months

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ragatha/agatha and pomni/penny human hcs!

(r)agatha:

is an english teacher!

yes she still loves horses. she used to ride them, & she loves old western movies.

owns cowboy hat and boots.

analytical and loves long & winding conversations.

has a very happy cat named sandwich.

patches her own clothes, doesn't have kids but if she did she would embroider their names into their belongings.

she still plays cello, she loves music in general, probably sings like an angel.

can't do any mathematics.

can drive, but like a lunatic. somehow has never had an accident though, so it's fine.

probably has a cute little baby blue/yellow car now, but definitely had a beat up offroader truck at some point that got put to good use. or maybe she still does, i'm not the boss.

total lesbian, a bit of a heartbreaker but not intentionally (women just keep falling for her)

goes to town/neighbourhood/community meetings. likely is/was in a knitting circle

absurd number of quilts in her home

pomni/penny:

is an accountant as we know, and cannot cook for shit as we know.

no pets she can barely take herself for walks. is more similar to a cat, but had a dog growing up. would love a collie or a dalmatian probably.

would name the dog something stupid like Thermometer Johnson.

she can drive, but nervously.

really quick thinker, like impressively, unless she's under HUGE amounts of stress. is literally always thinking at 100mph.

no sense of interior decor or personal style. all practical, kind of butch. really does kill a suit.

very much lesbian but not fully to terms with it. probably had short-lived relationships with men in which she was 'content' but didn't really care for it. seeing agatha as agatha for the first time was probably a crazy punch to her little gay heart. not to mention the cowboy gear.

autistic

watches 90s anime to wind down

listens to every single genre of music. passes a lot of time with headphones in, slowly making her way thru the entire world's discography

owns no band merch or anything though she just listens

can't sleep without a fan on, thunderstorm 12hr audio, blackout curtains, weighted blanket, water nearby

does not sleep a lot

both of them (going to call them pomni and ragatha for convenience):

didn't immediately recognise one another. i havent got an exact idea of how they reunited after getting out, but there were tears.

bonded in a very rare and unique way - they got to revel in the newfound joys of real life again. they got to eat delicious food, go on long, unobstructed walks in the real sun, be warmed by it, chew on ice cubes and shiver at the pain, listen to each other's heartbeats, listen to real music, read real books, smell soaps and flowers and sauces. they went to the supermarket together and read all the labels, and bought one of each type of fruit to try between them, and smelled all the candles, and touched all the blankets. spent a lot of time holding hands and kissing and i'm sorry to say, probably having sex, because holy shit, i'm real, you're real, we're real

now live together in ragatha's apartment, after pomni moved out of her small and confusingly-furnished flat.

both of them feel inadequate from time to time. this is resolved by a stern-but-loving talking-to.

sandwich likes pomni very much. pomni doesn't really get cats, but loves sandwich a great deal, and enjoys letting her sleep on her lap.

ragatha is very pleased to see her girls getting along.

ragatha cooks, pomni chops the veg. she often doesn't fuck it up

pomni cleans a lot as a 'thank you for letting me live here, i love you'. she's very much acts of service, ragatha is words & physical touch <3

they watch a lot of movies together. depending on how long they've been stuck, they might have culture to catch up on

ragatha wants to have a house with a garden one day. pomni starts germinating seeds from their fruit & veg like a weird science experiment. ragatha is delighted when she is presented with a baby tomato plant.

clothes are shared. ragatha's are bigger, but most of pomni's are ill-fitting anyway so it can go both ways. ragatha likes to dress pomni up in different outfits and have her do a little fashion show. pomni pretends not to savour the confidence boost.

pomni starts sleeping more

#ok im tired so thats it now. BYE #tadc #pomni #ragatha #the amazing digital circus #buttonblossom #tadc pomni #tadc ragatha #jesterdoll #ragapom #tadc headcanon #ragatha x pomni #pomni x ragatha #tadc hc #tadc humanization #human versions

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lewisvinga · 4 months

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sugarplum | george russell x fem! reader

summary; y/n tries out a trend where she calls george cringy nicknames to see his reaction until she reveals something grand.

warnings; ?? none

taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs @thehufflepuffavenger1

word count; 520

notes; requested ! decided to do this written bc it’d be easier for me if that makes sense 😭 and fun fact, i wrote this instead of my history paper 😄

masterlist !

“Hey guys and welcome back to another come cook with me and my boo bear for a little date night,” Y/n says with a smile, trying to hold back her laugh at George’s furrowed-up eyebrows. She set her camera up in her kitchen, deciding that them making pasta would make great content.

“Boo bear?” George questions, his head tilted to the side as his hands rested on his hips. “Now that’s a new one.”

She playfully rolls her eyes as she holds up a cutting board in one hand and a box of cherry tomatoes in the other. “Now, Bubba is gonna be cutting some tomatoes for our pasta.”

George gives her another confused glance but takes the tomatoes from her. A small smile was evident on his lips as he chopped up the tomatoes while she chopped up onions and talked to the camera.

“Gummy bear, are you almost done so we can make the sauce?”

George puffs up his cheek, biting on his bottom lip to try not to laugh. He slowly nods as his face turns a light shade of red. “Yeah, all-all done.” He said, stuttering as he continued to try to contain his laugh.

“Honeybun, can you fill this with water?” Y/n asks, handing him a pot. He finally let a quiet chuckle slip but immediately contained the rest of his laughter.

“Got you, babe.” He replied, keeping a straight face as he grabbed the pot of water.

She also tried to keep a straight face. Each nickname made her cringe but for the sake of the video, she’d call him any nickname. She decided to call him one last nickname before giving him very special news.

George appears back in the frame beside her and places the pot of water on the stove. Y/n glances at the pot and gasps. “My sugarplum! You put the perfect amount-“

He couldn’t hold back his laughter any longer. He lets out a loud holler and bursts into loud fits of laughter, holding onto his side from laughing so hard. She couldn’t hold back her giggles either, grasping onto the counter and laughing along.

“Babe, what the bloody hell was that!”

“Was testing you to make sure you were paying attention!” She said with a smile.

“I always pay attention to you, love, but wow. Those nicknames were something else…” He trailed off when he noticed how she opened her mouth like she was going to say something. “Another nickname?”

Y/n shakes her head and takes a deep breath. With a smile, she quietly says, “I’m pregnant.”

George’s blue eyes widened as his smile became even bigger than before. “You’re-you’re what?”

“Pregnant-“

“Bloody hell! This is amazing!” He loudly exclaimed, immediately picking her up and spinning her around out of excitement. “Better than those nicknames!” He says in between laughs, causing her to let out a chuckle.

He gently places her back down on the ground but keeps his hands on her waist. “This is the best news ever.” He whispers before placing a kiss on her lips.

“We’re having a baby, sugarplum.”

“Oh my days, Y/n.”

#formula one x reader #f1 x reader #f1 scenario #formula one scenarios #f1 imagine #formula one imagines #formula one imagine #f1 scenarios #george russell scenarios #george russell x reader #george russell imagine

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desperate-gay · 4 months

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mearps, "i can't believe after 3 years together this is the first time i'm ever learning this", kitchen at home

Family Recipe

Mary Earps x fem!reader

“What’s cookin’ good lookin’” Mary’s booming voice startles you, making you jump and almost drop the sharp knife you’re using to slice the food. “I scared ya didn’t I?” The taller girl chuckles, placing her hands on your hips and a kiss on your cheek.

“Yes, yes you did.” You huff in fake annoyance while playfully giving her a scolding look.

“Awe you’re so adorable all pouty.” Mary moves in a baby voice as one of her big hands reaches up and squeezes your cheeks. You quickly smack her hand away and mumble something under your breath as you turn your body back to the food.

“How was training?” The goalkeeper sighs, leaning against the counter while watching you do your thing.

“Exhausting, annoying, smelly, and any other adjectives I have missed. Besides that what are you stirring up over there, love?” Your girlfriend quirks an eyebrow and attempts to look over your shoulder only for her sight to still be blocked.

“I am starting to make my uncle’s signature pasta sauce so we can have some tonight.” You say, smiling at her giddy state when she starts clapping her hands in excitement.

At every family function your uncle brings his homemade pasta along with his sauce. Mary is always the first to get a plate and the first to get seconds. Nobody in the family knows the recipe besides your uncle, you, and your mom which makes Mary very jealous when you won’t share it with her.

The taller girl reappears behind you, wrapping her arms around your waist and hugging you along with placing random kisses either on your shoulders, head, or cheek. You smile at her clingy behavior, enjoying being close to her after not seeing each other for most of the week.

“Y’know what?” You ask, turning around to face her.

“What?”

“Do you want to help me cook?” Mary looks even more confused considering she doesn’t know anything about how the dish is made.

“I can’t help because I don’t know how.” Your girlfriend huffs while crossing her arms, annoyed that you’re basically rubbing it in her face.

“I think it’s time I can teach you.” You let out a big squeal when the goalkeeper’s arms lift you up into the air and spin you around in glee. “Okay okay, calm down there, cowboy. I gotta be conscious to do so.” You tease which the other girl doesn’t notice from being too caught up putting on an apron she jokingly got for you one day.

“Chef Mary reporting for duty.” She stands tall while fake saluting, making you giggle at her determination and silly nature.

“Alright you goof, you can start by cutting those tomatoes over there.” You point over to the free area with the knife.

“I can’t believe after 3 years together, this is the first time I’m ever learning this.” The taller girl speaks with a certain eagerness and reaches for the veggie and fruit bowl.

“Mary, those are apples.”

A little while later all the ingredients are already in the pot and formed into the signature sauce. You scoop up a little with the wooden spoon and hold her hand under it in case anything spills while blowing to cool it off.

“Time for the final test. Try and see if it’s good.” You hold up the spoon, gesturing for her to open her mouth. Once she does, you angle it up into her mouth in an attempt to make it all in but some drips down the corner of your lips.

“God, that’s so delicious I’ll never get over it.” She groans at the taste immediately wanting more.

“You got a little something right there.” You smile while wiping the remains of the dressing off her chin. While trying to gather it off her face, you don’t notice the loving expression she has while staring down at you. “There you go, my love.” You say, sucking it off your thumb before you swiftly get pulled in for a time-stopping kiss.

The kiss is so unbelievably tender and sweet that you almost faint. You can tell how much love is being poured into it just by the feeling of her lips and her hand cradling your face. Once air becomes a problem, you pull away reluctantly while staring at each other in awe.

“Wow.” You whisper, placing your hands over hers that still rest on your face.

“I love ya. I love ya so so so much.” She finalizes her statement with another big kiss on your lips. In your head, you know that this is forever. No one besides family can know the secret recipes and now she’s your family.

#mary earps x reader #mary earps #woso x reader #woso fic #woso imagine #woso

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tongue-like-a-razor · 1 year

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Brother's Best Friend - Part 5

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

A/N: Thanks for all the ideas you guys have been sending in! They're all so wonderful it's hard to choose what to write next haha Hope you guys like this chapter, inspired by some of the ideas sent in

Summary: The trials and tribulations of falling for your brother's best friend.

CW: Excessive drinking, swearing, slow burn, fluff

WC: 2000+

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Masterlist

“What are you wearing?”

You look up from your spot on the couch to see Jake standing at the entrance to the living room with a slightly bewildered expression. You grimace at him and then look down at your shirt. “Oh,” you respond with a laugh, remembering that you’d changed a few hours ago after spilling tomato sauce on your tank top. “It’s one of Bradley’s band tees.”

“No,” Jake corrects you, taking a single step forward. “It’s one of my band tees.”

You watch him steadily. “Okay,” you say slowly, not really sure what his problem is. “Do you want it back?” You rise from the couch and start pulling the shirt upward when you realize that you aren’t wearing bra. “Oh shit!” You clap a hand to your mouth. “You almost got a show,” you say with a laugh.

Jake’s eyes, which had drifted down to your bare abdomen as you were lifting the shirt, slide back up to your face. He doesn’t appear nearly as amused as you. On the contrary, he looks like he might pass out. “You – you’re wearing just my shirt?” he asks, his voice uncharacteristically brittle.

“Look, what was it doing crumpled up on one of our kitchen chairs, anyway?” you say defensively.

Jake licks his lips uncomfortably. He’s still holding your gaze but he isn’t responding.

You roll your eyes. “Oh god, don’t tell me there was another encounter in my house.”

Jake releases an unsteady sigh. “Would you call strip poker an encounter?”

“Jake!” you exclaim. “You have your own place!”

“It was a double date,” Jake responds sheepishly.

You shake your head. “Well, I hope you enjoyed seeing my brother’s ass.”

“Actually, your brother is surprisingly good at Texas hold’em.”

“Regardless!” You groan in frustration. “How do you walk out without wearing a shirt, Jake?”

Jake purses his lips. “I’m a little hazy on that part, to be honest.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you say.

“Well, you look ridiculous,” he counters.

You scoff. “I do not. I can totally pull off” – you drop your chin to examine the front of the shirt – “Pantera,” you finish with a slight cringe.

“Don’t make that face,” Jake says, pointing a cautioning finger at you.

You shrug. “You’re the one who said I look ridiculous.”

“Only because you’re drowning in in.”

“It’s not my fault you’re twice my size,” you retort, noticing that the hem of the t-shirt hangs so low that it hides the shorts you’re wearing underneath.

Jake takes another few steps forward, chuckling. “It’s actually pretty fucking cute that it goes all the way down to your knees,” he says, placing his hand over your head to ruffle your hair. “Keep it,” adds, and then drops onto your couch with a tired sigh.

“I can’t keep it,” you say. “People are going to ask me if I know any of their music –”

Jake waves a hand. “I’ll show you,” he says. “You’re gonna love it, trust me.”

You plop down onto the couch beside him and cross your legs. “Seems a little backwards.”

Jake looks over at you with a grin. “Suits your vibe.”

You smack him on the shoulder and he laughs. Then, there’s a knock on the door and you gasp. “Oh my god, I completely forgot to change for my date!”

Jake’s smile falters instantly. “You have a date?”

You give him a flat look. “Like you don’t.”

He shakes his head.

“Well, give it a minute, I guess,” you respond sarcastically, getting up.

Jake smirks and rises after you. “Maybe he’ll like your new look.”

You let out a nervous whimper and head for the door with Jake right on your heels. You pull open the door and nearly hit Jake with it because he’s so close behind you. You shake your head at him and then greet your boyfriend.

“Hey,” he responds hesitantly, his eyes darting between yours and Jake’s faces. “What’s going on?”

“Not much, come on in,” you say.

Jake remains silent, waiting to be introduced.

“Wow,” your boyfriend says. “What are you wearing?” He tilts his head to examine the shirt. “Pantera? Is that Spanish for panther? That's a lot of skulls.”

You notice Jake making a face at the back of his head and you give him a warning look. “I was just about to change,” you say with a tight smile.

Your boyfriend nods. “Good.”

Jake narrows his eyes and steps around your date to face him. “Hey there,” he says in a loud, exaggerated baritone. He holds out his hand in a gesture that seems more aggressive than polite.

You roll your eyes and rub your forehead irritably. “I’ll be right back,” you promise, eyeing your boyfriend apologetically as Jake throws you a massive grin.

You run up the stairs, taking them two at a time, as Jake begins grilling your boyfriend about the last time his vehicle was serviced.

You pull Jake’s t-shirt off and toss it in the hamper, and then you find a cute, backless top that looks great with your jean shorts. You glance at yourself in the full-length mirror before heading back down and smile. You’re a catch. Even if Jake Seresin will never see it that way.

You rush down the stairs just as Jake finishes instructing your boyfriend on how to check the pressure in his tires. The latter is watching him with a dubious expression.

“Alright, let’s roll!” you say, bouncing off the final step and charging the space between them.

Jake steps back as you crash into him, forcefully shoving him aside. “What time will you kids be back?” he asks as you hook your arm through your boyfriend’s and lead him out onto the porch.

You glance over your shoulder crossly. “No clue,” you say curtly, in response to which Jake gives you a once-over, as if he’s just noticed your attire.

When his eyes meet yours again, he’s wearing a more genuine expression. “Be careful,” he calls.

You wave a dismissive hand in his direction and turn to face your date, who is repeatedly checking to see if Jake has retreated into the house. “Is that your brother?” he asks.

…

Several hours and seven tequila shots later, you’re suddenly feeling extremely unwell. You stagger down the hallway, zigzagging between the walls toward the bathroom and, once you’re inside, you lock the door behind you and slide down the wall onto the floor.

You pull your phone out of your pocket, and it flies right out of your hand. With a groan, you crawl forward to pick it back up. You blink to focus your eyes on the screen, your thumb hovering over your brother’s name. You would call him, except that Bradley has been at the Hard Deck every night this past week, trying to woo the bartender. So, he probably isn’t in any condition to come and pick you up.

You sigh, squinting at Jake’s name in your contacts list. If you call him, he will never let you live this down. But the longer you wait, the faster the room spins around you and, by the time you tap on his number, you feel like you are on death’s doorstep, laying your back down on the cold, tiled floor.

“Hello?” Jake answers. “Y/N?” You can hear the edge in his tone despite the sounds of the bar in the background.

“Jake,” you say weakly.

“What’s going on?” he asks urgently as the background noises fade away. You hear the ring of the door as he steps outside. “Are you okay?”

“Mm-hm,” you lie. “I’m just very, very drunk. And I think I’m dying. The two are probably related.”

“Where are you?” he asks sternly and you hear the beep of his car as he unlocks the door.

“I’m at a house party,” you croak. “On the first floor. In the bathroom down the hall.”

You hear Jake sigh and then his car door slam when he pulls it shut. Next, you hear the engine. “The address, genius.”

“Oh,” you say. “Fuck if I know.”

“Drop a pin.”

“’Kay, hang on.” You lift the phone away from your ear and hold it up to send Jake your location. Only, your grip falters and your phone comes crashing down onto your face. “Ow!” you moan.

“Y/N?” Jake’s distressed voice is muffled by the fluffy bathroom mat on which your phone has landed.

You whimper and pick it back up. “Can you hurry?” you say, bringing the phone to your ear again.

“Y/N, I need you to concentrate, okay?” he says, steadily. “I still don’t know where you are.”

You let out a soft sob. “I’m in the bathroom!”

“For fuck’s sake, Bradshaw! Pay attention!” he yells and you flinch, nearly dropping your phone all over again. “I need the address!”

“Oh, right!” you exclaim. “Hang on.” You sit up and try again. “Did you get it?”

There’s a pause on the other end while Jake checks his phone. “Yeah, I got it. I’m ten minutes out.”

“Okay,” you respond with a slight whine. “That’s a very long time.”

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll be there in five.”

“’Kay, don’t speed,” you mutter, closing your eyes as you lay back down onto the floor.

You hear Jake chuckle. “Did you forget who you’re talkin’ to?”

You sigh softly, too tired to actually laugh. “Jake,” you say. “I feel like I’m on a carousel in the middle of the ocean.”

“Hang in there, shorty,” he says. “Where’s your boyfriend, anyway?”

“No idea. Last time I saw him was when he lost at beer pong. Such a sore loser.”

“Classy,” Jake remarks. Then, after a few moments of silence, he says. “Keep talkin’, darlin’, I’m almost there.”

“I’m just going to take a little nap,” you say sleepily.

“I’d rather you keep talkin’, so I know you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” you reply. “What do you want me to talk about?”

“What’s your favorite color?” he asks.

“You know what my favorite color is,” you say with amusement.

Jake chuckles. “Fine. Tell me about your plans for the weekend.”

“A nice, quiet funeral,” you say, willing the ceiling to stop rotating above you. “You’re invited.”

Jake snorts. “You any good at poker?”

“I’m not playing strip poker with my brother, Jake.”

“We can keep it PG for you, kiddo. Besides, Bradley might be too busy for us, anyhow.”

“Aww, did he get a date with the barmaid?”

“He got a date with the barmaid.” You can hear the smile in Jake's voice.

“But he’ll miss my funeral.”

Jake laughs. “Sorry to burst your bubble, cupcake, but I’m here. So, we’ll have to postpone that funeral, if you don't mind.”

The knowledge that he’s close by is a such relief that you let the phone slip out from your hand. In less than a minute, he’s knocking on the bathroom door.

“Y/N?” he says cautiously.

“Yeah,” you respond, rising unsteadily to your feet and unlocking it for him.

He bursts in and you stagger backward, so he grabs your hand and pulls you forward, and you sway right into his arms. Jake holds you tightly as you try to regain your footing. He lowers his face to get a good look at you. “Having a good night?” he asks with a cheeky grin.

You strike his chest with your palm half-heartedly. “Don’t be mean,” you murmur, resting your head on his solid pecs.

He smells fresh and warm and you detect a trace of cologne still infused into the cotton of his shirt; smooth and velvety with a hint of citrus and a hefty dose of ‘I’m about to rip your clothes off’ sandalwood.

“I think I’m going to vomit,” you say, bringing a hand over your mouth.

“It’ll probably make you feel better,” he says, gesturing to the toilet in the corner of the bathroom.

You shake your head, refusing to throw up in Jake Seresin’s presence. “Let’s just get out of here,” you whimper.

Jake leads you carefully through the house, making sure you aren’t bumping into any people or walls. Your boyfriend, of course, is nowhere to be found. Jake brings you outside and steers you toward his car. Without letting go of you, he opens the passenger door and helps you into the seat slowly. You drop your head back and close your eyes as he brings the seatbelt over your chest and buckles you in.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“Wow, you smell like a distillery,” he notes with a laugh.

You smile and open your eyes. “I thought you were going to be mad.”

He furrows his eyebrows. “Why would I be mad?” he asks, still leaning into the passenger side of the car.

You shrug. “Because I’m irresponsible,” you try to say, however the words come out very slurred.

Jake chuckles. “You’re probably the most responsible person I know,” he says. He reaches up to tuck back a strand of your hair, his fingers drifting down the side of your face and lingering for a moment at your cheek. “You deserve a night off.”

You stare into his eyes, all the feelings you’ve been trying to suppress bubbling up in your gut, together with your nausea. What’s worse, your head is spinning even harder, if that’s possible. If only Jake knew how much you longed for him. If only he know how much you wanted him to kiss you.

“Cheer up, buttercup,” he says with a wink, pinching your chin affectionately. “You’re going to feel so much worse tomorrow. In fact, we should probably save your introduction to heavy metal until after your hangover.”

Read Part 6

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idunnoanymore7 · 11 months

Text

Freezer

Description: If you get locked in the walk-in freezer with your hot boss, you need to warm up somehow.

Content: carmy x reader (no use of y/n), injury(cut finger) and mention of blood, sort of enemies to lovers, oral f!receiving, fingering, unprotected piv sex, dirty talk, use of pet names

Author’s Note: I need him IN MY BONES. i wrote this before watching the ep when this happens LOL. also i love feedback if you want to leave it! <3

——————————————————

It started as a normal day of work-as in Carmy was yelling, Richie was an asshole, and Sydney was solving everything.

It ended up being an intense day for an unofficial kitchen assistant. There was a large rush of customers at lunch, leaving Carmy’s veins to protrude as he yelled at everyone to make more food.

“50 more beef, 20 veggie, 16 everything chefs!”

“Heard, chef!” The kitchen chorused back.

He called your name.

“Yes, chef?”

“I need the two slabs of beef left in the fridge, and then you need to go drive and get more.”

“Heard, chef,” you say, writing the instructions down quickly on your notepad.

Carmy was already gone, at his station picking up the pound of beef. You stared as his bicep curved out, his hand flexed and gripped the bag. You were interrupted by-

“Chef! I need those tomatoes!” Sydney said. “They have to be in the pot in 5!”

Fuck-the tomatoes you were chopping for Sydney’s sauce before this meeting started.

“Yes chef!”

“And we’re talking about whatever that was later!” she said. You tense as you realize she saw you gawking.

“Syyyyd!” You whine. She grins.

“Get to work!” Carmy hollers from around a corner, and you dash back to the sink.

You had finished half of the ten tomatoes sydney requested. You picked up the knife and got to work on the 6th of the bunch.

You were mindlessly chopping for maybe a minute before someone slammed into your back, knocking you forward and causing you to slice your finger.

“Fuck!” you gasped. You whirled around to see who it was. “Say behind!”

Of course. Richie. He looked down at you and his lip curled.

“Not my fault! Pay more attention next time.”

He stalked off, rolling his eyes.

Whatever, you didn’t have time for this. Luckily no blood got on the tomatoes, so you wrapped the cut in paper towel and got back to work careful to keep that finger away from the food. You slid the cut up food into a bowl and carried it to Sydney, placing it next to her.

“Thanks, chef,” she said, checking the tomatoes.

“Of course, chef.”

“Whoa, you good?” she said, noticing your finger.

“Yeah, I’ll fix it after I finish,” you said.

“Okay..” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Be careful.”

“I will, chef!” You say, already heading to the freezer. “Corner!”

You reached the freezer and pulled open the door to slip inside, looking for the beef Carmy had asked for.

“Ah!” You jumped, shoulder blade hitting the metal shelf. Carmy startled from the racks he was leaning on.

“What the fuck?” He leaned on the door to steady himself; pushing it closed.

“Fuck-sorry chef,” You said quickly. “I didn’t know you were in here.”

“Clearly,” he groaned, tipping his head back against the shelf. You could feel the shame burning up your chest and sternum.

“Just get your stuff and go, okay?”

You nodded and leaned over, right hand on the metal coils as you looked for the beef on the bottom shelf.

“It’s right there,” he said angrily, gesturing to the slab. Great day so far. You cut yourself and now your workplace crush was yelling at you. Like you could focus when he was right there. You could feel his body heat.

You gripped the plastic and lifted the meat into the crook of your left arm. Hefting it up, you turned and reached for the door handle, avoiding eye contact with Carmy.

You pulled the handle. Nothing happened. What?

You tried again. Still nothing more than a slight jiggle, and the door didn’t budge.

“What the fuck?” You mumbled.

“Let me try,” he said, moving into your space. His wide shoulders brushed against you, reminding you of all that manliness and what you wanted it to do to you.

You stepped back, the weight of the beef (and your attraction to Carmy) already starting to burn. You switched arms as he yanked hard on the handle, bicep and shoulder muscles flexing. He added his other hand and pulled down and back. Nothing.

This could not be happening. You can’t be stuck in here with Carmy. He’ll eat you alive, and not in the way you wanted. You couldn’t stand the thought of the cause of that twist in your gut hating you.

“Fuck!” he yelled, slamming his fist against the door. “Richie! Syd!”

You both knew the door was metal, several inches thick. They’d have to be close to hear him.

You gasped and set the beef back so you could curl your arms around yourself. Carmy whirled around.

“You fucking locked us in here!” he said, pointing at you.

“Me?!” You yelled back. “It’s not my fault the door jammed!”

“Yes it is!” he fired back. “This wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t come in here!”

“I was getting the fucking beef you asked me for!” You screamed back.

He was about to respond when you heard muffled voices outside.

“Syd!” You called out.

“Cousin!” He yelled at the same time.

“What’re you guys doing in there?” you hear Sydney say through the door.

“The fucking door won’t open!” Carmy exclaimed. “Get us out!”

The handle shook, then shook more violently.

“I think it’s jammed!” came Richie’s yell.

“No shit, Sherlock,” you mumble.

Carmy looks at you out of the corner of his eye before turning back. “So can you fix it?”

“Um, not sure,” came his cousin’s reply. “I think we need to get Fak…”

“Fuck!” Carmy exclaimed louder, pushing his tattooed hands through his hair. “It’s lunch rush! I cant be stuck in here!”

“I’d also like to be outside!” You add.

“It’s okay chef,” Sydney’s voice responds. “I’ll keep us on task while Richie works to get you out. We won’t fall behind.”

“I got this, cousin!” Richie says.

Carmy sighs and leans his head against the freezer door, resting his hands on it.

“Good, chef. You’ll have a limited menu since our meat is in here.”

“On it Chef. We were due for a shipment anyway.”

“Thank you chef. An-“

Sydney cuts him off saying your name. “Just breathe, okay? We’ll get you out as soon as possible.”

“Thank you Syd,” you reply, feeling grateful for her ability to take charge.

“Oh! And I’ll slip a bandage under the door!”

“Ahhh thank you,” You respond with relief, looking down at the paper towel that was almost completely red.

That caught Carmy’s attention. His head whipped around to look at you as her footsteps pattered away.

“You good?”

You looked at him in surprise. “Yeah…just cut my finger.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “You have to be careful. We can’t be losing manpower.”

You glared. “Richie slammed into me. My carefulness didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Here you go,” Syd said as she slid the bandaid under the door. “Fak will be here in an hour or so.”

“What?” you exclaim at the same time.

“Apparently he likes to go to a specific movie theater an hour away. I don’t fucking know.”

You groan along with Carmy.

You slid down to sit on the cement floor and set about trying to open the bandage, but hissed when it slid across your cut.

Carmy sighed. “Let me help you with that.”

“I got it, thanks. Isn’t it because I wasn’t careful enough, anyway?” You say.

“You can’t blame me for trying to keep the restaurant running.”

“Thanks for the sympathy.”

“Just let me do it.”

Carmy lowered himself to the floor, leaning back on his haunches. The image of this larger-than-life man on his knees for you made you slow, handing over the bandage.

He took it and began to unwrap.

“I know you’re careful,” he says into his hands.

“Huh?” you ask in surprise.

He looks up at you, those beautiful blue eyes upping your heart rate. “I know you’re careful. I shouldn’t have yelled.”

Oh fuck. New reason why you couldn’t stay in here. You were gonna fall in love with him.

The praise makes you smile, and his face seems to lighten at that. “Thanks,” you say. “I assume it helps my case that Richie has a reputation for being not careful.”

He huffs a smile. “Maybe a bit.” He reaches his hand out gently. Seeing the veins and tattoos on the backs of his hands were not helping your heartbeat. Your nerves shake as he takes your hand and undoes the paper towel with the other.

His face hardens and you look to see why. The gash was deeper than you realized, but nothing new to kitchen staff.

“Fuckin’ Richie,” Carmy grumbles angrily.

“It’s fine,” you say reassuringly. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

He makes eye contact again. “You shouldn’t have to. Not in my kitchen.”

Your lips part in surprise, and you think you catch him looking at them a beat too long before returning to your hand. The fact that such talented, skilled hands were working on your little cut was wild to you.

A curl fell in his face, and you had to resist the urge to push it back for him. He was finishing up the bandage, and your mind screamed keep him over here.

“How are we gonna keep from freezing to death in here?” You ask, half joking.

He moves back to lean against the shelves on the opposite wall, legs crossed at the ankle. You immediately feel the absence of his hands on you.

He shrugs. “I’m used to it.”

“All that means is you won’t notice when the hypothermia kicks in.”

His eyebrows furrow. “That cannot be true.”

“Yeah, I have no idea.” You respond, stretching your legs out so they’re parallel to his.

He chuckles, louder than you thought he would.

“How is the job so far?” He asks.

“Good,” you say. “Better than a lot of kitchens. Except when I have to sit in a freezer with my boss.” You nudge his knee with yours.

“C’mon, is he really that bad?” Carmy teases.

You think for a minute. “No, honestly. He’s pretty fantastic at everything he does. In appearance, too. I don’t know how he keeps those white shirts so clean.”

“I meant to be in a freezer with,” Carmy responds. There’s a shameful beat.

“I-“

“I’m just messing with you,” He smirks.

You roll your eyes, still embarrassed for your lovey rant.

“I look fantastic, huh?”

You squirm. “I didn’t mean it like that-“

“How did you mean it then? Don’t hurt my feelings.”

“Can they be hurt?” You ponder. “I’m sure many women have told you similarly.”

He shakes his head. “That’s probably the only personal compliment I’ve gotten in years. They’ve all been about my cooking.” His face is a bit pink now.

You rub your arms, the goosebumps a combination of the freezer and Carmy’s gaze on you. Speaking of, his eyes follow the movement of your arms and his jaw ticks.

“That’s almost unbelievable to me,” You begin. “That no one tells you you look good.”

“Do people tell you that?” He asks.

“Sometimes, I suppose,” You say. “When I look nicer than this.” You gesture down at yourself.

“You still look nice,” He says gravelly, crossing his arms over his chest. You have to tear your eyes away from his forearms to respond.

“Thanks, so do you,” You say lightly, hoping it’s not obvious how much you mean it.

You can tell from his eyes he sees through you, though.

“I know you think so,” He says lowly.

“Oh yeah?” You ask nervously.

“Yeah,” he almost groans. “The way you look at me when I cook-it’s so distracting.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whisper.

“Yes you do,” he says, eyes hard. “But you’re so focused, and careful, that you never see when I’m looking the same way at you.”

You swallow hard. There was no way this was real. Carmy being into you? Impossible.

“Yeah, right,” You respond.

His jaw ticks. “What, you don’t think that’s true?”

“Carmy, look at you. Then look at me. Of course I don’t think that’s true.” You shake.

He pushes his hands through his curls again. His shirt rises up an inch when he does, and you can’t help but glance at the bit of happy trail-

“See,” He groans. “I cant think straight around you. Especially when you look at me like that. Like I’m worth your attention.”

“Of course you are, Chef,” you say, looking into his eyes as your voice went lower.

The name seemed to do him in. His frazzled look shifted to feral, eyes bright and hair in every direction.

“You never answered my question,” You said lowly.

“What question?”

“How are we gonna stay warm in here?” You say, tone suggesting there was more to what you were saying. “Because I can think of a few ideas…”

“Oh, so can I,” He said gravelly, dragging his eyes down your body as you rose up on your knees. “All of them require you getting over here.” he said.

Didn’t have to tell you twice. He uncrossed his legs, his perfect thighs framing a seat for you. Before you could sit, his large hands crept onto your back, grasping you as he put his face onto your belly.

“Is this okay?” He asked, tone serious.

“Yes, yes,” you almost whine, hands reaching the back of his head.

When you run your fingers through your hair like you’d been dreaming about, he groans.

This giant, muscled man groans into your stomach. You feel like jelly.

“Fuck,” he mumbles. “I haven’t done this in a long time.”

You had heard about his nonexistent dating history. But you didn’t care.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want,” You say, looking down at him.

“No,” he groans, looking up at you, the angle of his eyes and his hands gripping you making you even wetter. “I want.”

You gasp and that reaction seems to spur him on. He slides his hands down your thighs and pulls you into his lap.

You groan quietly as you feel his cock through his pants, already hardening just from you being close. You couldn’t believe it.

“You feel that? What you do to me?” He asks, tucking your hair behind your ear. “You think it’s true now?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you gasp. “Wanna feel what you do to me?”

He groans in your ear. “Oh, we’ll get there.”

Then, he kisses you. And not a polite one. He kisses you like you’re a new recipe he made: new and delicious and ready to be devoured whole.

You moan and his grip on your shirt tightens like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on. You tug on his hair and your hips involuntarily buck against him.

He pulls back and moves his mouth to your neck. “Needy little thing, aren’t you?”

“I could-“ His teeth scrape your neck. “I could say the same thing about you.”

His hands grasp your face and kiss you again, holding you and taking you.

You reach your hands for the hem of his shirt, needing something to ground you with the heat running through your body. As soon as you reach your hands underneath his shirt and scrape your nails up, he seems to go haywire.

His hands grip anywhere they can reach, your back, your hips, your shoulders, your hair. Not quite where you want him.

You pull back and he looks worried. But that look dissipates when you reach for the bottom of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head.

“Oh…pretty girl…” he mumbles, hands sliding up from your hips and across your stomach.

You smile and reach your arms to the back of your bra.

“You want this off too?” You ask.

“Yes, oh god, please-“

Your thighs try to squeeze together from his desperation, but his hips are in the way and he notices.

“You like that baby? You like when I beg?”

You whimper. Oh god. And he heard it.

“I can do that, pretty girl, I can beg,” He says, his blue eyes in yours.

“Fuck, Carmy-“ You groan.

His hands move up, sliding seductively up your skin. “Can I take it off baby? Want it to be me that gets to undress you.”

“Yeah, you can,” You nod, unable to form sentences. He was gonna kill you.

He undoes the clasp on the first try, and his eyes get wider as the bra falls away. Your nipples turn into points from the cold freezer.

“Ohhh pretty girl, look at these,” he says in fascination, running his thumbs over your peaks.

The rough skin against you makes you moan, head falling back as he grasps your tits in his hands.

“So, so pretty,” he says, and then he scrapes his teeth against them. You gasp, as he continues to suck and bite at your breasts. “Wanna hold ‘em every day-“

“Fuck-so glad you like them Carmy,” you groan. “Please, please can you take this off?”

You grasp at his shirt. “Of course, baby,” he says, hair even crazier than normal from your tugging. He helps you lift it up and over his head.

“Oh, god,” you say, eyes widening as you finally see him in his full glory. Seeing his defined biceps next to his pecs and happy trail might knock you out cold. “Oh Carmy you are fantastic.”

That makes him laugh, and you grab his neck to kiss him again, and he moans into your mouth. Your other hand runs down his chest, dragging along the waistband. His hands grasped your boobs, and it felt better than you thought it would.

His desperation and muscle was making you soaked. You needed him to touch you.

“Carm-“ You squirm in his lap, looking for friction.

“I know, baby, I got you,” he says. “C’mere.”

He holds you into him with one arm, and you bite at his shoulder as he looks for the shirts on the hard ground, making a makeshift pillow for you.

He lays you back, and you watch him as he slowly kisses and nicks his way down your body, getting more teethy and possessive as he gets lower.

He reaches the waistband of your pants, and looks up at you for assurance. You look at the door nervously, and he catches it.

“I’m not gonna let anyone see you,” He says. “This is for me,” he grabs your ass. “Understand?”

You nod desperately and wiggle your hips.

“I wanna hear you say it.”

“Heard, chef,” you tease, and he tsks at you, smirking.

He pulls your pants down and over your ankles, adjusting himself to breathe over your thighs.

You inhale sharply as the cold hits your legs, goosebumps forming. Carmy’s hands soothe you, running up your thighs slowly.

He rubs his thumb over the wet spot on your underwear and looks up at you. “All this for me?”

“Told you you’d feel what you do to me.” you say.

“Ugh, pretty girl, you’re gonna kill me.” he groans into your thigh, biting down and you whimper.

“Please, Carm, don’t tease-“

He pulls your underwear down in one swift motion, looking at you for reassurance before pulling your thighs over his shoulders and diving into his meal.

You can’t help your load moan as he licks a stripe all the way up your folds, circling your clit when he gets there.

Your hands twist into his hair but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, his hands clamp harder into your thighs as your taste spurs him on.

“Fuck,” His nose- that perfect nose- rubs your clit over and over and you almost squeal just from the visual: his tattooed hands on your thighs, his curls in your fingers, his blue eyes looking straight into yours.

He pushes his tongue into you and your hips buck as you moan when he curls it up. The absence of it inside you makes you whimper, until his middle finger enters you and you really do squeal.

“Carmy- ah-“

“Yeah, baby, lemme hear you.”

He curls his finger and hits that spongey spot inside you, making your hips buck again. His eyes look scoldingly at you before he removes his right hand and presses down on your lower stomach.

“Shit-!” Your head lolls back. “That’s a nice trick, Chef-“ You can feel him smirk.

The pressure makes the finger pumping inside you pleasing in a whole new way. Still sucking on your clit, Carmy curls another finger inside you.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna-“

“I got you, c’mon, come for me, wanna see you come all over my fingers,” Carmy says desperately, and you listen, snapping loose and releasing all over him.

Your boss made you cum. Hard. Did you need to call HR?

Nope. All you needed was to see him rising back over you, kissing up your stomach and over your breasts.

His mouth was covered in your wet, and you grabbed his jaw hard to kiss him, your tongue in his mouth to taste yourself on him.

“Fantastic?” He asks.

“Fantastic.” you respond, meaning it. “Let’s hope Fak gets stuck in traffic,” you whisper into his lips.

“Why?” he responds, teasing. You slide your hand down his chest and over his ass.

“Because I want you inside me,” you say. He moans and kisses you again, hard, whilst reaching for the fly on his jeans.

“I was thinking the same thing,” he smiles into your lips. “Hands, chef, hands.”

You giggle and go to help him pull his pants down his legs and over his feet, kissing his jaw. You run your fingers over the happy trail you had been ogling, and grasp his cock over his boxers. He grunts in your ear, and takes your hand away.

“Gonna come too fast,” he says, holding your hand above your head and kissing you. “You make me crazy.”

“Same here, Carm.” You say, nipping at his neck. Your other hand teases at the waistline of his boxers.

He looks into your eyes. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes, Carmy, fuck, please.”

“Good.” He says, tugging his boxers down and you finally get to see him in all his glory. God, you didn’t think he could get more beautiful. Seeing him entirely naked sent another wave of wetness between your thighs.

“You’re so pretty, Carmy,” you mumble. He slid his hands up the outside of your thighs, keeping his eyes locked on yours.

“All for you, baby,” his hand goes to his cock, and as the head slides inside you your head lolls back and groan.

“Hey, look at me.” You look back up to stare into his icy eyes. “Don’t stop.” He says.

He slides further into you and your jaw hangs open, trying so hard to keep eye contact with him.

You both groan as he bottoms out, every vein and ridge of him inside of you. Your pussy is still sensitive from the previous mind-blowing orgasm, and-

“God, pretty girl, you feel so good,” he groans in your ear. “Taking me so well.”

You pulse at the praise, and he feels it. You feel his smirk on your jaw. “You like that?”

“Yeah,” you gasp, your nails find purchase on his back.

He rolls into you, and it has your thighs squeezing around his hips immediately.

“Shit, pretty girl.”

“Fuck, Carmy, feels so good,” you moan as he starts his rhythm, every ridge of his cock dragging inside your walls. The cold of the freezer vanishing against the hotness of your bodies.

His forearm is on the floor next your head, his other hand grasping your ass as he pummels into you.

Your back scrapes on the floor, to match the marks you’re making on Carmy’s back.

“Look so good with me inside you,” he grunts and you choke. His hand on your ass moves between your thighs and he circles your clit.

“Fuck- too much,” you gasp, clit sensitive.

“You can take it.”

“Ah- Car- I’m gonna-“

“Me too, pretty girl, cmon-“ The nickname gets you every time, and you gush over him, squeezing around his cock.

He makes a choked sound and falls over the ledge after you, collapsing on top of your chest.

You both breathe heavily, you rubbing up and down his back.

“That might have been more fantastic than your cooking,” You smile to the ceiling. He chuckles into your neck.

“Heard, chef.”

You were both dressed by the time Fak finally arrived, half an hour late complaining about unmissable after-credit scenes.

Parting, you had gained a cell phone number and an address from Carmy, a kiss goodbye, and a “see you later” that promised many more.

#carmy berzatto smut #the bear #the bear smut #jeremy allen white #jeremy allen white smut #carmen berzatto smut #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader smut #carmen berzatto x reader smjt #the bear x reader #shameless #shameless smut

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medicinemane · 2 years

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Like I know it's all my fault, that I'm just too picky but... I don't know what to say, just can't get myself to eat certain things

#the truth is if I could just make myself burgers everyday I'd probably do that but like... who can afford that #but burgers at like one of the few things that can truly fill me up #given they're big enough that is #I don't know... I really don't know what's wrong with me with all the things I don't like #like... I can see the appeal of bananas and almost like them... but I just can't stand eating them #as opposed to tomatoes which I feel the same way about when they're not in a sauce #but I have to force myself to eat even though I really don't like them cause no matter how many times I say it #my mom just has to put diced tomatoes in everything #I'm very tired of living and I really don't see how it isn't just a shame that I keep hanging on #there's no benefit and clearly I'm really not fit to live in so many ways #if we're blunt I'm fairly subhuman

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wynnyfryd · 7 months

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Trailer Park Steve AU part 7

part 1 | part 6 | chapter 1 on ao3

cw: panic attack, ptsd flashback to minor character death, graphic depictions of… food? lol

Dinner is exactly as chaotic as Steve expected it to be. He and Claudia take opposite end seats with a glass of red wine each, and the kids take the middle and start acting like a pack of caffeinated raccoons: talking over each other, scraping forks against plates, stretching their entire upper bodies across the table and dragging their sleeves through the side dishes instead of just asking someone to pass them the butter; Steve’s starting to wonder if any of these kids have ever eaten at a table before, or if they maybe just wandered in from the surrounding woods. Feral asses.

When they do start asking for things, he regrets wishing they would, because Lucas goes “Erica, can you pass me the salt?” and Erica sneers “I don’t know, can I?” and Mike jabs “Whatever; nobody says ‘may’ anymore, you dork” and Claudia gasps “Michael!” and it all escalates from there until Dustin tries to catapult lasagna off the end of his fork and hits Steve in the side of the head with a glob of warm cheese.

Silence falls around the room.

The cheese plops onto his plate.

“Sh-ii-it,” Dustin breathes, face stuck in wide-eyed shock.

Steve gives Claudia an imploring look.

“Why don’t we clear the table for dessert?”

The commotion starts up again in double time, everyone scrambling to clean up and clear the room before Steve starts bitching about them messing up his hair (and his plate, and his clothes, because the cheese splash sent a spray of little tomato sauce droplets splattering all over him, and isn’t that just perfect; he’s gonna have to hand-scrub the stain out of his khakis), so it’s just him and Dustin left when Dustin’s elbow catches and tips over his wine.

The liquid spills onto his plate: dark, and red, oozing into the uneaten scraps of sauce and cheese and pasta to form a viscous, fleshy sludge. Red like his dad’s office, like his father’s mangled thigh, and it’s just food it’s just food it’s not blood it’s not blood but he can’t fucking breathe, can’t hearing anything beyond the wet, gasping sounds his dad made the night he died, and then he realizes that he’s making them, mouth moving fruitlessly around air that won’t pass, trapped in the bottleneck of his choked-off windpipe.

“Steve?” Dustin asks, and his voice sounds far away. “Shit, shit, Steve! Can you hear me? Are you choking? I know the Heimlich, just- just hold on!”

He snaps out of it when Dustin pulls him halfway from his chair, gets his fists under his ribs and all but punches the air from his lungs. It sets off a nasty coughing fit that leaves Steve snotty and ready to hurl, and he braces himself with his forearms on his knees and stares hard at the ground until the hacking finally stops.

There’s a scuff on his sneakers.

He can’t replace them any time soon.

A moment to catch his breath, and Dustin’s shaking him by the shoulders. “Are you okay??”

Steve keeps his head bowed. “Yeah.” He needs to get the fuck out of here. “Yeah, I’m good.”

He rises from his chair, grateful that everyone else already cleared out before they could witness his little moment, that the blare of the TV from the family room covered the sound of his retching coughs; more grateful still that they won’t notice him now, scampering out of here with his tail between his legs. “Hey listen, man, I’m not feeling so well,” he says absently, fishing his keys from the pocket of his jeans. “Can you get your mom to drive everyone home?”

“Shouldn’t you stay?” Dustin frowns in concern. “If you’re sick? You can go lie down in my room or something, it’s—”

“—Nah, man; I mean, thanks, but…” His hand trembles around his keys, the muscles in his calves screaming bolt, bolt, bolt. “I just- I gotta go.”

He makes a break for it, rushing out the side door so no one else will see him leave (and he knows it’s fucking rude to head out without saying goodbye, but he’s also pretty convinced he’s going to combust if he doesn’t go right now.) “Tell your mom I said thanks, okay?”

“Tell her yourself!” Dustin chases after him, clumsy and slow across the darkened yard. “Dude, will you slow down? Talk to me!”

Steve throws himself into his car like there’s a demodog on his heels. “I’ll call you!”

“What the fuck!” Dustin shouts, but Steve’s already gone.

—

part 8

tagging a few people i know have been following along 🩷 @slowandsteddie @paintsplatteredandimperfect @stevesbipanic @pennyplainknits @ledleaf @hellion-child @formosusiniquis @missjashin @runninriot @xpaperheartso @steddieas-shegoes

#trailer park steve au #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #stranger things #steddie fic #steve harrington fic #dustin henderson #claudia henderson #lucas sinclair #erica sinclair #mike wheeler #tw: panic attack #tw: ptsd

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