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iridescentprose · 10 months

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Try again - Luca x reader insert [The Bear]

summary; in which you catch the chef smiling at you.

author's note; short but sweet fic about Luca. Just fluff. Please enjoy!

"Worse. Try again."

"Yes, chef."

It was 5:36am.

The numbers of the digital clock above you weren't moving any faster. You had been here for less than an hour and already you were being critiqued on how to properly layer strawberries on top of a crème brûlée custard.

Whatever plans you had of pleasing the chef next to you were slowly diminishing. Your hands shook with self doubt as you pricked at the red fruit, angling it so the mandala spirals could continue. You stepped back, overall pleased with what you had done.

"Better."

It was all you were going to get for now, you knew. But you took his response with pride. After all, you had made significant progress in the past week. Your shoulders relaxed, though your victory was short-lived.

"But."

You lifted a brow. "But?"

He shifted closer to you, his tattooed arm brushing up against yours, making butterflies flutter in your stomach. Your eyes remained downward, concentrated on the different doodles that littered his skin. You wondered what each stroke of ink meant and if they were drawn with intent or if they happened to be the result of a reckless decision.

Or decisions.

"You lack confidence," he said. Even though his eyes were focused on the custard, you could tell he was doing this on purpose—teasing you. The furrowed brow, the slightly scrunched up nose, and the craned neck. What gave away his concentrated act was the corner of his lips, tugged in a meaningful, if not, arrogant fashion.

Despite the heat spreading across your cheeks, you didn't take his criticism to heart. It was true. After all, Carmy set this all up for a reason. You needed the extra practice to hone in on your skill before the upcoming opening. But opening day was weeks away and you already felt too far behind to make a good impression.

"I'm exhausted," You said without thinking. It wasn't the best excuse for your lack of confidence or skill, but it was all you could muster in response. You dropped the miniature metal tongs and braced your hands on the edge of the silver cooking island.

You could hear him chuckle but you didn't bother lifting your gaze to defend yourself. A week of private training wasn't enough to increase your knowledge as quickly as you had hoped. You wanted to be good—better than good. You wanted to be the best version of yourself and you wanted others to experience that through your desserts.

"Good," he said, as you kept your gaze downwards, fixed on his shoes that were inching closer to yours. "For a second I was worried you weren't." He smirked. "Here, try again."

You lifted your head and straightened your posture as he reached across the table for the metal tongs. He handed them to you and you took them into your hand automatically, prying a strawberry that happened to be cut in half, from a small bowl.

Slowly you guided it towards the custard, though it didn't make it's final destination without a little help. In a ghostly fashion, Luca's hand loomed over yours. His rough palm settled over your knuckles — which happened to be stained with flour and vanilla extract.

He did most of the heavy lifting, using a method of confident concentration that you had been trying to master all week. Your hand shook as the strawberry reached its destination, overlaying the endless spiral masterfully.

"Slow and steady wins the race," he mumbled, his breath fanning your cheek. He gently squeezed your fingers prompting the metal tongs let go of the red fruit. "Consistency is key."

The pads of his fingertips brushed over your knuckles as he let go of your shaking hand. Smudges of strawberry paste lingered on your skin as he pulled away.

"Understand?"

You lifted your head, your eyes meeting his. He looked relaxed, if not intrigued by your bravery. A glimmer of a smile came to his lips, though it vanished before you could capture it in your mind. You shook your head free from whatever trance you were under.

"Yes, chef."

With a nod, he swiftly reached for the towel that hung off his shoulder and tossed it to you. You took it, swiping the remnants of sweet ingredients he left on your fingers from his demonstration.

You turned to look over your shoulder, finding him leaning against the metal cabinent, arms crossed and muscles tight.

He met your gaze quickly, almost as if he had been caught watching you. His slight smile diminished, and you couldn't help but shake your head in amusement.

"Again, chef?" You asked.

Testing his reflexes, you tossed the towel and he flinched, but caught it with ease as it hit his chest. A shade of red - the same pigment that stained the towel you had used to wipe your hands - was visible in his cheeks. His lips flickered upwards as he fought the playful smirk flirting with his mouth.

"Yes, chef," he mumbled, tossing the towel over his shoulder and taking his spot next to you. Naturally, his arm brushed up against yours again as he began cutting up more strawberries. "Again."

#luca x reader #luca x you #luca the bear #luca the bear x you #the bear x reader insert #the bear x reader #the bear #the bear hulu #the bear fx #will poulter #will poulter luca #luca x y/n #luca reader insert

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bby-deerling · 5 months

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hello!! first of all, i love your writing i think it's really well done. i was wondering if i could request for your event? "heaven can wait" + zoro? sfw please! thank you 🥰

you're so sweet anon! <3 thank you for the lovely request!

zoro x fem!reader + heaven can wait (sfw)

very fluffy, ft. special guest sanji being sanji, pride and prejudice references bc i cant help myself wc: 632 masterlist, song inspo

Groggy, aching, and bandaged, Zoro is not happy as he comes to his senses in the infirmary bed. On top of being grievously injured enough to miss out on valuable time training, there was an obnoxious buzzing sound in his right ear that just wouldn’t stop.

As he floated back into consciousness, he realizes, that no, he doesn’t have a sudden acute case of tinnitus; the shitty cook just won’t shut up.

“In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you—” Sanji swoons; his tone of voice is half-joking, but is like nails on a chalkboard to Zoro nonetheless.

Though Zoro’s eyes are still closed, he can feel you roll yours as you squeeze the swordsman’s hand.

“You’re more Collins than Darcy, blondie.” you tease. “I’m saying the word to cease all talk of your affections.”

“You wound me, dear!” he exclaims, feigning surprise and Zoro hears the clink of dishes—he must have brought something for you. “Despite your constant rejection, I love you and love you and—”

Zoro groans and sits up. “Quit buzzing around my woman like a mosquito and get me something to eat, moron.” he rasps. You smirk and hand him a glass of water that he eagerly gulps down, throat dry from too many hours of sleep. A bowl of half-eaten crème brûlée sits in your lap, and Zoro is increasingly irritated that the stupid cook hadn’t left to bring him any food yet and was instead staring at him expectantly.

“What?” the swordsman snarls.

“Least you can do is say please, mosshead.” the cook snaps back.

“The least you can do is say thank you for saving your ass. Again.” Zoro growls, starting to lose his patience. You give Sanji a glare, and the cook sighs and heads for the door.

“And read a different book for a change, moron.” Zoro shouts at the cook’s back, only getting a distant grumble in response as the door slams.

“Want some?” you ask, offering some of your dessert to the swordsman, but he shakes his head.

“Too sugary. Need some real food right now.” he replies gruffly as he shifts over in the bed to make room for you.

“He’s damn annoying.” he growls as you climb in next to him and snuggle into his side. “I’m out for a few hours and he’s circling around you like a vulture.”

“He does that all the time.” you point out. “He’s just lays it on thicker when you’re not awake to set him straight.”

“I better not die before you do then, I’d go crazy having to watch him swooning over you like an idiot.” he grumbles.

You giggle, mouth full of a spoonful of custard. “He is like a mosquito; you swat him away, but he just keeps coming back.” you say with a smirk once you swallow. “Makes a damn good crème brûlée though.”

“You’ve convinced me. Gimme a taste.” Zoro says, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. He moves to deepen the kiss, but is stopped by a pain in his side and lets out a hiss. You check his bandages to make sure everything is still in place, and help him settle back into a comfortable position, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

He lets out an exhausted sigh. He’s happy to have you snuggled up with him while he recovers, but is frustrated that the heaven of your touch would have to wait. The door of the infirmary swings open, slamming against the wall and interrupting his thoughts.

At least the cook was finally back with his damn bowl of soup. Hopefully he wouldn’t stick around too long this time.

#one piece x reader #x reader #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x you #roronoa zoro x you #one piece scenario #100 follower event #i had so much fun writing this hehe

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daily-deliciousness · 6 months

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Crème brûlée cupcakes

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brattylikestoeat · 1 year

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#crème brûlée #sweet #sweets #dessert #tiktok #tiktok food #fine men + fine food #brattylikestoeat #food #foodlr #food blog #video #foodie #cooking stim #stim cooking #yummy #foodgasm #foodporn

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justjams2003 · 6 months

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Fast Pace- 3

Summary: You're a hard-working Chef in Paris and after a freak accident run-in with Carlos Sainz, your life makes a 180. Let's just say with a certain agreement, you get your bills paid and in return stand in as Carlos' girlfriend for the press. But will you be able to handle the pressure and ensure the lines don't blur?

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Carlos Sainz x Sugar Baby!Reader

Warnings: I've aged up Carlos, he is 33 in this fic.Smoking, smut, sexual themes, age difference, manipulation, control, slight obsession, tell me if I missed any

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics and @s-silk

Taglist: @httpjeonlicious, @f1lov3r, @messersandmesses, @hollie911, @oriconde08

Word count: 2,6k

Masterlist

Part 2~Part 4

His eyes pierce you like an ice-pick to the brain. Dark like a storm and prowling your mind, trying to pry an answer from you. He looks like a model, posing for a magazine cover. He’s leaned back, sipping from his wine, hair perfectly in place and his broad shoulders lure you in. Those coal-brown eyes don’t beg for you to say yes, but command you.

How you wish now that you could your friends and beg them to reply for you. But you can’t. You have to pull up your big-girl pants. He’s read you back to front like some cheap pamphlet. You’ve never told anyone about your big dreams. You’ve kept it under wraps, a daydream that keeps you busy when the nights are too long. The only one that really knows is your Instagram algorithm, which constantly shows you other people living your dream.

Is it too vapid of you? To only want the sweet life and not want to work for it? It’s not that you haven’t tried. You’ve spent three years working your ass off in that damn restaurant and nothing has come from it. You’ve not gotten a single raise, no other higher up, fancier, restaurants have wanted to take you in.

Your lip is caught in your teeth, and you can’t help but blush at the thought. “Would it make me lackadaisical? A floozy? Lazy?” You ask, unsure if you're asking for his approval or trying to convince yourself. He smirks and shakes his head, then takes your hand. “Quite the opposite, it would make you smart. If you take this opportunity, then you’ll get an advantage that other girls could only dream of.”

He continues, trying to convince you. “Model work isn’t easy, it will be ruthless, even with my influence. If it helps, I promise I won’t do everything for you, not that I could. But I’m certain if those agencies see you, they’ll want you immediately, as it happened with me.” He caresses each of your knuckles and his words go right to your head.

“And there would be conditions?” You ask, truly you’d already been convinced. All you really can think of now is your safety. “Naturally, you know how those lawyers are. NDAs, and certain other requirements, from both our sides.” His words are so smooth and play exactly to your heartstrings. The struggle in your mind seems to crumble with each soft sweep of his thumb on his hand.

You stare him down, trying to see any lies or hidden agreements but you get nothing but sincerity. “Alright, you’ve convinced me.” His face lights up in a huge grin and seems to almost jump in his seat. “You won’t regret it, princesa. I’ll make sure of it.” He places small butterfly kisses all over your hand. His stubble tickles and you can’t help but let the giggles fly from your mouth.

“You won’t need for another thing, ever again.”

Screaming is heard through the phone. You can’t help but laugh at your best friends’ reactions all while you soak up the feeling of being snuggled up in bed on a Thursday morning. “Tell us more. Right now.” Jas demands through the phone. “Well, after I agreed to the whole thing, he got us celebration crème brûlée, another one of my favourites.” They gasp and then scream again.

You had set your Instagram radar to follow everything related to Carlos, and your phone is going crazy. There are already so many photos circulating around the internet. There are photos of him and you at dinner, luckily though you can’t really see your face.

Rumours circulate of who this new mysterious girl could be. If you’re new or if it’s a long-term thing. Then, of course, people mostly upset because Carlos might not be single anymore. There are other people too, excited to finally see him with someone.

You can’t help but sigh, is this really what you’re getting yourself into? Are you really ready for people speculating about every single aspect of your life? Are you ready to allow yourself to be given to the public like that? More importantly, are you ready to share him? You can’t help but wonder if the fans will like you? Will they accept you or will you ruin his reputation?

“We’re so proud of you for saying yes, it is what we would have said,” Jas says again and you can’t help but laugh. “And we’re also very proud that you didn’t make it easy for him.” Ilsa comments and you know she’s thinking more long term than Jasmine or yourself. You’re scared to even tell them of the things people are saying. Should you be shocked that this feels normal already?

“Then, after the date, he asked for my bank information and then proceeded to deposit me 5,000 euros. He called it a down payment. And a taste of what is to come.” They proceed to scream once more and roll your eyes at them. You’re happier now to have the water apartment for another month. Not that you need it, looking at the F1 calendar.

A knock is heard at the door. “Uh, girls, I have to go. I’ll text you guys all the deeds at the end of the day.” They say their goodbyes and their goodluck’s. You throw the sheets you’ve had since university to the side and run over, expecting some sort of package or invoice, you throw open the door not looking to see who is outside.

“Carlos, hi,” you smile, now feeling incredibly self-conscious about the pyjamas you’re wearing. The shorts have a few holes in, and the shirt is stained more than you’d like to admit. “Good morning, hermosa. I hope I did not wake you, no?” Those earth-brown eyes scan over every inch of your form and a smirk creeps across his face.

“Don’t laugh at me, you’re early. You said the flight was at nine and I haven’t gotten ready yet,” a blush coats your cheeks as his charming grin grows wider. “I am not laughing at you, hermosa. Quite the opposite, you look...” he’s holding back, you can see it in his eyes. Already you can tell he wears his heart on his sleeve.

Carlos’ mind is somewhere else, and his eyes are glued to you. He then snaps out of it, “May I come in?” He asks and now you’re really blushing. The place is small and rundown, the paint is peeling, and you’ve given up on trying to get rid of the musk that the building carries. Not to mention, the place is a mess after your frantic packing last night.

“Yes, uh, please excuse the mess.” His eyes don’t even glance at any of the strewn-around clothes or dirty dishes. His hand naturally falls to your waist, pulling you closer and then placing a small kiss on the crown of your head. You can’t help but notice how perfectly you fit into his side. After he sits down by your small kitchen counter you notice the things he’s carrying in his hands.

A packet of paper, and a leather bag. “You can make yourself comfortable while I go get ready.” Again, you go to leave but you’re pulled back by the wrist. In one quick motion, you find yourself standing between his strong legs. He holds up the bag for you, “I’ve brought you something to wear. And don’t bother packing, we’ll buy anything you need there.”

You go to protest, but he gives you a sharp look, a similar one from last night. The look that fuels and tames the fire in your body all at the same time. And yet, you keep your mouth shut and follow his instructions.

The hoodie is huge on you, it hangs on the middle of your thigh and the sleeves hang over your hands. It’s bright red with black shoulders and the Ferrari logo is unmistakable. You pair it with plain black leggings and sneakers. You hold the cap, that came with, in your hands, and already you feel a bit showy.

You walk out and Carlos’ eyes immediately snaps to you. Those stormy eyes of his instantly go even darker. He rakes his hand through those dark locks of his as if he needs to ground himself. “It’s a bit much, don’t you think?” You give a playful scoff, but he shakes his head. He stands up and takes the cap you’re holding from you.

“I must disagree; I want everyone to know you’re mine now.” He picks up the hat and places it comfortably on your head. His gaze is strong, and you scrunch your nose, unsure if he approves of your appearance. You hadn’t bothered with too much makeup. Your reaction causes something you’d compare to an animalistic growl come from him.

“He esperado tanto por esto.” His Spanish tongue is something that should be illegal, simply because of the way he makes you feel. You’re certain he could call you a hideous beast and you’d still fall to your knees. “You have no idea what you do to me, mi amor.” His finger just lightly grazes your cheek and you’re entirely mesmerized by the way he stares into my soul. As if you’re a prize he’s been yearning for all his life.

In desperate need to hide yourself from his burning gaze, you switch the topic, in fear that he might find something wrong with you if he looks long enough. “What’s with the papers?” He looks almost annoyed to be doing something other than admiring you. “It is courtesy of my lawyers. The NDA we had talked about last night.” He takes your hand and guides you to the seat next to him.

“It’s more to protect the public image than anything. I don’t think it’s needed, but you know how they can be, no?” He jokes while you read it through. If you had a lawyer, you would’ve had them read it through, but you don’t. So, instead in a leap of faith, you sign it without much thought. You can hear your mother yelling at you in your mind.

“Alright, are we ready to go then?” You ask, not wanting to think more about the legal side of this all. More so just excited to jump into this new life. Excited to see all these new places you two are going to together. He raises his brow at you, “Are you sure that you’re ready?” He asks, taking his hand in yours and you have to hide your smile.

“Or, is my pretty girl eager to join me in the public eye?” He shoots you a wink and a blush creeps across your cheek. You can’t help but blush your lip and hide yourself from him. How does he always know just what is going on in your mind? “I knew I chose right; other girls would be so scared to face those vultures. But I can see....”

He seems to trail off, gently caressing your cheek. “Hmm, yes, what do you see?” You bite your lip and flutter your eyes, loving any sort of physical attention from him. He then shoots you a wink before shaking his head. “Come, we’re going to be late.” He stands up from his seat, taking your hand and dragging you out the door.

“No, please, Carlos! You can’t do that to me!” You whine, though it’s all fun and games. Still, Carlos mutters under his breath, as always in Spanish. A language that you now consider learning. Just to know what he’s saying about you.

“What are you doing, hermosa?” He asks, watching as you pull out your phone and look at the Instagram again. Ilsa likes to say you’re addicted; you just like to say you’re connected. This, however, isn’t exactly something that you wanted him to know about. A bit embarrassed more than anything scared that he’ll judge you for your extreme consumerism.

You hide behind your hair, “Nothing,” you mutter immediately turning your phone off. He rolls his eyes at you, then wraps his hand around your waist. He then drags you across the seat, right next to him. He then takes your thigh closest to him and drapes it over his leg. His hand stays there, rubbing soothing circles. “Give it here,” he says, his eyes stern and his hand held out.

This time you don’t give in and just cross your hands, staring him down. Your phone is your safe space and not even your closest friends are allowed to see it. “Niña terca,” he mutters under his breath, his jaw locking tight.

“If you give it to me now, I’ll buy you a new one.” Your own jaw this time hangs open. This time you give in with a huff and hand him the old 2017 Samsung, already open. Is this how it’ll always be? How much of yourself are you willing to give to him, for your future?

A smirk crawls on his face, that smile of his could stop traffic. If he were to be charged with a crime, he could simply flash the judge that smile, and they’d free him of all charges. “You like seeing what they say?” Your ears are bright red and wish the earth would swallow you whole. You give a small shrug, “It’s all I used to have time for.”

“But you don’t post that much, no?” He asks, and you can see him going through your account. “I don’t have anything to post.” Carlos shakes his head. “I must disagree, mi amor. Your beauty should be seen by everyone. But we will make sure that you have too much content, no?” His sweet whispers are something that you’ve been yearning for all your life.

“Why don’t we do, what do the people call it?” You furrow your brows, there is a language and generation barrier. You can’t help but smirk at his word choice. “The younger people you mean? Oh, lord, what have I gotten myself into?” You say, referring to the age gap between you two. How lucky aren’t you? As if you’d been written into the perfect book, no plot turns, no villains, nothing.

This time it’s him who blushes, “No, no, no, hermosa. What do they say? Where you post the kissing instead of letting them find out slowly?” A loud laugh escapes your lips and he too blushes and can’t help but laugh. “A hard launch?” He laughs, this time, he is the one hiding his face in the rook of your neck.

“Yes, yes, just like so.” There is a moment of silence between the two of you as consider it in your mind. “You mean it? You don’t want to see how the team reacts first? To see how the fans react?” Your voice goes quiet, insecure about your worthiness of him. “I’m sure. I’m sure of you. I’m sure of us.” You don’t deny him and allow him to take the photo.

He takes a few photos. One with his face still hiding in the crook of your neck, the next where your head sits on his shoulder while you stare up at him. In the last he’s placing a kiss on your forehead, the 55-logo hard to miss.

While you choose the photos to post, you can’t help but see just how much adoration you look at him. In your deepest heart, you hope he doesn’t see it too. He can’t know just how excited you are for this. How much you already like him, and how you’re enjoying his company more than his money.

You posted the pictures with the caption, “I like a fast pace too.” Of course, with Carlos tagged. He then posts it on his story. And after the rest of the car ride, he tucks both of your phones away and makes sure you get to know each other as much as possible.

My taglist is open! If you wish to be tagged in this story alone, please comment or reblog with the words 'tag'. And if you wish to be tagged in all my posts please comment or reblog with the words 'tag all'.

#carlos sainz #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #scuderia ferrari #sugar daddy!Carlos sainz #sugar daddy!carlos sainz x reader #sugar daddy!carlos sainz x sugar baby!reader #f1 #formula 1 #formula one #f1 x reader #carlos sainz smut

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blindmagdalena · 6 months

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thinking about Homelander's s/o asking him to use his laser to torch the sugar on crème brûlées. or anything where you'd usually need a torch.

this delights something primal in me that I’m fairly sure started with that scene in Dragon Heart where Draco casually lights Bowen’s fire with a cheeky little snort of fire breath.

there are few things I love more than mundane uses for superpowers/magic. Homelander acting like your own personal blowtorch/lighter is so goddamn endearing. not to mention how he could follow you around while you vacuum and lift all the furniture. washing the car? he’ll pick it up and spin it.

but coming back to the crème brûlée, the mental image of him being your little helper in the kitchen is SO sweet and healing. who needs a stand mixer when you have Homelander and a whisk? congratulations on the stiffest peaks known to man.

now the only trick is to stop him from turning your whipped cream into butter.

#homelander x you #homelander x reader #homelander headcanons #ask and you shall receive #darling anon #i know it’s very late but i’m very lonely tonight so i’m just pokin around in my ask box #anyways this was super cute thank you

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yanderecookierunkingdom · 3 months

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I cant expose myself because it’ll be my main- but anyway, I’m gonna request because there’s not many writers for Yan cookies- (and I’m a writer myself so-)

Can I have Yan Crème Brûlée with an MC who follows him around for his performances? Not necessarily to the point of stalking, but like a big fan of him.

They’re always checking for the next date, constantly saving money to attend every single one of performances.

Over time, he notices them. He finds it kind of endearing that they’re always there to support him.

…

And from there you can take it anyway you want. It can be soft or more extreme Yan, I don’t care.

(Side note: Do you take anons? I haven’t checked your whole blog yet- if you do, can I be 🎹 anon?)

His Biggest Fan

Crème Brûlée Cookie knew that he had fans, many of them in fact. The venues at which he performed were always packed full to the brim, adoring fans listening as he worked his magic. The sweet and soothing melodies the Cookie would play, and the roaring appulase afterwards was always something he come to enjoy.

But there was one fan that stood out amongst the rest - you.

It started out small. He'd catch glimpses of you in the audience, seeing you leaning forward to watch, stars in your eyes. You were always at one of his shows, never once missing a performance.

Sometimes Crème Brûlée Cookie would see you outside, waiting. There would be many Cookies too, but you were a constant. A happy smile on your face as you would check the time to make sure you weren't too late or too early.

It was.. endearing.

Soon enough, Crème Brûlée Cookie came to expect your presence at the performances, and you never disappointed. You were always there, watching with the biggest smile, captivated by what he did.

It.. warmed him to know that there was someone who enjoyed his work as much as he did. Crème Brûlée Cookie felt it in his dough almost, like you were the only one who truly understood the meaning of the music he made.

He soon grew to yearn for you to be there, and while you always do, sometimes he worries that.. maybe you won't. Will you get bored of his performances one day? By the Witches, he hopes not..

And as he sees you lingering at the final performance of the day, merely basking in the afterglow of his music, Crème Brûlée Cookie works up his courage and approaches you.

"Hello there. I can't help but notice you've been at all my performances as of late. Might I know your name?"

He hopes that you'll give it to him, and he can find what type of his music you love most so that you'll never think of not coming to one of his performances.

#cosmos stars #star: 🎹 anon #cosmos constellations #yandere crk #yandere crk x reader #yandere cookie run kingdom #yandere cookie run kingdom x reader #yandere crème brûlée cookie #yandere crème brûlée cookie x reader

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brimbrimbrimbrim · 1 year

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The Bear and The Baker: Chapter Three - COOK (NSFW)

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five

Summary: She’s relatable and willing to help him figure out how to stop spiraling down a dark hole of anxiety, but she’s pretty and sweet and knows what to say and do… and Carmy just can’t help himself.

Tags: friends to lovers, UST, RST, pining, wet dreams, masturbation, lots of food talk, reader used to be a pastry chef, mental health, panic attacks, anxiety, meditation, oral sex, cunnilingus, premature ejaculation, handjob, desk sex, first times, virginity, mild dom/sub undertones, kitchen sex, love confessions

Words: 4k

You help with a wet rag, sopping up gluttonous slime from the boilover while Carmy drains the pasta, cursing quietly. There's embarrassment in his tone, frustration, and disappointment, making you wonder if this is how he acts when overwhelmed at work. It's almost triggering until you realize you're fortunate enough to earn a living outside a bustling restaurant now, though sometimes you look back on that shit with rose-tinted glasses and Carmy… well, he's a good reminder of how much stress it puts on a person.

Is it any wonder you couldn't hack it after almost 10 years of it? Working in a kitchen is just shy of working in retail… may be worse in some ways or all ways. You've spent holidays making red velvet cakes, crème brûlée… tweezing out mint leaves until you went cross-eyed—spent days sick as a dog letting dough rise as your nails went soft from all the moisture. Fuck , you even worked triple shifts as a waitress in college… What a damn nightmare…

"Fuck… " Carmy bites.

You sneak a glance to find him white-knuckling the counter, steam rising out of the sink as the pasta drains and cools. His head's hung over the rising heat, throwing shadows into the cut musculature of his back, made all the more apparent by the white shirt and clinical lighting. You skim down his spine appreciatively, lost for a moment as he breathes deeply, stretching the cotton. He's deceptively thick, shorter than average, but more than making up for it in his sculpted arms, broad shoulders, and tapered waist.

It's hard not to stare as you finish cleaning up—hard not to imagine digging your thumbs into the tension down his back, just to see if you could loosen those knots no doubt lodged in his body given a chance.

"You okay, Carmy?"

"It's too fucking soft." A snap in his tone, like a tapered scream, has you hesitating for a moment.

"What? The noodles?"

He says nothing, but you know he means the pasta, only to confirm it when you carefully step the three paces to stand next to him as he glares flatly at the colander filled with doughy noodles. It looks like pasta, totally edible, carb-rich pasta.

"Al dente is overrated anyway," you murmur, and think nothing of resting a palm on his lower back (treating him the way you'd wanna be treated, as your therapist would say), only to jolt back when he groans, or-or something like… as if you…

He's panting underneath you, nose pressed into the fat of your inner thigh, breathing hot over your folds as you lay your breasts against his taut abdomen and lick up a tear of precum from his cockhead… fist sliding up his length—his dick throbbing—his own hips humping forward in desperation. Carmy groans… a clogged sound just before the scorching taste of salted cum spurts over your tongue.

That dream was too fresh, and that sound he just made… far too similar.

You inhale through your nose as Carmy digs his hips into the paneling beneath the sink, shoulders rising and head dropping further into his neck as if to hide, and… your gaze darts to his groin where you can't precisely see but know, somehow, that he's hard. When did that happen? Or was he—did you—when you touched him?

"Just-just give me a second," he says firmly, still pinned forward, hiding his expression in the dwindling steam.

You take another step to the side as he shakes his head, rubbing at his bridge bone with thumb and forefinger, trying to fumble around words that're jumbled and low, growled forth from some chugging organ going either too fast or too slow. You both heard the noise he made, and there's a tension in the air now—dense… heavy, like fondant.

You ignore the tickle in your lower belly as you stand there, glancing from his profile to the hand against your stomach that dared touch him without asking.

"I'm sorry-"

"That wasn't-"

You both say at once, then stumble over words again a second time, talking over each other until Carmy faces you. Your spine hits the counter edge as he steps toward you, seemingly unconsciously boxing you into the little corner where the sink meets the stove, his palms raised like someone begging a wild animal not to strike.

'I was just gonna say-'

'It's okay-you go first-'

"Fuck ," he curses.

He's so close it's nearly sweltering—just a ball of energy fraught with tension and a stiff upper lip. Carmy moves closer, eyes lidded and moist, but realizes the predicament you're in almost immediately and starts to lean away just as fast, but it's that knowing hesitation in his heavy gaze that has you reaching forward, hands on his hips to tug him in… closer… until your pelvises meet with a dual exhale; one ragged, one desperate.

And yes, he's hard… very hard… and-

"What're you doing?" Carmy asks, his husky Chicago drawl deep and throaty. He's so close his heated breath moistens your lips, drawing out your tongue to lick the tickle of it away. His eyes dart down to the motion, lingering there… all hooded and dreamy. You wonder if his lips taste as good as the scones… or even better.

"This really happening?" It's the way he asks it as if someone like Carmy's never had his dick pinned against someone before—as if your both a couple of teens discovering the longing trepidation of sex for the first time, and not jaded adults with baggage.

"Seems that way," you whisper as if to a skittish animal, rubbing your thumbs into the muscled trench between his hip and abdomen where a thin layer of fat gives under your circling touch.

Carmy puffs out a 'fuck’ against your lips and swallows thick enough that it clicks in his quiet apartment.

Your fingers walk up his sides where his muscles stiffen and flex, sliding your palms beneath his shoulder blades as he sinks into you, chest against chest. Your foreheads touch, and Carmy lays his broad palms on the countertop by your sides. His biceps bulge—his tattoos mix with the topography of standing veins beneath the skin, and you tug him closer until his nose pushes into yours and your nipples harden against his hammering heat.

"You want me to stop?" You ask half-breathless, almost tasting his breath as he starts to pant; basil with the berry butter from your scones, and it's nearly strong enough you can picture him chewing on a leaf while cooking the sauce before you arrived…

He gives you a barely there shake of the head, nudging your nose tenderly. "Naw… no. No , this is good . I like this ."

"Good boy." You smirk as his shuddering exhale rushes down your face.

It's a simple tilt upward, just an inch, and you're kissing him. A simple press of lips that's soft and yielding. Carmy inhales as your lips part, pecking once… twice… then wetting it with a careful tongue flick. He's clumsy, and your teeth click together, but after a few moments, a natural rhythm of tilted kisses and quiet, moist latches of lips fills the little kitchen. And he's so warm and loving, all herbs overflowing and something incredibly intimate as if you're being let in on a secret… or beckoned into a place untouched.

You sigh, making a weak little whimper of 'Carmy' that makes your face heat up, but Carmy presses his hips in and up, groaning your own name into your mouth. A throng of pleasure shoots down your stomach, rubbing sparks of friction into your breasts and outward, through your arms until your's covered in goosebumps. It's like a light switch—that sound… this contact… the way he groans out your name and cups your lower back in one broad, firm hand.

Suddenly your fingers are in the curls at his nape, weaving through damp strands until you get a good grip and tug him to the side, planting messy kisses across his cheek to his jaw, licking at the pulse point an inch beneath. His moans and weak little sounds of overstimulation only fuel the fire below, just bubbling beneath where you can feel his hard cock rubbing into your lower belly. It's been a long time since you've been this wet…

"Okay… alright ," he grunts, seemingly making some internal decision out loud as your teeth scrape down, lips plucking between his neck and shoulder until he shivers.

Rigid fingers dent in your waist, clutching tight, then… without warning, you're lifted and planted on the skinny counter, fumbling at his shoulders and biting your lip hard at the determined look in his baby blues. His body slots flawlessly between your thighs, sides skimming thin elastic to press his abdomen against the gusset of your damp leggings.

"God," you whine, feeling happily featherbrained as you shift and grind against his hard stomach, squeezing his shoulders in time with each rock back and forth.

"You good, baby?" Carmy asks, looking more or less like he's gonna rupture. It's hot and flattering, and you want whatever's gonna happen, even if it's not the smartest thing in the world: being set on Carmy's counter like an entree. Seriously, though, life is too short to care about right and wrong, at least right now.

"Y-yeah. Yeah, good."

As you mill against one another haphazardly, his palms ease up your hips, fingers in the hem of your leggings. You're too dazed to second guess it—that you might not be ready for this so soon. Instead, you lift your ass off the counter, letting Carmy yank your leggings down your thighs and off your feet, along with your sneakers, leaving you in your socks and an oversized sweater… no fucking underwear… nothing to hide behind when he drops to his knees and shoves your legs apart.

Jesus Christ on the cross… is he gonna-

His breathing bathes your wet folds, adding more heat. "I uh , I don't-don't have a system for this."

"For-fuck… " you squeak as two fingers—S and O —stroke down the line of your dripping pussy. "F-for what?"

"Sex. Women. I can, ya know… I can simmer a consommé just listening to it… but this-this is… fuck ."

His eyes narrow, thumbs stroking down your outer labia with trembling grace. "You're wet?" It's a question, even though it's painfully obvious.

"Umm… yeah. A bit." It's an understatement, but your aptitude for words is less than stellar, given how your pulse centers in your clit and another leak of moisture slides down between your cheeks.

"You smell nice. Like-like rain and… apples."

You blush, feeling both mortified and turned on. It's been a long time since anyone's been on their knees for you, never like this. Carmy looks like he's never seen a pussy up close, and it… does things to you.

Carmy blinks slowly, pupils dilated black like ink drops expanding in a lazy morning lake. His fingers trace again, from soft mons to perineum. You swallow a whimper, marveling down the hills of your wrinkled sweater at his tentative touches, then hiss as he scissors those fingers open, spreading your inner lips. The cool air hits where you're the hottest… sending a chill down your spine.

"If you, umm—fuck, you're dripping …" He seems momentarily distracted, then looks back up. "I mean, if you don't wanna do this, just… please. Tell me to stop. Okay?"

Lip-quivering, you nod.

"Okay. Good," Carmy says, raw-sounding, "Good."

A knife-inked hand smooths up your inner thigh, pressing you further apart. Your eyes flicker to the back of it, finally realizing that the kitchen knife isn't being cradled but is piercing the pigmented palm. Self-inflicted harm via dedication to desire, you think, wondering if everyone lets their passions hurt them one way or another.

The flower on the other turns, palm up, and Carmy brings his pointer finger to his mouth and sucks on it. His cheeks hollow a second before his finger's coated in spit, pressing back and pushing knuckle-deep inside you with a grunt that nearly dies beneath the sharp moan you loosen.

It just… it feels so good to be filled, even by just one of his thick fingers.

"Tight," he gapes, "... hot—real hot. When's the last time anyone's been here." It's said more like a spoken thought than a question, which is good… cause you can't remember the last time. Maybe that's why you're melting from the barest stretch, or perhaps that's just Carmy…

The wet, squelch of sound as he withdraws and corkscrews a little deeper has you panting, squirming, and bending a knee up, planting your socked foot on his shoulder.

"Carmy…"

His eyes flutter upwards, catching your gaze with sleepy desire—something almost innocent if it weren't for everything that preceded this. So much for not hooking up with guys from Al-Anon… though, you could end it now… it doesn't have to go this far…

"Just let me know if I gotta change anything. Don't worry about hurting my feelings, okay?"

'Just wanna taste you a bit… Smells so good. Salty… sweet. Acidic.'

Before you can tell him to stop—to make up some reason for ending whatever this is—Carmy leans in, eyes hooded, tongue pressed against his bottom teeth, and your heart skips a happy beat.

"… fuck me," you sob as Carmy noses your clit and licks a flat stripe from bottom to top.

He's reminded of applesauce with a sprinkle of salt. One of his favorites as a kid; it was simple n' sweet; she's diluted by a savory flavor that's unlike anything he's sampled before. Countless dishes, various ethnicities. He thinks this might be his favorite, from Chicago bar food to twenty-four-step French cuisine and all the flavors in between.

A few licks in, and the sticky slick gluing her folds together comes away, exploding his taste buds with the full brunt of her. She's good—really fuckin' good —and with each exploratory nibble, her moans relax his nerves…

With each clench of her cunt around his finger, his cock throbs.

He's never been here in person, never had the time or the drive, but he's read enough… seen enough… so the basics come naturally. Sorta .

Carmy traces her clit with a soft tongue until she's as soaked with spit as she is herself and then pulls up on the light chub over her clit, exposing the swollen bulb for a soft suck. His finger slides back, sweeping all that mess to lubricate the slow press of middle and pointer, feeling the way she shudders, stretching open with a gasp.

"Jesus, Carmy…"

The way she says his name makes his fingers curl into her, feeling for that spongy spot he's heard about. Carmy scrapes it with his blunted nails, her pussy grinding into his mouth, proof he got it right… then makes tight circles against it while tonguing her clit.

"Yes'yes… yes!"

Her fingers delve into his hair. Nails skim his scalp. The sauce on the stove goes cold, but he couldn't give less of a shit.

Fuck…

Carmy flicks the bud inside his mouth and loses a few strands in the process, savoring the burn as she yanks on his curls, drawing him closer, his lips mashed against her silky flesh, his fingers digging harder until he can hear the wet slurp as her walls suck his fingers back in with each thrust.

"… like that," she sighs, "… yeah , just-just like that."

He leans in, stretching up through his knees that are aching on the tile floor, and makes a moist, sloppy sound as he eats her out like he's fucking starving… and he is. Carmy hasn't eaten for years and decades and can't get enough. Her flavors are robust and sweet, artful currents of sweat, umami, and fragrant honey.

"Jesus fucking—fuck… Carmy…”

Yeah , he wants to grin and say something clever—something that might get him a whack on the head, but he won't remove his mouth. Can't tear himself away. She's too delicious. His forearm tenses, fucking his digits in and out by the elbow, bicep going hard with the effort to keep it precise and fluid. A few seconds later, moisture starts running down his wrist.

"Oh , god. Yes !" It's a hiss and another squeeze of his hair, tugging follicles loose.

Carmy runs wet kisses down her pussy, licks her from where his fingers jackknife, then back up to her swollen clit, sucking up that wet bundle until her thighs are shaking around his jaw. Then he shoves a third finger in without thinking… cause—fuck —she's just as tight and wet and hot as in his dream. Better.

She quivers and moans and says something so fuckin' filthy about how no one's made her feel this way, sobbing confessions that have Carmy shuddering, feeling like a single brush of his hand'll make him cum.

Eventually, his jaw starts to ache—bursitis in his shoulder acting up—but her fingers are locked on his crown, and he can feel the twitch of muscles in her inner thighs, one calloused palm rubbing up and down its smooth expanse, gliding from knee up around her leg to her naked hip.

Carmy grabs her tight and jerks her until she's balancing off the countertop's edge, speared on his fingers… nearly dangling over his open mouth. Her startled sound goes right to his dick, almost making it spit right then and there.

"Please-please… don't… stop…" she begs weakly.

"Help me out here," he murmurs against her pussy, nose pressed to her clit as his tongue picks up the slick from her stretched entrance that grips his pumping fingers, "… show me where ya want me."

She maneuvers him quickly by the hair, whimpering as his aching tongue moves with him. The bump of her clit makes him groan, kiss and suck and swirl until her head smacks back against the cabinets.

"I'm gonna cum, Carmy… holy fuck. "

"Good," he wheezes, then pulls back the swollen hood with his thumb again to focus on the bare nerve. He's gonna make her cum, and has to—wants to—needs to fucking do it, or Carmy'll just…

'No one's ever… oh, fuck… ever—your fucking tongue… your fingers… yes...'

Carmy starts making letters over her clit. Some bullshit magazine said to draw ABCs, so he begins with that, then numbers, counting out repeating receipts and tables until he's making as much noise as she is… until her thighs lock around his head and warmth flows like a savory glaze over his chin and forearm, dripping down his neck… off his elbow.

A guttural sound rips above him as if he just… Jesus Christ, is she really cumming?

"Fuck, fuck, fuck…" and then an utterly wrecked curse sobs out—a noise that has him saying the word back, tongue between her leaking folds.

"Fuck…"

Carmy's reaching down his own stomach as he licks her orgasm up, feeling her contracting around his handiwork, but before he can get those drenched fingers under his sweats, she's yanking him up by the hair. He stumbles up to his knees, face covered in her from nose to throat-apple, and startles as she throws her arms around his neck and kisses him raw.

Her hips rock down into his lap, and Carmy hisses against her lips, palm trapped against her molten cunt and his clothed erection.

"Carmy," she breathes between kisses, "let me," another kiss and lick over his teeth, "return the favor. Please ."

The teenager in him is jumping for joy on his old single bed like a loser, but the grown-ass man whose never gotten this far is overstimulated. Carmy trembles, pulling his hand free from against her pussy and his hard-on. He slides his palm around her face instead, tilting his head—his lips—kissing her deeply with a tongue lapping at her own. He just needs a minute to calm down… or several… but an arm slides off his shoulder, and fingers sweep down his stomach. Carmy gets one gasp of air before soft, slim fingers ease down his waistband and-

Fuck. He can't help it. He's gonna cum. Can't hold it anymore—can't fuckin' stop it!

"Fffffuughhhk… " It sounds pathetic, but it's all he can get out when she thumbs his sticky slit, fingers gripping the head and cap. His balls pull taut—tight as his stomach—feeling that hot surge through his cock. Carmy drops his forehead into her shoulder, smelling the overwhelming fragrance of apple orchards in the summer heat with crisp sweat, and humps her tight fist until he's cumming in heavy spurts between her thighs… all over her naked, exquisite pussy...

"Ffffuck…" He hisses again, then chokes on his own spit as he tries to breathe through the wrecking ball of pleasure. Gotta be ten times better than what he woke up to this morning… one-hundred times better than he'd ever thought… and he'd been missing out on this shit all this time?

A cold shiver of reality flows down his back as her voice teases. "Did you just-"

Blow a load on your cunt? Yeah…

"Fuck —fuck-fuck…" Carmy groans into her neck, pulling back to look at the strings of creamy fluid sliding down her swollen, glistening folds. "I didn't mean-didn't mean to… shit… "

He starts stuttering, watching his cherry-colored cock begin softening in her palm as his face turns beet red, embarrassed, and high as fuck from the bullet of bliss. So, so fucking good… but too, too fuckin' fast.

"I'm sorry," he says eventually, unable to take his eyes off the mess he made, imagining he just added a layer of heated frosting to a slice of gooey apple pie…

As a dollop of cum hits the floor, Carmy realizes she's not saying anything. He looks up finally, cautious, with a stone of syrupy dread in his stomach. She's just sitting on the counter with her fingers still around his flaccid cock, eyes glinting.

That anxiety of a lunch rush—the dread of fucking up a sauce—gets him under the ribs, and Carmy starts to panic. "Sorry, I just—it's been a while and… umm… it's been-"

A kiss warms his temple. "Shhh … and take a breath, Carmy."

He does. He takes several big lungfuls, and when she tells him to go slower on the exhale, he does that too. Over and over again until he can feel the circles she's massaging into his chest.

"So, why are you sorry?"

"I dunno," he says, all raw and sleepy, leaning his weight into her, between her legs. The hem of his shirt sticks to her drenched cunt, but he doesn't mind, "… spose to last longer, right? Kinda just fucked that up."

"It's pretty flattering… I mean, you making me breakfast spaghetti, then eating me out and being so good at it…"

Carmy's chest flutters with pride, a rare and delicate thing.

"... then you cum before I can get my mouth around you… as if you-you enjoyed that… a lot. No one's ever been so… so happy to do that to me before."

"I did. I like it… liked it a lot. Kinda wanna… would you, uh… like to do it again," he says and asks it like he's green, which, when it comes to this shit, he is. But she just smiles and noses his cheekbone, lips skimming across his stubble to peck his lips gently.

"How about we eat some real food first?"

"I just did." It comes out without thought. Kinda slick, actually. Michael woulda been proud, and Cousin… that fucker woulda laughed. She laughs too, but it's breathy and sweet, and Carmy finds himself smiling, dimples and all.

He eventually changes sweats for black jeans; empty plates for sauced noodles, far too soft but delicious. Carmy shares breakfast with her on the sofa… watching a black-and-white musical from the fifties that reminds him of nothing he's ever felt. She won't shut up about how good it tastes, and while it's nothing up to Carmy's standards, he's flattered… maybe more than when he first read that article in Eater… maybe more than the first and last time Michael complimented his grilled cheese as a kid.

Either way, Carmy thinks he loves her, and stupidly, he tells her.

AO3 Link: HERE

#carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #the bear #the bear and the baker

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