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kithtaehyung · 9 months ago

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minted: two (explicit) | myg

title: minted: two (explicit) pairing: street king!yoongi x street vendor!reader series: one | masterlist rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , action ; haegeum au , gang au summary: after a whirlwind of a detour, you have second and third thoughts about the guy you saved. who even is this man? and what the hell is in that bag? note: holy shit, y’all. thank you so much for the love on this series already! it’s been a minute since we started a new series here, so nerves were firing on all cylinders. but you all showed out and gave me enormous relief and motivation to keep going, so thank you! note 2: as always, this is dedicated to hali @sailoryooons for ur belated bday, nary @joonary for being a cutie pie and letting me adopt the tangerine cart girl idea in general, and luce @minttangerines for ur url and for being a wonderful friend. love you all! warnings: language, violence, weapons (guns), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, trauma/pstd, poor reader :(((, but also YES READER???, tension to the max, inner turmoil, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, yoongi visuals in this one areeee… a ha ha, did i mention tension?, tense situations, crass af yoongi lol, reader is also a baddie but who is shocked, slow burnnnn drop date: september 30th, 2024, 9:03pm est word count: 9.8k help me @ god

There’s something to be said about the human gut.

Not for being the source of multiple health aspects, nor the way it’s connected to the brain.

But, other than when violence tears it to shreds, it can be quite the defense mechanism. Just like yours churns and churns with each mechanical click of the elevator shaft.

Who is this person next to you?

Who exactly did you decide to follow upstairs hours ago, killing your daily life to save and join on the run?

You don’t know if you release your hand or if Yoongi lets it fall, but you take this unlinking to create space. As you slide your gaze toward your companion, he merely shifts his weight and finds interest in increasing, beeping numbers.

How can someone’s profile be so troublingly handsome? You’d be able to think more clearly if he wasn’t both attractive and dangerous. Or if you simply weren’t on the verge of collapse.

Frankly, if you didn’t just murder a man you’d pass out as soon as you took too long to blink.

To keep yourself alert—and to hopefully gather some much needed intel—you suddenly question aloud, “Where are we?”

No answer.

Alright.

“That driver called you Agust,” you recap on a second go. “What was that about?”

All Yoongi does is stare at his reflection in opulent, dim mirrored walls. Or whatever else he’s doing besides talking.

Okay. Well.

You can face forward, too.

“Those guys after us,” you try a third time, because who are you to give up now even if he radiates annoyance. “They didn’t look like Crane.”

“Doesn’t mean they weren’t.”

Your neck almost snaps when you turn. “Are you kidding me?”

As you watch Yoongi scorn the ceiling again, you can’t believe he doesn’t agree.

Mm. Does he?

From the flex of his jaw, you have to assume you’re right to some degree. Because it looks like he’s very, very bothered by the people that chased you down.

If those weren’t any of the high-powers but had equal resources and numbers…

What the hell were they? Where did they even come from?

Geez, it’s freezing. Is a drop in temperature the best barrier to you making sense of things? You can’t even appreciate the way Yoongi’s veins protrude with every adjustment he makes to that mysterious duffle bag.

Lies. You absolutely can. But there’s no way in hell you’re ever complimenting that. Or anything about him anymore because he clearly doesn’t want anything to do with you!

Why did he even hold your hand? Was that just a ploy, too?

But that taxi drive…

Yoongi looks down before lightly scuffing his shoe, and both of you fall silent as you finally give up with a huff.

Massively dehydrated. Sore. Still covered in a myriad of unmentionables and now being ignored by the guy you saved.

All you wanna do is go home, and you don’t even know where that is.

How far did you travel? What district is this? You’ve never heard of a grey zone, but they seem fairly peaceful even at night. Neutral enough for you to consider relocating even if it meant sleeping on the street.

That brings up another question. “If we’re in a grey zone, how did you know—”

A ding interrupts your last thought, and you look to see where you ended up.

But the elevator doesn’t say a number. Only letters? What kinda floor did you stop on?

One thing’s for sure, though. Whatever room you end up getting, if there’s only one bed you’re hogging it or taking the…

Floor…

There are many things that have shocked you in your lifetime. Many things just from today that had your head positively and forever reeling.

But when the elevator doors slide open, you can’t even fathom what the fuck you’re dealing with.

And in this second, more than ever, you understand how ludicrously out of your element you really are.

“Holy shit,” you blurt, barely hearing the huff at your side.

Don’t elevators usually open up to hallways? Why are you walking into an entire living space? Is this a real place people choose to sleep in for a night? A whole floor?

Forget a whole floor, it’s a whole other place.

You slowly survey everything, wondering how much this has to be because you have never seen a living space so big. Or pretty. Or anything like this.

The ceilings vault and the furniture looks nothing like you’ve ever seen. Everything looks pristine. Clean. Is that a whole kitchen?

How are there living arrangements this big? This one place is bigger than your entire apartment level back home.

And here you are: speechless, virtually homeless, and dragging your filth onto white marble floors.

Perfect.

“What.”

You turn at the scrape of Yoongi’s voice, wondering why now is when he finally chooses to acknowledge you. Head pounding, you ask outright, “Who… Who even are you? What is this place?”

He levels your stare before walking towards a long couch, dumping the duffle and raking his hair back in minted waves. “There’s a shower in every bedroom. Take your pick.”

…Is that really his only response?

“That’s not what I asked,” you fire back, wondering what the hell his problem is so you can add more out of spite.

“But it’s what you need.”

“Say what now?”

The fucking nerve? Even though you obviously, desperately need one, hearing him mention it makes you wanna re-use the chopsticks in your pocket.

But Yoongi simply waves you off, grabbing a remote and flicking on a television so wide you would struggle to reach both ends.

This is all too much.

“You know what I need? To go home,” you huff out, leaving fire in your determined trek to the elevator. “Have a nice life, Yoongi. Or Agust. Whoever the fuck you are.”

You get to the door and run into a dirt-slicked forearm. “The fuck are you doing?”

“Shouldn’t be that hard to figure out.”

“You serious?”

“Yes, I am. So move.”

Yoongi pauses, jaw working overtime before he steps aside—wait he’s gonna let you go that easily?

…Oh.

That was certainly not what you expected, but what else would you even think? This isn’t one of those stories that ends perfectly after trials and tribulations. Yoongi has proven more than once—in mere hours—that he’s no regular civilian.

But despite that, you blink before freezing at a terrible realization.

No matter how you slice it, you’re much better off with him right now than you are by yourself. Even if he is a secretive criminal with a smoking gun.

He did keep you alive that whole chase.

But there’s the smallest, tiniest chance that you aren’t quite safe with him, either. You don’t even know who this man is anymore—maybe you never did.

So in a quick decision, you skim his side to slap the elevator button, chucking daggers at his brows until he leaves you to wait alone.

Good. You don’t need this. You can find your way back to your city block somehow and live the life you’ve chosen to lead again.

Yes. You can do all of that by yourself. The chase is done.

And so is your story with the man that will never buy your tangerines again.

Grabbing your sleeve, a second fact stings your fingers. A jacket woven in Dragon teal.

Shit. You need to ditch this, too. Either right now, or before you get the hell out of this grey zone because if you don’t, this is the biggest target you could ever have on your back.

No good. No good no good you didn’t plan any of this well at all. Fucking pride blinding you to everything else logical. Is this how your story ends? Because of regret and resistance?

You wait for the sliding doors, about to leave the biggest room you’ll ever see to occupy a box. How poetic.

Your heart pounds as you close your eyes. Yoongi just cut you loose; it’s obvious he doesn’t care so why should you? No going back now. You’ll figure it out. The doors are finally opening.

And someone’s inside?

Wait.

Your brain both whirrs and skids to a halt at the sight of the staff member occupying the elevator. When they give you a look, you find your hand drifting towards your back pocket.

Fucking hell, relax. You should be safe with a staff member, right? They wouldn’t be out to kill you. This is just your adrenaline on its haunches.

However, one foot in the elevator and your senses go haywire.

Because you can’t do this alone. You aren’t nearly as prepared to brave this foreign space as you need to be. With red in your hands and Dragon on your back? Absolutely not.

You bow to the hotel staff before you face forward into the expanse.

And as the doors start to close, you see Yoongi’s stare over his shoulder, storming with emotions you can’t name.

Yeah, you fucked up.

Fuck.

Fuck you actually made a big mistake go back don’t let the elevator close shit—

As you lunge for the door, you get your arm through to block it from closing, turning to the employee inside and seeing their expression change.

What was that about?

“Sorry,” you blurt to their pressed and polished grey uniform. “I forgot something inside.”

“I can wait, Miss,” they immediately offer, to which you politely and cautiously decline.

“No need.” When you step out of the elevator, something happens that you think about hours and hours later. “I’ll come down when I’m ready, thank you.”

You can suddenly breathe again. Why was it so stuffy in there?

The worker bows stiff. “As you wish.”

Without pause, you nod, waiting until the doors close to face someone turned away.

Ugh. It’s like Yoongi knew you weren’t gonna leave. Either that, or he really didn’t give a crap about what you did at all.

Either way, fuck this guy and fuck your indecisive ass!

In full aggravation, you march through the entrance before grating out, “You’re lucky I—”

“Shower.”

“What?”

“The blood,” he calmly breathes. “If you’re gonna hit the streets, wash it out.”

“It isn’t mine.”

“I know.”

Your mouth snaps shut.

Fuck. Yoongi’s right.

“Okay. Well,” you scoff, “Good point but how can I trust you to not do anything.”

When he tilts his head with a bored, unamused, borderline ticked off expression, you almost scoff before he drawls,

“Not interested.”

Oh. He’s…

Oh.

But the taxi and the hand-holding and the the the kiss what the hell? Was your liplock not up to this Dragon’s standards? Why are you questioning something so trivial?

The nerve. You plunge your shoulders in exasperation, hating how you chose to put yourself in another situation with this pain in the ass and he isn’t even… “I swear to—You know what? Good. Not interested, either.”

A lie.

Scrambling, your stomach speaks the next sentence for you, “But there better be food when I come out cus you robbed me of lunch today. So do something about that.”

Fucking hell you do not need his lips to quirk up so deliciously. That one look completely offsets what he just said and annoyingly tickles your core.

Stop. Focus. You cannot entertain any of those thoughts so ignore him and find a bedroom.

Opening the first door you can see, you continue your tirade, “And no more stealing my chopsticks.”

“Closet.”

Of course it’s a closet! Shutting it with force, you let out a high curse. “Who needs a closet here? Whatever, just—figure it out, I’m starving.”

“Yes, princess.”

You flick Yoongi off as you blaze down the hall, not even knowing nor caring if he sees or not.

The next door works, and you shut him out before falling back onto its weight, so fraught with emotion that you can’t even register the appearance of the room.

Today has aged you multiple years. So much has transpired ever since this afternoon that you can’t even think in straight nor curved lines. As soon as you remember something, another thought juts between. Why are you simultaneously thinking about dingy, stained floors while agonizing over Yoongi’s lips? Is there a place other than hell or heaven you can settle on?

As soon as you’re physically and mentally patched, you are out of here.

The plan is simple. Shower, eat, give this man a piece of your manic mind, then go home.

Although… It would be nice to at least know what’s in that duffle. If it’s something worth taking you could finesse a piece of the loot.

Swallowing dry, you push yourself off the door and finally notice a flood of ambient light.

At your side, you come across an expansive bathroom, eyeing the wall-to-wall entrance before taking in the center shower with disdain and awe.

The whole setup is lavish.

Does the water just fall straight from the ceiling and into that large square tub? This looks nothing like your cramped, chipped one back home. There’s even lush plants lining the area and towels already folded nearby for use.

Maybe you did get killed on the run and you’re in some type of dreamworld.

Too bad you aren’t alone.

As you drag tired feet onto heated tile, you search for the shower knobs, realizing you have a whole panel to work with instead.

Uhh.

What.

You quickly find that one button blows water like a hose straight from the top, scaring you so bad you jump. When you hastily try another, something whirrs in the floor that has your brows kissing—

“You good?”

Fuck!

You flinch and hit the wall, groaning when you see Yoongi lazily resting against one side of the bathroom entrance. Both of your voices echo in the extravagant interior.

“You ever knock?”

“No.”

“Shocker.”

He walks up the tiny steps, and you’re more than relieved you’re still wearing his jacket. When he gets closer, you turn and face the panel, “I can figure it out.”

“Move.”

You get slightly displaced as he gets close, resting a hand on the wall while bending to operate the buttons. As you inhale his musk, you respond to his second question instead of his first. “What?”

“Is this fine,” he repeats, checking the settings before turning to the shower area.

Oh. Wow. It’s a lot more than fine.

A circle of rain falls into a beautifully lighted tub, steam wafting through the glow and coating your skin.

You’re so entranced that you are quite literally left speechless. Skirting around your present company, you gaze up, down, silently observing the plants sway with the shower air.

Strangely, this whole bathroom makes everything you’ve seen today believable because of the sheer wonder of it all. It’s almost enough to make you forget what you’ve done.

Almost.

When you pause, you see Yoongi watching your face from beyond the rainfall. And he looks so handsome, even now, not doing a thing.

Is it because he’s clearly roughed up but still so poised? Very unlike you in your banged up, dirty state?

Huffing, you fold your arms a little too harshly—out of jealousy or whatever else, who is to say. “I’m good now,” you proclaim, keeping your walls high. “I can do the rest myself.”

Again with that little slant.

Ignore him ignore him. If Yoongi keeps doing that, you’re really gonna have to brave the outside world instead of dying by smirk. A tub has never been so interesting in your life.

“Suit yourself.”

You look up again.

But he’s already left you alone.

Solely to undress and contemplate what the hell he implied by that.

Why did you walk left today instead of right?

Under scorching rain in the middle of luxury, this is the question you repeat in your head. Watching all the burnt streams of your decision swirl, and swirl, and swirl.

The blood will never wash out.

Does the price of saving a life have to be this high? It must be somewhat divine, being that in order to save, you took. If only there was another way to achieve that end goal. Though there’s no way to do it all over again to be sure.

Staring at four chopsticks on the ground, you try to assure yourself. You need to.

Because at least you succeeded.

But will your price be more damning because of the one you saved?

Rushing water mutes your hearing as it pours onto sore limbs. When you reach for the scrub for a third time, you make sure to really dig, scraping at every. Single. Inch. In a last attempt to cleanse yourself completely.

Knowing that even after the water runs clear, you still see nothing but red.

You chose left today.

If you had chosen right…

Doesn’t matter.

Your palm tingles.

Blood never really washes out.

Holy fuck, you don’t have clothes to change into.

Wrapping yourself in plush material, you hastily pad around freezing floors as you think of a plan.

You can’t just ask for them. How would Yoongi even have any for you? The jacket was more than enough borrowing for today and you’re in a hotel room, not his place.

Thank the universe.

But the matter is pretty urgent. Because you’d rather burn your belongings before putting them on again. Which leaves zero clothing and a thousand issues. Fuck.

Dragging feet to the massive sliding doors, you steel your resolve. Hoist your shields back upright.

Because there’s no choice. You’re just gonna have to dread another conversation with this man. An embarrassing, awkward, unprecedented shit why is he in the bedroom!

You flinch backward as you slam the door closed. Peeking out, you gawk, “What the hell are you—?”

Did Yoongi just pocket a phone?

The duffle rests at his feet.

Wait. Did he stay in here while you showered? Thank god you had the foresight to slide all the doors shut because you definitely spent a lot of your time scrubbing like mad or standing completely still.

No. Yoongi’s hair is wet, so he did shower at some point. And he’s donning a robe, which is precisely what made you slam the door shut.

How can he look like royalty wearing that? The material is quite lush and silken, but still plain. It makes no fucking sense and you wanna rip it right off—

Gathering yourself, you rush out, “Why are you in here?”

“You took too long.”

“So? That doesn’t—”

“In my shower.”

Wait. What? “Oh.”

You slide the door open a little more to check his claim. And now that you finally see the room, you can tell it’s clearly been used already, clothes and bottles scattered about. “You said pick one.”

“I did.” Yoongi turns to drop something onto a dark comforter. “Figured you picked it on purpose.”

“No, I… I didn’t notice the room.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says after a brief look your way. “Not sharing the bed, though.”

“No need,” you snip. “I’m leaving soon.”

Motherfucker. Yoongi only regards his sheets with a smile that triggers your fight response. And you almost—almost—drop the towel.

Speaking of. How are you even standing in his vicinity with only a single piece of cloth? Are you seriously that exhausted you didn’t even think twice about it?

Suddenly very, very aware of yourself, you squeak, “Umm.” He waits. “I don’t have any clothes.”

“That’s what you get for kicking me out so quick.”

Your jaw hits the floor. “So what, I’m walking around with a towel? Are you out of your mind? If you think I’m some—”

“Fuck, relax,” he slowly groans to the ceiling. “I was gonna say there’s robes in the closet.”

You snap your mouth closed so hard it jangles. “Then just say that!” And you slam the partition closed before fast walking to find them.

Missing the way Yoongi huffs before staring hard at his bedroom door.

On your second arrival into his room, your steps and demeanor are a lot calmer.

Is it because he’s a lot calmer, too? Maybe. Is it also because you smell food, realizing he did exactly what you wanted? Maybe more so.

Noticing a table situated near balcony doors, you blink before regarding Yoongi’s sitting form on one of the chairs outside.

A man lounging while smoking in a robe should not be this alluring. And yet, that’s the only word you can think of to describe him.

Throat drying and aching, you slowly walk over and take a seat, already ravenous enough to dive into broth head first. But you eye Yoongi while retrieving new chopsticks, scowling when all he does is flash teeth through the glass.

Do not engage do not engage do not engage.

Pretending not to care and severely failing, you focus on your—

“You’re really mad about that, huh.”

You snap your head up to see him leaning on the doorway. “I was hungry.”

“There was a cup of them on your table.”

“So why didn’t you grab those instead!”

Yoongi ticks his brows before peering into the night. And he stays like that for awhile, letting a breeze lift his damp locks. “Didn’t expect to see you there,” he admits. “Gotta say you threw me off.”

Nu uh. No more heart skips for today. “I didn’t expect to see you, either,” you too choose to be honest. “Thought I’d never see you again.”

“You were going to.”

As curious brows furrow, you break your utensils apart. “Figured something happened.” Guess you’re being honest about a lot of things. “Or you found another tangerine girl.”

Yoongi holds his look before taking a drag, smoke spiraling around his words, “Why were you even over there? You’re a bit far from Crane.”

You blink at his deflection.

What was that about? What is that look for?

Holding his gaze because you aren’t done challenging him, you calmly answer, “I was shopping.”

“Shopping.”

“Mmhmm.”

Falling silent, he observes a little longer before flicking ash off his cigarette.

And just like that, the conversation dies.

It’s for the best anyways. If Yoongi kept prying, he was gonna get closer to the truth. And you wanna slip around that as much as possible.

But he keeps standing in the doorway, inked arm bending as he breathes in smoke. Donned in a dark robe and topped in teal, he suits Dragon perfectly. Way too perfectly.

Pretending not to care and severely failing, you focus on your noodles instead.

Your noodles.

You’re not hungry anymore.

Something horrid jams up your throat, and you run through your day in flashes. The restaurant. The food. Dragons. The chopsticks. The kill. The chase. Yoongi. The kill the kill the kill.

Dirt and shouts and lifeless lips clog your hearing, and your grip loosens completely as your vision shakes and shakes why couldn’t Yoongi have gotten anything else why does it have to be—

A hand.

A robed arm.

Your new utensils come back into view.

But when you face reality, you don’t see them put them back into your hand. You don’t even see them dug in your noodles and left there.

Instead, you watch as Yoongi plants one palm on the table, slowly lifting strands from the bowl and staring right into your eyes,

“Eat.”

Words. Get them out. Something something communication. Key is communication. What the fuck is happening to your brain?

“I can’t,” you finally croak out. “I’m not.. I’m not hungry.”

“You are.”

“Not anymore.”

Nose scrunching, Yoongi suddenly drops the food and dumps himself on the chair nearest, stretching his leg and revealing a littering of scars. “Didn’t know you were fine with wasting food.”

The icy descent of his tone freezes your bones.

“Thought you of all people would hate that.”

“I—I’m not—It’s not that—”

“Then eat.”

“I literally can’t—”

“Water. Food. If you’re gonna waste all my shit, then leave.”

“What?”

Is he serious? You’re in the midst of post-traumatic shock and he can’t take the hint? You’re so appalled by this man that you can’t even think straight.

“You heard me. Stop acting like you didn’t.”

“Oh, I heard you,” you snap. “Just double-checking what the fuck you said.”

“So you gonna leave or just sit there? If you’re staying I’ll just walk out the roo—”

“Don’t.”

Both of you still at your words.

And you have to force your palms to unfurl on your quivering thighs. One knuckle. Another. Nails leave half-moons in your skin.

Breath haphazard, you finally break. “Just,” you swallow, hard. “I’m not wasting it just give me a sec.”

You don’t want to tell Yoongi why you want him to stay. Despite him being the most infuriating person you’ve ever met, it beats the alternative. And you don’t want the alternative. Truthfully, that’s another reason why you left the elevator earlier.

Yoongi looks pissed as hell.

But he hasn’t moved.

And that’s enough to get you to pick up your chopsticks and try again.

You stare. Stare. Stare. Mustering courage and inhaling all the aromas you indulged in just earlier today.

Fuck, you wanna hurl.

“You’re gonna have to get used to this.”

Your gaze snaps to his, brows and thoughts knitted in disbelief. “What?”

“This feeling.” Yoongi looks out the glass doors, hands resting on the arms of his chair. “The faster you do, the better.”

There’s no way he’s serious. Get used to it? What reason would you ever have for doing that? Caustic, you scoff, “Why, so I don’t waste more of your food?”

You’ve never seen someone laugh in a negative way. But he does before sliding his eyes over. “So when you have to do it again, you don’t lock the fuck up hours later.”

You shoot up from your chair, hellbent on oh fuck you stood up too fast. “You—”

Yoongi just watches as you grab the table for balance, wincing from the pangs in your head. Words grind through your teeth, unable to fully form beyond the light assaulting your brain.

“Like I said.”

Palms press against your forehead before you slump back into your chair.

“It’s better in the long run.”

Technically, he’s right. It’s better in the long run if you get used to this.

But there’s no way you can do it again. Who does he think you are? Yoongi’s got to know that you aren’t planning on making this a daily habit. This isn’t you. You only killed to protect somebody. Killed to save the person telling you to basically get over it.

Fucking hell, this sucks.

Frustration and exhaustion sting the corners of your eyes.

Eat. Build your strength and get the hell out of here. Deal with it deal with it deal with it.

As you regrettably pick up your chopsticks, you don’t care if your tears season your noodles. And quite frankly, you don’t give a shit if Yoongi watches them fall, too.

Because they’re liquid anger. Hot trails blazing down your face, hardening into sticky paths and dried rivers.

“What were you looking for.”

Your eyes slide up to regard him, his arms folded and brows low. Because of course he doesn’t care about your state, either. Of course he’d rather entertain his curiosity. “Nothing you need to know,” you mutter, banning him from knowing another truth.

“Did you find it.”

You swipe at both your eyes.

As spice coats your tongue, Yoongi keeps prying, “Something you needed to go all the way there for?”

“Fuck off,” you dismiss, slurping and swallowing with ease. “I don’t have to answer you.”

“You already are,” he responds, confident. “Now tell me. Is there one in particular you need?”

Wait. You barely gave anything away, so how is Yoongi asking the right questions? There’s no way he actually knows what you were looking for. No way in hell.

This man is more dangerous than you thought.

“Why do you even care,” is all you choose to say, more focused on your food now because above everything else, it’s quite fantastic. It somewhat reminds you of a past home, and you can’t help but escape to those distinct walls. “It’s irrelevant to you.”

“But I have what you want.”

You take another bite before stilling, looking up to see Yoongi propping his head with roughed knuckles. “You’re lying,” you drawl to his smugness, trying to act as if he didn’t just figure you all the way out. Because he didn’t. There’s no way. “And I’m still leaving.”

“If you stay, I’ll show you.”

When you leer over your soup, he simply stares back with no hint of emotion.

And you’re so curious about what he means that you finish your whole bowl.

When you push it forward, you understand exactly what Yoongi did. It worked perfectly, and you have to hand it to him even though he mangled your character minutes beforehand. “Thank you,” you offer some manners. “This was goo—”

The scrape of a chair cuts you off, and your sentence dies in midair as you watch your runaway partner vacate his seat.

Good riddance.

He knows how to stay on your bad side, that’s for damn sure.

But Yoongi simply heads back out to the balcony for another light. So you chalk up his swift exit to vices and not wanting to breathe your air. Or maybe he’s done with his fun and is already writing you off before you head out.

Clearing your bowl from the table, you walk out of the bedroom and bring it to the large kitchen, noting with a scowl that it’s obnoxiously bigger than half your floorplan back home.

Yearning pierces right through your chest.

The elevator is right over there.

You showered, you ate. You can leave as soon as you clean your dish.

Are you way too curious about what Yoongi’s gonna show you? Yes. But is that gonna stop you from getting out of here? No.

Well. This robe is hugging your figure perfectly and feels way too comfortable to just use for an hour or so… Plus, if you ditched it now, Mister Morals will scorn you for wasting that away, too.

How rude of him to assume that about you. Of course you aren’t wasteful. The only times you let things go are when you absolutely have to, like you should have back in that noodle shop instead of braving the back staircase.

Scoffing to no one, you scrub your bowl in the sink, grunting explicatives and stabbing Yoongi with curses until you hear a distinct beep.

Was that the elevator?

You cut the water off with a twist.

Cautiously, you make your way across the kitchen, peeking around the corner to appease your curiosity and spike your anxiety.

A bellhop? Another grey uniform looking to and fro to survey the area. It’s the same person that sent a look of panic your way before you went up to the room.

And your defense mechanism blares.

But before you can hide behind the partition, their eyes lock onto yours. Arm outstretched, the staff is motioning for you to… join them? Why?

You’re the one bunking with a gangster. Why does this person make you even more uncomfortable? This feeling is just like the one you had when you called the elevator the first time. Was your gut warning you then, too?

Maybe it’s because you don’t like the staff thinking they can come in unannounced. Grey zone etiquette or not, you can’t see how this is ever appropriate. In fact, it poses so many safety concerns. How is this okay?

Walking into the foyer, you rest a hand on a robed hip. “Can I help you?”

“I’m the one trying to help you,” they whisper, harsh and with another swipe of their hand. “You have to get out while you can.”

Wait. What do they mean while you can? “And why’s that?”

Sputtering, the bellhop sticks one foot out the elevator while pleading and, for some reason, that pisses you all the way off. “There’s no time to—”

“Get. Your foot. Off my floor.”

Is that fear in their eyes or surprise? “Oh, apologies. I didn’t realize you were… I thought—”

“Thought what?” Your arms fold, weight shifting to your other tired foot. “Speak up.”

Frankly, you don’t know where this newfound energy is coming from. All you know is that there are certain things you still despise and this person is ticking all the boxes.

“I thought you were taken, Miss. I’m here to save you.”

Pausing, you grip your arms, feeling silk gather under your palms.

There’s a lot you tolerate. Many things that a lot of people can’t. But someone assuming you’re the weak one that needs saving? There is no quicker way to lose your interest.

Stepping towards the elevator, you unfurl your arms, robe swaying and billowing around your freshly showered legs.

“Yes, that’s right. Come on, we can take you away.”

Hand on the entrance, you lean forward. “You’re not taking me anywhere,” you command, finger pressing the button at your side. “And you aren’t coming back up here until I say so.”

Slowly, the doors slide shut, your reflection two halves in the metal shine.

Well.

So much for leaving.

You may spend more time here than you thought.

With more thoughts swirling, you spin, heading back into the kitchen to pick up the same bowl you were washing. Hoping you and your gut made the right call.

Yoongi’s a criminal and a madman. But he’s not… the worst. At least, not horrible enough to warrant someone coming up to steal you away.

Besides. Is Yoongi aware that staff can come and go as they please? He seems like the type of guy that would hate that.

Staying vigilant seems to be a little more important now.

It’s soon after, when you’re placing the dish somewhere to dry, that you hear noise in the living room beyond the countertop. Looking up, you see someone much more familiar enter the space.

Hmm. Whatever’s in that duffle must be worth millions for Yoongi to lug it around everywhere.

As he dumps it next to the couch again, you don’t choose to ask about it just yet. Only because you want to ease into it later when you’re both not at each other’s throats. And while you’re not reeling from another strange encounter at the elevator.

So you go with a safer question instead, choosing not mention what just happened. “Is this whole floor… your place?”

Yoongi looks up. “Only when I need it to be.”

Interesting. “Does anyone else know about it—”

“Do you always ask this many questions?”

You blink. “I mean. I don’t get by selling fruit cus I’m quiet.”

“You’re quiet with me.”

“And even then I get you to talk.”

Yoongi frowns slightly before moving away, more towards the sliding door leading out to another outdoor area.

God, this place is obnoxiously huge. There’s still a whole other half you haven’t seen yet.

When you peer out, you watch as he leans against the railing, seeming to look both up at the building and down at the streets below.

Well. If you aren’t leaving anytime soon, may as well offer some sort of peace offering. Maybe the two of you just need to chill the fuck out.

Rummaging through the kitchen, you manage to find some high quality beer in the fridge. On your walk to the sliding glass, you’re reminded of the time you gave him one before when he helped fix your cart.

That was so long ago.

You’re so lost in thought that you barely register Yoongi whipping a hand to his waist when you walk outside. But you catch the metal just in time.

“It’s me!” you quickly alert before regressing back to annoyance, “Really…”

You’ve had way too much to deal with today. You don’t need a bullet in your chest to be another problem.

Especially since his little maneuver showed a bit more skin than you meant to see.

Yoongi eyes you before his shoulders rest, and you stride forward to offer up the cold can in your palm.

But you decide to hesitate while he goes to grab it, and you instead open it to have some.

Ugh. High quality, your ass. This one is way too bitter.

Your companion snorts as you make up an excuse, “I’ve had better.”

“Do you even drink?”

“Well, yeah,” you pout. Needing to prove it, you decide to keep the can. “Lemme try again.”

Somehow, this leads to you sharing the beer with him, tasting the mix of alcohol and smoke even after he tosses another cigarette off the ledge.

It’s not quite enough to forget, but it’s certainly helping. Observing the clouds so close and the city so far beneath your toes is extremely calming. It’s almost like you’re flying.

“It’s different here,” you mention out of the blue.

“This sector?”

“This high up.” Breathing in altitude, you sigh. “I’ve never been higher than my fourth story. It’s nice.”

“It’s usually silent, too.”

Your eyes slightly stab. “Whatever. You like having me around and just won’t admit it.” At this, Yoongi avoids direct contact. “Mmhmm. Don’t even try to hide it.”

“You’re useful to me.” You freeze. “That’s why you’re here.”

You shake your head. For someone deeming you useful, Yoongi’s pretty nonchalant about you dipping. Taking a tangy sip, you clarify, “But you don’t care if I leave? If someone comes to take me?”

He takes the offered can. “Mm.”

That answers that.

You should probably still tell him about what happened, though. His reaction could give more away than his words.

Instead, you drink in the night with your eyes. Knowing that you should know better about the company present.

The more you converse with Yoongi, the more you pick up. And one of those sad facts is that he doesn’t give a shit about anything you do or don’t do. Because all he really cares about is what he needs.

You can’t do anything to change him. Fix him. Whatever exists in fairytales. So you decide to take the night in stride. Not give a shit about him, either, per se.

Your curiosity gets the better of you now. Not just about what he’s gonna show you, but about that duffle. You quite literally don’t have anything to lose anymore, so may as well go for the question you’ve been wanting to ask all day.

“I was gonna ask for a cut of that,” you divulge with a head-tilt to the bag. “But figured you won’t even show me.”

“Why not?”

“Uhh.” You didn’t expect this. “You don’t like questions? You’re always secretive?”

“Never talk to the streets, princess. They’ll snitch on everything you say.”

“That’s deep,” you admit, taking a once full beer in your palm. “But I’m no snitch.”

“I know.”

Your look carries a slight pang.

“Come here.” Both of you walk inside as he plays with his lighter. When you round the couch, Yoongi dumps the bag right onto the cushions. “If you wanna see what’s in here, do it.”

You stare before slowly walking forward and kneeling to unzip the bag. As your slide reveals the contents, you’re nervous about what you’ll see.

But when it’s open, you freeze.

It’s all…chil-don? Tons of money wrapped in sleek stacks with edges so… Crisp. New.

Wait.

These patterns.

These are il-don?

Holy fucking shit there’s no way these are real. This is currency seven generations old. The first ever of the established system. Worth more than anything in current circulation, especially in their pristine state. Forget being worth millions, these are next to priceless.

You’ve never seen them like this.

“They’re some of the last in mint condition.”

The shock value is so high you forgot you were alone. Slowly turning, your breath catches as you ask, “How did you know where to find these?”

“Like I said,” he drones. “Streets talk.”

You look at the bills before glancing back up. “Can I…?”

Yoongi cocks a brow before angling his mouth. “Touch them? Do what you want, doll.”

You blink at the name this time. Because him saying that with a fresh cig in his lips is making your stomach flutter.

Picking up a fresh stack, you inspect the ancient pattern inlay with eyes wide, admiring how paper so old can have such detailed engravings. “These can’t be real.”

“They are.” He shifts. “And most people never see one in their lifetime.”

You put the money back on the pile inside. Yes, these have got to be worth a fortune. But there’s nothing else in the bag? No drugs, no lethal substances, anything? “Wait, so. This is it?”

Yoongi fully laughs before flicking his lighter again. “You want something else?”

“No, I—” You back away. “There’s really nothing else in there?”

Coolly, he lights up before taking the initial drag. “Nah.”

Smoke spirals around you. “I dunno what I expected but it wasn’t that.”

Yoongi lets a wisp leave his mouth. You know it’s getting in your robe, but caring about the little things has now jumped out the window. “Whatever’s in that bag can feed half the city.”

“What?” As you look, he walks over to what looks like a small section of a bar. “Is that why you stole it?”

“Stole it?” Yoongi grins and shakes his head. “Sure. That’s why we stole it.”

“We? Leave me out of this.”

“Too late.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

You step forward in anger, but you only get a sound out before Yoongi straightens, aura blazing,

“I—”

“Say I do leave you out of it. Nothing happened tonight, according to me.” He discards his fresh light in an ashtray, watching it die before sliding his gaze your way. “Doesn’t mean whoever we just fought will suddenly leave you alone.”

Shit. He has a point. You ran for so long and fought plenty of those guys.

Is this what he meant? Getting used to that feeling? Maybe your consequence is joining the cycle of the damned, forced to kill in order to protect. Both others and now yourself.

“But I’m… Just a nobody. A civilian, I…”

Yoongi walks until he’s in front of you, hand cupping your chin and voice whispering mortifying allegations in your ear,

“You took a body for a Dragon, love. You’re not a civilian anymore.”

Your arms shove him backward without pause, face distraught as you watch his smirk bounce with his shoulders. His cackle echoes mad through the room, pinging the floors and piercing through your robe.

Truthfully, it doesn’t even feel like you’re wearing one. So naked and exposed in the open for this man to see. “You’re despicable.”

“That right?” His mouth sets as his lids lower. “And what about the one that killed and kept running?”

What.

“There was a police car at the restaurant,” Yoongi continues, a reminder so sharp it slices clean. “Yet you didn’t turn yourself in.”

Your feet sink into the rug beneath. “That’s not…”

With measured steps, he stalks forward, a harbinger of horrific realizations that you don’t want to hear, “You didn’t have to keep running. Didn’t have to get in that taxi.”

Stepping back, you find the room so stuffy it’s hard to move. “You—”

“Could’ve taken another train.”

“Stop.”

“Could’ve stayed in that elevator.”

What the fuck is happening right now?

Yoongi’s close. Very much too close, and the energy he radiates sets your instincts ablaze.

This is the man you’ve been pining over this whole time? If you ever get back home, you have got to remind yourself to avoid him at all costs. There’s nothing good for you if you stay. Danger surrounds every inch of him, and there’s no telling when you’ll take collateral damage.

“But you didn’t,” he delivers the final blow. “And you’re still here.”

Lifting your chin, Yoongi grins slow when you yank away.

“I should’ve never saved you.” Gaze finally locked, you growl from within, letting a monster loose,

“I should’ve left you for dead.”

Wait.

Stop.

This isn’t you. This isn’t who you are. You’re a helper. A healer. Those words came out so strange that you’re questioning how they left your mouth so freely.

Did you really mean that? Or was this some feeble attempt to hurt him?

Yoongi doesn’t seem phased. But you clearly don’t know him so it’s not like—

Something heavy and dark as fuck is placed in your hand, and you snap your eyes to his in utmost disbelief.

“Go ahead then.”

Oh, this man is psychotic.

“Be my guest.”

No fucking way you’re gonna do it. “Stop—”

“If you regret it, why waste time—”

“Seriously, I’m not gonna—”

Yoongi forces your fingers flush against metal as he holds the gun to his forehead, both eyes piercing right into yours with no hesitation whatsoever.

And it is frightening.

All anger from before flees as fear and intensity rush into its place. Your brain fizzles and cracks as you try to wrestle out of his grip, and you feel burning at the corners of your eyes. “Stop!”

“Why.”

“I’m not gonna shoot you, the fuck!”

“You sure?”

“Yes!”

Mercifully, he lets go, pistol thrown as you’re tugged forward with a—

“What’s stopping you,” he grounds out, formidable presence all-consuming. “Tell me.”

You’re breathing so hard it hurts. “You”—a shaky heave—“You are out of your fucking mind.”

When you struggle from his grip, Yoongi pulls you even closer. Reacting in a rush, you propel your knee up to wrap around his side and twist.

But he proves just as quick, gripping the bare skin of your leg as you shove him down against the sofa. Grunting, you both curve with the furniture, Yoongi locked onto your knitted, conflicted brows.

“You regret saving my life,” he simply repeats to your frustration. “I gave you the chance to fix that.”

“Shut up—”

“But your will is weak.”

“I swear to—”

“Guess I was wrong.”

Who the hell does he think he is? This guy—Yoongi, Agust, whoever the fuck—has no right to play with you so casually.

But something else is swirling inside your ribs. Because through his cutthroat words and actions, this man is somehow stirring the deepest waters of your soul. Ripples rumble and stretch into waves, tugging your toes in undercurrents of obsidian. Dark. Primal. Hazardous. All you.

Is it from being subjected to such a heavy dose of his power?

Or is it because—even if just for a moment—he’s handing all that power to you?

Quite literally, you’re the one on top.

And Yoongi holds your gaze, unfazed by the way your robe completely spread open during your tumble. Or the fact that you have nothing beneath that silk.

He could easily take over. From the feel of his build beneath your hands and between your legs, you know he can.

But he’s not. There’s no hesitation. He’s legitimately giving you the choice and reveals no ounce of remorse.

This revelation courses through your veins, pumping a new kind of life into your palms. You have a shot at a criminal with a bag of il-don waiting to be snatched. And you know you won’t take it.

And that alone alters the chemistry of your brain.

With more fear of yourself than anything else, you shake out, “If I’m killing you, it’s gonna be entirely my choice.”

He’s laughing? You’re instigating a threat and he’s enjoying it? God, you are teetering on the brink of madness and another emotion that won’t dare be acknowledged.

Tugging Yoongi up a notch, you proclaim to the glint of his eyes,

“And when I do, you’ll die exactly how I want.”

Yoongi’s lips slowly, dreadfully spread, teeth shining in the dim lamp lights that sharpen half his features. When he speaks, you shiver. Because it’s a mix of pride and fear, sprinkled with a hint of alarm,

“That’s my girl.”

The room quiets, your bodies locked in a way that you’ll remember years from now. Breaths. Your bare chest hovering inches above his. If there were bystanders, they would no doubt get the wrong idea. Because if things were different, and if this man underneath you wasn’t who he was, you’d entertain another type of ferality and not stop until morning.

To be fair. That same dark part of you would still do it.

But this is about the righteous part of who you are. The one that abides by the rules. The one that fights to keep days boring, uneventful, the same.

So you quell that monster pacing in your core.

One more exhale leaves your lips before you let him drop, sliding off his silken, tone form to quietly readjust your robe. Turning away, you focus on the night skies, wondering if the people back home are sound asleep as you should be.

“My will may seem weak. But I don’t care what you think of me.”

Sound is crisp again as Yoongi rises to his feet. Around you, the air starts to lighten, cold slipping delicately into your skin.

Slowly tying the wrap at your waist, your words float to the ground, “Because I know who I am. And no one can take that from me, not even you.”

His presence fills the space at your back. But it’s muted. Less intimidating. Or maybe you’re just at your limit because you admit a little more than you intend,

“This world has already tried enough.”

Both of you come to another standstill, two black robes staining a room full of white. Even time itself gives you space, slowing and circling until you’re ready for it to flow straight again.

As a cloud shadows the light of the moon, you feel knuckles caress your neck. And Yoongi’s never sounded so calm as he starts, “They’ll come after you.”

You slightly turn.

“You still want to go back?”

A pause. A nod.

His knuckles continue to glide along your neck, slipping down your back before traveling the swoop of your shoulder. Everything in your body thrums, silently quaking because you have no idea where this is coming from and you can’t say you hate it.

Quite the opposite. And that scares you more.

“If you do, you’re dead to me.”

Of course. You’ve seen and know too much. There’s no reason for him to show up to your street now, especially if tangerines are all he’s looking for. He can always find them anywhere else.

But, for some reason, this still stings. In a way that irks even your reasonable side. Is it because of his touch? No. That’s only making you nervous from the fact that you probably aren’t… as experienced as he is. The uneasiness is wholly from your own limitations.

“I’ll survive without you,” you whisper resolute, chest squeezing when he replies,

“I know.”

The same fingers get bolder, tracing down your arm before sliding along the wrap at your hip.

And you freeze.

Because the tension is palpable. The power is intoxicating. It’s a new type of anticipation and you are fighting yourself to not give in. Don’t let everything get to your head. Don’t let anyone in again. Don’t stray onto a path you can’t quite navigate.

But fuck, you kinda want to.

Rocks slide against exposed skin when he decides to speak again. And it makes you wish the two of you were extraordinarily normal. Or that you at least knew what the fuck to do here because the attraction you feel is not as one-sided as you presumed.

“What made you stay.”

A breath you didn’t know you were holding huffs out, and you swallow with difficulty. “I just…”

Get it together. Keep up your guard. It’s proving so hard, especially when his touches spark fires along your limbs. But you have to.

And therein comes another lie. “I wanted to know what you stole.” Gulping down the truth, you harden your resolve. “That’s it.”

With more restraint that you want, Yoongi bunches silk at your pelvis, hitching your robe and your breath all at once. When his other hand slowly holds your neck in place, you can’t help but flinch, and his low hum pours lava straight down your chest,

“What a shame.”

Oh. Is this how it ends? Did your gut get it all wrong?

He could end your life with a flick of his wrist. You know far too much. You’re not useful anymore.

“Someone will take you back tomorrow,” Yoongi murmurs, proving every single theory wrong. “After that, you’re on your own.”

And just like that, he releases you to stand alone.

Oh. You’re going home.

Good.

This is good, right?

Your heart beats overtime, almost drowning out your entire thought process. The thumps and pulses seem to cut every string of consciousness short.

What was that? What was any of that?

Never mind. Nothing happened and you can keep it that way, for the better. Yoongi is risk draped in beauty, and once you’re back home you can cut ties with anyone like him for good. You saved him; he spared you. It’s over.

…But do you want it to be?

Yes.

Of course you do.

Clouds let moonlight shine again.

When you arrive at an answer, you turn to find that Yoongi’s already gone, duffle and all shut inside his room with a muted click.

A flip switches as you let exhaustion take over completely, falling onto cushions that still hold his scent. Inhaling, you drift into darkness, wondering how your final decision will affect the rest of your days.

Whether awake or asleep, nightmares are real.

Only this time, you aren’t quite sure if the blood and guts you’re seeing are yours or someone else’s. Can’t discern the limb on the ground from the limb on your torso. Screams echo and ping from all directions, a cacophony of death that has you scratching at mania to stay sane.

Murderer. Murderer. A murderer that regrets who she saved. No, wait, that’s not true. You’d still do it again.

And you watch the same swing over and over. The same arc of finality. Those lifeless eyes. Closer. Closer. Sharper. Judging.

You were wrong. Were you wrong? Running does nothing and doesn’t provide an answer. The ground under your toes gives out.

How far are you straying? How low are you sinking? If you told your neighbors who you killed for, would they be upset or betrayed?

They’d hate you. Their fingers aim straight. Their tongues fire bullets.

They’ll hate you. Hate you. Hate you hate you hate you—

A room bursts into view as you jolt awake. Sounds snap silent, the hum of the air all you can hear as you rub your eyes.

So much for sleeping. There’s no way you’ll be able to now.

Focus on something else. Anything else. The past cannot be undone, so live with the choices you made and deal with the faces that haunt your dreams.

Staring into the dark, shapes and sharp edges slowly form, your vision sharpening with every passing second. Tiny pops and creaks tickle your eardrums, and Yoongi’s scent still lingers with your own.

You don’t want to focus on him, but it’s better than what forced you awake.

A lot happened tonight. But also, nothing at all. Something is keeping you both together, tightening and squeezing the strings in your chest. But you don’t know if that’s from the adrenaline of today’s events, or from the pure shock of your unexpected reunion.

There’s something else you haven’t considered until now. Despite his unorthodox and hellish methods, Yoongi did keep your head on straight. You showered. You ate. You drank. You inhaled fresh air.

Your compass righted itself when you didn’t blow his brains out.

The nothingness was all to your advantage. Was that all calculated, too?

One part of you—the bright side of you—knows that it doesn’t matter. No matter how helpful he was tonight, distance is crucial. Stay away from people like him. They’re all too cunning to be kept close.

But if leaping that crevasse allows you to keep your mind off everything else? If you need to stop the bleeding, why not reach for a cure?

Your exhale shakes as your shoulders fall forward, self-deprecation destroying your brain because what the fuck are you thinking? This is nonsense. Madness.

Maybe you’ve just been insane from the very start.

Your breath quickens at the possibilities. The potential outcomes of what you’re about to do.

This is the most solid decision you’ve made all night.

As your toes travel across plush, trek over marble, and arrive at their destination, the rest of your body quietly, nervously follows.

Raising your hand, you listen for movement. When you find none, you softly knock and wait for what seems like an eternity.

For nothing.

All that worry for naught. Yoongi’s most likely fast asleep and not dreaming at all.

Good. This is your sign to let it go completely. In the morning, you’re going back home. The nightmares will consume you and you’ll wake up everyday to brave the streets. Assassins will be on the hunt for revenge. You won’t be saved by the boy in teal.

What a shame, indeed.

As you step to leave, you hear the door slowly swing.

And Yoongi emerges from behind, minted hair mussed over lowered lids and robe slipping down a tatted shoulder.

Fuck everything.

“I don’t regret what I did and I’d do it all again,” you admit with finality. To him, to yourself, to the ones you’ll disappoint back home. “And I refuse to get used to this feeling because it reminds me I’m still a good person.”

Yoongi’s eyes don’t change as he stares.

“But,” you exhale with a shake. “Just for tonight…”

This is it.

The brink of no return.

Your soul dips into the dark.

“Please make me fucking forget.”

—

⟶ what do we feel! | 🥢 join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist

a/n: once again, i cannot thank y'all enough for being patient and understanding as i go through life while working on this and all the other writing projects we have going on! it means the world, and even though there were some not-so-fun asks to get, the supporting and wonderful ones are what i will continue to focus on! so if you've ever left something sweet, thought provoking, encouraging, etc - thank you from the bottom of my heart! you're what keeps this writer going. a/n 2: if there's something you liked about this or a line/scene/whatever thing you enjoyed, feel free to let me know! feedback is never expected, but always appreciated. if the interest level is high, that adds motivation like no other. thank you all for reading! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist ⇥ minted masterlist

#PART TWO IS HEREEE #bts fic #bts imagines #bts reactions #yoongi fic #yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #yoongi smut #bts smut #bts fanfic #*latest #ryenwrites #minted #*ryenfictalk #tw: violence #tw: blood #tw: murder

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miley1442111 · 1 year ago

Text

dealing with it- chef luca

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gif from @ wiha-jun

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summary: you see carmen for the first time in years, things happen, but at least your husband is there for you :)

pairings: chef luca x fem! reader, EX carmen berzatto x reader

warnings: smoking, cursing, reader endorses smoking (it makes sense i promise), toxic relationships, fighting, happy ending, luca is a cutie pie, carm is an ass :(

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Carmen had been staring at you the whole night. You, standing diligently beside your mother, and Luca.

When dinner came and you sat beside Luca again, the question begged to leave his mouth, but he decided on waiting and watching.

“So Y/n,” Sydney turned to you. “I would love to literally pick your brain apart for the inspo of your last cookbook.”

You chuckled. “Well, Luca and I went all around the world on our honeymoon and-”

“What?” Carmen choked on his drink. “S-sorry did I fucking hear that right? Honeymoon?”

Luca sighed deeply, the energy at the table shifting. “Yes Carm, she said ‘honeymoon’.”

Honeymoon. You and Luca were married. Married and he didn’t even know it. Married, and he hadn’t even known that his last chance had been his last chance.

You were Chef Andrea’s daughter, and you were everyone’s forbidden fruit. You worked with them, trained with them, and Carmen had been so deeply interested in you, that he broke the rules. He went after you, and he didn’t even feel bad about it. You’d started out dating in secret, then slowly warmed your mom up to the idea, and suddenly it was out in the open. Sure you’d had fights and sure, maybe it wasn’t the most healthy relationship ever, but Carmen loved you. He still did. When it fell apart, it was all Carmen’s fault (as usual) and you’d sworn off chefs.

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“Fucking hell Bear! I’m asking you to do this one fucking thing for me, and it’s too fucking hard?” You shouted at the top of your lungs. “I love you! I moved to fucking Coppenhagen for you! I moved to fucking New York for you! What is your problem with me taking a job in London?! I can probably get you into the same place-”

“NO! No, I fucking don’t alright? You’re fucking- you’re fucking boring! You never make anything new- you’re so f-fucking obsessed with being the-the-the best at something that you won’t even try to innovate!”

You stood there, in his kitchen and he watched as the tears fell. He took a deep breath and stepped closer, holding your waist in his hands. He tried not to be offended or upset when you went rigid as he touched you, but he felt his heart break. “Baby I-I’m sorry, look, y’know I’m sorry-”

“You’re a piece of shit Carm. Just because I’m better than you doesn’t mean you get to talk to me like that. We’re not fucking trainees at my mom’s restaurant anymore, alright? I’m fucking better than you and i know it boils your fucking blood. I got this position. All on my own,” you spat. “You are the lowest of the low Carm. I swear to fucking god, if I ever date another chef again, kill me.”

And with that, you walked out. Out of his apartment and out of his life.

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“W-wait so-s-, you two got married? Since when?” Carmen laughed, but it was wrong. It was forced and haunted, strange.

“Since the 14th of July last year,” Luca smiled and you pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Congratulations guys,” Sydney smiled. “Carm, say congratulations,” she whispered and Carm nodded furiously.

“Yeah! Yeah- congratulations to the liar and her shitty douchebag of a husband!” He cheered, gathering the attention of the other tables.

“Stop making a fucking scene Carm,” your voice cut through the ringing in his ears. “This isn’t about you. This is about my mom, and what this restaurant meant to people. Stop. Being. An. Asshole.”

He felt like he’d been effectively bitch slapped, and he quietened down, but not before kicking Luca under the table.

They’d both been after you, back in the day. And you’d picked Carm at first, and realised your mistake. When you met Luca in London, you weren’t going to mess it up again. 3 years later, you were a year married, and a lot happier. Too bad Carmen had to make everything about himself, again.

He went out to get some ‘air’ a little while later, and you followed him.

---------------------

“So…” you sighed, standing beside him. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he sighed. He watched as you took a cigarette out and lit it, then offered one to him. He shook his head.

“You quit?” You asked, blowing the smoke away from him. He nodded. “You should start again.”

He looked at you in confusion. “What?”

“You shouldn’t stop, you’re fucking crazy when you don’t smoke,” you chuckled, though everything you said was true. He’d tried to give it up for a month about 4 months into your relationship and it was the most stressful month of your life. You sighed as you thought about it. Every time he was rude to someone, you apologised for him. Every time he fucked something up, you made it up for him. Every time he did something stupid, you made it smart somehow. It was fucked up how much he relied on you, when you thought about it in hindsight. “Everyone will thank you.”

He laughed. “I guess that was a shitty month, huh?”

“One of the worst of my life,” you admitted.

There was a moment of silence.

“I miss it,” He admitted.

“Smoking? You can have the rest of this pack-”

“Us.”

You sighed. “You were doing so well,” you joked. “Just don’t bring it up Carm, we don’t need to dig up the past.”

“I want to,” he pleaded.

“I don’t,” you scoffed. “There’s nothing for us to talk about, nothing about us worked, nothing about us was ok, or normal, or happy, or-”

“Does he make you happy?” Carmen asked, venom in his tone. “Does he make you feel fuckin’-fuckin’ butterflies? Does he fuck you like I did? D-does he even see you the way I did? Does he make you laugh?”

“He doesn’t make me cry,” you smiled softly, thinking of Luca and how much you truly loved him. “He doesn’t make me question our relationship everyday. He doesn’t make me feel untalented and undeserving. He doesn’t make me feel used. He met me in London when I was crushed after our break-up, and he healed something he didn’t break in me, alright? He made me feel loved for the first time in a long time. My mom fucking loves him, a lot more than she liked you. He let me take everything at my own pace, and he never pushed me into something I wasn’t ready for. He wasn’t afraid to show his love for me to anyone! He didn’t make me question if we were even dating, ever! And the best part is, he fucking married me Carm, in this gorgeous ceremony where he cried while I came down the aisle and he cried during his vows. Do you want to know what his vows were? Ask him when we get inside, because he got his and mine fucking tattooed on his arm!” You were welling up at this stage. “He stood there with me, through thick and fucking thin, he made me feel loved when I felt unlovable, Carmen. And yes he gives me butterflies, yes he fucks me better than you ever did, and he sees me for who I am. So yes, he makes me very fucking happy Carmen.”

Carmen stood there for a moment, then nodded. “I still love you, you know that, right?”

You scoffed, stamping out your cigarette. “You might want to get over that,” and you turned away, and walked back into the dinner. The rest of the dinner was quick, and you skipped the invite to Sydney’s to retire to your hotel room. You sat on the bed, makeup wipes in hand as you tried to wash the night off of you.

“Hey darling,” Luca’s soft voice cut through the thoughts clouding your mind. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You smiled as he wrapped you up in a bear hug from behind, he was so perfect, so kind, so Luca. “Sure.”

“I heard a little bit of what you said to Carmy outside.”

You took a deep breath. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Before tonight, I was really fucking scared that when you found Carmy he’d somehow convince you I was a piece of shit and he’d sink his fucking claws into you again.”

You pressed a kiss to his arm and nodded. “He’s fucking…”

“He’s the worst,” he finished for you. “And I’m sorry about what he said tonight. He should’ve had the fucking manners to at least let us get to the third course before he started being a piece of shit.”

You both laughed, and you felt all the tension you held in slowly dissipate. “It was so delicious.”

“It was fucking amazing,” he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “You mum really did something special there.”

“At least we’ll see her more in London,” you shrugged. “I really loved that place.”

“So did I,” He sighed against your neck. “Remember training there? God, you were so fucking cute in your chef’s hat-”

“Hats make me look stupid!” You argued, but laughed regardless. You flung his arms off of you, and a wrestling match ensued, one that ended with him under you. You pressed a soft kiss to his lips, then he deepened it, his hands sneaking up your thighs and around your head.

“You look good in anything,” he whispered. “But my favourite thing you ever wore was your wedding dress.”

When you pulled away from his lips you saw the starry-eyed smile and sincere look on his face, and you knew you made the right choice.

Luca was your everything. Carmen was nothing now, and he had to live with that.

---------------------

the bear masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games :)

#chef luca x reader #chef luca #the bear #will poulter #luca x reader #luca the bear #luca the bear x reader #carmy berzatto #the bear s3 #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #the bear fx #the bear season 3

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lavenderchqn · 3 days ago

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✧・┆cottons and linens

— stealing clothes and accessories can go both ways. anemo men make sure you don't forget that.

content warnings: it's implied you either share clothing sizes or the clothes are oversized on you.

this set of scenarios has been requested by anon!

𝐀𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑

“Oh, sorry!” Aether rubs his neck as he realises what just happened. A pair of freshly dried sweaters had to have gotten mixed. And yes, the two of you own the exact same hoodies. The same size, the same embroidered details. The sole reason as to why you’re surviving is that they’re marked.

“That’s alright,” You reply, putting Aether’s sweater on.

It’s equally comfortable. Slightly warm from the dryer as the floral scent envelops you. And yet, it doesn’t smell exactly like yours. Perhaps some of Aether’s own scent has gotten itself into the fabric? That’s the sole explanation.

The blond seems to mirror your move, taking the florals in. Oh, how cute. With a dishevelled braid and nose snuggling into the sleeve, Aether looks like a baby. Even more babies than usual.

“Oh, Ae…” You coo, cupping his face. “You look adorable!” Your cheeks are so stiff from how big your smile has gotten. It’s like… like you’ve been shone by a sun child.

Aether leans back, his doe eyes trying to follow your movement. He’s slightly pouting, unhappy with being treated like a child. “I’m not.” He says it, but on the inside, he’s enjoying all the attention.

In sickness and health, you shall share the hoodies until the death.

𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈

“You’ll catch a cold.” You whisper. The jacket that was around your shoulders mere moments ago is now keeping Venti warm. It sounds exactly like a situation he’d end up in — shivering during a walk and waiting for his saviour (you) to swoop in.

“Thank you,” Venti’s voice is equally hushed. His cheeks are tinted pink. It’s both the ‘sheer’ cold of the outside mixed with how romantic your gesture is. Making sure their beloved is not freezing to death, how chivalrous! “I appreciate it, Muse.”

You nod. Taking a step back, you evaluate the situation. Your partner, wrapped in your jacket, as he’s snuggling into the collar. Adorable. Simply adorable.

“You’re staring…” Venti giggles, catching you off guard. The smile gracing your pretty face is now quite sheepish. He wasn’t supposed to know you’re watching. Alas, Venti is Venti. He knows. He will use his knowledge against you.

He envelops you in a hug. “Oh, don’t be angsty, Lovie…” The scent is quite overwhelming. Your perfume, his perfume, the laundry detergent. It’s all a tad bit too much. You try and lean back. Getting air into your lungs. “Nononono—“ Venti pouts, leaning into you.

What a cat he is. Ironic, really. He leans so close that you can feel your legs giving out. Heavens, when Venti wants… he can be such a cutie pie. Your jacket is only a plus.

𝐗𝐈𝐀𝐎

“Does it look okay?” Xiao turns around, about to present you with his masterpiece. Well, it’s your shirt, but he can take the credit here.

Jokes aside, he looks stunning. With his hair pushed back, the cuffs to the black shirt and some smart slacks… Damn, is he hot. He desperately needs more button-downs like these. It's not like he'll wear them without an occasion. Perhaps Xiao would consider one making you happy?

“Close your mouth.” He rolls his eyes. Your eyes say a simple thing — starstruck. As much as Xiao is aware of his… pleasant appearance, getting this reaction from you cannot but make his little heart flutter. “A fly will fly…”

You cover your mouth with your hands. You’re realising you haven’t said anything yet. But, oh my heavens, how can you describe what you’re thinking. Degenerate. A degenerate is what you are. An art gallery. That’s where you have to stick to Xiao.

On the other hand, you don’t want anyone to look at him. Especially when he looks like that. Taking a picture. Maybe three thousand. You could have an art gallery at home. Perhaps you should think about buying some beautiful frames? Only the best for Xiao’s grace.

“You look nice.” You say with a smile, yet downplaying the reality.

“With how you’re looking at me,” Xiao raises an eyebrow. “I think it’s a little more than nice.”

𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐙𝐎𝐔

It’s absolutely the worst feeling. You swear you’re going crazy. Your sock cabinet, for no particular reason, is empty. You see your socks in the wash. They don’t disappear in the washing machine, you’ve checked. Hell, you’ve even attempted an exorcism on the thing one time.

You sigh, digging around again. Maybe if you pray enough, the sock gods will answer.

“Babe,” Heizou’s voice is muted — coming from downstairs. The two of you have made plans and should have left by now. It’s especially annoying since the shoes you planned on wearing simply require socks. A single barefoot, and you’re risking blisters for weeks. “You ready yet?” He shouts some more.

“Almost! Looking for socks!” You shout back, growing more frustrated by the minute. You can hear the footboards creaking. Is Heizou coming to help you?

The door to your room flies open, showing an amused redhead. “If you wanted to stay home badly, you could’ve said so…” He sighs, looking around the room. You’re there, pitiful on the floor. The entirety of your cupboards open. “Wait, you’re seriously looking for socks.”

The surprise in his voice shocks you. Is he not plagued with a sock monster of his own? You look at Heizou’s own shoes… and socks. Now, hold on?!

“Are these my socks?” You ask rhetorically.

“Yeah?” He answers. “Is it a big deal?” So your socks haven’t gone missing. They haven’t entered a separate dimension. They just were… in Heizou’s drawers. You take a deep breath. “Heizou, I exorcised the washing machine, looking for my socks.”

“No fucking shot, dude.”

𝐊𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐇𝐀

“But you have so many of them already!” Your hands are on your hips as you stare at your partner. Kazuha’s grabby hands have managed to finally lie themselves on your lucky hat.

You still don’t understand this habit of his. Sure, this might be the first time you’re the victim, but… All the apology letters you’ve forced him to write? Worrying.

Kazuha says he cannot help it. There are these two little brain cells telling him to just… take the hats. He appreciates all the details of the hats. The materials used, the tiny decor, the smell. It’s all comforting.

“Oh, but love…” His voice is meek. The pleading one. The one he uses solely when he wants to get something. And with how whipped you’re for the man, it’s a given. You’ll break one way or another. “We’re not even going anywhere.”

That’s right, you’re not. Maybe… maybe, just maybe, you could give it for some time? Kazuha will be pleased, and you’ll have the situation under control. At the very least, it’s not the property of a stranger. Not to mention, you’re sure he will return it the second he’s done.

“Okay, okay…” You sigh. Kazuha has won. There’s this pleasant smile plastered on his face. A tad adorable and quite smug. And well, he does look nice in the hat, doesn’t he.

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐑

“These are mine.” You say, coldly. You’ve barely started the day and you’re already upset. You’ve had two things planned for today — wearing your comfiest house pants and having a cup of coffee first thing. Recently, work took out everything from you. You… needed the break.

“Should’ve woken up first, idiot.” Wanderer barely acknowledged your presence when you stormed into the kitchen. Not only is he wearing the comfy pants but he’s drinking the most bitter of coffees. It’s like he wants to replace you to live your ideal day.

It’s maddening. A pout makes it itself onto your face, matching the ‘sour-ness’ in which your brows are furrowing. If he plans on stealing your pants like a child, you’ll just behave like one. “You’re so mean!” You yell, stomping your feet. A tantrum, that’s what he’ll have.

“What are you? Five?” Wanderer raises an eyebrow, taking a sip of his drink. There’s this glint in his eyes — the one where he’s amused to no end. You place your hands on your hips. Now you really look like an angry baby. All because he stole your trousers. “Get a grip, you.”

“Give the pants back.” Your voice is loud and clear. Until you receive your pants back, you’ll get on his nerves. “I bought them.” “He stops, pointing at you. He’s telling you to quit it. Not a chance, mister.

On the other hand… What if you just steal his instead. Eye for eye, a pair for pair.

𝐈𝐅𝐀

“Is it really okay?” Ifa, asks with worry written all over his face. He tugs on the sleeves, clearly enjoying the plush material. His hair is soaking wet. A towel is placed on his shoulders. A typical, yet unfortunate, aftermath of getting caught in the rain.

“It's all good, silly.” You say asking him to bend down. The moment he leans, you grab his towel to dry his hair. In all honesty, you could care less Ifa's wearing your sweater. Not only is it made from natural material, but the colour brings out his eyes. “It suits you.” You murmur, fighting a smile.

A smile is not the sole thing you’re duelling against. You can feel how your cheeks feel warmer. Ifa… really does look nice. And now he gets to smell a little more like you. Like home.

Is this what it's like for others to see their partner in their clothes? No wonder all fictional boyfriends allow their hoodies to be stolen. Maybe you should rummage through Ifa’s closet yourself. He’d probably let you take anything you desire. You rub the towel through his pretty hair, soaking all the cluttered water.

“You’re adorable,” He chuckles, lacing his fingers with yours. It’s like he knows exactly what’s on your mind. Is— Is it really that visible? Ifa’s not the one to have figured out mind reading already, you think.

date of posting — june 25th 2025

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cupid3clipse · 18 days ago

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bob reynolds x fem!reader

summary : watching horror movies with bob takes a turn and you have to turn on my little pony mid movie

warnings : none

genre : fluff

you and bob more often than not had many, many movie nights. it was just a thing the two of you do, either in your room or out in the living room. mostly in your room due to the comments walker would make about how he hated said movie, and he’d end up spoiling it. but in your room, you guys were uninterrupted. just basking in each others warmth, eyes locked onto the screen.

today you branched out from the regular romcoms you’d both watch. instead you chose a horror movie, bob was a little hesitant when you mentioned it but it didn’t take much convincing from you to make him agree. only a simple “it’ll be fine, i promise.” with an assuring smile and look in your eyes. well, you were quite wrong. the movie of your pick was final destination a classic, fan favorite. you figured he’d be fine since the movie wasn’t as bad as the others.

mid movie you had to pause, bob was visibly scared, or nervous, or rather both. when the movie paused unexpectedly bob turned his head towards you.

“are you alright?” you questioned concern evident on your face. bob nodded before even thinking, but you knew your boyfriend well enough to know that he was anything but.

“i’m a little scared…” bob mumbled quietly out of sheer embarrassment. “that’s alright. you wanna watch something else? that’s not scary..” you offered and he nodded. turning your attention back to the tv, remote in hand you changed over to netflix, to put on something else to watch.

not much scrolling later, bob spoke up. “what’s that?” that brought your attention back to him, following his eye sight you saw what he meant my little pony. “oh it’s just a show about ponies that are all friends.” you explained and he seemed interested. “can we watch that?” — “of course we can.” you smiled at him before clicking on it and playing the first episode.

once you did his attention hadn’t shifted once off the tv, he was invested. wondering what the ponies would do, when night mare moon threatened to cast night for ever. and when the conflict was finally resolved thanks to, applejack, twilight, pinkie pie, rainbow dash, fluttershy; which was his personal favorite, and rarity. he was awaiting each episode that came on.

it was cute he loved it. and now it was apart of routine. instead of watching new movies, you’d watch my little pony. walker made fun of him but he didn’t care. even you were slightly invested in it. you fed into his hyper fixation and bought him a cute fluttershy figurine that he loved so much. he hugged you so hard that you fell over and he still didn’t let go.

sab speaks! : i saw a comment on an edit of fluttershy and bob, they said he’d LOVE mlp and that he’d even have a fluttershy figurine. and i TOTALLY agree. he such a cutie!!!! i know it’s been a WHILE since i last posted… i’ve had MASSIVE writers block but i want to come back. hope you guys enjoyed this!!!

#⋆.˚ cupid3clipse ˙⋆.˚#fluttershy #my little pony #my litte pony friendship is magic #thunderbolts #robert reynolds #bob reynolds #bob thunderbolts #bob reynolds x reader #robert reynolds x reader #bob reynolds fluff #bob reynolds fanfic #john walker #marvel #marvel mcu #lewis pullman x reader #lewis pullman

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deardaichi · 1 month ago

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001. habit, heart, and home — kuroo tetsuro.

wc: 0.7k cw: gender neutral reader. fluff, established relationship, kuroo tetsuro is in love a/n: first request eek >.<. i hope i did your idea justice <3 enjoy! requested by @tangerinelovr

kuroo unlocks the door just past eight, loosening his tie with one hand and rubbing the back of his neck with the other. the apartment’s quiet, warm. lights low. he hears the tv murmuring softly in the living room.

he rounds the corner, and there you are.

fast asleep on his couch, the remote still in one hand, his old nekoma jersey hanging off your frame like it's yours now. which — let’s be honest — it kind of is.

he leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead. you stir, eyes fluttering open slow.

“hey,” you mumble, still hazy. a small smile tugs at your lips as you reach up and kiss him, soft and familiar. “how was work?”

he exhales through his nose. “boring. meetings about meetings.” his voice lowers, teasing. “but this—this is a nice upgrade.”

you roll your eyes, stretching your arms above your head. “are you hungry? i just need to heat the food and plate it.”

he waves you off. “i’ll do it. you were clearly out cold.”

“mhm,” you hum, already sitting up and nudging his shoulder gently. “go change and wash up, mr. important man. you’re not allowed near the food until you stop smelling like offices and boardrooms.”

“i was gonna say i smell like hard work and masculinity, actually.”

“you smell like recycled air and budget cuts. go.”

he snorts but obeys, disappearing down the hall to change.

you head to the kitchen, uncover the meal you prepped earlier, and start plating while the microwave hums. the place fills with the smell of spices and slow-cooked meat. you can hear him moving around, the faint creak of the closet door, water running in the bathroom. home sounds.

by the time he reappears in a tshirt and sweatpants, you’re placing everything on the table. he flops into his usual seat with a dramatic groan and watches you sit across from him.

“i could get used to this,” he says, admiring your features like he wants to memorize you all over again.

“you already have,” you shoot back, laughing softly.

you start talking while kuroo stuffs his face, words quick and half-laughing, catching him up on whatever chaos played out with the cats while he was gone.

kuroo pauses, chopsticks hovering over his plate. “I’m gone for a few hours and now they love you more than me?”

you nod solemnly. “that's not new. you should know better by now.”

he laughs. it's that good kind of laugh, the kind that wrinkles the corners of his eyes and softens his whole face. then he looks down at his plate for a moment, then back up at you — still chewing, still talking, still his.

and just like that, it hits him.

you're here. always here. not just today — always. you make the bed in the morning. you keep snacks in his pantry. his cats know your scent better than they know his.

so, without thinking too hard, he sets down his chopsticks and says, “move in with me.”

you blink. “what?”

“just… move in. you’re always here anyway. and i like coming home to you. and the food. the food’s a big factor.”

you laugh — for real this time — covering your face for a second before peeking at him through your fingers.

“are you being serious?”

he reaches across the table and gently squishes your cheeks between both hands. “of course i’m serious, my cutie sweetie pumpkin pie.”

you scrunch your nose. “you promised you'd retire that name.”

“i lied. and i’ll do it again.”

you shake your head, still laughing as you pull his hands away from your face and lace your fingers with his instead.

“alright,” you say. “i accept your offer, mr. kuroo.”

kuroo smiles — slow, wide, the kind that never quite fits on his face because he’s always holding back a little. but this time he doesn’t.

taglist (open. ask to be added <3): @tangerinelovr @godhainerammsteiner @oligbia

#deardaichi 𖦹₊⊹#haikyuu ˚｡𖦹 #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo testuro #kuroo tetsuro x reader #haikyuu kuroo #haikyū!!#haikyuu #nekoma #kuroo tetsuro x you #kuroo tetsuro fluff #kuroo tetsuro haikyuu #haikyuu x reader

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millersbby · 2 months ago

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my cherry pie cutie pie

summary: where joel had a bad day. you try to help with a sweet treat and warm meal but he really is just a grumpy tired old man after all.

warnings: grumpy!joel (with good reason) no outbreak!joel, cursing, no use of y/n, pet names, fluff, slight angst, argument.

my note: haii first fic on here lmk what u think and what i can improve on ! be nice tho >:(

listen to cherry by ldr :)

it had a been a great day for you to say the least.

you had spent the entirety of the warm summer day cleaning. while that may not be the most exciting of tasks it didn't matter because you were also making a delicious pie. cherry pies weren't your favorite but they were his. baking was more than a love language to you. it was a way of giving back. not just to friends and family. but to a man that deserves it.

while you were prancing around the kitchen in your white tank top and long flowy skirt, joel was running errands.

that morning he woke up at 7 sharp to you snoring softly with your hair made a mess. he could feel his mood sour since the second he woke up. like he had woken up on the wrong side of the bed. nevertheless, he chuckled at the view, pressed a soft kiss to your temple and whispered a "goodmornin' baby" before he quietly freshened up with a shower and left your house leaving you in your warm bed cuddled up with your orange cat. the one he said got in the way but always ended up feeding and giving treats to.

he was off work that friday but had errands to run so he decided it would be better to get them out of the way sooner than later. he was tired shitless since he had been working late.

he knew you would have some sort of pastry for him to try when he got back and that's what he would spend the entire day anticipating. seeing you wait for his reaction hoping that just like every time, he would enjoy every bite and still ask for seconds.

he arrived at the construction supply store as he needed white paint for a white wall in your room you wanted him to paint for you. as you said it wasn't the right shade of white. he wasn't sure what that meant but was willing to fix what you thought needed fixin. as long as it kept you happy.

he was in and out of the store in 20 minutes and placed the can of paint in the bed of his truck before driving away to the grocery store. he only needed to pick up some meat for grilling and a couple spices.

by this time you were awake. you had risen to no joel next to you. you checked your phone and opened it to a message from him.

"came to run some errands. fed the cat and left some oatmeal on the stove for you. be home in a couple hours. i love you" -2 hrs ago

you decided to also start your day. you had breakfast, took a shower and did daily tasks like making the bed and did a few dishes. you wanted to have some lunch ready for him when he came back so you prepared some sandwiches loaded with lettuce, cheese, tomatoes and condiments. you prepared a pitcher of iced tea and got to working on some made from scratch pie.

you cleaned as you went and by this time it had been about 5 hours since joel left your home. the pie was in the oven and you had some sandwiches and iced tea waiting for him in the fridge.

you heard joel's truck pulling in.

he walked into the house but he looked as angry as ever. as he placed the grocery bags on the counter you ask.

"hey baby what's wrong?"

"stupid motherfucker at the store didn't shut the paint tin right n' there's white paint all in the bed of my truck" he replied. low and angry.

you furrow your brows and walk out to the parked car to see the damage done.

it was definitely worth being angry about.

you walk back into the house and to lighten up the mood say,

"atleast we know it's the right shade of white, right?" chuckling. he doesn't laugh, all you got was a side eye and sigh that made you feel awkward. then his phone rang. he emits another sigh.

"alright man ill go in. alright no problem, be there soon" he hangs up the phone on his boss and his hands rub his eyes as if hes only just imagining the day ahead of him.

you look at him like you were asking what happened. without having to ask he only says

"theyre makin me go in, something about mark bein too sick to go"

"oh, well i made some sandwiches for you to have around this time ill pack one for you" you say enthusiastically as if it was fate you had food ready for him.

"oh it's no use i'll be late if i stay here any longer. i'll buy somethin near the site." he says almost dismissing you.

"well okay, love you!" you say as he paces out of the door. only to be met with a shut door behind him.

"he didn't mean to close it so harshly."

"he didn't hear me."

it wasn't hard to convince yourself, he was having a bad day and now they even call him into work. you were understanding.

it was around 7 pm and you had a nice dinner ready.

you cooked the meat joel had planned to spend the day grilling outside along with oven roasted veggies and mashed potatoes. you were starving but still wanted to wait for joel to come back from work to enjoy your food and dessert together.

you decide to put on a movie while you wait for him, only to end up falling asleep.

you woke up 30 minutes later to joel taking his boots and coat off. you jump up to give him a hug.

"i missed you" you muttered into his neck. he smelled of man. you loved it. you didn't ask about his day. he was almost glad. he didn't want to talk about how he was counting down the hours to just come home and relax.

"i did too" he says low, voice aching with a tiredness not even sleep could fix .but you didn't wanna let go. you had spent the entire day anticipating him getting home what more could you ask for than a hug and dinner with a side of chit chat.

you finally let go.

"i made you dinner and some pie too!" you were excited to be in his presence. to marinate in his smell and give him the gift of a full stomach after a long day. he was excited too, but to relax. he wasn't feeling conversational and had forgotten about the tart sweet cherry pie waiting for him.

"alright alright let me go shower." he said as he walked down the hallway. you expected him to want to eat as soon as he got home. you as well were very hungry.

you grab his arm and as he turns around you exclaim "oh, don't you want to eat first? foods still warm! and i set the table, ooh! and i bought some napkins with lil cherries on 'em thought it fit the-" you say with a smile but he's quick to cut you off.

"can i not just shower really quick? it'll only be a minute" he almost had an attitude.

"well okay don't be too long though!" you say sarcastically as he just walks into the bathroom.

you don't think much of the encounter as you have been justifying his mood with the day he's had. you try to understand.

you finish plating the food just as he get out of the shower. he looks unreal. a salt and pepper man with wet hair, an old tee and pajama pants is a view you'll never get tired of.

"look at you old man, looking as handsome as ever" you say smoothly as you smile and reach out to hug him. he doesn't hug you back.

"now that i think about it im not all that hungry, sugar go 'head n' eat without me"

"can't you atleast try my food? doesn't it look great, i made your favorite pie too"

you weren't upset he didn't want to eat, it's that he didn't consider the time you spent and the work it took to make the food. not that you would ever complain, you enjoyed the process. that doesn't mean it wasn't tiring. you wanted to feel rewarded by him and the faces he would make when eating the dishes you prepare him.

"i’m real tired darlin' im sure it tastes just fine."

"just fine?!" it wasn't the use of words that pissed you off, it was the tone. he was dismissive.

"you know what i meant." his patience started to run thin. all he wanted was to relax.

"i waited all day for you!" you raised your voice slightly without noticing.

"i never asked you to do that! i never asked for all this, did i? i'm sorry i have a job and a life i need to take care of! sorry i don't spend my days sleeping and bakin lil cakes!" he didn't mean to yell, he hadn't even noticed he did until he saw your eyes pool with tears at the thought of him thinking you had no life. that you had no struggle or purpose other than being in the kitchen or in bed sound asleep.

although that's not what he meant, it is certainly how you took it.

you didn't want to keep arguing. but you were hurt. you took a deep breath as a tear fell down your face.

you walked away.

you went to your bedroom as your appetite disappeared into thin air leaving joel in the kitchen regretting his words. it was never in his intentions to say something so cruel and it was definitely never in his intentions to make you feel the way he did.

you did your nightly routine not even wondering what he was doing or where in your home he was. you just knew you didn't want to speak to him. you cared for him, you cooked for him, you even baked a pie flavor you'd never eat if he weren't there and he still found a way to make things your fault.

you slid into your bed and as you were about to shuffle over to turn the lamp off you hear a knock at the door.

"hey darlin? can i come in?" his voice was low, regret spilling out of his lips with every word.

"what do you need joel" you were angry, and hungry.

"brought you a lil somethin, can't let my girl go on into bed hungry"

you get out of bed to open the door and find joel with a wooden tray. on it was the food you prepared, re heated with two slices of pie on the side. each with their respective plates.

"i’m real sorry sugar, had no idea what was goin through my head speakin to you that way." he puts the tray down on your vanity and pulls you in for a hug. "do you really think i have no life? baking and cooking makes me happy but it's not all i do." you asked quietly.

"i was pissed off at the wrong person today, i didn't speak out of sincerity i spoke out of emotion, of course i don't believe what i said." you could feel the regret was really settling in.

"it's okay joel, i understand today was a rough day" you knew his attitude didn't come from no where. "don't matter sweetheart, you didn't deserve that, that's for sure" he reassured

you pull away slightly from the hug and his lips meet yours. it was a well needed kiss. you lead him to your bed as he picked up the wooden tray, careful not to drop anything "shall we feast?" he fakes a british accent.

"feast we shall." you mock.

it was the sweetest ending to any day.

#joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller fic #jackson!joel #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal #joel miller #the last of us #tlou #tlou2 #angst #fluff

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jarofstyles · 2 months ago

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The Favor 13

I know it's taken a million years. I'm so sorry my ducklings. but the good news is that it's here! I hope you love it.

The Favor Masterlist

Check out our Patreon for early access to the next part up now and over 260 exclusive writings! (Sign up on your web browser to save $$)

WC- around 3.5k (next part is way longer)

Warnings- dom/sub dynamic, spanking, gagging, knife used in kinky way (briefly), edging, ,pain kink, he's a cutie pie, etc etc etc

----

Having Harry as her official boyfriend was weird. In a good way, of course! But it was something she was getting used to.

She had spent plenty of days longing for this sort of relationship. Longing for him, honestly, considering he had shown her the sort of attention she had been craving since she could conceptualize it, only to have obstacles make it seem impossible. Self inflicted obstacles, but still challenges nonetheless.

The terror of the unknown, the realization of the fact she wasn’t in love with her now ex boyfriend and only there out of routine and a self made obligation, the nerves over thinking Harry wasn’t actually into her and instead just teaching her out of pity- all of it had been things that were a bit self explanatory but she had gotten there eventually.

Breaking up with Danny and leaning into the man who had shown her how she should been treated had been the best thing she ever did, because now she had Harry.

It was still a bit to get used to, though. It wasn’t a bad thing at all, but having someone so attentive had been a bit of a culture shock. He was so kind, so sweet, checking in on her multiple times a day to make sure she was happy, doting on her when they were together, and doing things that Danny had never even thought of doing. That included taking her car to the car wash for her while she slept in, then coming back to make her breakfast all in the same weekend of them becoming officially exclusive.

One thing that got her in particular, though, was when she was at work and got a text from him saying he was outside. Danny had never visited her at work even when she had asked him to, and Harry was doing it unprompted.

Talk about a full 180.

H: Hi, sweetheart. I hope I’m not too late but I’m outside. I thought I could get you some lunch x

Y/N: Really?? 🥺

H: There is nothing I’d like more. I’m in the lot, but I can come up if you’d like.

Y/N: I’ll come down to see you!!! Be right there.

The vision of him leaning against his car in a blazer and trousers nearly got her weak in the knees, but the giddiness in her body nearly had her bouncing over there with a smile so wide it nearly hurt. It only got bigger as she saw him perk up at the sight of her.

With no hesitation, she walked into his arms that quickly wound around her body, inhaling the scent of him as she hugged him tight. Monday’s were particularly difficult days for her and he knew that now. It shouldn’t surprise her how thoughtful he was after spending so long getting to know him, but it still did. “Hi.” The muffled greeting in his shirt made him chuckle, slowly peeling her back so he could hold her cheek.

“Hello, gorgeous.” He spoke lightly, tapping his thumb over her lips. “You alright?”

“Mhm. Now.” She puckered her lips to kiss his thumb, making his eyes narrow playfully at her. It was thrilling just having him here, but getting to be given affection so openly was something she had been looking forward to with him. The majority of the time with their prior arrangement, she’d been fighting off the urge to cling- and now he was more than encouraging it. It made him happy; even!

“Want that answer t’be always good, my sweet. But we’ll work on it.” Removing his thumb, he replaced it with a soft press of his lips. And another, and another as Y/N leaned into him. “Mm.. my sweet girl.” He sighed against her lips, something dreamy in his tone. “Could do this all day, but I can hear your belly rumbling from here. S’time to get you some good food. Know you barely ate this morning.”

That had partially been his fault, though. They’d gotten distracted in their riveting conversation last night and she had forgotten to set her alarm, which made a mad dash for the door with an apple in her mouth like an afterschool sitcom where the family has elaborate breakfast set up and the character chooses the opposite. She’d always thought breakfast had been more important than school- but not her job, it seemed.

“I know. I’m sorry.” The apology was sincere. Harry had told her how much it meant to him that they looked after her health. It meant him providing the resources and her using them. It had been one of his rules. “M’sorry, sir.”

His demeanor shifted slightly as he gave a squeeze to her jaw, nodding down at her. “Know you are, m’good girl. Didn’t mean to. But we’ve got to work on that, yeah?” Y/N’s mind was scrambled and she genuinely forgot to eat sometimes. It wasn’t a problem or a conscious decision, rather an oversight until her tummy hurt and she realized she hadn’t properly eaten.

He was adamant that her vanilla iced coffee was not ‘breakfast.’ Only slightly less irritated when she used her protein drink as a creamer.

The use of the praised nickname had her relaxing slightly, nodding in agreement. “We’ll work on it. Promise.” She waited a moment before requesting her want. “‘Nother kiss, please.”

His demeanor softened, smile tilting on her lips as he leaned forward to give her what she wanted.

That whole thing was something else she was getting used to. How easily the dynamic flowed in and out. It wasn’t 24/7 in the way she expected, no, but it was better. He took a stronger hand when he felt it necessary, and she realized afterwards that it had been exactly what she needed. His dominant side was definitely present a lot but not in the glaringly obvious way, like when they were doing a scene. It was an undercurrent, the energy rising up if she disturbed the surface or needed some guidance.

Even more than that, it was more check in with her emotion than she had ever experienced in her life. Every day, multiple times a day, he made sure she was okay. Happy. If she wasn’t, doing what he could to talk through it and see why.

They’d only been an official couple for less than a month, and Harry had shown her more patience and emotional understanding than she’d experienced in her years long relationship. It was why she believed more and more that there was such a thing as right person, right time.

Harry did as he usually did, opening her car door and making sure she was settled before running back to his side. It was the little things like that that had her wondering why she had settled for so long. Harry was her ideal. As much as she tried not to romanticize him in her head, it was really fucking hard when he was as good as he was.

“What did you want t’have?” The large expanse of his hand settled on her thigh, curling around it like he owned it. He did. She knew it, he knew it, and that seemed to make her melt just a little bit more as she tried to think of an answer to his question.

“Do you want to try that taco place I saw on-“

“If you say tiktok, M’gonna spank you here and now.” Harry groaned, partially kidding- and partially not. He was what Y/N jokingly referred to as a ‘metaphorical boomer’ when it came to that specific app. While she was sure he didn’t exactly hate it all, she did know he hated misinformation and it seemed he couldn’t get past the few times he’d heard of the instances of that. Hard headedness was one of his traits Y/N was more aware of now.

“Is that a threat or a promise?” Her grin was coy, but she did love a spanking. Truth be told, she probably didn’t get enough of them. Harry had gone a little soft on her lately but she was having her fun. Part of her wondered if it was because of how they were learning to navigate an actual relationship but she knew he still was very eager to be a Dom when the situation called for it.

“Don’t be a brat.” He grunted, pinching the soft skin of her thigh and making her yelp. The fabric covering it did nothing to help the little sting. He’d be well aware that the action itself would make her a little wet as it was. Pain was a motivator, she was also finding out.

The last month had been an very interesting time of discovery.

“Or what?”

——

Y/N was squirming.

Harry was well aware, but he chose to ignore it as he put some tapatio onto his lunch, humming under his breath. As it turned out, Y/N did enjoy showing a little bit of brat- and he had taken matters into his own hands.

Her ass still stinging a bit was one of the most beautiful and infuriating displays of the power she had ever experienced.

“Hands on the wall.” It was probably nasty, but she did it immediately. The bathroom at the restaurant was absolutely not the time or place to be flexing this dynamic- but she had asked for it. She’d been calling his bluff just a little bit and he had decided she’d had enough coddling. One too many smart comments he’d let go of in the last few days, trying to give her some room to be a bit disobedient… but it was obvious to him that she longed to be the good little sub she had always been meant to be.

It how quick she had obeyed, it was even more obvious that this was the exact thing she needed. “Stand still. Do not move, I don’t want to accidentally get you.”

“With what-“ Y/N froze as she heard the flip she knew all too well. The pocket knife he always kept on him. More like a multi tool, with a bottle opener and a screwdriver that folded into it- but that didn’t matter to her. Feeling the brush of cool metal against the hot skin of her inner thighs, she couldn’t help but shudder.

Of course the man laughed. “Yeah. Y’know what.” He chuckled, letting it turn into a warm hum as she caught herself before pushing back into him. “Don’t get too excited, pet.” His voice was syrupy and deep and she just wanted to melt into a puddle- filthy bathroom be damned. “M’not going to fuck you. Honestly, you don’t deserve it today. Not with how much of a brat you’ve been.”

Damn it. It felt like she had gotten her favorite treat taken away, a sad sigh replacing the way she wanted to protest. “I’m Sorry, sir.” Was what came out instead of the ‘you haven’t fucked me in three days and I want you to ruin me, please don’t take your cock away.’ She had wanted to say.

“Are you?” He tapped the flat side of the blade against her hip bone, yanking the bottom of the shirt up. “Because you’re been a brat. So rude t’me. Mumbling when I ask you something. Huffing when you don’t get your way… even spent half the day not answering my message when I asked you want y’wanted for dinner.” His tongue clicked as his free hand brushed her hair out of her face, knowing it was falling from the way her head was tilted forward.

“I know.” She sighed, heart feeling a little fuller from how he’d taken care of her comfort. Even if she was being punished, he made sure she was alright.

“Yeah. You’ve been doing it on purpose. Thought something may be up, but I don’t think you were lying t’me about feeling fine. So I figured it must be something you aren’t sure of talking to me about yet.” He paused. “Is it because I have t’go away to grab that book next month?” His tone softened, gathering her hair in his hand. “I don’t think that’s what it is, but give me a yes or no.”

“No.”

“Mm. So…. Do you think I’ve been going a bit too easy on you?” His lips brushed her ear, breath washing over the more sensitive skin underneath it. “Because I was trying t’be nice, you know. Give us time to develop our relationship outside of all of this…. But it’s a part of our relationship, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” She swallowed thickly, eyes fluttering shut as the hum of agreement sent vibrations through her. “I… I don’t even know how to say what it is.”

“Then we figure it out together. Even if you don’t have the words, I may know the feeling. Y’can’t bottle shit up like that.” With an ease that took her by surprise, she felt the metal slip up and under the waistband of her panties and straight through it. The quick sound of the cut had her gasping. “Shh. You’ve been wanting to keep your mouth shut about this, so you need to practice that skill while I give you a reminder of why you shouldn’t.” Another slice, the cool air hitting her cunt as he gripped the fabric in his hand.

“We will need to have a conversation on what you want the mix to truly be with this as a staple of our relationship. I love it. Want you in any way you want me t’have you. But we’re not going to do it now.” His voice turned firm. Dark. The voice that had her understanding he was in charge, he was her dominant right now. Not just her boyfriend. “Open your mouth.”

Y/N hadn’t been sure what the purpose had been- but she had her mouth full of the panties he had just cut off before she could think twice.

“Need t’keep you quiet. You’re loud and fussy.” His hand smoothed over her ass, giving it a rough squeeze as he let out a sigh of admiration. “Such a shame you chose to be a brat instead of talkin’ to me. You want me to hold your leash a little tighter, pet?” He let his fingertips dig into the soft flesh, surely to cause bruises as she let out a whimpered moan muffled by the panties. The nod was hesitant, but truthful. She did was a tighter leash. It was so much easier that way.

“Fine. Since you’re fuckin’ with our communication rule, M’gonna punish you.” He gave her thigh a little swat, making her jerk. “Try and keep quiet. Don’t move those hands off the wall. And don’t be fuckin’ greedy. To you understand, pet?” Harry repeated it after she nodded in agreement. “Need to color out? Stomp your foot or hit the wall three times. Don’t care if it’s a punishment, don’t want you to hurt that bad.”

Y/N was dripping at the mere thought of it- but when she felt his hand stripe across her ass? She nearly came. Pathetic, yes, but she had missed it. Craved it. It was a shame his rings had been tucked into his pocket because god, would she loved that bird of pain. But it wasn’t up to her- this was his punishment to dish out.

Her job was to take it.

It was humiliating in a sense, acting out and needing a spanking- taking a spanking- in a bathroom in public. Panties in her mouth getting soaked in her spit and muffling the little squeak that tried to get out of her.

“That’s one. You’re getting 20.”

Each one melted her a bit more. The slap of his hot palm against her increasingly hot skin… the prickles, the cool breeze stinging her skin? It had her fall farther into it. Yes. She needed to talk to him. Make him understand she needed this more often. She didn’t want to have to be a complete brat just to get him to do this- though the trill was quite nice.

Her cunt was pulsing. Dripping. She could feel it against her thighs as her body moved from the impact of his hand. The gurgled moan was hidden away, but he didn’t mind giving her a reminder. “Said to shut the fuck up, Puppy. Keep quiet.” The message was sealed with a spanking.

It nearly made her cum.

She needed him now. At number twenty, she felt his hand slip between her legs and get slick with her, a sigh of disappointment. Giving her cunt a quick little set of taps, he pulled his hand away- and from what she could hear- lick it clean. “Such a shame to waste this.” He hummed, reaching for her spit soaked panties and pulling them out of her mouth. “But I need you to eat.”

“What?” Her pulse was thundering from pure need, but he was pulling her arms from the wall and leading her towards the sink to wash her hands. “But I… I took it. And you felt….” She looked at him in confusion. “Aren’t we gonna…” his cock was hard. She could see it here. He could tell, a shake of his head making him smile.

“Oh, no. The spanking isn’t the only part of the punishment, pet.” He laughed. “I know how much you love them. Knew you get wet and achy. The punishment is, you’re going to sit out there and be aching and horny. I’ll drop you back at work and when you come home, I’ll take care of it.” He said it so matter of fact, like it didn’t nearly take her to her knees.

So badly, she wanted to beg. Plead. But after being punished… she didn’t want to push it. Silently washing her hands, she watched him gather up some napkins to clean her stickiness up before righting her skirt back to where it belonged. “I’m sorry, Daddy.” She repeated.

“Know you are, my sweet girl.” He was back to half and half. Half boyfriend, half dom behavior. “You’re amazing. Take everything so well. I’ve got some salve in my car that we’ll put on before y’go back into work.”

——

He was acting unaffected, as if he wasn’t hard and tucked away. She wanted to glare at him, but he had a weird sense of attitude that a mother had when their kids said a cuss word under their breath.

“Had t’ask you something.” Harry asked, breaking the silence. It perked her up, feeling embarrassingly needy for some more attention. “The club is having an event night next week. Wanted t’know if you’d want to go.”

They hadn’t brought up the club since they’d gotten together. At first, she was curious if maybe he felt like he didn’t want to share her to anyone else’s eyes for a bit- but she didn’t know much about how often people went. She’d been wanting to go back really badly, but hadn’t had the balls to ask. “Yeah, that would be fun.” Her smile got a little bigger. “What the event?”

“S’a serious of events. It’s…” he looked around the place. “Probably a better car discussion for what it’s. A little out there.” He gave her a little wink, making her fluster. It had to be filthy considering he usually didn’t shy away from things in public… and that excited her.

“Oh, wow.” She cleared her throat, squeezing her thighs together again. Fucker. He did it on purpose. “Okay. We can talk about it in the car, but I’d love to go. I had fun last time.” Being able to fall into that space in her mind had been a good time.

“Alright, sweetheart.” He pushed her foot with his own. “Finish your food, please. Need to keep your energy up for tonight, mm?”

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laiiaaa · 2 years ago

Text

THANK YOU VERY MUCH — CARMEN BERZATTO

summary You pay Carmen a visit after a busy night to give your thanks...with a little extra love.

length 3.1k

contents MINORS DNI, smut, lots of kissing, some heavy petting, oral sex (m!receiving), semi-public sex sorry Richie, soooooo much praise, teasing, a glimpse of subby Carm make brain go brrrrrr, fluffy ending bc he’s a cutie pie, imma be fr...he splooges in your mouth…in his office…after hours…don’t look at me ik it’s FILTHY!!!…apologies to the church it’s not my fault he’s a SLUT

Carmen’s sitting hunched over his desk in a mess of paperwork when Richie barges in.

“Your girl’s here,” he almost sighs, holding the door open as you walk in, all smiles and a Thanks, Richie slipping past your lips before he nods, shooting Carmen a look emphasized with a pointed finger: “No funny business back here, alright? ‘Cause I’ll fuckin’ know.”

When he walks away, you shut the door and lock it. Stupid fuckin’ lock, Carmen thinks, knowing that it’s mostly for show. He can’t remember the last time it actually worked. But he smiles back at you, turning his chair around when you peek over your shoulder after the fact anyway, his skin tingling with anticipation of feeling you in his arms again.

You carefully drop your bag on the floor and leave your jacket on the desk as you walk over to him, standing between his spread legs as he sits up. Your fingers tangle in his hair, voice syrupy sweet when his hands wrap around your thighs just below the hem of your skirt. “Hi, Bear.”

He looks up at you with his chin resting below your navel. An after hours haze comes over him, muscles sore and eyes heavy, and he swears you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “Hey, baby,” he drawls, letting you play with his hair a moment longer before bringing one hand to gently lift your top just a few inches, pressing gentle kisses to the exposed skin, trailing right to your waistband to leave heated butterflies frenzied in your stomach. “Missed you a lot today…”

“Yeah?” You tug at his strands to get his attention again and lower yourself to straddle his hips. “Stressful day?”

His palms slide from your waist to your hips, pawing at your ass while he presses kisses to your jaw. “Yeah, just busy…‘n T was in a mood, so…” He trails off, too occupied with soaking in your perfume, your heavy breaths when he drags his teeth against your pulse.

“Carm?” you start, massaging his shoulders and moving to squeeze at his biceps—fuck, his arms, you just wanna…mm. You pry a groan from his throat and it only makes you want him more. “Lemme help you unwind, hm?…”

One hand urges him to lift his gaze before you take his lips in a kiss, his hands making their way beneath the fabric of your shirt to feel skin to skin. It’s sweet, and it’s sultry, the way you kiss him, like you want him to unravel between your fingertips as you thumb at the knots in his shoulders. He’s not so sure he’d mind, what with the way you’re already turning his brain to mush with just a few cants of your hips against his.

“Baby,” he breathes, “You don’t—you don’t have to…”

“I want to, though…” You’re nearly whining into his mouth. “You do so much for me, Carmy…”

“I, uh—” he laughs sheepishly, neck and face flushed and breath turning shallow— “I dunno ‘bout that—”

“C’mon, Bear—” you quiet your voice, leaning down close by his ear while a hand cups the opposite side of his face— “You cook for me all the time…” His fingers tease at the hem of your top again, and you peck his jaw. “You never let me lift a finger, and you always hold me…”

He sighs when your nails scratch at the tuft of hair behind his ear, head lolling into the back of the chair, eyes shut as his hands wander up your shirt dangerously close to your breasts.

“And you make me feel so—” you drag your teeth along the shell of his ear, and put more weight against his hips, and he’s barely keeping himself calm— “so good—”

“Shhhhit—” he squeezes you tight to keep you from grinding against him again— “Richie’s just outside, baby, gotta be careful…”

“I don’t care…” Putting him in a trance, you carefully remove your top and let it fall to the floor, a pleased breath escaping when he grabs at you. “I’ve been missing you all day, y’know?”

“Yeah?” His chest is already heaving in anticipation, and it’s like he’s a virgin, cock half hard and throbbing just at the sight of bare skin he craves to kiss. “Me too, baby…”

You snake a hand down his stomach to palm him through his jeans while smiling like a minx. “And I miss your cock, Carmy—”

“Shhhhit—” he plants his hand on your mouth, and it’s painfully hard to ignore how he just twitched in his jeans— “The fuck’re you doin’?”

You pout when he hesitantly uncovers your mouth. Feeling up his arms again, biting at your lip, you sigh. “Just showin’ my appreciation…”

He huffs, runs a hand through his hair with his eyes closed. “O-Okay, fuck…”

How is he supposed to say no when you’re sat all pretty and topless in his lap? That wouldn’t be fair, now, would it?

“Fuck, okay—” he looks you in the eye, brows furrowed and desperate for you like you always know he is— “We gotta be quiet, though, baby, alright?” A sweet kiss, slow and with his hands holding your face. “Gotta be quiet.”

You giggle into one last smooch. “Fine by me.” You shrug and shuffle out of his lap, sat on your heels in front of spread knees, mouth watering and eyes blown with lust as you brush your hands along his thighs.

He watches you carefully as you undress him: unbuttoning his jeans, opening his fly, looking up at him all sweet when you need him to lift his hips. By the time the denim pools around his ankles his cock is weeping pre and soaking through his briefs.

“Oh, Carm,” you coo, kissing up and along his inner thighs past a tattoo of your name, leaving him reeling, “Why didn’t you tell me you’re so worked up?” You trail your fingers beneath the hem while lending hot kisses over the fabric, and he groans a little too loud for someone who was just worried about being caught. “I would’ve helped you.”

“F-Fuck you,” he laughs, leaning back into the chair with an arm cast over his forehead to try and calm himself the best he can when you’re breathing on his cock and peeling sticky briefs down his legs.

His dick is throbbing by the time you free it, threatening to stain his white tee, and you’re practically drooling into his lap as you wrap your hand around the base of it. It’s thick, it has your thighs pressing together and tongue going slick, and you can hardly connect your middle finger and thumb.

A breath hisses through his teeth and you hum to yourself. “Mmmm, you’re so big, Carmy.” But you notice he’s not looking at you, and you pause. “C’mon, you gotta watch.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and sighs.

“If you want me to suck it—” wet, slobbery kisses trail from his base up toward his cherry red tip as you pump him slowww, spreading pre down his shaft— “You could at least open your eyes a little, hm?”

And oh, what a sight he is when he obliges: cheeks flushed, brows drawn tight together, golden brown curls made a mess, bottom lip barred behind teeth, preening over the look of your lips glossy with spit. He thinks he could come in record time.

You smile up at him sweetly. “There he is…” And before he can blink you’re taking him into your mouth, down far enough to touch your lips to your hand, down far enough to have him groaning.

“Holy shit, baby—” he moans, a sound that makes you dizzy, “Oh, fuck…” His head lolls back again, exposing a bobbing Adam’s apple as he gulps down a breath, a hand of his brushing low and past dark thick curls before squeezing the fabric of his tee and revealing his happy trail.

You pull your mouth up on his cock and swirl your tongue around his tip to hear him whimper—whimper, all drawn out and whiny like he can’t get enough—before you let go completely, holding him by the base and watching a trail of spit and pre connect his slit to your tongue.

“Jesus fuck—…” He bites into his fist, a pained look on his face but with lust-blown eyes. What’d he do to deserve you? “So fuckin’ sexy, baby…”

You smile and kiss his tip. “ ‘Cause I love having you in my mouth…”

A heady breath accompanies another rush of blood beneath your hands. “Yeah?”

“Mmmmm ‘f course, Carmy…” You drag your lips back down to his base and flatten your tongue to lick a stripe to the top, prodding his tip past your plush lips before smooching it again. “You have the prettiest cock…” You gather a glob of spit and Carmen can’t peel his eyes off of it as it drips…down from your glossy lips…down onto the beating head…before the words “Thank you for letting me suck it…” fall breathlessly off your tongue.

That makes his hips buck up and a moan slip past stifled by a hand over his mouth. “Fuck, baby, you’re gonna make me come—”

You squeeze the soaked base of him, taunting with a feigned frown. “But I just got started…”

“Y-Yeah,” he heaves, “That’s the problem…”

You pump his cock slow with a tight fist how he likes it, grinning as your free hand snakes up his thigh; his breath hitches, and he starts to think he’s dreaming when you grab for the hand by his navel and bring it atop your head. He smooths it over your hair a few times as he releases choppy breaths, makes a face to ask Are you sure? He doesn’t expect you to hum against his tip, sending a vibration down his cock to make him choke on nothing before you murmur, “Do whatever you want…” kissing and licking along his shaft as your hand twists around his tip, “Wanna make you feel good…”

“You are, baby…” He tugs gently on your hair and guides your mouth back to where he needs you. “Like a—” you wrap your lips around him again, and even with his hands in your hair his head rears back— “Fuck, yeah, just like that—like a fuckin’ angel—”

It’s filthy, and it’s messy and wet and dirty, the way you let him fuck into your mouth, his feet planted on the ground and pushing the back of the chair against the desk, your hands pressing into the sinew of his thighs to keep steady. “God, you’re so fuckin’ good—so fuckin’ good for me, baby—”

And you’re practically dripping in your panties, doing as best you can to relieve some of that pulse between your thighs by grinding your cunt into your heels, too caught up in Carmen’s moans to think too much about the fact you’re in his office choking on his dick because it feels so good, and he looks beautifully euphoric, eyes squeezing shut every few seconds, neck flushed crimson above a gasping chest.

You hollow your cheeks around him and he thrusts only halfway, the added suction too much to take all the way down to your throat. “Shhhit, suckin’ me so nice—so fuckin’ gorgeous—makin’ me wanna—” but you push away from his dick, drool-smeared lips curling into a smile. He wets his lips as his chest rises and falls at the loss of release. He thinks you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen like this, all messy and covered in spit and pre with tears marring the makeup around your eyes. “Fuck me,” he groans, exasperated as he leans back into the chair and brings his hands up to his forehead.

You sit up a bit and put more weight into your knees. You keep one hand languidly stroking his cock while the other grips his tee and pulls him forward, crashing into your lips so he can taste himself. His hands quickly take up your jaw, holding you firm against his lips to let him dip his tongue into your mouth and deepen the kiss. Your neck is craned, and his back is hunched over, but with the way you keep your hand away from his throbbing tip has him groaning for more.

“You gotta be quiet, Carm,” you murmur before he just kisses you again anyway.

“Can’t—” you squeeze his dick when you near his head at that— “hah, fuck—can’t be quiet when your mouth ‘s on me like that—”

You push against his sternum to send him leaning back into the chair, and his head starts spinning with want. “Figure it out then—” another kiss to his weeping cock, just as sexy as the last ten times as you thumb at his slit— “or I’m not gonna fuck you when we get home.”

“Shit,” he hisses to himself, lifting his hips to move them closer to your mouth. He likes this side of you, knowing what you want and a little demanding, a smirk poking at the corners of your mouth when you command things of him you’ll make sure he can’t fulfill. Maybe he should fuck you in the office more often.

He doesn’t get to ponder it too long, though, because you’ve already taken him into your mouth again, both hands now gripping at the base while your tongue laps at his slit like you’re begging for him to spill into your mouth. His knuckles turn white as he grips the arm rests of the chair, and he bites down hard into his bottom lip to stifle a moan loud enough to be heard all the way at the front door.

“I needa come, baby—” you leave your hands on his thighs as you take him all the way in, his tip prodding at the back of your throat— “Fuck—!” He thrusts up into your mouth and realizes too late how fucking loud he is—how loud all of it is, what with you gagging and moaning as you try to get some sense of release while milking his dick for all he’s worth, the sighs of pleasure that slip off his tongue no matter how hard he tries, the wet sounds from your mouth every time he bucks his hips out of the chair.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,” he groans, a hand coming to the top of your head again to slow you so as not to let him finish too quick. “Baby—ah, fuckmmmmfuck baby, please—” He feels it churning in his gut all the way to his cock: that band stretching and stretching and threatening to snap, growing tighter and tighter every time your lips smooth over his head and your tongue laps at the frenulum. “Baby lemme—shit, lemme come down your throat please, baby—”

As soon as he begs it of you you’re moaning an affirmation, locking eyes with him for a split second before they shut again with ecstasy. He snaps with a stuttered thrust into your mouth, palms pressed hard into the arm rests as he chokes out your name as hushed as he can manage. “Fuck, pretty—” his release, bitter and salty, shoots into your mouth with a groan so guttural you feel it in your cunt.

The shift of his hips slows from a thrust to a meager cant, overstimulation crawling up his spine as you continue milking him. “Shit,” he huffs, arms going limp and jaw going slack. “Slow down, baby…needa—needa calm down…f-fffuck…” He watches as you slowly drag your lips up to the tip of his cock to clean him of his cum, another groan easing by at the sight. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, baby—” You’re giggling and pressing soft kisses to his thighs, and all he can do is tilt his head back and shut his eyes to try and recover.

You wait less than a minute before you’re hounding on him again, thrumming with success and the thought of him fucking you when he brings you home. “How was it?” You ask the question sheepishly, smiling up at him and wiping spit from your lips like you don’t know how much you’ve just wrecked him.

He wills himself to sit back up again. “How was it?” He smiles back, heart warm. “Baby—” he cups your face all sweet how he is after sex, muscles pliant and brain dizzy with aftershocks of pleasure— “You’re fuckin’ incredible, y’know that right?”

You shrug despite your daze. “Obviously. You came in my mouth like a virgin.”

“Shut up,” he sighs, lips perking up into a reluctant smile. His thumbs brush along your cheekbones with adoration. “Your fault for bein’ so sexy.”

A precious kiss to your forehead, one that has your eyes slipping closed before his nose nudges past yours and he seizes your mouth in a searing kiss, one that’s built on passion and lust and appreciation and awe. Your palms sit beneath his elbows and he smiles into it, flushing when he tastes himself on your tongue but kissing you that much deeper when he does.

There’s one last sweet peck before he says, “You’re perfect. Thank you.” Another between your brows and to each cheek before he grabs your shirt, crumpled beside the chair, and hands it to you. He lets you dress yourself while he fits his half-hard dick back into his briefs and stands to pull his jeans over his hips, wiping tacky hands down on the denim. It’ll do.

He helps you get back up and ease your sore knees back into working condition before the door knob rattles. Both of you freeze.

“Cousin!” A hand bangs hard on the door.

You and Carmen lock eyes. “Shit,” he hisses, looking down and fumbling with his fly. You panic only half-heartedly, the other half laughing at Carmen’s struggle.

“Cousin!” Richie calls again, shaking the door, “You fuckers better not’ve been doin’ what—”

Just like Carmen should’ve seen coming, the lock stops working and the door swings open as he’s buttoning his pants.

Richie catches him and his expression drops. “Oh, you son ‘f a—” he seems to catch your smudged mascara and lip gloss— “Oh, God—” He grimaces and steps away from the doorway with his hands on his head. “In the fuckin’ office, Cousin? Are you kiddin’ me?”

Carmen figures you don’t care enough to bother with the complaints, because you’re shooting him a smile and tugging on his arm to lead him right past Richie. And he’s more than happy to follow behind, a stupidly lovedrunk smile on his face. What he’s got in mind for you when you get home—perhaps a polite thank you of his own—will be worth the headache tomorrow morning.

#i want him in my mouth your honor #splooge n all #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #jeremy allen white #carmen berzatto smut #carmy berzatto smut #carmen berzatto fluff #carmy berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #smut #fluff #the bear #the bear fx

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