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justlemmeadoreyou · 8 months ago

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2. the offer (restaurant owner!harry x chef!y/n)

(part 1 here)

summary: as you settle into the grueling routine at Haus, you find yourself seeking out any moment of praise or feedback from harry. you two develop an understanding, but it's still hard to focus when he's being...him. safe to say, it ends contrary to what you would have done if you were still the 16-year old smitten fangirl.

words: 5k

warnings: flirtations, some inappropriate behaviour, cursing

finally managed to use this pic in a fic!

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"Keep your eyes on your own work, newbie!" Thomason's gruff yell made you jump, nearly burning your knuckles on the hot grill.

You whipped your head around guiltily to see the grumpy head chef scowling at you from across the kitchen line. His eyes followed your sheepish gaze to where you had been not-so-secretly watching Harry chatting easily with the maître d' by the kitchen's swing doors.

Feeling your cheeks get hot, you stammered an apology to Thomason before fully focusing on the sizzling food under your tongs. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the burly man roll his eyes in disgust before barking at someone else down the line.

Ever since that surprisingly nice interaction with Harry a few nights ago, you found your wandering thoughts kept getting...preoccupied whenever you had a free moment. You hated to admit it, but some unprofessional part of you kept replaying his words praising your potential while those kaleidoscope green eyes held your gaze with seeming sincerity.

Just remembering the slight rasp of his voice was enough to give you butterflies in your stomach anytime Harry was nearby. You tried to push those feelings down with shame, scolding yourself for entertaining even a hint of inappropriate conduct.

This was your dream job, your long-awaited chance to finally prove yourself in a real professional kitchen. Getting distracted by your silly childhood crush could derail everything you'd worked so hard for.

But despite your internal pep talks, you couldn't quite shake the electrifying tingles that spread through your body whenever Harry was within fifteen feet of you. As embarrassing as it was to admit, just his nearness alone was enough to make you flustered.

You blinked hard and refocused with renewed determination on assembling the line of beautifully seared steaks. Keep your head down, you firmly reminded yourself. Don't mess this up over some silly fantasies about your boss!

As if testing your resolve, you looked up from garnishing the plates to see Harry striding through the pass, easy grin in place. He opened his mouth to speak to one of the sauce cooks but seemed to notice you watching. His lips curved a bit smugger as his jade eyes met yours from across the sizzling line.

With a subtle but obvious look up and down your body, Harry winked before turning to murmur his instructions. Your heart nearly stopped in your chest as an unexpected spike of nerves shot through you.

Was...was Harry actually flirting with you? Or had you just been so obviously drooling over him that he was amused to throw you a bone? Your face burned as you ruthlessly shook the thoughts away.

In any case, this was no time for getting flustered - the height of Friday night dinner service was upon you. With sheer willpower, you blocked out everything except perfectly executing each plate and order. Harry Styles was now off-limits in your mind.

Until, that is, you heard Thomason's gravelly shout over the din: "Styles! We need you over here!"

You risked a quick glance to see the head chef gesturing for Harry's attention from across the kitchen. With one last considering look in your direction, Harry sauntered over to join Thomason at the expo station just as the evening's first orders began flying in.

You watched, trying to be subtle, as Harry fell effortlessly into the choreographed rush. He moved with an easy confidence as he inspected each dish, adding a sauce here, delicately plating a garnish there. His broad shoulders flexed under his snug black t-shirt as he reached over cooks, communicating with nudges and gestures.

This kitchen was clearly his domain; Harry commanded the space with the born ease of a natural leader. You stared, captivated by the smooth fluidity of his motions, the barely contained power in his lean, tall frame. It was mesmerizing watching him work like a master conductor.

Without seeming to think about it, Harry's brow would furrow in concentration whenever a plate arrived at his station. His gaze would rove over each element, those full pink lips pursing as he scrutinized the arrangement intensely. There was something utterly gripping about watching him wield that intense focus on each dish, his large hands deft and precise.

Your mouth went dry as you caught the shift of taut forearm muscles beneath tanned skin as Harry wiped an artistic streak of sauce. He gave a curt nod to Thomason, his chiseled jawline tightening in approval.

You realized this raw charisma and talent was putting on an entrancing performance for you...almost like a private show if you let your thoughts wander inappropriately. Smacking your forehead sharply, you earned a concerned side-eye from a nearby cook. Yanking yourself back to the present, you redoubled your focus on the tickets before you. No more watching Harry, not when you couldn't afford a single mistake.

Despite your best efforts, the rest of the evening flew by in a blur. You cooked and plated automatically with precision...yet couldn't stop tracking Harry in your peripheral vision.

You saw him ducking out to handle a special order, then return with a rare olive oil for a dish alteration. You watched him joking with the bread server before snatching a buttery roll to taste the fresh bake. No matter where you turned, Harry always seemed to orbit nearby, that addictive charisma and easy grace undercutting your indifference attempts.

By the time Thomason finally called for station breakdown, your knees wobbled from the marathon stress combined with subtle Harry overload. You couldn't even feel good about handling such intensity because you were so emotionally drained.

As the crew began the process of cleaning and sanitizing, you heard a polite throat clearing behind you. You turned, already flushing, to find Harry watching you with an unreadable expression.

"Uh, hey," you croaked, shocked at your own cracking confidence around him. Harry arched one perfect brow but said nothing, seemingly waiting for you to gather yourself.

You swallowed hard before trying again. "Was...was there something you needed, Harry? I'm just about to start shutting everything down."

A slow grin spread across his lips as his eyes crinkled at the corners. For a strangely open moment, you felt like you could see straight into Harry's core - the intelligence and intensity normally hidden behind his lazy facade.

"You did brilliant tonight, you know?" he murmured, looking you up and down consideringly. "Thomason worked you hard, we all did - but you kept steady through the chaos no matter what."

Your stomach clenched with surprise at his open praise, tingling warmth blossoming outwards.

"O-oh. Um, thank you?" You winced at how flustered and uncertain you sounded.

But Harry's smile only deepened as he took an unhurried step towards you, decreasing the distance to mere inches. You could now catch the woodsy, leathery notes of his cologne taunting your senses.

"Nothing uncertain about it," he murmured, voice lowering an octave. His eyes traveled over your face before lingering on your chest. You felt unable to breathe under that smoldering gaze. "You're really getting the hang of this kitchen, aren't you?"

Despite your racing pulse, you bristled slightly at the implication. "Well, I still have a long way to go to be the cook you and Thomason are."

Those full lips curved at one corner. "True - but we both see the potential there, don't we?" Harry's voice had taken on a low, gravelly timbre that made something in your belly stir.

He took another casual step forward, crowding you back until the counter dug into your thighs. This close, you could see the gold and amber flecks in his green irises, feel the clean warmth of his body heat between you.

"You've got a long road ahead," he continued, so close now his words rasped against the side of your neck. "But I'd be lying if I said I haven't noticed how quickly you're accelerating."

The way he said that last word made you shiver despite the kitchen's heat. Harry's gaze dipped to your parted lips, then flicked back up, intense.

"Tell me," he said in that same rumbling baritone. "Would you be open to my...personal mentorship? I could help get you up to speed even faster."

His meaning slammed into you like a shove. Was Harry...propositioning you? In an utterly inappropriate way that could get you fired?

Heart pounding, you could only gape at him, at a total loss. Part of you screamed at how wildly wrong this was, how you needed to shut it down immediately. This was your celebrity chef boss, for God's sake!

And yet, another part of you was utterly enthralled by the clear want in Harry's gaze, the visceral attraction crackling between you. All you'd need is to give a single nod and you could potentially experience pleasures you'd only fantasized about with one of the world's most desirable men...

Harry must have seen the conflict on your face because his lips twitched in a knowing smirk. Another half step forward brought your bodies almost flush, the hard planes of his chest brushing against your soft curves through his thin t-shirt. Your breath caught at the heated friction.

"Tell you what," Harry purred, his voice thick with suggestion. "Take a nice, hot shower after your shift tonight. Really think over my offer while you're alone."

With a searing look that felt X-rated, Harry reluctantly leaned back, restoring a sliver of propriety between you. Still, he held your heated stare as he reached out with one large hand and trailed his fingertips feather-light down your flushed cheek.

The barely-there caress sparked tingles everywhere. Your lips parted helplessly on a silent gasp as every nerve ending in your body felt sensitive.

A devilish glint sparked in Harry's eyes at your reaction. With a final wink, he turned to saunter off through the kitchen doors. You watched him go in a stupefied daze, unable to process anything beyond the strong throb now pulsing between your thighs.

What...had just happened? Your brain whirred trying to comprehend what precipitated that completely unprofessional come-on. Had you unconsciously encouraged Harry's advances somehow? Led him to believe you were open to that kind of...inappropriate relationship?

The mere thought of anyone perceiving you as willing to use your sexuality to get ahead made your stomach churn with shame. You had worked too damn hard to get here - you wouldn't risk tanking it all for some secret fling!

Yet a tiny part of you couldn't stop replaying Harry's scent, the timbre of his voice calling you "pet"...the unmistakable promise of illicit thrills in his heated gaze. You gave yourself a harsh internal shake, appalled that you could be so quickly led astray by such baseless temptation.

Steadying your breathing, you forced yourself to refocus on meticulously cleaning your station. One step at a time, that was all you could think about. Allow yourself to get distracted by Harry's appeal and you were doomed.

Though it took every ounce of willpower, you managed to lose yourself in the monotony of scrubbing and sanitizing. The rhythmic motions gradually purged those unwelcome jolts of arousal, until you felt more like yourself again.

Some twisted part of you couldn't resist a bitter laugh. As if Harry Styles, world-famous millionaire, would ever seriously pursue someone like you. No, whatever sparked that bold flirtation, it was undoubtedly just him amusing himself by yanking your chain hard.

Shaking your head disgustedly, you stacked your clean pans. This kind of negative self-talk was just as unproductive as indulging fantasies. Squaring your shoulders, you decided to follow Harry's advice - a hot shower was wise after a shift like tonight, then straight to bed.

Tomorrow was a new day to refocus and earn your place, plain and simple. As you hung up your apron, you resolved to greet Harry with a clear head, a smile, and firm professional boundaries from now on. Time to nip this nonsense.

Unfortunately, maintaining those boundaries proved far easier said than done. Over the next couple weeks, it seemed like Harry launched a campaign to slowly chip away at your sense of propriety.

It was like a game, seeing how far he could push before you combusted. Every time you'd settle back into your usual groove, Harry would level you with flirtatious comments.

Like when you restocked the walk-in shelves, so focused you didn't hear the door open behind you. The first hint of no longer being alone was the heat of Harry's chest against your back, molding from shoulder to hip.

His raspy exhale ghosted your neck as he purred, "Need any...extra hands to reach those hard-to-reach places, love?"

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the suggestive comment. Whirling around, you found yourself centimeters from his chiseled jaw, close enough to feel his amused chuckle.

He took a single step back, eyes shamelessly roving over your body before meeting your gaze, one eyebrow arched invitingly. You could only gape, robbed of coherent thoughts.

"I-I didn't hear you come in," you eventually stammered, trying in vain to will your blush away.

Harry simply tipped you a wink before squeezing past you through the narrow opening, his body dragging against yours with every micro-movement. By the time he sauntered out whistling, you were gripping the shelves to keep upright.

It wasn't just the innuendos and lingering looks Harry leveled at you that made you feel like you were losing it. He'd instigate small, casual intimacies while you worked, completely eroding your focus.

Like when you labored over a roulade during prep, Harry hovered at your shoulder to murmur appreciated groans about "how good you are at working that lengthy meat with your bare hands."

You froze, blood rushing to your cheeks as Harry's heated gaze bore into you. His lips twitched as he deliberately looked you up and down, taking in your flushed throat.

"Among other things," he added in a tone dripping with innuendo, making you nearly drop the roulade. Harry threw you a scorching look before sauntering off, leaving you flustered.

Another time, you garnished a plate when you felt Harry's hard body press against your back. His large hands caged you in as he leaned down. You froze, breath catching, as his nose skimmed along your neck to the soft spot beneath your ear.

"Mmm, you smell delicious," Harry rumbled, his gravelly voice sparking tingles everywhere his warm breath hit. "I could just eat you up, petal."

You barely suppressed a whimper at the heated promise in his tone, squeezing your thighs together as arousal flooded you. Harry chuckled low, leaving you feverish and shaky after brushing his lips along your ear.

Moments like these rapidly became the norm - heated glances, suggestive remarks laced with innuendo, lingering casual touches far past professional boundaries. It left you feeling unmoored and disoriented, certain the prize was something deliriously illicit.

You tried to shut it down at first, offering polite reminders about conduct. But Harry only grinned, as if you barely registered. "Relax, love. Harmless flirting between coworkers never hurt anyone."

As the incidents persisted, your token protests grew weaker. Though you refused to admit it, some part of you began craving Harry's heated focus and suggestive teasing like an addiction.

He always paid you those inappropriate compliments while deeply engrossed in showpiece cooking. As if he derived pleasure from flustering you amid such intense artistry.

Truthfully, it did add an undercurrent of charged tension to mundane tasks - feeling Harry's eyes tracking your hands as you worked, knowing he was eye-undressing you. Though you refused to meet his gaze, a delicious shiver inevitably rippled through you.

He'd hover nearby with a murmured narration: "Oh yeah, petal...use both hands to really get a good grip on that shaft...fucking gorgeous watching you stroke it like that..."

No matter how disciplined you tried to be, Harry's sly innuendo always made your mind race with X-rated visuals of intimacy. You'd bite your cheek to keep from whimpering, consumed by arousal and shame equally.

By the time work ended each night, you felt punch-drunk and disoriented, like you'd run an erotic marathon. More than once, Harry would further mercilessly bait you in those vulnerable moments.

"You look thoroughly debauched, petal," he'd purr, eyes burning into yours before dragging down your sweat-dampened form. "Care to skip the hot shower and come home with me instead? I'll give those talented hands a real workout..."

You swore Harry could make any phrase sound filthy. On too many nights, you fled to your car - face flushed, breath uneven, core throbbing - envisioning how those invitations might unfold.

In quieter moments, bitter self-recrimination was your companion. How had you let yourself become such a pathetic, distracted mess over meaningless flirting? No matter how heated Harry's stares felt, he was your famous boss while you were nobody.

Your entire career and reputation rested on maintaining a strict professional boundary, no matter how electrifying and tempting your boss's overt sexuality. You resolved on more than one drive home to simply start shutting things completely down as soon as inappropriate comments began, no matter how intoxicating they felt.

Sadly, as soon as you stepped back into the thick of Harry's potent charisma and sensual magnetic field, your willpower tended to erode embarrassingly fast.

One morning during a high-stress meal prep, you trudged towards the walk-in in search of more chives. Harry looked up sharply from his sauce station as you passed his station and snagged your wrist to halt you. The unexpected gesture made you jump, and you whirled to find his eyes already roving hungrily over you.

"Wait," he rumbled, not bothering with any professionalism as his heated stare settled on your lips. Before you could question him, Harry tugged you flush against the long hard planes of his body, caging you against his workstation with his pelvis slotted snugly between your thighs.

The sheer eroticism of that ardent man-handling and friction punched the breath from your lungs. You could only stare up at Harry with wide, lust-blown eyes, momentarily bemused into stillness as his forearm came to rest beside your head, his deliciously musky sandalwood scent surrounding you in an intoxicating cloud.

"You've got a smear of sauce right..." Harry breathed against your mouth, so close now you could taste the earthy spice on his warm breath. His free hand came up to cup your jaw tenderly, rough thumb swiping out to trace the seam of your parted lips. "Here."

Your chest heaved against his in tiny, panting gasps. Any remaining illusion of boundary, lay in crumbling ruins around your feet. There was no mistaking Harry's seduction for mere playful teasing at this proximity, and indecency.

This was him finally making his play, naked want and desire radiating off his tall frame in scorching waves as his searing gaze clung to your mouth. Every ounce of blood in your body rushed straight between your thighs in anticipation.

You remained utterly motionless, rendered speechless and hyper-focused entirely on the sizzling feedback of sensation Harry's proximity inspired. He was absolutely everywhere - the heat of his body seeping under your skin, the slow rhythmic rise and fall of his chest brushing against yours, the gravelly white noise of his ragged breathing surrounding your senses.

Every rational thought in your mind screamed at you to gather some shred of control and push him away, firmly shut this down before it escalated further than you could ever recover from. But you remained frozen in place, utterly possessed by the intoxicating anticipation of what those plump, virile lips would feel like finally slanting over your own.

Just as your last vestiges of propriety and worry threatened to shatter, a ringing clatter of trays against metal echoed in the hallway. Both of you jumped as if electrocuted, the tension between your pressed bodies dissipating in an instant as reality came crashing back. You stumbled backwards, putting several feet between you, just as one of the prep cooks rounded the corner lugging a heavy trolley.

Harry cleared his throat roughly and shifted to put more workspace between you, drawing in a deep, steadying breath. The aborted moment seemed to penetrate the fog of arousal, harsh light returning to his dilated emerald eyes as they flickered across you. You wrapped your arms around your midsection defensively, suddenly feeling small and skittish under the weight of his palpable discomfort.

The prep cook sailed by with a polite nod, oblivious to the fraught tableau he'd interrupted. As soon as he rounded the corner again, Harry shook his head and grasped the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing his eyes shut in clear frustration.

You watched with bated breath, anxiety coiled in your belly, as he seemed to wrestle with some internal dilemma. When Harry finally opened his eyes again, the naked hunger that had consumed him only moments ago was carefully veiled once more behind that affable, dimpled mask.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, more to himself than you. Straightening, Harry met your uncertain gaze head-on, his own shuttered and inscrutable. "That was...completely out of line. Unprofessional of me."

Your heart stammered in your chest at the curt dismissal, warm arousal rapidly cooling into brittle rejection. Of course this had all been a mere game to Harry, one he lost interest in as soon as the threat of consequences loomed. You were such a fool to have let yourself get caught up in the fantasy.

Fighting to keep your expression neutral, you gave a small, tight nod. "It's alright, Harry. I understand. We got...carried away there for a moment." The flimsy excuse felt pathetic even to your own ears, but you pressed on. "It won't happen again, I can assure you."

Something flickered behind Harry's gaze at your reassurance, though you couldn't parse its meaning. He maintained the weighted silence for a heavy pause before finally replying.

"See that it doesn't," he replied evenly, a subtle edge to his deep timbre. "We're professionals in a workplace, after all. No matter what harmless games we play at, I'd hate to see you get...distracted from your goals here, petal."

You flinched at the petname, once again. Color bloomed hot across your cheeks at the insinuation that you would be the one unable to draw the line between flirtation and flat-out unprofessional conduct.

Disappointment and shame swirled sickeningly in your gut alongside lingering arousal. Before you could formulate a response, Thomason's bellow echoed across the kitchen, shockingly close. "Oi! Either get back to your stations or take the grope fest to the alley already! Some of us got shit to do today!"

If you thought you were flushed before, it was nothing compared to the full-body conflagration sparked by the head chef's words. You opened and closed your mouth soundlessly, utterly mortified at being caught out in such compromising circumstances, as Thomason stomped closer into view with a disgusted scowl.

"What the fuck are you two playing at, huh?" he demanded gruffly, stabbing an accusatory finger first at you then Harry. "Styles, I expected this kind of shitty lack of focus from a prima donna rock star jackass - but you?" He swung his narrowed glare your way, making you shrink back involuntarily. "If you want to keep getting world-class knowledge dropped on your dumb ass, try keeping it in your goddamn pants around the maestro for five fucking minutes!"

If possible, your flush deepened even further at his harsh reprimand. Shame roiled nauseously as you struggled to meet Thomason's furious glare, much less Harry's eerily impassive one. This was it, the humiliating moment you'd been dreading - getting outed as just another silly starstruck girl unable to rein in inappropriate impulses around her famous boss.

Just as you began mentally drafting your letter of resignation, Harry finally broke the tension by letting out a low chuckle. You shot him an incredulous glance, but he simply shook his head, dimples creasing his cheeks ruefully. Raising placating hands, he turned to the seething Thomason with an engaging grin.

"Easy there, Paulie. No need to get your apron twisted, nothing skeevy going on here I assure you." Dropping one hand to your shoulder, Harry gave it a firm squeeze, muscles in his bicep flexing enticingly. "Our young prodigy and I were just engaged in a bit of innocent culinary mentorship. You know how hands-on and intense those private tutorials can get."

His lascivious emphasis made it clear there was nothing 'innocent' about the nature of contact you'd nearly devolved into. But Thomason seemed to relax marginally all the same, giving a grunt of grudging acceptance.

"Fine, but keep your dick out of the dough while you're on my clock, capisce?" he growled at Harry, ignoring your scandalized gasp as he turned on his heel to stomp away. "Christ, I feel like I'm running a fucking fry shack instead of a Michelin kitchen..."

You watched his retreating back, utterly stunned into speechlessness by the unbelievable turn of events. Was...that seriously it? Harry had just implicitly outed your unprofessional indiscretion, and the consequences amounted to mild ribbing and a halfhearted reprimand?

Slowly, you pivoted to face Harry once more, utterly at a loss. His hand was still a scorching brand on the cool exposed skin of your shoulder, eyes glinting with that same indefinable mischief you'd witnessed him deploying to charm countless others.

As if sensing where your thoughts were headed, Harry quirked a knowing smile before finally withdrawing his touch. "Don't look so stricken, love. Paulie likes to play the crusty hardass, but far as he's concerned - as long as the work gets done right, whatever happens off the clock is nobody's business but our own."

His emphasis on those last few words rang with clear unspoken suggestion. But unlike before, you felt firmly centered in yourself enough to shake off any arousal. Lifting your chin defiantly to meet his smoldering gaze, you replied in a low, measured tone:

"Then with all due respect, Harry...I believe I'll pass."

For the first time all evening, the suave restaurateur looked briefly taken aback. You refused to let the flicker of uncertainty show as you pressed on, keeping your voice carefully modulated.

"I've put in far too much time and hard work getting here to jeopardize it all over some...tawdry infatuation. So while I'm flattered by the attention, and your willingness to keep things discreet, I have to draw the line at anything more than a professional mentorship."

Harry's eyes narrowed fractionally, clearly unaccustomed to such outright rejection. You refused to quail, squaring your shoulders as you laid it all on the table.

"My dreams are bigger than being another disposable conquest for my famous boss to slum with in secret. If you can't see me as more than that...well then, I wish you the very best. But our relationship can only be strictly chef-to-chef from here on out."

You paused to let the weight of your impassioned words hang between you, searching Harry's expression for any flicker of reaction. For several tense moments, the only sounds were the distant murmurings of kitchen noises and your own thundering pulse.

Then, as if an invisible switch clicked, Harry's stony demeanour melted away - replaced by a look of grudging amusement and what could only be begrudging respect. The familiar dimples you adored so much reappeared as his lips curved into a wry half-smile.

"I see," he replied at last, voice low and considering. "Well then. If those are your terms, I can hardly expect any less from such an admirably principled young chef, can I?"

Another beat passed between you, the tension slowly bleeding out to be replaced with the subtlest charge of intrigue. Harry's emerald gaze roamed over you in a way that felt far more evaluative than outright sensual before he spoke again.

"Very well then. A professional mentorship it shall be, with all the rigor and boundaries that implies. But make no mistake..." Here his lips stretched into a lopsided smirk that somehow felt both conspiratorial and vaguely provocative. "I expect you to rise to every challenge and be an exceptionally eager pupil, my dear."

You couldn't quite suppress the shiver that rippled through you at his lilting promise, despite your best efforts. If anything, the glint in Harry's eye only sharpened at your reaction, his grin taking on a hint of satisfaction.

Wanting to flee the weighted tension before it could reset that dangerous gravitational pull between you, you quickly gave a curt nod before turning on your heel to walk away. "Then we have an understanding. I won't let you down, Chef.”

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

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beansowo7 · 1 year ago

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THE BODY PILLOW. HELLO?!

#reblog #he has his own brand of hot sauce?!#and a pop figure?!#helluva boss

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reverieblondie · 1 year ago

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The Dare

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara X Spider-woman!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Smut with Some Plot, Stealing Stuff, Voyeurism, Masturbation, Degrading, Unprotected Penetrative Sex, Hair Pulling, Fingering, Reader is called Slut.

Summary: Hobie takes the dare game up a notch. Unexpected events ensue...

A/N: This is my first fanfiction ever so please be kind! If I missed any warnings or my grammar and spelling sucks please just let me know. I thought this idea was funny so figured I would share!

Word Count: 5,757 (still working on my editing skills so warning)

Hobie casually struts into view, wearing Peter's favorite pink robe. He has a smirk on his face. He obviously was successful in the dare.

You, Hobie, Gwen and Ben were passing time at HQ by having a friendly game of daring each other to do things, you all recently got done with a mission so it was perfect to kill time, Gwen had suggested truth or dare but Hobie said that dares only would make for a better game. It started innocently enough like reading the last text message you sent your crush, drinking a bottle of hot sauce but you can’t drink anything else for 10 minutes, and going to dance in the cafeteria to no music to see if anyone joins you, but it quickly diverted to more dangerous dares.

“I can't believe you were able to get that” Ben laughs out as Hobie strikes poses while Gwen and you cheer him on

“Oh this was nothing mate, I do believe that is your turn for a dare Miss Y/N”

You look at Hobie with a smirk, if he was trying to scare you it wasn't going to work. “I can handle whatever you throw at me Hobie, all these dares have been a cakewalk so far”

Hobie smirks, “Why don't we get you something challenging then, hm?”

You shrug feeling confident “I'm not scared of any dare”

“Any dare?”

“Yep!”

“No backing out aye?”

“No backing out” you grin, feeling that he wouldn't be able to think of anything too crazy, but you forget this is Hobie, and he loves to push the limits.

Hobie thinks for a moment, his face contorted with thought, and then a wicked smirk flashes on his face, he looks at you and leans in knowing he had a perfect dare.

“I dare you to steal a pair of Miguel's underwear” Gwen and Ben exchange shocked looks then look back at you, brows furrowed mouth agape you are equally as shocked by the request.

“What?!”

Hobie goes to repeat but is quickly cut off by you interrupting him “Eh…Please don't repeat it I heard you.” This causes Hobie to laugh

“So are you game?”

you think for a moment, that stealing Miguel’s underwear…this was definitely a challenge and a bit of a gamble on your life. But you would never hear the end of it from Hobie if you backed out now. Face riddled with concern you look up at Hobie, a fire in your eye blooms not wanting to be beaten.

“I'm game!”

You and Hobie shake hands the dare is on, no backing out now.

You first had to think about a game plan to get Miguel's underwear. It's not like you can just walk up and ask the guy, he was the big boss he could crush your head like a peanut. Plus it didn't help that you had a fat crush on him, and now you have to nab his underwear.

Taking a deep breath you headed to Miguel's room in HQ. You ducked around corners and made sure you were not being followed or looking too suspicious, though that wasn't easy to do considering you were sweating bullets. Miguel's room was known to be located at the top of HQ, being the leader and founder of the Spider Society means you get to have a penthouse suite at your job you guess.

You had only ever been to the door of his room once, you had forgotten to give him your mission reports on time so you had to hand deliver them one night at Miguel's irritated request, you remember that night having to rush the paperwork over and banging on the door, for Miguel to reveal himself in sweatpants and an oversized shirt hair lose from a recent shower. Seeing him in such a casual state had worsened your crush. Miguel just gave you the same furrowed expression he always seemed to have glued to his face, looking you up and down before he took your reports without uttering a word to you.

After that night you couldn't help but fantasize about Miguel doing more casual mundane things, like grocery shopping or maybe telling jokes to you, the guy was in a consistent state of stress so thinking about him relaxed made you excited. People might think it would be weird but hey it's your fantasy, not theirs.

Finally making your way to the top you peek around a corner looking at his door. There is no one around from what you can tell, so you check your watch. Perfect it's still afternoon, Miguel, the workaholic he is, never leaves his office early so you still have plenty of time. Sneaking over to the door you try the handle, and to your surprise…it's unlocked? Huh? Miguel should lock his room. There are some real weirdos out there, the current weirdo being you. Then again what idiot would be dumb enough to sneak into Miguel's private space? Oh yeah thanks to the dare, you!

Through the door you steadily walk in, the living room is huge, nicely lit, minimalist design, and very clean, a total opposite to Miguel's office which is dark with all kinds of clutter. A nice large sofa and a TV that hardly looks like it's ever been used decorate the space, attached to the vast living room, a kitchen with a sleek-looking island and very modern appliances, some you can't even recognize. As you go further and further in his suite, you tiptoe around looking at everything, if you didn't know this was Miguel's place you would have never thought that anyone lived here, so devoid of any kind of personality. Maybe he's just a minimalist?

As you quietly walk through the impressive suite you hear a noise that stops you in your tracks. You look and see a door that is slightly cracked, you examine the door cautiously slowly making your approach. Another noise draws you in closer, a grunt?

Thanks to your careful steps you manage to sneak to the door and peer inside without making a sound. Peering through the slit of the door you lean in to survey what caught your attention, your eyes widened at the sight and your breath instantly halts.

There he is Miguel, your leader, your crush fully nude standing in his master bedroom, head thrown back eyes screwed shut, fangs fully extended, moaning in pleasure as he tightly fucks his cock with his hand. His hips are jutting forward slightly, his angry red tip leaking glistening precum that only aids in his feverish fucking. His muscles are tense and rippling, each moan makes his massive body shake. You are mesmerized by the sight, you're sure your jaw is on the floor. You are watching Miguel O’Hara fucking his hand chasing any kind of release.

Continuing to watch his relentless pursuit, your excitement builds as you watch. Mouth dry and wanting to desperately attach yourself to his cock and lick and suck till your thirst is quenched from his release. Your thoughts run rampant, you shouldn’t be watching this, it's wrong, but you can’t take your eyes off him. His tanned skin glowing with the subtle sheen of sweat, his moans egging him on and equally you.

The whole display has you tightening your thighs together, your arousal ls pooling in your panties. He starts to move with more sloppiness, slipping incoherent words in Spanish to the air and he gets close to his high. Then to your pleasure, sticky white ropes escape him and cover his large hand painting him white. He continues to pump for a few more moments, slightly shaking as he does. He then opens his eyes, grabs a towel resting on his bed and cleans himself, as he’s cleaning he gives a small sigh looking more relaxed during his come down and takes a deep inhale from his nose. Then he stops and his face contorts to confusion, taking another whiff of the air again he looks towards the slightly ajar door.

You jump quickly backpedaling from the door, did he see you? Shit you need to hide, you quickly tiptoe to the next door finding yourself in what looks like a home office. You look around the room quickly scanning for a place to hide, a desk catches your attention, this will have to do. Quickly hiding below it you hear Miguel walking slowly into the room looking around. Heart beating rampant you place your hand over your mouth and steady your breathing, you can not get caught he will kick you out of society or worse kill you!

Miguel scratches his head and gives a slight “huh” before leaving the room and going back to the bedroom. You wait a few moments before you poke your head out cautiously. Looks all clear, you quickly go to make your escape, but then you stop the dare…you got to get that underwear, it was just a stupid game but your pride was going to get the better of you and you didn’t want to be subjected to Hobies teasing of how you couldn’t hack it after all your big talk. You swallow down your fear and turn towards the bedroom door.

You approach the door hesitantly and place your ear to it, you hear what sounds like a shower, Miguel must be doing some aftercare for himself. Taking all risks you gently open the door and peer inside your spider senses helping to guide you through feeling no immediate danger. Peering inside you see the room is empty. Walking in you look for a dresser but with no luck, the only thing you see is a large bed and nightstand, ever the minimalist huh Miguel? Your eyes go to the door on the side of the room where you hear the shower being used.

This is stupid, this is stupid, this is stupid! You're going to get seen! Thinking to yourself as you slowly crack open the door to the master bathroom. Looking through the crack you see a silhouette of Miguel in the shower, the glass is steamed over from the intestine heat of the water he is cleaning himself with. It’s so hot that as you carefully crawl in you feel the heat and humidity in the air thick and making it hard to breathe.

Miguel is something else to take such scouring showers. You look around, eyes darting all over the floor for any chance of dirty clothes and then to the fogged-up shower making sure he is still blissfully unaware of the invasion of privacy. Your eyes catch what looks to be another door that you are betting to be his closest, you quickly crawl over and sneak into the closet carefully shutting the door behind you.

Looking around the closet you see a variety of different clothes ranging from tee shirts and jens to luxury suits and jackets. Your attention falls to a leather jacket that you can’t help but touch, imagining how wonderful he must look in this jacket, what you wouldn’t give…you quietly slap your hands to your cheeks trying to refocus. you're on a mission here!

Surveying around your eyes lands on what seems to be a dresser. Quickly rushing over you open the first small drawer, socks in various neutral colors. Okay, drawer number two, you open and bingo! There they are Miguel’s assortment of underwear, boxers or briefs? He’s a brief man.

Eyeing the underwear you feel a tinge of embarrassment and guilt looking at his underwear, this is pretty perverse, you already watched him masterbait now taking his underwear? Well, it's only because of the dare that makes it less perverse right? You did get excited from watching him, do you have a problem? Too horny maybe? You shrug that’s something you will ponder another day, today you have a mission. Plunging your hand in the drawer you take the first pair your hand falls to, navy blue. This will have to work!

Still hearing the shower you are thankful he seems to be taking his time. Going to make your escape you head for the door, then just your luck, the shower turns off, fuck. Quickly backtracking to the closet you hide yourself leaving a crack so you peer out to watch.

Miguel wipes the fogged-up glass of the shower revealing his damp hair cascading down his forehead, the water rolling down his chiseled physique, you feel your heat dripping down as you watch. Note to self find an excuse to pour water on Miguel so you can see him dripping wet again. You watch with intrigue as he swiftly wraps his towel around his narrow waist drawing attention to his deep v.

It takes everything in you to not drool and melt away into a puddle on his floor. Every movement of his routine made you desire him more and more, you were down bad. Miguel brushes his hair back with his hands and that has you almost losing all sense, why is everything he does so sexy? You need to get a grip. Studying him you wait for an opportunity to make your escape without getting caught, just have to be patient now. He's looking at himself in the mirror looking at his jaw and inspecting his face, he then widens his lips to reveal his teeth and fangs on full display.

The sight of his fangs has you holding your breath. That’s right if you get caught he would have no problem using those things on you, actually, that’s not a terrible idea…no! Too horny, get out of here!

Miguel opens a drawer at the sink and pulls out some floss, he tentatively pulls a long string out and begins to floss around his teeth making sure to go carefully around his fangs. Why is this oddly adorable? Scary Spider man adorably flossing, and very cute. Miguel gets done flossing and licks his teeth, then something you never thought you would ever see. He smiles to himself in the mirror before quickly going back to his permanent neutral state. Too bad he doesn't smile more often; you often try to make him smile when you get to interact with him at work. Telling jokes, funny stories, smiling and waving as you pass him but nothing has ever seemed to work out for you.

Miguel sighs and shakes his head going away from the mirror to his bedroom. Okay, enough daydreaming you need to get out of here quickly. You decide the best way to sneak out is to crawl on the wall, you start scaling the wall crawling on the ceiling. He left the door to the room open so you peek your head in, and it’s all clear. You crawl through and go to exit his bedroom as you are about to get down to open the door. It swings open causing you to quickly flatten yourself to the ceiling. Miguel walks in with a bottle of water in hand still in a towel from the shower. As he is right under you he stops and sniffs, shit shit! Why does he keep doing that? Do you smell? You took a shower this morning, you should not be smelling.

As Miguel whips his head side to side you quickly and quietly slip out the bedroom before he has a chance to get wise and look up.

You quickly get down from the ceiling and start making your pursuit to the door. You did it! You made it, you got the underwear! Oh, the look on Hobie’s face is going to be priceless!

Suddenly, as you are about to reach out to the knob and make your escape, feeling the high of success you are pulled back and swiftly turned around to be met with a crimson-eyed Miguel, and he looks pissed. It’s in this moment you wish to see Miguel who was smiling but you're not getting that side of him you're getting Miguel burning with rage. “I thought I fucking smelled you…” okay wow, ouch? Do you smell bad? Before you can say anything his hand grabs your face and squeezes your cheeks “What are you doing in my room?”

You stare at him, lips puckered and eyes wide, this is how you die…

Miguel squeezes you harder “Answer me…” he growls, he’s so close to you, you can feel the vibration in his chest, his heat burning your skin his smell invading your senses, it’s intoxicating being this close, he's not wearing a shirt and only in those familiar sweatpants, you can’t help but notice your panties getting soaked. However you can’t get lost in the fantasy right now, you’ve been caught and you need to focus on not losing your life.

“I’m sorry” you mutter out as best you can. Miguel continues to stare daggers into you, he wants more of an answer than that.

“I didn’t think you would be here”

Miguel releases your face and now keeps his hands on your arms pinning you to the nearest wall. “Why would you even come in here?” He looks you up and down for a moment and that’s when he sees what’s in your hands, his eyes widening in surprise “Is that…”

“Wait! Miguel, I can explain! This isn't what it looks like!”

Miguel tilts his head at you, “Yeah? Because it looks like you're a nasty little perv”

His derogation sends shivers down your spine and makes your sex even more wet.

Miguel studies you seeing your flushed features, can he sense that you're getting turned on? The answer is yes, “I should have known you were here, your sweet scent tainting the air.”

Okay, what the hell? You furrow your eyebrows at him “Do I smell? You keep saying that I smell?”

Miguel lifts an eyebrow at your face still stern but not so much angry “I can smell your arousal pooling in your panties” he grips you tighter “I may not have that little danger alarm like the rest of you but that doesn’t mean my other senses are not heightened. And right now I can smell just how excited you are, was this your plan? Watch me, take my underwear, and get caught? Or is getting caught just a pleasant surprise for you?”

Miguel lends down whispering in the shell of your ear, his warm breath causing your skin to tingle “And don’t try to deny it”

Your breath hitches for a moment “I didn't mean to watch it was an accident”

“What about you getting so turned on?” He stares intensely at you, you feel your face flush with embarrassment and clench your thighs together. You are turned on, desperately so. His voice is so sultry, even him bullying you is causing you excitement. Looking into his red eyes his face seems less of rage and more of fascination.

“I-I couldn't help myself.”

His hands slowly slide down your arms to your waist, and he buries his head in your neck, smelling you taking you in. The feeling of his breath fanning over your skin makes you think you will instantly melt. Your eyes flutter, closed breath becomes heavy and he rubs his nose slowing up your neck. Finally, he moves away from your neck and looks at your blown-out eyes and flushed cheeks, he smirks, oh you're in danger.

Miguel suddenly turns you around pressing your chest and face to the wall, his hand grazes your ass before roughly spanking you, causing your hips to buckle forward releasing a high-pitched yelp. His weight leans on you and his knee drives up into your wet cunt, the slight friction makes your head jerk back and clit to tingle. Miguel chuckles and he brings his face into your hair smelling you before reaching and grabbing a handful of hair, pulling slightly. His lips slightly graze your ear as he speaks.

“You're a bad little slut aren't you?”

“N-no'm not”

Another spank smacks across your ass “Oh, I think you are though. Sneaking in here watching me and taking my stuff, good girls don't do that.” He purrs

He leans more into you and you can feel just how big and hard he is. Miguel's hands find the zipper to your suit slowly zipping it down “Tell me to keep going, tell me how much you want it”

Pushing yourself from the wall you nod your head, your mind hazy from the desire to be touched more. Forgetting all about pride, forgetting all about the dare, your only thoughts are your desires.

Miguel tsks at you and stops unzipping your suit “Use your words Cariño or I will stop”

“Yes, I want it! Please!” You whine slightly rubbing yourself on his knee desperate for any kind of friction.

“What are you bebé?” Releasing the zipper of your suit that now reveals your bare back to him, He swiftly brings a hand to tug your hair, he's going to make you beg and plead, isn't he? Biting your lip you feel him shove his knee further into you, his other hand going to your hip to help guide you as you rub yourself practically riding his knee like a bitch in heat as he continues his torment.

“Your needly slut! Please just take me Miguel!”

With that Miguel releases his grip from your hair and hip peeling down your suit revealing your naked body to him, he eyes you for a moment drinking in every curve and dip of your soft skin slowly running his hands down your sides whispering incoherent filth in your ear before he quickly turns you around and scoops you in his arms carrying you to his bedroom.

He practically kicks his door in tossing you on the bed, before you can get your bearings his hands are on your ankles dragging you closer. He stares intensely at you like a predator about to devour its prey.

Miguel crawls on top of you, his breath fanning over your lips, he carefully takes his thumb and swipes it over your bottom lip. “Soft…” is all he mutters before he kisses you, softly first then quickly heating up to a sloppy ravenous hunger to taste you. His hands paw all over your body squeezing all over and grabbing handfuls of you desperately. When you break away for air he can't help but

lick wet stripes on your neck then give you slight nips, his fangs slightly grazing you careful not to break your skin.

He trails down peppering kisses down your heated body, your bra is quickly tossed off of you causing your breast to bounce before him letting out a yelp to the suddenness of his action. Miguel stares for a moment watching your nipples peak, He just smirks and massages them before latching himself to your peaked nipple, first lapping with his tongue before biting with a tug. You moan and whimper at his teasing, playfully biting and licking one as he pinches and pulls the other.

He travels lower, his eyes staying on your face watching each reaction, he's studying you, he wants to note what every kiss, bite, lick, and tug does to you. When he finally reaches your heated sex he examines your panties, soft blue with a very noticeable dark spot, he rubs his middle finger across your wet panties taking in how your body shakes at his touch and you push yourself into him more. The hard-on in his sweatpants is aching to be released, but he wants to punish you for your perverted behavior.

“Look at what you have done to your pretty panties princesa, acting like a dirty slut has ruined them” his finger rubs on your clothed clit digging into your folds and ruining your underwear further. You can only moan and plead for him to continue, your cunt aching to be filled with anything, getting impossibly wetter as he continues his teasing. Rocking your hips faster on his finger desperate for friction on your clit, you really are needy.

He slaps his hand down on your clothed cunt causing you to jump and moan at the bullying. “No, rushing me princesa” he's making sure to go painfully slow, he wants you to beg for it.

He slips your panties off slowly, watching your sweetness leak out of you, your needy pussy is clenching around nothing desperate to be filled. You are a rambling mess of pleading and whimpering as Miguel tortures you with his slow lingering touches. Miguel slowly dives his face into your cunt and nose pushing your clit making your body jerk and moan, he takes in your smell getting drunk on your sweet secretion. He lifts his head and leads his head on your thigh “Such a sweet-smelling slut, you know how long you have been teasing me?”

He starts to run his finger through your slick folds “walking around me all aroused, making me have to smell you without getting to taste you”

He Plunges his finger into you, his large finger going knuckle deep and curling slowly in you, his thumb rubbing slow circles on your clit making your vision blur from how deep he is. As you wetten he slips in another finger filling you up, your breathing becoming desperate, back starts to arch, and hands flying to your hair. He continues his pursuit moving his fingers around your gummy walls searching for that sweet spot of yours. When it's finally found you're seeing stars and clenching tightly on his fingers, your hands flying down to hold his wrist as he continues to make you ride his hand. Miguel just watches as you approach your high “Do you know what all that teasing does to a man?”

He suddenly pulls away as you are reaching your peak. His fingers are glazed with your wetness. Smiling down at you he puts his wet fingers in his mouth and sucks them clean, eyes never leaving yours. He takes them out of with mouth with a pop “Makes a man hungry Hermosa”

You have tears pooling in your eyes being robbed of your orgasm, you start begging him to continue whimpering and flustered as he just watches you beg.

“You're such a needy little slut huh?”

Nodding feverishly you agree to everything that leaves his mouth

“You know? I think I know how to correct your bad behavior”

Standing from the bed he removes his sweatpants, his hard cock flicking up to hit his stomach leaving precum in its wake. Staring intently at you he starts pumping his massive cock throbbing for friction. All you can do is watch him wide-eyed sure you saw it earlier but now it's going to be inside of you. His length and girth are so big you don't even know if it would fit in your tight pussy, but you are aquiver to try, whimpering at his display.

“We got to fuck it out of you Hermosa, you want that? You want me to fill up and teach you a lesson?”

You nod and spread your legs wider for him. Miguel slips out a moan, eyeing your spread open sex. All for him, begging for him, he almost can't help himself from immediately thrusting into you.

“Words?” he says, still pumping himself, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, yes I am bad, teach me a lesson! Fuck me, ah please Miguel!”

Miguel Grabs your face and laughs at you “No need to beg, such a desperate thing” he shakes his head. Teasing still makes your skin tingle and nipples to perk evermore. Truth be told he loves your begging, he's getting drunk off your eagerness for him.

He watches as your cunt clenches around nothing begging to be filled. He lines up and slowly rubs his length between your folds gathering your slick before slowly inching in his tip. His cock feels like fire as he slowly stretches you open, heating your soft slick walls. Your hands gripping his shoulders as you try to keep from clenching allowing him to slip in.

“Mm, that’s right, fit it in Hermosa”

The initial pain quickly becomes pleasure as he splits you open, heating you slowly going inch by inch stretching you deliciously. Your eyes start to roll in the back of your head and you close your eyes, letting the pleasure take over you. Suddenly Miguel slams his full length into you, filling you instantly and bullying into your cervix, the head of his cock nudging your g spot. The sensation causes your eyes to shoot open, you digging your nails into his shoulders and the air in your lungs to escape you.

“Keep your eyes open and on me”

Following his demands you watch him, eyes glaze over as you get cock drunk on his relentless rutting. Miguels just laughs as he rolls his hips back and slams into you again and again forcing you to stretch open and take him in. Usually, he would warm someone up a bit more before he starts fucking them so forcefully, but you've been a little pervert so you need to be taught what happens when you're bad. All you can do is moan and shake as he bullies your tight cunt making it form to his shape.

“That's it, baby, take it”

He continues to rut into you pulling back to the tip before slamming back in, thoroughly fucking you dumb. Eyes crossed and mouth hanging open muttering incoherently. Miguel leans down and kisses you sloppily still fucking you at a brutal pace, taking your jaw and making your mouth open wider he spits in your mouth.

“Swallow” he demains

Quickly following his demands you swallow and open your mouth again to show him how obedient you can be to him, you really are like a dog..

“Good girl” He rewards you by snaking his hand to your clit and rubbing it in circular motions.

You are quickly approaching your high toes curling, legs wrapping around Miguel's waist, and hands clawing into his back leaving scratch marks painting all the way down his back. Your walls start to clamp down on him.

“Ah, Mig ah Miguel I'm close, please!”

His massive cock abusing your sensitive spot has you seeing stars and pussy creaming all over him, leaving a white ring around his cock finally cumming around him. He continues chasing his release as he helps you ride out your orgasm. His cock continues to fill you pulsating as he reaches his orgasm. The sounds of your wet pussy and the slapping of skin fill the room. His rhythm becomes sloppy and pounding harder into you

“You hear that? Ah, such a needy pussy. Where do you want it huh? When does my dirty slut want my cum? Her stomach? Ah, Face? Mm inside?”

“Inside!” You beg, approaching your second high.

“Oh? Do you want me to fill you up? Such a greedy slut aren't you?”

You begin to see white, his relentless pace making your head empty.

“I said, Aren't you!” he pounds harder, making everything shake and you scream in pleasure.

“Yes! Im so fucking greedy!” you're practically sobbing at the pace he's set. You think you're going to break as he takes your legs and pushes your knees to your face, making him slip what you thought was impossibly deeper. Miguel angles himself that has you clamping down on him squirting out on his cock.

With that Miguel stops moving, hips completely flushed with you, his body shakes as he releases his hot thick cum inside of you giving out a moan that vibrates through his wide chest. His hot load warms your insides, mixing in with your release causing you to shudder. Miguel looks down at you and smiles still staying in you, he leans his massive body over you and kisses you while pulling out. The emptiness makes you whine and he quickly goes to look at his handy work.

He holds your ankles out so you have to be stretched before him, your abused clit red and sensitive, your hole filled with his sperm leaking out. Quickly taking his thumb to the escaping mess he pushes it back into your hole causing you to shake with overstimulation.

“Mm, Such a pretty mess baby.”

Miguel gets up and heads to his door, he turns to look at your tired body glowing with sweat.

“I'm going to get you some water, when I get back you better prepare yourself, I'm not done punishing you.”

You close your thighs together, his words sending a shiver of anticipation back through you as you bite your lip watching him leave.

You will have to thank Hobie later for picking this dare.

---

Miguel laughs, “So you came here to steal my underwear for a dare?” You look over at him with a smirk admiring his nude body in such a relaxed state and giving that smile you have been so desperately dreaming for.

Eventually, you told him all about the dare game and how you ended up here. You're searching all over the floor for your underwear in the mess of bedding that found its way to the floor in a messy heap.

“Look I am not going to back down from a dare, now where are…”.

Miguel whistles and you look up at him as he's holding up your underwear; you reach to grab them from him but he pulls them back causing you to crash down on his bare chest. His other hand instantly curled around you to hold you to him. Once red eyes now dulling down to a brown as he just holds and smiles at you.

“Take mine, do what you need to do and I will keep these” He balls up your underwear and holds them in a fist behind his head.

You give him a suspicious look “Why do you want to hang on to them?”

Miguel chuckles and looks back at you “To make sure you'll come back”

---

Later you find Hobie, Quin, and Ben sitting down chatting, you march up to the table and throw the navy blue underwear down on the table. They all look at you stunned at the item of clothing in front of them. Your hair was disheveled, lips red and swollen from being kissed, and cheeks still painted with a bit of blush. Hobie raises an eyebrow and looks you up and down noting your appearance, then he smirks.

“And what took you so long?”

#miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara smut #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara fanfiction #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel spiderverse #miguel spiderman #reverie writes

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idunnoanymore7 · 2 years ago

Text

Freezer

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

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

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

——————————————————

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

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

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

“Heard, chef!” The kitchen chorused back.

He called your name.

“Yes, chef?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes chef!”

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

“Syyyyd!” You whine. She grins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stalked off, rolling his eyes.

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

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

“Of course, chef.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just get your stuff and go, okay?”

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

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

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

You pulled the handle. Nothing happened. What?

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

“What the fuck?” You mumbled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Syd!” You called out.

“Cousin!” He yelled at the same time.

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

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

The handle shook, then shook more violently.

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

“No shit, Sherlock,” you mumble.

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

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

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

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

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

“I got this, cousin!” Richie says.

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

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

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

“Thank you chef. An-“

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

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

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

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

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

“You good?”

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

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

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

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

“What?” you exclaim at the same time.

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

You groan along with Carmy.

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

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

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

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

“Thanks for the sympathy.”

“Just let me do it.”

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

He took it and began to unwrap.

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

“Huh?” you ask in surprise.

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuckin’ Richie,” Carmy grumbles angrily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugs. “I’m used to it.”

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

His eyebrows furrow. “That cannot be true.”

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

He chuckles, louder than you thought he would.

“How is the job so far?” He asks.

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

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

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

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

“I-“

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

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

“I look fantastic, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do people tell you that?” He asks.

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

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

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

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

“I know you think so,” He says lowly.

“Oh yeah?” You ask nervously.

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, right,” You respond.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What question?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You want this off too?” You ask.

“Yes, oh god, please-“

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

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

You whimper. Oh god. And he heard it.

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

“Fuck, Carmy-“ You groan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod desperately and wiggle your hips.

“I wanna hear you say it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please, Carm, don’t tease-“

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

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

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

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

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

“Carmy- ah-“

“Yeah, baby, lemme hear you.”

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

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

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

“Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna-“

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

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

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

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

“Fantastic?” He asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Carmy, fuck, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit, pretty girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You can take it.”

“Ah- Car- I’m gonna-“

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

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

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

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

“Heard, chef.”

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

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

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

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iknowthislooksbad · 9 months ago

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House MD 2024 Headcanons

Cuddy implements medical AI to help out with diagnosing patients faster. The whole episode is dedicated to House outsmarting the computer. Obnoxiously. (cue the futility of machine learning.) parallel to House vs God

Chase is a Twitch streamer. He is partial to fortnite. He has 34 devoted viewers, and that is all.

13 is an avid tumblr user, and is popular for her series, "Quotes from my Boss." Wilson follows her, but he never mentions it.

When Cameron gets fully pissed at House, she uploads her POV to Reddit's AITA page. Is it skewed? Absolutely.

Taub plays pickleball a lot.

Foreman discovers slam poetry. No further elaboration.

Wilson kills a man. House helps him evade law enforcement. Season finale?

Kutner gets really good at fortnite so he can humiliate chase on twitch. he regularly antagonizes him, and Chase has a sworn vendetta against the elusive 920NoScope69.

Cuddy closely follows the health gurus online. She gives herself oral flush by trying to make sourdough bread with her own yeast. She deletes Instagram permanently.

Paintball episode

House watches Young Sheldon as a guilty pleasure. He hates it. He loves it.

Cameron and 13 both discover crochet. They make eachother hats every holiday season. Cameron wears her hat every time the weather dips below 55 degrees.

House develops his own hot sauce line. Wilson finds it tasteful. He gifts Cuddy a few sauces for her birthday. She enjoys it with eggs.

#House md #house md headcanons #2024 #hatecrimes md #house headcanons #greg house #dr wilson #13 #taub #lisa cuddy #robert chase #eric foreman

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delicrieux · 2 years ago

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—𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭, ch.1: things of present and future importance

pairing—carmy berzatto x f!reader genre—drama, romance, age gap, boss/employee relationship warnings for this chapter—trauma, anxiety, swearing, and sum depression as dessert word count—2k

uh-oh, carmen is losing it again, this time in front of his new employee, too.

author’s note: give me this wet dog of a man and give him to me NOWWWWWWWW

masterlist | buy me coffee☕ | read on ao3 . next >

important! some of the dialogue scenes are written as a script & dialogues that overlap are marked in [] <3

there’s a lot of things wrong with this situation, but carmen does not have it in him to care. maybe he never will, and that’s okay, because it’s his fucking restaurant and he knows he could be kinder, could be gentler, could, maybe, keep all of those splinters in his gut from hurting too bad if he took a few deep breaths just how they say in therapy. deep breaths, slow breaths, and then they look at you like you’re a toddler having a meltdown in the middle of the street and suddenly, suddenly, it’s all go fuck yourself and the door slamming shut.

carmen’s an abandoned puppy – disheveled hair and round eyes that have been unloved (by him, most of all), with his head bent and shoulders tense, not sure whether to flee or attack, but offense is the best defense and just like a bad dog he bites when frightened. it’s all teeth and anger and desperation; jaws lock and teeth sink and he doesn’t let go because he’s starving, even if what he’s fighting for is nothing but a cadaver of a place, space, body – brother? no, don’t think of mikey. he’s starving, has been for ages – approval? don’t say that – and that hunger bubbles to the surface when confronted by a minuscule imperfection, like sauce on the stove left to simmer for too long.

it’s a bad first impression, second impression, third, what the fuck, he’s good at food and not very good at math, unless math comes to food and then, maybe, he can sort it out. still bad, still fucking terrible, to be honest, and somewhere in the frying tangles of his mind he knows that yelling doesn’t help, and that yelling in front of the new hire doesn’t bode well for retention. the last enzymes of his sanity warn him – calm down, just, just calm down, carmen, you’re making it worse, you’re making it fucking worse – but the to-go machine keeps beeping, and the kitchen is too hot, and his staff is too anxious, and everything is amplified tenfold by his brother’s looming shadow that exists to him only. don’t think of mikey.

“can someone please turn that fucking thing off?” it’s his voice, laced by such scorn and a barely contained anger that makes him tremble by the pans. he’s losing his mind. sweat collects on his temple and his eyes sting from the fumes billowing onto his face, “sydney!”

“yes, chef.”

sydney’s a trooper, doesn’t bend under pressure like steel, and he sees her maneuvering in his peripherals, quick and agile to not get into anyone’s way, least of all his. briefly, he thinks about burning this place down. he blinks. the beeping stops – she ripped the cord out of the socked, dropped it onto the floor that sent an echo.

the new hire watches this shitshow unfold by her station, eyes wide and weary, ears perked for orders. her hands move – strong hands, swift hands, long fingers and rough palms that cradle a knife the way a mother would cradle a child. she doesn’t look at what she cuts, but she chops and slices and it’s all automatic – trained response? – and if carmen were to take a ruler and inspect the pieces, he’d be impressed to find that most are even and none are crooked. he’d hum, then, skim through the folders of his mind to re-check her experience, re-check the college she went to. he’d say something like, “good work, chef,” and maybe she’d smile at the bare bones of the compliment he’d given her, and when he’d be alone in his dingy office he’d pull out her resume and examine it with more interest because he’d be too embarrassed to ask.

he’ll grow familiar with those hands, with the dips and curves of knuckles and the tiger stripes of scars running down their expanse; he’ll grow familiar with the touch, too, soft despite the callouses, but only to him. not yet, though, not for another few months till a completely expected storm will halt the trains and he’ll have to drive her home. it’ll be weeks after that awkward silence in the car and stolen glances at soaked t-shirt-clad skin.

her form is unfamiliar to him – he hadn’t any interest to look, nor would he find anything curious when all is covered in oversized fabric and a blue apron. at present, she’s his colleague, nothing more, and a young one at that, too young and too talented to be stuck in such a place and with him running it.

but he will look. sooner than expected, and not for any devout reason, unless loneliness can be considered holy.

he’ll feel bad about it, too, and he’ll feel worse when everything escalates, because it always does.

for now, he cooks by the open flame, letting hot oil sizzle on his hands and the fire lick his fingers, and maybe, just maybe, he likes the pain because he knows nothing else. it’s become empirical to him. an indication that he’s still alive. that he’s still in control of something, even if he isn’t.

richie, richie, good fucking god, richie always picks the worst moments to bitch about.

“are you fucking with me?” carmen’s voice, again, a bit higher this time and just a gruff. doe eyes narrow at the bell-tower named richard jerimovich that has the audacity to look clueless, “do not fucking fuck with me right now.”

richie: shove that stick outta [fuck you] your ass, cousin carmen: are you deaf? richie: boutta go deaf if you keep yapping [don’t got time for this]; listen, i just [you just?] came to talk [talk? now? talk?] yes, to talk, look carmen: now you wanna talk? now? you wanna [jesus] fucking talk right now?

the tension in the air is sharp enough to slice through skin. everyone pointedly pretends not to hear this conversation. carmen doesn’t want to hear this conversation, either. there’s a line of people waiting. he reminds richie of that, and richie reminds that oh, he knows, and –

“richie!” it’s sydney, cheeks glowing with sweat and bandana crooked, “not now.”

richie huffs, looks at carmen with a certain exasperation, a wordless question of ‘really? really? you’re letting her run the show, now?’, and carmen needn’t be a genius to know that richie’s gonna bring this up later. he’ll never hear the end of it, he scarcely does now. it’s a headache in the making. his heart skips, or maybe stops, and for a moment he feels white-hot panic shoot through his veins. it passes with a shiver he doesn’t show. he breathes just a tad quicker – not enough air, not enough fucking air, jesus.

richie retreats with his arms raised in surrender, amused and annoyed simultaneously. a quiet follows his departure, and carmen looks at the staff, gaze jumping from one to the other before settling on her. she’s unperturbed by the chaos, working, watching, assessing, and later he’ll learn she wears that face the same way he wears his anger – as armor.

eyes meet and there’s a certain understanding that glimmers in the depths of her iris. but what could she understand? three weeks from now, he’ll come to learn that she’s used to rough edges and loud voices: he’ll learn that she’s the daughter of the chef that made his life hell back in new york, he’ll learn that she took up cooking because she wanted to appease her father, he’ll learn that her parents have split and her mother is sick and that she’s not calm but disconnected and that she tends to live in her head just like him.

but he doesn’t know that now, so he blames the shitty lighting that blinks and buzzes and, “fak, for the love of fucking god, please fix it.”

he said please this time, and it means he’s cooling off. he thankfully misses the quick look the staff shares – a mixture of relief and pity. either would have been devastating to recognize.

the only upside is that the day goes by fast. too much to do, too much to stress about, and carmen’s used to running on nothing but nicotine and adrenaline and an odd spout of desolation, and he manages everything, keeps the pieces glued together until eventually everything becomes too much and then he crumbles. still picks them up gently, like handling broken glass. he visits the storage often. closes the door for a moment and just lets himself breathe, reminds himself how to. doesn’t calm, only collects, reigns in the anger that coats loneliness. don’t think about mikey.

the staff cleans in a similar silence that douses after a storm.

the night's clear, crisp air compounded with cigarette smoke. he leans on the wall of the restaurant, staring into space, listening to the white noise of a restless city. by now, sydney has flipped the CLOSED sign; by now, his new hire is probably thinking about quitting, elbows deep in cleaning detergent as she scrubs the floor. he’ll have to go over her work and double-check. just in case there’s something more to do for hands that are always restless.

he tries to think but his head is scrambled. too many thoughts rushing in and out, loud, obnoxious, too quick to leave a lasting impact. he’s tired. he’s always tired. he wants lay on his bed and let sleep swallow him whole, but he knows that won’t happen. if he sleeps, he dreams of new york, he dreams of fire, he dreams of voices coming from the other room. one, in particular, holds a familiar rasp and drawl, punctuated by laugher, weaving a tale and stop it, don’t think about it anymore, just stop it, don’t think about –

he tosses the cigarette, watching the embers burn.

don’t think about mikey.

he enters through the back exit, stalks through the restaurant like he's haunting the place. briefly stops to stare at the mirror behind the bar. doesn't really recognize the man staring back.

the clock reads 00:30 am.

marcus was the last to leave, or so carmen assumed by the silence that shrouds the place, but as he makes his way to his office, he hears a locker shutting, and the sound rattles him so much his heart beats in his throat. all of that previous exhaustion ignites into anxiety that makes his limbs lock up.

she halts by the mouth of the kitchen, hair matted from sweat and lower lip marked where her teeth sunk, drooped eyes widening a fraction as she regards him. he can only stare at her in return, at her messy hair and pinched eyebrows and the slight downward curl of her lips.

“you could use a coffee,” she utters, and her voice is jarring – not for any unpleasant reason, but for the fact that he didn’t expect to hear it. he’ll grow to like it, crave it, even, because it’s a lovely cadence and it’ll sound even lovelier when she says his name.

he’s frightened by it now, if one can be scared of such a thing. so he bites.

“it’s almost 1 am.”

“right,” she mutters dryly.

“why are you still here?” he questions, and it almost sounds like an accusation, because he thought he was alone, only to suddenly be proved wrong. feels like an invasion of privacy, to be fucking honest, “your shift ended like an hour ago.”

“oh, I, uh, had some things to finish, so…” she trails off, but she still looks at him, and it’s unnerving, really, how she doesn’t budge under the weight of his stare. he bends under hers, though; the floor is spotless, he has nothing left to do. he misses the visible tension in her face, misses the quick swipe of her tongue on her lower lip as she opens and closes her mouth. it’ll take two whole weeks to grow entranced by the sight. misses the polite smile, too, but hears it in her voice anyway, “night.”

her sneakers squeak and echo and the door shuts. silence settles heavy on his shoulders. he’s not sure if he’s more distraught by her sudden appearance or abrupt departure. both somehow feel bad. in less than half a year, he’ll come to realize that the latter is worse.

ch.2: thank you, love you

#the bear #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen x reader #carmy berzatto #carmy x reader #the bear imagine #imagine #imagines #reader #xreader #give him a moment he jacks off in chapter two #hes so pathetic i love him

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