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joonsmagicshop · 1 day

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Stress Relief Finale- KNJ

Summary: A couple months ago Taehyung asked a favor. For you to have sex with his bandmates to relieve some tension and stress. How can you say no to that.

Paring: Namjoon/Reader (all members are mentioned)

Rating: M/18+

Word Count: 8k (oops)

Tags: angst, smut, wet dreams, clumsy joon, angry joon, swearing, callbacks to previous chapters, lore, slight twist, maknae scheming, backstory, heavy makeouts, spanking, eating pussy, dick sucking, dirty talk, pet names penetrative sex (use protection) cute ending, fluffy ending

Authors Note: I have been teasing that I saved Namjoon for last for...reasons. This fic is why hehehe

*Seriously thank you all so much for reading this series every like/reblog/comment means the world! I appreciate every single one of you

In case you missed it

Intro Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part7

Namjoon woke up with a start. His heart was racing anxiously in his chest and there was a pounding in his head. Or was that someone at the door? And why was he so warm, and why did everything feel so wet and…sticky?

Namjoon closed his eyes tighter, trying to fight against the urge he had to wake up fully, he was in the middle of a dream, a perfect, very hot, dream. And currently in said dream his cock was buried in a stranger he had seen at a club once upon a time. She was teasing him all night, hiking up her skirt and winking at him.

As hard as Namjoon tried to stay put, to let his mind slip back into a state of dreaming the pounding noise was getting louder and soon enough he cracked open his eyes to be met with his keyboard.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes, the dream lingering as he stretched his arms over his head and grumbled. It was not like him to fall asleep at his desk, usually, he would take the couch or something more comfortable. He honestly didn’t even remember falling asleep.

And what the heck was with all that noise?

Namjoon turned in his chair to face the door as his brain tried to wake up fully and he realized someone was knocking on the door.

Quite forcefully.

Right as Namjoon was about to stand up he felt it. The heat prickling on his skin, the way his arms broke out into goosebumps, and the shiver he felt when he shifted in his chair and his now soft wet cock rubbed against his skin.

He looked down and saw a wet spot on the front of his pants and groaned, running a hand through his messed-up hair.

A wet dream

Again

Fuck this was the last thing he needed right now.

“Namjoon!” Jungkook called from behind the door and Namjoon flew into panic mode. He ripped off his pants and boxers and cleaned himself up the best he could. He then threw them under his desk. He always kept extra clothes in his studio in case he had decided to stay the night and he quickly threw on a pair of old sweatpants and called out to Jungkook to wait a minute.

His heart was racing and the dream was so fresh in his mind he swore he was in two places at once, in the dream where the girl was sinking down on his cock and standing here in his studio cumming in his pants like a teenage boy.

Once he felt he looked presentable he opened the door to see Jungkook standing there dressed in his usual all-black looking nervous.

“Yoongi sent me to check on you are you okay?” He asked as Namjoon fought to hide his flustered appearance and the fact he still felt on edge after that dream.

“Yes, I’m fine. Why?” Namjoon asked placing a hand over his chest to try and calm his frantically beating heart.

“Uh well, we have that meeting. You never showed, so I said I’d come get you. Figured you got lost in your music again.” Jungkook explains with a worried look.

Namjoon feels his heart drop as he checks his watch.

Yup, he was ten minutes late.

Well fuck.

“Sorry Kookie I was working on music then fell asleep. Let’s go.” He replies closing the door to his studio and following Jungkook down the hall.

The day didn’t get better.

In fact, the whole week seemed to keep getting worse for Namjoon.

It was now or never as the tour was only a week away and while all the other members seemed to be thriving Namjoon was struggling.

He was their leader and they had to look to him for support so he tried to stay strong for them and mask how he was really feeling.

This masking was causing more harm than good and he could tell the members were getting frustrated with him.

He was usually clumsy, but that seemed to double in the last week. He could hardly hold a bottle of water without dropping the whole thing. He also found he was very short-tempered and often would lose patience with the younger ones when they goof off.

The worst was when anyone would mention Y/N. Just the name coming up would have Namjoon sending death glares and sometimes even the silent treatment.

The boys were walking on eggshells and Namjoon was a second away from losing his sanity.

And the wet dreams?

Well, those seemed to happen more frequently for Namjoon, and while he knew what the fix was he didn’t have time to take care of it. There was hardly any time in the day to do anything and the thought of jerking off was the furthest thing from his mind as he pushed through every day and let his body take care of it at night.

It was always the same dream and he just started to ignore it.

It would go away once they were on tour. Everything would be fixed once they were on tour

Right?

Five days before the tour, everything came crashing down.

Dance practice was brutal and the meetings and final planning for the tour were even worse.

Once the meetings of the day were over the plan sprung into action.

Yoongi and Jin grabbed Namjoon by the arms and held them back, then dragged him into an empty dance studio despite his yells to let him go.

The others were waiting with grim looks on their faces.

“What the hell is this? Get off me! Guys this isn’t funny!” Namjoon protested as his voice echoed throughout the empty room.

Namjoon spotted Jimin running to the door to lock it as Jin and Yoongi forced Namjoon to the floor and they all sat around him.

“Ha. Ha, You guys are funny now let me go!” Namjoon bellows as the other boys look at Yoongi nervously.

“No Namjoon absolutely not. Not until you tell us what the fuck is going on.” He says shooting Namjoon an intense gaze.

“We know you are stressed. We get the stress of being a leader and we wanted to give you space to figure it out but damn is it hard to work with you right now. So we are having a little chat. What is going on and how can we help.” Hobi explains patting Namjoon’s thigh and shooting him a smile.

Which has Namjoon forcefully scooting away and crossing his arms over his chest in a pout.

“Nothing. I am fine.” Namjoon spits out as he eyes all the members.

Jin with a cross-expression

Yoongi cocking an eyebrow as if he doesn’t believe him

Hobi who looks hurt

Jimin who is picking at his fingernails and looking nervous

Taehyung who looks in anguish over the whole thing

And Jungkook, with his big brown eyes he stares at Namjoon with so much worry and fear it makes Namjoon feel guilty.

“You aren’t a good liar Namjoon. You are stressed out and stressing us out. You are shaky and nervous and honestly being kind of an asshole right now. Yelling at Tae during our last three dance practices because he was trying to make us all smile. Showing up late for meetings. Spilling and dropping….everything. We want to help. But we can’t help if you don’t tell us what the hell is going on.” Jin speaks up.

“It’s just…stress.” Namjoon almost whispers hanging his head.

“Okay we get that we are all stressed but you are bubbling over like a volcano. What is going on? Honestly?” Hobi says as they all stare at him.

It’s too much

It’s all too much

Too many eyes on him, too many accusing stares.

Namjoon feels his body heat up and his usual calm and level-headed demeanor snaps.

“Do you really think I need this right now? Do you think wasting my time with an intervention is going to help?” He snaps staring them all down and clenching his jaw.

“Yes, I got mad at Tae because he was wasting time. Do you know how much goes into a tour? Do you know how much I have to do as your leader to get ready for this tour? Goofing off makes my job, and everyone else’s job harder Taehyung. And sitting here and pointing out all my flaws is not going to make me feel better.” Namjoon bellows standing up in frustration.

His heart is racing and his clothing feels too hot, too tight. It’s all too much.

“Joon it’s okay.” Whispers Yoongi standing to join him.

But if Namjoon has something it’s pride and he’s not going to let his band members see how close he was to an absolute breakdown.

“Six against one right? Super fair. Love having you all gang up on me when I do so much for you. I’m going to my studio and changing the password on the door. Don’t follow me. I’m done.” Namjoon announces as he makes his way towards the door.

Yoongi runs to stop him, grabs his arm, and attempts to get him to sit back down, but the look Namjoon gives him is so full of spite that Yoongi shrinks back and lets Namjoon go.

The air is thick with tension and they all stare at each other in shock. As long as they have known Namjoon he has never, ever been like this.

“Should we…. get an exorcist? He is possessed. That’s not our Joon, an evil mad demon possessed him.” Hobi mused which made some of them smile.

“Done as in done with BTS?” Jungkook asks eyes brimming with tears as Jin scoots over to comfort the youngest.

“Nah I think just done with us….for a bit. I’ll talk to him later one one-on-one.” Yoongi mutters scratching his neck

Three days before the tour you opened your door to a surprise. Jungkook, Jimin, and Taehyung were all standing there looking somber.

“Hey! Come on in!” You say gesturing for all of them to enter.

Originally Taehyung texted you and asked if he could come over which you happily accepted so seeing all three of them was quite a shock.

“Thanks Y/N,” Jimin says as he takes his usual spot on the couch sandwiched between Taehyung and Jungkook.

You sat down on the loveseat next to them and wondered what the hell was going on.

“So uh…” You start but Taehyung is quick to interrupt you.

“I want to talk to you about something.” He starts, long fingers ruffling his fluffy brown hair in nervousness.

You swallow thickly.

“Okay, the floor is all yours.” You say crossing your legs.

“Well I know I’ve liked this arrangement we have and I know you do too. It works. And I think it’s good for both of us, And god you are the perfect fuck buddy like I could not have asked for better, honestly.” He starts and you bite back a smile.

“I think we’ve already had this conversation Tae. Remember? And it ended with me…ahem…assisting your friends.” You tease as Taehyung turns the most gorgeous shade of red and Jungkook and Jimin snicker.

“Really? That’s how you asked her. A whole speech?” Jimin teases as Taehyung shoots him a look.

“I didn’t want to offend her.” He shoots back as Jungkook is hiding his giggles behind his hands.

“Ohmygod you sap. You made it sound all romantic as if it wasn’t just going to be good sexy fun.” Jimin cackles which has Taehyung pinching his arm.

“Okay okay. Um, what did you want to ask Tae?” You say trying to steer the conversation back on track.

“You have been wonderful and incredible. We all appreciate you and how you have….helped. I just kind of had one more favor to ask.” He mutters sheepishly and you cock an eyebrow.

“I mean…we didn’t discuss more than one at a time but I guess I’d be down.” You reply easily as Jimin loses it and falls off the couch in laughter.

Taehyung is glaring at Jimin and Jungook is staring at you with a face of innocence and his eyes blown wide as if a couple of days ago he didn’t make you cum four times.

“Oh my god that is too funny! I like the way she thinks! Why didn’t we think of that!” Jimin cackles which has you shrinking in embarassment and Taehyung grabs his friend by the arm to help him off the floor.

“Kinky,” Jungkook mutters which again has Jimin dissolving into giggles.

“This is why you don’t do long drawn out speeches Tae Ohmygod.” Jimin snorts as he finally rights himself on the couch and you cover your face with your hands completely embarrassed.

“Pretend I didn’t say that. Please pretend that never happened.” You plead as you hide your face and close your eyes.

“Listen, while Taehyung likes his long speeches I’ll rip the bandaid off. We want you to do us a favor and fuck Namjoon” Jimin says bluntly which has your eyes bulging and your mouth dropping open in shock.

“Um. What?” You stammer trying to hide the blush that was creeping up your neck.

“I mean with consent of course! But we need him to chill out and we think you might be our only hope.” Taehyung explains shooting you pleading eyes.

“How? What happened?” You ask nervously as Jungkook fills you in.

“Wow.” You say after the story is done.

“Wow is right. Yoongi went to talk to him after and said it was a disaster. Namjoon changed his lock and is refusing to come out except for mandatory meetings. We don’t have any more dance practices so he is locking himself away. Won’t talk to any of us and won’t answer our calls. I sat outside his door for a whole two hours yesterday peridotically knocking but he never came out.” Jungkook explains looking severely hurt by the whole thing.

You knew how Jungkook talked about Namjoon and how he looked up to him so you knew it must be torture for the poor boy.

“I appreciate you thinking I have this much power but I think I’m the last person he wants to see right now.” You explain uncrossing and recrossing your legs in nervousness.

“Listen we have it all planned out. If he’s locking himself in his studio he’s not eating. We will have you deliver food and hopefully talk to him. And if you guys fuck even better! That boy has been moaning in his sleep for days now.” Jimin explains as Taehyung once again smacks his arm and Jungkook covers his face in embarassment.

“He hasn’t reached out to me though. I have to respect that. I don’t think he wants anything to do with me” You argue feeling your cheeks ablaze at the very prospect of it.

“We aren’t saying you have to have sex with him. Unless you want to,” Jiimin teases raising his eyebrows and winking at you.

“He doesn’t want to see me though. Believe me.” You say anxiously.

“All we are saying is go to the door and deliver him food. Explain who you are. Maybe he would want to talk to you. We have gone through almost everyone we can think of. He is shutting everyone out including his friends outside of BTS. Please Y/N.” Tae says with his signature pout.

“We can’t go on tour like this. The fans mean everything to us and they will notice if something is wrong. Please help us out. And if he slams the door in your face you can come to Jungkook’s studio which is right across the hall and we will bring you home. No harm.” Tae says as Jungkook nods enthusiastically.

“Okay fine.” You sigh out as Jimin and Junkook cheer and Taehyung gets out of his seat to give you a heated kiss.

“Now let’s raid your closet, Jungkook order the food!” Jimin shouts as he grabs your hand and drags you to your room.

“Wait now?” You exclaim in shock as you hear Taehyung and Jungkook scheming in the living room.

“Yes, beautiful now,” Jimin responds in glee as he throws open your closet.

The ride over to the HYBE building was torture and you couldn’t sit still the entire time. It didn’t help that Jimin thought the perfect outfit would be a mini skirt and a V-neck shirt and you kept anxiously pulling the skirt down to cover more of your exposed legs

You had the food resting on your lap keeping your knees warm and your throat was dry in anxiety.

Once you got to the building and into the elevator your stomach was in knots. Jimin kept cracking jokes to ease your nerves and Junkook and Tae kept assuring you everything would be fine.

“Why did I agree to this? This was a bad idea.” You whine as the elevator keeps going up and up as you stand on shaky feet.

Because Park Jimin thought the best way to have you deliver food would be in this ridiculous outfit…and four-inch heels.

“Don’t be nervous. If he slams the door in your face you’ll come right across the hall to me. Maybe make sure he at least takes the food though.” Jungkook says cracking a smile as you wobble when the elevator finally stops.

“Wait I can’t. I seriously can’t.” You whimper as the doors open and the boys usher you out to the hallway.

The elevator doors close. And the elevator goes back down to ground level.

You are stuck here now.

“Believe me Namjoon is big and scary to us but he won’t be to you. He’s a little boy trapped inside a big man’s body. He’s harmless, It’s fine.” Jimin soothes as he marches down the hall full of confidence.

“Y/N you got this. You can do this. We care about you and Namjoon and you are doing us a huge favor by helping us out with this.” Taehyung says softly as he grabs your face in his hands and kisses you softly, easing some of your nerves.

“And if it works out maybe we will reward you with that foursome.” He mutters against your lips for only you to hear as you roll your eyes at him and his own eyes sparkle with mischief.

“What if he doesn’t answer the door?” You ask as you stay frozen in the hall still holding the food.

“He will. He thinks we have all gone home for the night because Yoongi sent a message in our group chat saying he was having everyone over for drinks. We all said yes and he Jin, and Hobi are there right now. They said to keep us up to date.” Jungkook replies.

“Yoongi is in on this too?!” You hiss as Taehyung laughs.

“Well, he knew we were up to something and forced it out of us. He was at his wit’s end and figured why the hell not go with our brilliant plan.” Taehyung explains as he grabs your arm and helps you walk over to Namjoon’s door.

Namjoon’s door.

It felt like being the hero in a video game and walking to the final boss.

“Don’t be nervous it’s all good. You got this. We owe you our life.” Tae whispers as Jungkook and Jimin disappear into Jungkooks studio with a wave which leaves you and Tae standing there.

“Why are you making it sound like you're sending me to my death.” You hiss as Taehyung laughs and softly rasps on Namjoon's door.

“Have fun sweetheart.” He teases with a sloppy kiss as he sneaks across the hall and slips into Jungkook’s studio

You wait.

And wait.

And no one answers.

You want to turn away. To go to Jungkook’s studio to flee but you decided to try one more time.

Just as you balance the food and raise your fist to knock the door opens.

You are met with Kim Namjoon who’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

He is wearing a blue cap to hide his hair and his broad frame is covered in a blue shirt. He looked like he had not slept in days but was still beautiful.

“Um Hi.” You choke out staring at him.

“You?” He says softly with his eyes blown open in surprise.

“I brought food.” You stammer holding out the bag for him. You are shaking so bad you are grateful when he takes it off your hands.

“Why are you here.” He snaps as you cower under his gaze.

Even in heels, he is so much taller than you and you seem to shrink under his gaze.

“It was not my idea I just got roped into it.” You say holding up your hands in surrender as Namjoon shakes his head.

“Let me guess. Jimin, Jungkook and Tae?” He asks staring you down as you nod thickly.

“Yeah, they dropped me off here and went to visit Yoongi.” You lie effortlessly as Namjoon holds up the take-out bag to inspect it.

“And they got all my favorites those suck-ups. Well, come in I guess. I’m not punishing you for getting roped into their plan and them abandoning you here. After we eat I’ll bring you home.” He says sounding weary as you follow him into his studio.

You take in the light tones of the walls and his décor as he sets up the small coffee table with the food and gets settled on the couch.

You watch as he takes off his cap to push his hair back from his tired face and you watch in fascination as he meticulously sets everything up.

Once he is seated on the couch he raises an eyebrow at you, a silent invitation and you slowly walk over and sit down heart hammering in your chest and your breathing uneasy.

“It’s okay it’s just me.” He says softly as you nod and take a seat next to him as he hands you chopsticks. You pull down your skirt once again and Namjoon snickers next to you.

You both eat in silence as soft music plays in the background.

“So they roped you into this huh?” He muses breaking the silence as you slurp your noodles and nod.

Namjoon shakes his head with a fond look on his face.

“So you know what has been going on then?” He asks timidly.

“I mean they just said you were stuck in the studio and not eating or talking to anyone. They thought I could help.” You whisper feeling small next to him.

“And let me guess. Jimin dressed you in an outfit that looks super uncomfortable for you. Jungkook used his big brown eyes to persuade you and Taehyung was the ringleader of the whole thing.” Namjoon contemplates as you let out a laugh.

“Wow, you're good.” You say as Namjoon grins and his signature dimple appears on his cheek.

“You can take off your heels you know. They don’t look very comfortable.” He says as you sigh in relief and kick off your shoes.

You both lapse back into silence and finish the food.

The music stops and Namjoon heads to his computer to start another playlist and you can’t help but stare at his strong muscular back as he leans over his desk.

When he turns around you pretend to be staring at the artwork on the walls instead and Namjoon chuckles to himself.

He sits back on the couch, this time closer to you and you blush under his piercing gaze.

“So Taehyung was the mastermind behind this huh? Just like he was the mastermind behind you keeping all of us…sane.” Namjoon quips as you run a hand through your hair and nod.

“Does Taehyung know?” He asks softly as he turns to face you, his knee bumping into yours sending electricity down your legs and to your feet.

“Does Taehyung know what?” You questioned knowing full well what he was hinting at but wanting to hear him say it.

“That night you first met him at the club. That night that you went home with him you were flirting with me all night.” He glowered as you felt your stomach swoop and you broke his gaze staring at the walls.

With one hand under your chin, he brought your gaze back to his and you swallowed hard.

“Nu-uh, eyes on me. Does he know you were hiking up your skirt for me and winking at me for most of the night? Does he know that you were grinding on other men, but you were staring at me the whole time? Does he know how much of a tease you are?” He growls as his knee pushes into your bare one harder and you blush under his heated gaze.

“Does Taehyung know the reason I hate this whole arrangement is because you were supposed to go home with me that night?”

“I-uh.” You mutter unable to form words as Namjoon continues to speak.

“If it wasn’t for Seokjin pointing you out to Tae you would have been with me. Not him. Not all the other members. I don’t share.” He growls

Wanton thoughts were running through your mind as you replayed that night. How he stood out from the crowd because he was so tall, so big, so handsome. How you spotted him right away and thought he was the most attractive man you had ever seen. You remembered the thrill that went down your spine when he finally locked eyes with you over his glass of whiskey.

You remember the carnal desire you had for him to keep his eyes on you. How you hiked up your skirt to show more skin, how you winked and flirted with him across the crowded dance floor. How you danced with other men to tease and taunt him.

See what you could have if you just came over here.

How his jaw clenched every time a man put his hands on you. How you shook your body to the music and threw your head back and laughed when a dance partner whispered something in your ear.

The jokes were no longer funny when you saw his shocked expression when his friend and bandmate Kim Taehyung waltzed over to you and asked very politely for a dance.

How you nodded thickly and backed your ass up until it was flushed with his crotch. How Tae whispered in your ear how he was amazed by your dancing and thought you were beautiful.

You blushed under all his praise and by the time you looked up Namjoon had disappeared from the crowd and Taehyung was asking if he could take you home for the night.

But a one-night stand turned into a many-night-stand

And soon enough Taehyung asked you for a favour. Everyone was so stressed. Everyone was so worried about the tour and he just wanted to help out. He just wanted everyone to be happy again.

And while you agreed Kim Namjoon stayed in the back of your mind.

Would he see you again?

Would he reach out?

You awaited texts that never came. You figured he forgot all about you. That he had moved on. A part of your heart still clung to the hope he would reach out. Even though you went home with Taehyung you never forgot about him.

And it seemed like fate didn’t want you to forget about him.

With this master plan Tae had.

About you showing up all innocent and bringing Namjoon food.

You weren’t just nervous about the plan, you were anxious about seeing him again, having those eyes on you once more that made you shiver in the stuffy heat of the club.

“Does Kim Taehyung know I never forgot about you? That I keep having vivid dreams of a pretty girl hiking up her skirt and flirting with me and making me hard as fuck though at the time I didn’t even know her name?” Namjoon mutters bringing your focus back to him as he licks his lips.

“Joon.” You whine out pressing your legs together as he smirks.

“I selfishly told the boys to stop with you because you could ruin everything. In reality, I wanted you to myself.” He admits as he smiles wickedly at you.

You let out a shaky breath and felt your skin slick with sweat as he stared down at you.

“You never answered my question. Does Taehyung know it was me first?” He growls low as you shiver.

“I never said anything… I figured….you forgot.” You muttered dumbly as his hand came out to trace small patterns on your knee. You kept your gaze downward watching as his hand traced small circles and a wicked smile formed on his face.

“Y/N how could I forget? You had me so fucking hard sitting at the bar I was aching to get my hands on you, to feel you pressed up against my cock. But Taehyung got to you first so I left. I didn’t want to be a part of it. I didn’t want to see it.”

You swallow hard.

“Then months after, when I still hadn’t let you go, Taehyung told us that you were available to help us out if we needed it. And you know what I did?” He spits out as you shake your head.

“I told everyone to stay the fuck away from you. It was probably selfish but I said that you could ruin everything. You were a liability we could not afford to have. Then I went home and jerked off to the thought of you, multiple times.” He admitted.

You felt your arousal pool in your skimpy panties and you pushed your knee harder into his as you stared at him mesmerized.

“You were supposed to be mine that night at the club. Not Taehyung’s and not everyone else’s after. Now get on your hands and knees on this couch and I’m going to spank you and I want you to be as loud as you can. Make Tae Jungkook and Jimin hear it.” He says swatting your lap and standing up off the couch.

Your mouth drops open in shock.

“W-what do you mean they aren’t here they went to Yoongi’s.” You stammer as Namjoon chuckles darkly and once again swats your bare thigh to get you to move.

“This studio may be pretty well soundproofed so you're gonna have to be loud. Come on Y/N I'm not stupid, they are waiting in Jungkook’s studio in case I said no huh? They wouldn’t abandon you in a building you most definitely should not be in. Fucking brat always breaking the rules and now I have to punish you at my workplace. So nasty Y/N.” He growls.

You can’t take it any longer so you stand up and unzip your miniskirt letting it pool at your ankles as you step out of it. Namjoon’s eyes follow your body as you position yourself on the couch and bury your face in one of his decorative pillows.

“This okay?” He mutters as his hand runs softly down your back.

You grin.

“Joonie please spank me.” You plead and he laughs darkly above you

He takes a moment to stare at your underwear which consisted of a black thong that was buried in the back of your drawer that Jimin just had to find. It was super uncomfortable and you begged Jimin to let you wear anything else.

“Did Jimin pick this out too?” He teases as his hands come to massage your ass, kneading the skin and making you push back against him, hungry for more friction.

“Y-Yes.” You cry out when one hand dips lower to run over your folds which had soaked the material of the thong.

“Well, that earns you another spank princess.” He decided as without warning he delivered a sharp spank to your backside.

“I think ten spanks should suffice. One for each member you had sex with, that’s six then one because Jimin picked out your underwear, one for teasing me all night at the club, and two more because I feel like it. Ten in total.” He says as he gives you another harsh swat causing you to whine out and bury your face in the pillow.

“Uh uh didn’t I say be as loud as you like?” He demands as he grabs your hair and softly tits your head back.

His hand comes down to give you two quick sharp spanks and you whine out his name and clench your legs together as you feel your arousal making your thighs slick.

“God you are dripping. You must really like this huh?” He mutters as his hand traces your folds again and you whine out and push your hips back to try to get him to touch more of you.

“Patience baby. You know how much patience I had to have letting everyone fuck you before I got my turn. Let me give you six more then we will get to the good stuff.” He says to you as he massages your reddened flesh and you cry out his name.

“Well, six more spanks princess. Tell me how did the fucking order go? Who got you first…well besides Taehyung.” He asks as you sob under him, body alight with arousal.

“J-Jimin was first.” You cry out as Namjoon swats you extra hard.

“T-Then Jungkook.” You cry as Namjoon hums behind you and spanks just your left cheek.

“Then Jin” You cry out as Namjoon spanks your right cheek.

“Yeah, that was the night I went to the art exhibit If only I would have known my little slut was with him.”

“Then-uh-Yoongi!” You muttered as Namjoon spanked harder this time and you cried out and buried your face in the pillow. Your body was on fire and you felt your pussy pathetically fluttering around nothing.

“Almost there, princess.” He coos

“Then-Tae. He wanted to remind me who he belongs to.” You whisper as Namjoon cocks an eyebrow and stalls his spank.

“Is that so?” He demands.

“Yes?” You reply weakly as he spanks you so hard your whole body jolts forward but his other hand is there to catch you from falling off the couch.

“And who do you belong to?” He asks

“You! Joon I belong to you. Oh god please.” You cry out almost delirious from pleasure.

“Last one baby. Come on. One more name for me.” He says pressing a kiss to your tailbone as you cry out Hobi’s name.

“There is it.” He says as he spanks you one more time and you collapse on the couch face down, struggling to catch your breath.

You feel a blanket being thrown over your body and you sigh in relief as you curl up on the couch.

Namjoon then leaves you on the couch and throws open the door to see Taehyung, Jimin, and Jungkook standing there.

“Namjoon what a surprise!” Jimin says loudly as you bury your face in the pillow and let out a small groan at the pain from all the spanks.

“Go to Yoongi’s and tell him I’m fine. We will have a meeting and I will apologize and open up a bit more about what has been going on. Now get out of here okay? I’m not having you perverts standing at the door trying to listen in on the rest of this.” He says as you turn your head to see the three of them standing there staring between you and Namjoon, not sure where to look.

Namjoon didn’t wait for their answer instead he slammed the door and you giggled when he made his way back to you and sat on the very edge of the couch.

“How do you always know?” You tease as he smiles softly at you and rubs your back in soothing circles.

“I’ve been around them too long.” He admits as you finally sit up and stare at him. His dominant side seemed to disappear and instead, he looked calm and a little bit shy. Your heart began to race in your chest. He was so damn cute.

You slipped off the blanket and settled yourself on his lap. His hands shot out to your hips to hold you steady and he blushed under your gaze. His gorgeous dimples popping out making your heart flutter.

“I was trying to get your attention that night. I was outrageously flirting with you hoping you would come over. I was just as surprised as you were when Taehyung was the one to come over instead.” You admit as he ducks his head and shyly blushes.

“I was just about to come over when Tae did. But after…I mean…what could I do? I’m older and supposed to be the leader of the group. I need to be logical and responsible. Let the others do this kind of stuff I can’t afford to do this stuff you know.” Namjoon says lips in a pout and a saddened look in his eyes.

“Namjoon you have taken on so much as a leader. You have gone above and beyond and it shows. But also. You're a human. You are allowed to have “Good sexy fun” As Jimin puts it.” You say with a laugh as Namjoon grins and shakes his head.

“I think I handled my punishment well and you got to take out some frustration now it’s up to you. I could walk out of here right now and let you get back to being a leader of the biggest band in the world or….we could have some good sexy fun. Your choice.” You said as he stared at you with wide eyes.

“I just got you and you think I want to let you walk out that door. Please.” He exclaimed as you giggled.

“Hey I’m not here to pressure you it’s your choice!” You tease as he runs his fingers through his hair and draws small circles on your hips.

“Watching you take those spanks I’m so fucking hard right now I don’t think I could let you go if I tried.” He admits as you feel excitement course through your entire body.

“But. Can I ask one small thing?” He says softly as he intertwines your fingers with his and brings them up to his lips to give them the softest sweetest kiss.

“The last time I said sure to a favor I ended up here so why not?” You giggle.

“After this tour can I take you on a date? Like a real date? I missed my shot that night at the club but I’m not missing it now.” He says staring into your eyes and making you flush under his gaze.

“Of course Joon.” You whisper as he grins and leans in to kiss you.

His lips are soft against yours and you melt into the kiss instantly. His hands grab for your hips to push you forward so your core is flushed with his aching cock.

You moan against his mouth when you feel how thick he is under you and his hands come to tangle in your hair as he deepens the kiss.

You aren’t sure how long you both stay there kissing, it could be minutes, it could be hours but when you finally come up for air his lips are puffy and red and you giggle as you run your thumb over them watching his eyes widen at your movement.

He slowly peels you off of his lap and stands up to go to his desk drawer to get a condom. Your heart is racing in your chest as he places it on the coffee table then moves the whole thing out of the way to settle on the floor between your legs.

“Gotta prep you to take my cock.” He says as his fingers reach for your thong and pull it down your body. You sigh in relief when it’s removed and Namjoon chuckles.

“As hot as you looked we have to talk to Jimin about picking comfy clothes.” He says.

His hands grab at your knees and pull your legs apart so he can see your glistening core. He bites back an obscure moan when he sees just how wet and needy you are for him.

And it makes his cock twitch when he realizes it’s all for him and him only.

“Joon.” You cry out as his eyes snap up to yours, which are wide in desperation.

He wastes no time delivering small kisses to your thighs and you open your legs wider as he travels upwards.

Your hands naturally tangle in his hair and when he finally licks at your folds you can’t help but cry out his name when he licks a bold stripe up your pussy and flicks his tongue over your clit.

You arch your back into his touch and he continues to lick and suck at your core, swallowing everything you give him as he breathes in the scent of your arousal staining his face.

Once he can tell you are getting close he brings a finger into the mix and slips it easily inside of you. You arch up and cry out his name, opening your legs further as he slowly pumps it in and out of you.

His free hand dips down to palm at his cock which is aching in his pants and desperate for some kind of friction. He wants to be buried inside of you right this second but as wet as you were with his spanks he knows you have to have at least one orgasm before he gets his cock wet with your pussy.

“C-close” you cry out when he inserts another finger and scissors them stretching you out. His lips leave your core to stare at your face which is scrunched up in pleasure and when you finally cum around his digits moaning out his name Namjoon swears he has never seen a more beautiful sight. You are art and he is grateful he got to experience it.

“Holy shit.” You breathe out as you come down from your high. You flutter open your eyes to see Namjoon still seated on the floor, his cheeks are flushed, his eyes are blown wide and his hand is palming at his erection which has you giggling.

“C’mere Joon.” You say as he scrambles to get up on the couch with you. As he stands you lean forward to pull his pants and underwear down and his cock springs up and smacks against his stomach.

At the same time, he pulls his shirt over his head and you do the same taking off your bra in the process.

You both take the time to take in each other’s naked bodies and you’d be lying to say you weren’t slightly intimidated.

Just as he was that night at the club Namjoon was broad and big.

His shoulders were broad and wide, his chest was muscular, his stomach was toned and the trail of hair that led downwards was mouthwatering. His cock was standing proudly against his stomach and the head was flushed a pretty red color.

You wasted no time wrapping your hand around his hardened cock as he throws his head back and whimpers at the contact.

You take your time stroking him from base to tip and when you lean forward to suck the head of his cock he choked out a moan.

You let the taste of him coat your tongue and you hallow out your cheeks as you work your way down his shaft. His hands are tangling in your hair to keep it back as you take him as far as you can go. You feel your throat constricting and you fight the urge to gag as you breathe through your nose and fight every urge in your body to pull back.

Namjoon is a whining moaning mess above you and when you finally do pull back his cock is slick with your spit and his eyes are wide.

He grabs the condom from the coffee table and rolls it on his cock. You move over to give him space on the couch as he sits down.

“How do you want this?” You ask as he jerks himself off slowly.

“How do you want it? Ladies choice.” He says as you decide to slowly climb on his lap and swat his hand away so you can hold the base of his cock.

“Wanna ride you.” You mutter as you grind yourself against his cockhead soaking it in your wetness which has him throwing his head back.

“Fuck.” he grits out when you slowly sink down on him hissing at the stretch.

“Too much? Go slow baby it’s okay.” He whispers as he rubs soothing circles on your bare back as you sink fully down in one swoop.

Namjoon chokes out a cough as he feels your tight walls around his cock and you bury your face in his strong shoulder and whimper at the stretch.

“Fuck… you are so tight around my cock. God Y/N You feel like heaven.” He mutters as he presses soft kisses to your cheeks and your forehead.

“Joonie you are so big holy shit.” You manage to huff out as you slowly rock your hips back and forth trying to ease some of the sting.

“We can take it slow baby. It’s okay we have all night.” He reminds you as he moves your hair so he can place soft kisses on your neck and collarbones.

“Close your eyes, baby. Relax around me, that’s it.” He whispers as you do as he says and his hands come up to cup at your breasts.

He takes his time massaging the skin and flicking his thumbs over your hardened nipples, the sensation sending shockwaves down your spine.

Once your body adjusts you take your time slowly grinding on his lap. His hands leave your breasts to grab at your hips to hold you.

You gulp when he thrusts up to meet you in the middle and begins to fuck into you slowly causing you to whine and beg for more.

“Say the word baby.” He teases you.

“Say how much you want me.” He says still giving you slow and shallow thrusts.

“Please Joon. Fuck me. Please.” You beg

And that’s all it takes.

Namjoon begins to fuck into you with a fierce passion that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head and your hands grabbing onto his broad back for support.

His thrusts are deep and accurate as he finds your g-spot with ease and continues to hit it with every deep thrust.

“God baby you are soaking my cock.” He grits out when you begin to add in your own thrusts as you ride him with force, the only sound in the studio being a mix of both your heavy breathing and his balls slapping your ass with each thrust.

He is fucking you with a passion you have never felt before. He pours out all those days and weeks and months of thinking about you, of waking up hard because of you, of scolding himself for letting Taehyung have you.

His breathing becomes uneven and you are crying out above him. The coil of pleasure is tightening with every thrust of his cock and as much as you want this to last longer you know you are getting close.

“Joon-Cl-Close.” You cry out as he captures your lips in a heated messy kiss. One of his hands holds your hip while the other reaches between your legs and finds your clit with ease.

You cry into his mouth when he circles your clit and soon enough you are spasming and cumming hard around his cock, his plump lips swallow your moans as your pussy tightens around his cock and he cums hard inside of you still kissing you with such force it steals the breath from your lungs.

You slump down in his lap as you both breathe heavily. He stills his movements and you both take your time coming down from your high.

You press small kisses to his collarbones as he runs a shaky hand through his hair. The air in the studio reeks of sex and it is humid as hell when you finally pull off of him you collapse on the couch staring at him with admiration in your eyes.

“Let me get you cleaned up. Stay here.” He says taking the fallen blanket and throwing it over your body as he disposes of the condom and leaves to go and get a towel.

Ever the gentleman he kneels in front of you to get you cleaned up. He discards the towel and holds you in his arms on the couch.

You stare up at him and smile, he looks so relaxed, so peaceful it makes your heart happy.

“That was amazing.” He says breaking the comfortable silence as he holds you in his arms and you snuggle into his bare chest.

“Worth the wait?” You tease as he shoots you a boyish grin.

“Worth the wait. Though now I have to wait once again to take you out on a proper date. Good thing I’m a patient man.” He teases you as he kisses your temples and you fall into a peaceful sleep in his arms.

Soon enough Namjoon finds his eyes fluttering closed and for the first time in a long time, he sleeps throughout the night.

Taglist

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@crisle19

#namjoon #kim namjoon #namjoon smut #namjoon/reader #namjoonxreader #namjoon/reader smut #namjoonxreader smut #bts fic #bts smut

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flemingsfreckles · 2 days

Text

Physio’s Daughter Part 13 (epilogue)

Jessie Fleming x Reader

The whole series is here!

Warnings: none

WC: 2.5k

A/N: I’m not even sure what to put here, thank you to everyone who read this. I never expected people to like it as much as you all did and I never expected myself to be writing 13 parts but here we are. I appreciate every single person who’s left a like or reblogged or commented or send me asks about this series, I wouldn’t have ever had the motivation or ideas to write this series. Thank you 🥹

I’ve thought about writing some little blurbs/headcannons type things if you guys wanted to hear the details of how I thought the middle 20+ years that this went through would go. If that’s something yall want just feel free to send requests and I’ll write them. (I’m not quite ready to let go of this series of you couldn’t tell)

“You ready for this?” You squeezed Jessie hand tightly, trying to reassure her and give her peace of mind.

“As ready as I think I can be.”

That’s when you hear the announcement.

“And for her final time representing and leading Canada, please welcome Jessie Fleming.”

Jessie looks over at you one more time. You give her a nod and a tight squeeze on her hand before letting her go and she walks out onto the field. The cheering for her is deafening and you hear it for a moment before it all is drowned out by your ears ringing as your brain goes fuzzy at the realization that you’re watching your wife walk onto the field for the last time ever.

You watch as she walks out, looking around and making her way to the middle where a ceremonial framed jersey was waiting for her. You had both cried enough tears over her retirement decision, you had pinky promised that today was going to be a celebration, no tears.

“Mommy!” You feel the tug on your arm and look down to see your and Jessie's four year old daughter tugging on your hand while her other arm waved wildly toward the field. “Can we go with Mama?”

“Just a second baby.” You look down at your daughter, she’s just excited to see her Mama play, she hasn’t quite been able to grasp the idea of Jessie’s retirement. You knew she’d probably be asking when she can go watch her play again in just a few days.

You look back out to watch as Jessie makes her way down the line being hugged by all of her teammates before she gets to where the jersey was. You watch her look at it, then take a second to look around the field, taking in every second. She then takes photos with the coaching staff before she motions to you.

“Go run to Mama.” You let go of your daughter's hand and she runs ahead of you to Jessie. Jessie squats, grabbing your daughter under her arms and lifting her up around her hip. You make your way out onto the field before standing next to Jessie to take a few photos.

You give Jessie a quick peck to the cheek before taking back your daughter and walking off to the side of the pitch. You stand for a minute watching Jessie continue to absorb the moment around her.

“Look at this!” Olivia comes rushing up next to you holding out her camera for you to look at. It’s a photo of your wife from the side, she’s got a big smile on her face and is squatting down, arms stretched out toward your daughter who is also smiling big, running toward Jessie. “You two seriously have the cutest kid.”

“Soon to be cutest kids.” You whisper to her putting emphasis on the ‘s’. Olivia turns to you, mouth wide before looking down at your stomach.

“Are you?”

Her face lights up as you give her a nod, “We just found out a few weeks ago.”

“Oh my gosh! Congratulations!” Olivia pulls you into a hug. She then passes you a piece of paper with a note before giving you a wink. Her eyes get really wide for a second and she says “don’t drink the champagne,” before heading back to take more photos of the pregame ceremonies.

You make your way up to the reserved box, all of Jessie’s family attending the game as well as many of her former teammates. Your daughter was quick to run to her grandparents, excited to see them.

“Not working today?” Janine says coming up beside you. She hands you a drink and you give her a look questioning what was in the cup. “It’s just cranberry juice. Congratulations by the way, Jessie told me so we could make sure we have non-alcoholic stuff at the retirement party.”

“Thank you and yeah, I took the day off, thankfully Canada Soccer understood the importance of attending my own wife’s retirement game.” You had finished up school nearly 14 years ago, getting hired back immediately by Canada Soccer. That’s when you and Jessie had to be upfront with your relationship, disclosing it to HR and management before you signed the contract. Your relationship meant you were no longer able to handle Jessie’s treatments yourself but you were able to keep your job and still work closely with her.

The two of you had been dating for just over a year at that point, the first few months of long distance were hard, having to figure out communication expectations along with both of you juggling busy schedules. But you put in the work and effort and managed to figure it out together. You visited Jessie when you could and she’d visit you, FaceTime was your saving grace being able to see her face most days. You did silly little dates where you’d read together on FaceTime, not speaking but still as if she was in the room with you. You’d cook the same meal and eat together, you watch TV series together, she’d help quiz you for exams, the two of you made it work.

When you first told your Mom you were still talking with Jessie she didn’t think much of it, to be fair you didn’t give her the impression the two of you were together. You had planned on it, but chickened out and made it seem like a friendship. It wasn’t until almost six months into dating that you finally told your Mom. You and Jessie had talked about spending the holidays together, back in your hometown with your Mom. When you asked if your girlfriend could spend a couple days, your Mom was confused, never having met or heard a mention of a girlfriend on your end. She insisted she meet the girl first, to which you had to explain she had met the girl, she actually worked with her. Your Mom was able to put together the hints and realize you and Jessie were dating. She still scolded you just as she had when she caught the two of you kissing. Worried about the age difference, worried you’d never find a job if people knew, worried about the traveling and long distance, she went on and on for a while. But with some extra begging, she agreed to let Jessie come for the holidays and you formally introduced her as your girlfriend. Your Mom was quick to come around on your relationship once she saw how you and Jessie interacted, how happy she made you, it only took a couple hours before your Mom was getting out the scrapbooks to show Jessie embarrassing baby photos of you.

You started as a trainer with the Canadian team just after graduation, in a similar role as you had been for the team that one summer. You stayed in that position for a while before your Mom retired. Your Mom had previously taken over for Mark when he retired and you were given the promotion to that same position as the head of staff. This meant less hands on work and more administrative business, while a little less fun for you, it meant you could work from home whenever you needed to or just wanted to. You’d come in when the team was in or when you needed access to the facilities but when the girls returned to their club teams, you’d often follow Jessie to Portland and the two of you would live there.

Within the past few years you had been offered the opportunity to create a new position to oversee the physio and training staff as well as working with the player performance team. You loved your new position, you worked with the coaches, the nutritionists, the team doctors, the players themselves, all to work on creating training plans that made your players better while keeping them healthy and safe. You were going to continue to work after Jessie’s retirement despite how much she tries to convince you that you could both retire now, you loved your job too much to leave it quite yet.

It was five years into your relationship when you finally proposed. You had known for a long time that you were going to marry Jessie, but the two of you weren’t in any rush, the commitment to each other was always the same, married or not. You had taken her on a picnic to a wildflower field you found. Picnics became a staple date in your and Jessie’s relationship ever since your first one. You had waited for her to look away, to get distracted by a flower and you quickly scrambled to get on one knee, ring box open and facing her. She of course said yes once she recovered from the initial surprise and the two of you got married a year later. You had a small ceremony, only a couple people in attendance, keeping it easy. You instead hosted a large reception, with Jessie’s teammates, your coworkers, both of your friend and family, you couldn’t have asked for a more perfect start to your married life.

It was just a year into your marriage when the idea of having a baby started to float around more and more in both of your minds. You had talked about kids while you were dating but it was all talk, you both not quite ready to settle down with a child yet. But after seeing Jessie with her teammates kids weekend after weekend at Portland you couldn’t help but long for that to be your kid in her arms. So one day you simply asked Jessie. You asked if she’d be interested in getting a consultation together to see what your options were as far as having a kid. She agreed happily and you two found yourselves quickly in the seats of a fertility clinic, getting started with the IVF process. It took a couple rounds before you got the positive test and nine months later the two of you had a healthy baby girl.

The sleepless nights and traveling with a baby was not easy. It was especially hard when Jessie would be away from club games and you were left to parent alone. Thankfully your friends and family were always there to help out, knowing how crazy Jessie’s travel can be. All the chaos and exhaustion was worth it everytime you got to watch your daughter totter around wearing your wife’s jersey, just as you got to see today as she ran to Jessie for her final game.

Jessie’s decision to retire hadn’t been easy but you both knew it was time and she was settled with her decision. So now you stood watching the last few minutes of her career play out in front of you. You had been ushered back down to the field sideline by security so you could greet your wife and as the final whistle blew you watched as Jessie moved to the center of the field before sitting down. Her hands move to her boots and she slowly unties them before sliding them off her feet and you can practically see her heart break. She’s taking deep breaths the way her shoulders and chest are rising, most likely trying to keep her emotions at bay. Her teammates and the opposing team’s players made their way to her congratulating her, giving her their praises. You walked to her, your daughter in your arms. She stood up to greet you and you could see the tears in her eyes, quickly causing your own to well up.

“I’m so proud of you.” You whispered to her as she pulled you into an incredibly tight hug. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

“You okay?” You say when you pull back from her, you let your forehead rest on hers, not caring about the sticky feeling of her sweat.

“Yeah, it’s just weird, that was it after 24 years on this team. I’ll never do that again.” She seems to be in a state of shock, not quite believing that she would never play for Canada again.

“I know.” You rub her back gently as your daughter blabs on about a bird that’s flying overhead.

Jessie is quickly swept away for interview after interview. You and your daughter make your way around the pitch talking with Jessie’s teammates to kill time before everyone heads back into the locker rooms and the stadium crowd clears out.

You find Jessie’s parents, who graciously offered to watch their granddaughter for the night so you and Jessie could have the evening to yourself. They knew their daughter would likely need an evening of relaxation and reflection after the long day of celebration which might not be possible if she was being asked to build legos or color or play dress up.

“Hey, she’s the last one in there, I’m not sure how long she’ll be. She’s just standing there, you might want to go in and check on her.” Jordyn says as she and Julia exit the locker room and see you waiting for Jessie.

“Thank you.” You take Jordyn’s suggestion and enter the locker room. There’s essie, she’s changed, wearing sweatpants and a shirt, standing in front of her cubby staring at the name plate above it with her name, number, and a large C on it. You come up and hug her from behind, not saying much, just being with her. It’s quiet but finally Jessie grabs the name plate, sliding it off the cubby and puts it in her bag.

“Alright let’s go, I don’t want to keep people waiting at the party.” Jessie says. Janine and Sinc had organized a small retirement party for later that night, you and Jessie had both put heavy emphasis on it being a small party, thankfully you still had a couple of hours.

“There’s something I wanted to do first, if you’re up for it. The party isn’t for a couple hours. We have time.” Jessie nods. Youre happy that she’s agreeing and that she trusts you aren’t going to make her do something crazy after playing her last ever game. You take her hand pulling her from the dressing room, down the hall, and back in the direction of the pitch. You walk with her until you come to the middle of the pitch. “Sit.” You point to the grass before taking off running to one tunnel, the one Olivia had written on her note and grabbing the basket she had left for the two of you. You make your way back to Jessie and open the basket pulling out a bottle of champagne and a single glass.

“Olivia didn’t know I was pregnant when she set this up, I told her today though. She got a really cute photo of you and Emery.” You say to Jessie before pouring her a glass and getting out some of the snacks she had packed.

Jessie laughs to herself. “Remember when I thought the two of you were together.”

“I still can’t believe you thought that.” You shake your head thinking back to the screaming match you and Jessie had in the hotel, all because both of you were silly, immature, young adults who didn’t know how to talk to each other about your feelings. “You were so jealous.”

“Was not!”

“You so were.”

“Fine I was, but it turned out pretty great for me.” She crosses her arms across her chest pretending to be mad.

“Yeah, we turned out alright.”

The two of you fall into a silence, you wait for Jessie to speak. You want to let Jessie have the time to think through all of her thoughts, feel all of her emotions, take her time sitting on the field.

“I love you.”

“I love you Jessie.” You respond as she plops her head onto your shoulder.

“This is just like our first date, when you brought me to the field in Paris.”

“I know. And I knew how much you appreciated that. So I just wanted to make sure you were able to soak it all in for one last time.”

#jessie fleming #jflem #jessie fleming x reader #jessie fleming imagine #woso imagine #woso x reader #jessie fleming blurb #canwnt x reader

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persevereforahappyending · 1 day

Text

A Legacies Secret |3|

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: You just wanted a happy life with your girlfriend but then Ghostface attacks, revealing long thought to be buried family secrets.

Warnings: Talks of injuries

Word Count: 3.7k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

“Run away with me?” you asked, staring into Tara’s eyes as she leaned in for a kiss.

“No,” Tara giggled, playfully shoving you.

“Why not?” you sighed, flopping back onto Tara’s bed.

“Cause I don’t want to be a high school drop out?” Tara draped herself over you, looking down at you with a loving smile.

“Ugh, fine, I guess that’s reasonable,” you grumbled, pouting up at her as you ran a hand through her hair.

Tara sucked in a breath, instantly wincing in pain, her hand went to her stomach, but she quickly pulled it away when the pain worsened. She tried to push herself up but quickly lowered herself back down when every movement sent waves of pain through her entire body. She blinked, trying to get her eyes to adjust to the unfamiliar lighting. She looked around seeing blank white walls, a thin white sheet over her, and a hospital bed. She scrunched her eyebrows, trying to remember what happened, she reached up feeling an oxygen tube around her nose.

She got flashes of bleeding out on the floor, a knife through her hand. She looked down to see her left hand bandaged up. She closed her eyes, feeling her leg snap, she winced at just the memory. When she opened her eyes again, she noticed the large black boot on her right leg. Then she saw it, the white mask, black cloak, she remembered getting the call, it had been Ghostface. Her heart rate picked up again, she ignored the pain as she pushed herself further up on the pillow. She whipped her head around, her eyes darting all over the room, only stopping when they landed on your sleeping figure.

She couldn’t help but give a small smile at you. Tears pricked the edge of her eyes as the attack fully came back to her. The only comfort she had was seeing you by her side, safe and sound. Part of her felt bad but the other part of her wanted to laugh at your position. You were curled up, one leg hanging off the chair, the other draped over the armrest, and the top half of your body curled in, so your head was resting on the back of the chair.

She relaxed back into the pillow, her heartbeat slowing back down. She never took her eyes off you though. Her mind went back to the dream she woke up from. It was a memory, it was the last time you spent the night, just two days ago. You always asked Tara to run away with you, ever since she turned eighteen. The two of you had plans to leave when Tara graduated but then she got held back a year, delaying your plans a year. She knew you didn’t mind, truly, but you still always asked to run away. Tara loved it, she loved knowing you wanted to spend the rest of your life with her. Tara just didn’t want to be a dropout before she ran away with you.

Tara laid her head on her pillow, just staring at you, you always looked so peaceful sleeping, even in a very uncomfortable position. You suddenly shot up, bracing yourself in the chair so you didn’t fall off. Your eyes instantly went to Tara, your eyes filled with tears as you let out a shaky breath. Tara could only describe the look on your face as one of relief, she had no idea how long she had been out and couldn’t begin to imagine what you had been going through this whole time. If you had been attacked and Tara was the one waiting by your bedside she surely would have been going out of her mind.

“You’re okay,” you sobbed. You were instantly out of the chair and at Tara’s side. You reached up to touch her but hesitated, your hand freezing just as you were about to graze her hair.

Tara gave a small nod, realizing you were terrified of hurting her. “It’s okay,” she rasped out.

Your hand gently caressed her cheek. You leaned in, resting your forehead against hers. Your eyes were pinched shut but tears still managed to spill out of them. Tara let out a shaky breath, trying to contain her own sobs, she reached up with her good hand, resting it on the back of your neck.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered in between sobs. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Tara tightened her grip on you, quietly shushing you. “I’m okay. I’m okay.” She wanted to offer you any comfort she could give, she was making sure you felt her, that you heard her, that you knew she was there, and she was okay.

When you finally pulled away from her you quickly wiped your eyes, sniffling a little. You cleared your throat as you walked across the room, Tara’s heartbeat spiked for a second until she realized you were just going to the sink. Her eyes never left you as you filled a glass with water and instantly went back to her side, you handed her the glass of water and then dragged the chair you had been sleeping in next to her bedside. She took a few sips, the water instantly soothing her dry throat.

Tara looked down at your hand resting on her bed, she could feel your fingers barely grazing her leg through the blanket. She started to move her hand to hold your hand but stopped when she realized her hand was bandaged. She furrowed her brow, opening her mouth to ask you to move to her other side but the words died on her lips when she looked up, seeing your eyes not on her in the moment but on the door. She quickly shut her mouth, she couldn’t help but smile at your determined look, as if you were daring someone to walk through that door.

When you took your eyes off the door and looked back at her, she was still staring at you. You tilted your head, giving her the same soft look you always gave her, it was a complete 180 from the glare you had been giving the door. “What?” you asked softly.

Tara shook her head, blinking away the tears that had started to form. “I love you,” is all she said.

You smiled, for the first time since Tara woke up, you looked like you did any other day. If she didn’t know better, she would say you and her were just sitting on her couch about to watch a movie. “I love you too,” you reached up, brushing a few strands of hair out of her face. “Do you want me to text your friends?”

Tara opened her mouth ready to say yes but stopped. She couldn’t explain why she stopped. She loved her friends; she had known all of them pretty much her entire life. She couldn’t imagine any of them hurting her, couldn’t imagine that any of them would dress up like a psycho and attack her. There was a part of her that told her not to trust anyone though. Tara might not have remembered Stab too well, but she knew the story of the original Ghostface killings, Sidney’s boyfriend had been the killer, she had trusted him, and he ended up being the one to attack her and kill her friends. The truth was, anyone could be a killer.

The only person she didn’t doubt for a second was you. Maybe it was stupid and naïve but there wasn’t a doubt in her mind about you, she knew you’d never hurt her. And if anyone ever asked her about it, she’d say that you sitting there by her bedside completely guilt ridden over just not being there was proof enough. She saw you beating yourself up, blaming yourself, and it was all for something you had nothing to do with, for something couldn’t have controlled or prevented. As much as Tara had wanted you to come over that night, she was now glad you had work, she would never have forgiven herself if you had been there and you had gotten hurt trying to protect her.

“Not yet,” Tara finally decided on. “I’ll text them later. I’m not ready for all of them. I just want to sit here with you.”

“Okay,” you whispered. You tucked more strands of her hair that had gotten loose behind her ear. You didn’t even question Tara’s decision to not contact her friends yet, not that she ever thought you’d question her wanting to spend more alone time with you.

“How are you feeling?” you asked.

Tara looked down at herself, her eyes focusing on the large boot on her foot before trailing up to her hand. She lifted her hand off the bed, turning it over, it was covered in a wrap, but Tara could still see the knife sticking through it. “It hurts,” she said but it came out as more of a whimper.

“Do you want me to get the nurse? Maybe they can give you more drugs or up the dosage?” you were already moving to stand up.

“No.” Tara reached across her body with her good hand but didn’t have to strain herself before you noticed and were sitting back down. “I’m okay.” You didn’t look convinced. “Really, I think no matter what, I’m going to feel it at least a little bit.”

“Okay,” you whispered, dropping your eyes to the floor as you stared intensely at your clasped hands in your lap. “I should have been there,” you whispered. If you weren’t seated so close to Tara, she would have missed it.

“No,” she shook her head. “This isn’t your fault.”

“I should have just left work and come to you when you called.”

“You would have gotten fired.”

“But maybe you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.” You looked up at her, your eyes filled with tears once again. “I’m always there,” your voice cracked. “I should have been there.”

“Stop it,” Tara said, trying to keep her voice determined but it was hard with the tears she felt filling her eyes again as well. “Stop, please, you’re not allowed to blame yourself. I refuse to let you blame yourself. You didn’t cause this, you had nothing to do with this.” You buried your head in your hands but nodded, nonetheless.

After a little while you had turned on the TV and flipped through channels until Tara finally agreed to a channel that was showing some reruns. Tara wanted her laptop so she could watch whatever she wanted but that would mean asking you to go get it and she didn’t want you to leave. Tara watched you out of the side of her eye as you watched the TV, you had moved the side table over and pushed your chair against the bed. You had your arm propped up on the bed, absentmindedly playing with Tara’s hair. You were at an awkward angle and as much as Tara wanted you to, you couldn’t lay in bed next to her with her injuries, so this was the closest the two of you could get for the moment.

There was a long creak as someone opened the door to the hospital room without knocking. Tara’s eyes widened, she sat up in bed, ignoring the pain that shot through her. You were on your feet in seconds, glaring at the door, ready to attack whoever was entering.

Tara relaxed when she saw sheriff Hicks walk through the door, her eyes glued to her notepad. You were still tense, slowly relaxing as Judy put down her notepad and looked up at the two of you. Her mouth hung open, a greeting at the tip of her tongue, her eyes went from Tara, to you, to the door behind her, and back to Tara.

“I’m sorry!” Judy said sincerely. “I should have knocked. I was so caught up finishing up my notes,” she looked down at her notepad, flipping through pages as she rambled. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” Judy looked back up at Tara. “There is an officer right outside your room,” she pointed back to the door. “No one is getting in here unless they’re authorized.”

“Thank you,” Tara whispered. She flicked a glance at you to see you slowly lowering yourself back into the chair. “Sorry, we’re just a little jumpy after…”

“You don’t need to explain,” Judy said softly, walking up to the side of the bed. She reached down, grabbed Tara’s hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m glad to see you awake.” Judy gave her a soft smile.

Judy was one of a kind, she was a little embarrassing at times and Tara and Amber certainly loved to pick on Wes in a loving way because of it. Judy was the most loving parent around though, the only other parent that seemed to love her kids as much as Judy loved Wes was Mindy and Chad’s mom. Whenever the kids went over to Judy’s house, even now as teenagers, she always made baked goods before she left for work or as soon as she got back.

Tara knew her sister got into a lot of trouble with Judy, Tara was glad Judy never held Sam’s actions against her though. Judy wasn’t a fan of Tara’s mother either, Tara always tried to hide her home issues, but Judy always seemed to know. There were so many times after Sam left and their mom got drunk or went away on long business trips that Judy insisted Tara spend the night and she always made sure Tara never went hungry, whether it was inviting her over for dinner or dropping by with a casserole or something she insisted she had so much fun making dinner she just had to make a second one. Judy never drew attention to what she was doing, she never pressed Tara to talk about it, the few times she did Tara had shut down completely, after that Judy settled for silently helping anyway she could.

Judy also wasn’t the biggest fan of you. She never directly came out and said anything, she knew deep down she didn’t have any right, but there were little comments here and there when Tara started dating you. Judy would always give a tight-lipped smile and her voice went even higher than usual when you were around or when Tara and yours relationship was brought up. When Tara first told Wes she had kissed you, Judy had overheard and made a comment about you being too old for her. Tara had just rolled her eyes saying you were only two years older, technically closer to three, but Tara wasn’t going to get into that with Judy. Judy had dropped it, but it was always obvious she didn’t approve of your relationship.

“I was wondering if you were up for answering some questions?” Judy asked softly.

“She just woke up,” you snapped. “Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, trying to catch the psycho that did this?”

You were glaring at Judy, but she just gave you a sympathetic look. “That’s what I’m trying to do,” she said softly. “If you aren’t up for it, I can come back,” Judy looked at Tara.

Tara wanted to tell Judy she was tired and to come back later, she had no desire to relive what happened to her. She didn’t think she’d want to relive it later in the day or the next day either so she might as well just get it over with.

“Can Y/N stay?” Tara asked, looking at you. You smiled softly, resting a hand on her arm as you lightly rubbed it.

“Of course,” Judy answered, glancing at you before pulling up a chair of her own. She was near the hospital bed, her back to the door, the perfect spot to look at Tara as they spoke.

“Can you tell me about your night?” Judy asked, flipping open her notepad to a new page. “What you did, anything and everything, just talk, anything can be important.”

Tara nodded, looking at you before she took a deep breath as best as she could. “I was making dinner and called Y/N. They were at work and their boss yelled at them to hang up,” she started.

“What did you talk about?” your eyes flicked to Judy, but you didn’t say anything, you just kept your hand on Tara’s arm, trying to bring her comfort in anyway.

“I was trying to convince her to blow off work,” Tara admitted, blushing lightly. She glanced at you to see a small smile on your own face, but it was quickly shadowed in sadness and guilt. “We talked about graduation, me going to college, us moving out of this town.” Tara shrugged, “Normal stuff.”

Judy nodded, writing a couple things in her notepad. “And after you got off the phone?”

“I was texting Amber, wanted to see if she wanted to watch some movies.” Tara furrowed her brow, shaking her head. “It wasn’t Amber,” she whispered, staring at a spot at the end of the bed. “The phone started ringing.”

“Your phone?” Judy asked but her voice sounded muffled.

Tara shook her head. “Landline,” she said mindlessly. “It was some guy.” She could swear she heard you suck in a breath, but she didn’t turn to look at you. “Said he knew my mom. Figured he was just a new boyfriend,” she shrugged with an eyeroll. “He asked me my favorite movie; I didn’t think anything of it until he specifically started talking to me about Stab.”

“What about it?”

“He asked me if I remembered the opening and then started telling me about the opening kill scene, a girl home alone who answers an unknown number and starts talking to the killer.” Tears slowly started to fill her eyes. “Just like me,” she whispered.

“We can stop if you want,” Judy’s voice came again, this time accompanied by a soft hand resting on her uninjured arm.

“I texted Amber,” Tara continued, shaking her head. “It wasn’t Amber.” She continued shaking her head, the tears slowly began to fall. “He-he-he started quizzing me on Stab.” Tara’s breathing started to become heavy, she was gasping more, the walls were closing in on her. “He-he-he-” she was gasping, her eyes wide as she couldn’t catch her breath.

“Breath,” your voice cut through. Tara tried to focus on your voice, hearing you softly whispering to her. Tara felt a puff of air enter her and she slowly started to be able to breath again. “There you go,” you whispered. Tara’s eyes found yours only to see you standing up, one hand resting on her shoulder while the other held her inhaler to her mouth.

“Thanks,” she whispered, taking the inhaler from you with her good hand.

You let out a shaky breath and slowly lowered yourself back down into your chair. Tara blinked a few times, taking another hit of her inhaler before she set it down at her side, making sure to keep her fingers around it.

“Why don’t we stop for now,” Judy said as she began to stand up from her chair.

“No,” Tara said, giving Judy a determined look. “No, I can do this.” Judy looked from Tara to you then back to Tara before slowly lowering herself back down. “I got a question wrong, and he said he was going to kill Amber. I ran to the door, intending to help her but he was there,” she continued, jumping back right where she left off.

“That’s how he got in?”

Tara shook her head. “No, I got the door closed and locked it. I made sure the system was armed when I called the police but…” Tara’s eyes went wide, the little robotic voice going back and forth saying armed and disarmed filling her mind.

“What?” you asked softly, giving her shoulder a comforting squeeze.

Tara turned to you, focusing on your red rimmed eyes, full of nothing but love and concern for her. “He disarmed the system.”

“What?” your face went white.

“We went back and forth. As soon as I armed the system, he would disarm it. He could have gotten in at any time,” she sobbed. “He just wanted to fuck with me!”

Tara was sobbing uncontrollably but you were sitting at her bedside in a second, wrapping your arms around her, making sure to be mindful of her injuries. Tara didn’t care about her injuries, she buried her head in your neck, throwing both her arms around you and pulled you as tightly as she could against herself.

“Sorry,” Tara mumbled, wiping her eyes once she pulled away from you.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Judy said, standing up from her chair again. She looked over her notepad before flipping it closed and tucking it back in her pocket. “I think we’re good. Thank you.” She gave Tara a pat on the arm before leaving, quietly shutting the door behind her.

Tara reached for her phone, opening her messages but her thumb hovered over Amber’s name. “What’s wrong?” you asked, looking at her with worry.

“Amber’s phone was cloned, I can’t know if I’m texting her when I text her,” Tara answered. She scrolled a little further down, selecting Wes’s name. She shot Wes a quick text saying she was awake. Judy was a professional, but Tara was sure Wes had heard about the attack and was just waiting to hear from her or to question his mom.

Not a second later her phone buzzed, showing Wes had already messaged back. “Wes and the others are on their way,” she said.

You nodded, before scooting your chair up further so you could rest your arm around her head. Tara leaned into you, relaxing as you gently played with her hair. She tried to focus on the TV again as she waited for her friends to arrive. Her mind was plagued by who she could trust, why she was targeted, which of her friends potentially did this to her. Whoever did this knew her alarm system, they were either very skilled with technology and could hack into her system or this was someone she trusted.

#tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x fem!reader #tara carpenter imagine #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #scream #scream v #scream 5 #a legacies secret

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azzifudd · 3 days

Text

we just sort of get each other

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: insp by an article an anon sent me that said paige was with azzi the whole day before her senior prom

rated: teen

1.3k words

disclaimer: many made up events obviously

Paige sits on the couch, leg propped up on a pillow, hands fidgeting with her phone. She opens Tiktok for a moment, but closes it after a few quick swipes, jiggling her healthy leg as she waits for Azzi to emerge from her bedroom.

She had been in there about an hour earlier, watching as the makeup artist worked on Azzi’s face. In her opinion, Azzi didn’t even need all that, but she had been clearly enjoying the full day of pampering.

But when the makeup artist had complained for the third time that Azzi would not stop laughing at Paige’s antics, Katie had sent Paige out and shut the door behind her.

Jose and Jon are playing Mario Kart, pushing at each other as their characters race around the track.

“You wanna play, Paige?” Jose holds out one of the spare controllers to her.

“Nah, man, I’m good.” She stands up, grabbing her crutches and limping into the kitchen to grab a drink. She’s walking back into the living room when Azzi’s door finally opens.

Paige turns eagerly at the sound of heels on the wooden floor and drops her bottle of Gatorade at the sight that greets her.

The bottle thunks heavily against the floor.

Azzi smiles shyly at her, one dimple peeking out.

“How do I look?”

Azzi looks…

Paige has no words. Paige has a million words. She can’t seem to pick her jaw up from where it has hit the floor.

Paige is nearly breathless as she runs her eyes up and down Azzi’s body.

She’s wearing a floor length dress, a silver shimmery thing with pink and blue tones throughout it that bares the skin of her chest and arms. A slit runs up one leg, exposing what appears to be miles of tan skin and toned muscle.

Paige clears her throat, hoping she isn’t blushing as hard as it seems as her cheeks heat up.

“You look..” She hesitates, unsure if anything she says can even measure up to the emotions that swell in her chest as she looks at Azzi.

She’s saved from speaking as Azzi’s parents round the corner. Tim has his phone in outstretched hand as he approaches.

“Baby, you look amazing!” He snaps a few photos as Azzi poses.

Paige stands back and watches as Azzi’s parents direct her in an impromptu photoshoot. Soon her little brothers are roped in to take photos with her, and before she knows it, Tim is gesturing for Paige to stand beside Azzi.

“Aw, no I don’t want my crummy outfit to make her look bad.” She’s in a wrinkled AZ35 t-shirt and a pair of Nike pants, boot heavy around her ankle. At least she brushed her hair earlier instead of just throwing it into a messy ponytail.

“Paige, please?” Azzi holds out a hand.

Paige is at her left side before she even realizes it, hand wrapping around her waist as Azzi leans into her.

Soon, Azzi has to leave to go take photos with her date James at the National Mall. The family all load into the car, but Paige stays behind because it’s a little too much walking for her ankle.

But before Azzi can head out, Paige grabs her hand, holding her back until they’re alone in the house. Paige leans her crutches against the wall, and grasps Azzi by the hips, pulling her until their foreheads touch.

“I wish I was the one taking you.” Paige says, her voice a whisper against Azzi’s lips. For a moment, Paige wishes things were different, that she was just a normal girl who got to take the girl she liked to prom.

But if she was just a normal girl, she never would have met Azzi, and that’s not a world that Paige can bear to imagine.

“You look beautiful.”

Azzi’s responding kiss feels like a ‘thank you’ and an ‘I’m sorry' all at once. They are interrupted by a loud honk from outside and Jon’s voice yelling for Azzi to hurry up. Paige’s lips are sticky with gloss.

“Have the best night,” Paige says, and then Azzi’s out the door.

***

Azzi has a good night. She does. She spends the night dancing and talking with friends and just having a normal high school experience, something that has become more and more rare as her high school career has developed. The pandemic had ruined so much of what she had hoped would be a perfect senior year, so she is grateful that prom at least has gone off without a hitch.

But as the night wears on, she can’t help but think of what was missing. James is handsome and charming; a dream prom date for so many girls. But he isn’t who Azzi wants. She wants the annoying, sweet, beautiful girl who is waiting for her at home.

Surprisingly, none of her friends question her when she tells them she will be heading straight home after the dance, rather than hitting up the after party that nearly everyone else is going to.

When she gets home, she finds her family finishing up a movie in the living room. Strangely, Paige is nowhere to be found.

“Did you have a good night, honey?”

“Yeah, it was a lot of fun.” She doesn’t elaborate. “Where’s Paige? Did she go back to her dad’s?”

Her mom looks unsurprised at her question, smiling as she tilts her head toward their basement door. “She’s downstairs, waiting for you. Don’t change out of your dress yet.”

Azzi is a bit confused, but she heads downstairs anyway. She takes her time going down the stairs in her heels, watching her feet, and as she hits the last step, she realizes there is soft music playing. She looks up and finds the room lit only by what seems like dozens of candles interspersed throughout the room.

All the furniture has been pushed to the edges of the room, and standing at the center of the room is Paige. She is wearing a button up that looks just a bit too tight around her shoulders and a pair of black pants. A baby blue tie is loose around her neck, and Azzi knows when she gets close enough that she’ll be able to see how it brings out the color in Paige’s eyes.

“I know it’s not the same as if we’d gotten to go together, but I got us these.

When she gets within arms reach, Azzi notices that Paige is holding a plastic box. She pops it open to reveal a beautiful corsage, pink and vibrant with a matching boutonniere.

Azzi can’t stop herself from reaching out to hold Paige’s face in her hands and kissing her. Paige smiles against her lips.

“You like it?” She asks, laughing when Azzi nods and kisses her again.

With gentle hands, Paige slides the flower onto Azzi’s wrist and she stands still as Azzi returns the favor, pinning hers to her chest with shaky fingers.

“Can I have this dance?” Paige loops her arms around Azzi’s waist, pulling her even closer.

“Will your ankle be okay?” Azzi asks, bringing her arms up around Paige’s shoulders.

“Yeah,” Paige shrugs. “I asked during PT this morning, and they said swaying was okay.”

“Then let’s sway.” Azzi giggles, pressing their foreheads together as they move gently to the music.

“Did you have fun tonight?”

“Mmhm.” Azzi nods. “I missed you though. I always miss you.”

“Just a few more months and we’ll be together all the time.”

“You won’t get tired of me?” Azzi scratches at the back of Paige’s neck, smiling as Paige’s eyes flutter and she leans into the touch.

“Never.” Paige makes sure to look Azzi right in the eyes, her own piercing and honest.

Azzi twists a hand into Paige’s tie, pulls her in, and kisses her and kisses her.

#azzi fudd #paige bueckers #pazzi

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xoxochb · 1 day

Text

you understand now why they lost their minds and fought the wars

warnings: kissing

pairing: loser! luke x daughter of aphrodite

summary: she fell first, he fell harder

A/N: this was not my idea but the person who requested this had their tags off

1. There’s a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear (the campfire)

it was never about aphrodite

luke strongly believed that if aphrodite wasn’t your mother you would be just as beautiful

he watches you now beside him, wearing his sweatshirt and eating the s’more he made for you. although it is making a mess, bits of chocolate and marshmallow covering your mouth, a disaster to you, yes, but luke thought you still looked just as gorgeous

you finish up the last bite of your s’more and then speak “luke?”

he snaps out of his love-struck trance “angel?”

“you’re staring” you lick the last bits of melted chocolate off of your fingers

he doesn’t say anything but instead averts his eyes to the ground with a deep red blush

you laugh and lay your head on his shoulder, then intertwining your fingers with his, something common in your friendship

he rests his head atop yours “do you want to go back to my cabin? nobody’s there right now”

“sure” you say

he’s quick to stand up before you, his hand not leaving yours so he uses it to help you up and you make your way to cabin eleven

when you arrive you walk over to his bed and he starts looking through his drawers. he finds one of his shirts and a pair of shorts you once left here for nights like these. he throws them over to you and you take off your previous clothes switching them for comfier ones to sleep in, then you lay down on the bed and wait for luke to do the same

this is normal for friends right?

no, it’s not, but this friendship was different. you fell in love the moment you saw luke, but he fell ten times harder when he saw you.

every thought he had consisted of you from the moment he woke up to when he fell asleep, even his dreams you appeared. everything he did was for you, every conversation had you brought up at least once, everywhere he looked he saw you, or perhaps because he only wanted to look at you, no one else, ever.

once he’s changed he lays down beside you on the bed and he wraps an arm around your waist, and you place your head under his chin, and before you know it you’re drifting off to sleep

2. You told me I was pretty when I looked like a mess (cabin eleven)

mornings at cabin eleven were not very peaceful, curtains open, people talking ‘quietly’, and the door being open and closed.

but did luke care? no he didn’t, all he cared about was the girl in his arms. he watches you as you sleep peacefully, not in a creepy way, he doesn’t want to appear to be a creep but he can’t help it. how could someone look so good while sleeping? he knows the answer to this though- it’s because it’s you, he believes its impossible for you to look unattractive

distracted by his thoughts he fails to realize that you’re stirring, your eyes opening slowly

“luke?” you mumble, still half asleep

he moves your hair away from your face to plant a kiss on your forehead “good morning sleepy”

“what time is it?” you ask

usually if asked this luke would’ve looked around for a clock, but when he was with you he never did, afraid that the moment would end sooner, so that’s what he does now, he doesn’t look for a clock

he sighs “I’m not sure”

“would you mind if I went back to sleep? just for a bit” you close your eyes again

“I wouldn’t mind if you put the whole cabin in flames with me in it”

you laugh at his words and then soon fall back into slumber

you didn’t end up starting your day until around one pm that day, and luke ended up getting in trouble for discarding his counselor duties, and as much as his punishment sucked, he would say it was worth it because he got to spend almost his whole day with you even if you were asleep

3. If you kiss me, will it be just like I dreamed it? (cabin ten)

cabin ten was empty that night, your siblings were off doing who knows what so you lay on your bed waiting for your best friends arrival

on the other hand, luke is internally freaking out. he knew of your cabin being empty tonight, and he knew it would be the perfect opportunity to tell you how he felt, so he plans out what he’s going to say before entering your cabin

yes- he has been standing outside of cabin ten for the past ten minutes planning out what to say to you, his best friend. he gives up after a couple of tries and decides to just speak from the heart, something you told him you loved

so he opens the door and makes his way to your bed where you lay

“I’ve been waiting for you” you laugh

he takes a seat beside you “can I talk to you?”

you smile fades into a worried look “yeah, I- sure”

his eyes widen at your scared demeanor “it’s nothing bad! I mean unless you don’t feel the same way, it might be for me, not for you I hope”

your presence often did this to him- leave him rambling and in shambles. his friends often made fun of him for the affect you had towards him and he told them you ‘had no affect’ on him but when he heard himself talk right now he couldn’t help but agree with what they had said

“feel the same way?” you quote, sitting up “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“oh gods I didn’t mean to word it like that” his cheeks turn pink

“luke?” you inch your face closer to his

“yes?” he glances down at your lips that are incredibly close to his

“say it” you demand, using the newfound knowledge that you indeed have an affect on him

“y/n-”

you cut him off “say it”

“I don’t-”

“would you like a kiss?” you say, your lips almost fully on his

“more than anything”

“then say it”

“I love you”

before he can say anything else you fully press your lips to his, and he is extremely quick to reciprocate your action along with tangling his hands in your hair to pull you closer

you decide that’s about all he’s going to do unless you guide him, so you push him back onto your bed, straddling him, and you guide his hands down to your waist, but he musters up the courage to wrap his fingers through the belt loops of your jeans, pulling you almost impossibly closer

once he realizes that you’re comfortable with this, he trails his kisses down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone

and the only thing you can think is ‘thank the gods the cabin is empty tonight’

#percy jackon and the olympians #pjo series #percy jackson #pjo fandom #pjo #percy series #xoxochb #pjo tv show #luke castellan #luke castellan x you #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan fic #luke castellan x reader #pjo x reader

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cherryobx · 1 day

Note

Omg congratulations ❤️ may I have turn the radio up with jj and the song being never grow up by Niall Horan

Never grow up

a/n: thank you!! <3 literally one of my fav songs ever

pairing: JJ Maybank x reader

summary: watching the sunset with JJ and goofing around

warnings: swearing

wc: 0.9k

“Is it weird that I kind of want to braid your hair right now?” you ask, sticking your hand into JJ’s messy blonde hair and ruffling it.

He chuckles at that but lets you mess his hair up even more. “What hair? I barely have any.”

“It’s longer than usual. When’s the last time you got a haircut?”

He tilts his head knowingly at you. “You cut my hair, babe.”

“But that was months ago?!” you exclaim.

“So?”

“We’re cutting your hair tomorrow.”

“Yes, boss.”

You’re sitting at the beach. The heat wave of the day has passed and it’s not unbearably hot anymore. You’re sitting on the warm sand together and just enjoy the beautiful evening, sunset and the company of each other.

You look at the view in front of you but JJ only has eyes for you. You feel him looking at you so you turn your head to look at him too. “What?”

“You’re just really beautiful. ‘S all.” You feel your cheeks heat up at his compliment and you smile brightly.

“You’re not bad yourself.”

“I call you beautiful and I get a ‘you’re not that ugly I guess’ in return?” he jokes and nudges you with his elbow, almost knocking you over.

“Hey! I didn’t say ugly! You want me to call you beautiful too?”

He rolls his eyes playfully and says, “Obviously.”

“You’re beautiful too.” And you mean it. He really is. Really effortlessly so. It’s unfair actually.

“I know.” He smirks and you slap his arm with the back of your hand.

“Ow!” he yelps but you know he’s joking.

You scoff. “It didn’t even hurt.”

“Yes, it did!” he argues.

“No, it didn’t.”

“Don’t diminish my feelings.” He places a hand over his heart and acts as if he’s offended.

“I’m not.”

“Bully.”

“Baby.”

You roll your eyes and lean against his shoulder, resting your head. He stops arguing and tilts his head towards yours so his head is resting on yours. You wrap your arms around his bicep and hold him close. “You’re such a simp,” he comments.

“Says you. You’re so obsessed with me. Kinda creepy, not gonna lie,” you retort and he just laughs. “Yeah, fair enough.”

You sit there for a while and look at the sunset together and it makes you feel bittersweet because you know moments like these are just going to pass by and there’s nothing you can do about it. There’s no way to stop life moving so fast.

“I don’t wanna grow up.” You sigh and close your eyes.

“What?” JJ’s head shoots up and he looks down at you. You raise your head from his shoulder and meet his eye.

“I don’t want to go to college, I don’t want to get a job. I just want to stay where we are in life right now. I’m so happy and inevitably it’s all going to go away. We’ll probably grow apart with our friends and move away and get a boring career and move to the suburbs somewhere and get a house with a white picket fence and-”

“Okay, stop your rambling for a second.”

You raise an eyebrow at him.

“You’re acting like we’re going to retire tomorrow. We’re still young, a whole life ahead of us. We have time to be whoever we want and do whatever we want. And look at us, we’re still acting like fucking toddlers,” he says referring to earlier. “We might grow up but we don’t have to grow up. Do you understand what I mean?”

You smile. “Yeah.”

“Good. Now, whoever makes it to the water first gets to pick the movie tonight!” As soon as the words leave his mouth he’s on his feet and dashing towards the water, barely giving you any time to react.

You run after him as fast as you can but it’s no use. He has won. He jumps up and down and does a goofy victory dance as you slow down when you reach him.

“That was so unfair! I don’t want to watch Fight Club. Again.” You point a finger at him, completely out of breath.

“Not my fault you’re so slow.” He shrugs smugly.

“Asshole.” You splash him with the cold ocean water and he takes a few steps back as he yelps.

“Fuck, that’s cold!”

“Not my fault you can’t handle it,” you mock him. He leaps towards you and tackles you, both of you falling on the ground in the shallow water.

“Oh my god, that is fucking cold!” you shriek.

“Told you!”

You quickly get up and shake as much water off as possible but you still can’t shake the cold. You wrap your arms around yourself.

JJ stands up too and wraps his arms around your shoulders, pulling you against him and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“If I get a cold it’s all your fault,” you grumble and pout.

“Nope.”

You smack his chest. “Ass.”

He just laughs and starts leading you back to your house. “Come on, let’s get your ass back home before it freezes off.”

“I hope yours does.”

He gasps. “That’s so rude!”

You scoff and roll your eyes but then laugh at his ridiculous reaction.

He’s right. You’re nowhere near actually growing up yet.

join the picnic!

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x fem!reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank outer banks #jj outer banks #jj obx #obx #jj maybank obx #cherry's 2.4k picnic!

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angellesword · 2 days

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BAGGAGE | JJK (07)

Summary: Drowning in debt and blood, Jeon Jungkook knows he's better off alone, lest he brings people down with him.

But one drunken night changes everything.

In a blink of an eye, Jungkook found himself drowning not only in debt and blood, but also in dirty diapers and judgmental stares from you, a.k.a his long-lost love and the guardian of the son he didn't even know existed.

Genre and warnings: best friends to lovers, co-parenting, idiots in love, mutual pining, angst, fluff, implied smut, kissing, minor character death, slight getting back together, drama, OC cusses excessively so watch out, blood, pregnancy, discussion of abortion, giving birth

Pairing: dad! Jungkook x adoptive mom!Reader

Word Count: 6.1k

← Previous Chapter (06) | Next Chapter (08) →

****

Six Years Ago, 2017:

France was not all that you expected. One would think people pursuing their doctorate degrees would be busier with their academic lives, but it looked like French people cared more about their social lives.

"Come on, just a few more steps!" Elyna, your classmate, chuckled while dragging your warm, sweaty body across the street. She almost tasted victory when she got a glimpse of the façade of your apartment.

Admittedly, Elyna still gets jealous whenever she remembers your apartment being nicer than hers. Talk about favoritism, huh? You were both scholars of Sorbonne University pursuing your doctorate degrees, but Professor Verlaine liked you the most.

"There you go! You can look after yourself, right? Bye, cutie." Elyna kissed your cheek before practically throwing you in your front door.

You were smaller in stature compared to your French classmates, making it easier for them to push and pull you around. You groaned when your back hit the door.

You were too drunk to cuss your classmate, so you could only suck it up and push yourself to enter your apartment. After what felt like forever, you finally stumbled inside, puffing out a breath and debating whether to just sleep on the floor.

Hours of clubbing with your classmates messed you up. You shouldn't have gone with them, but those shitty French didn't really give you a choice. Even Verlaine encouraged you to go out, going as far as postponing the submission of your business paper so you could have a fun Friday night.

Verlaine's exact words were, "Have fun. You've been in France for months already. You're the only international student who hasn't gone clubbing here."

You did not care for clubs. In fact, you hated them. You only attended your graduation parties and some quiet bars with Jungkook.

"Hah! Stupid pompous freak!" You cussed your traitor of a best friend, wanting nothing but to beat yourself for thinking about that bastard. You had done so well suppressing thoughts about Jungkook for the whole day. It's ten minutes before midnight. How could you fail so miserably?

You struggled to fish your phone out of your pocket, vision doubling, but that did not stop you from sending chains of messages to Jungkook.

To: Jungkook-shit I fucking hate you traitor

To: Jungkook-shit yoi betrayed me freak,. i hope you rot in hell

To: Jungkook-shit fucker

To: Jungkook-shit i hate you so mcuch pleas fo me a favor snd die

To: Jungkook-shit i will ndcevef dorgive you digshfit

To: Jungkook-shit dick

To: Jungkook-shit duck you

To: Jungkook-shit ny heart hirts

To: Jungkook-shitcan we go back?

The last message remained unsent as your intoxication finally caught up to you. You dropped your phone on the floor, face hitting the cold tiles as darkness clouded your vision.

You fell asleep.

***

That night, you had a long dream, which you were pretty sure had happened in real life—back when you were still very small, probably at five years old.

If you thought about it, you'd say the dream slash memory was triggered by going to a club with Elyna and the others. Your dream started off in a club, too.

Your Jisoo-unnie told you to hide in the closet and never make a sound, no matter who tried calling your name. You were an obedient child, only trusting your older sister. But it didn't mean your mother was as kind as Jisoo. Your mom would boss you around as she entertained guests. You basically served as an errand girl at a young age, forced to keep your mouth shut even when you saw your mother and the other girls get violently beaten up by rogue men.

"Where is my sister!?"

You were lighting heavy scented candles for your mother and client when you heard your sister's voice.

Your ears involuntarily perked up. You threw the matchbox aside and immediately ran out of the club's private room.

"Jisoo-unnie?" You blinked innocently.

Your sister was standing there, looking as if she was going to smack your mother. But Jisoo stopped when she heard you call for her.

"Don't take her away!" Your mother screeched and tried to pull Jisoo's hair.

Jisoo dodged, immediately running toward you and hugging your frail body. She covered your ears. "I will take her away! Please. Stop it! She’s just a kid!"

"Bah!" Your mother spat. "She earns me money, unlike a brat like you!"

"I will take her place." Jisoo did not even hesitate. She hugged you tighter. "Let me be your errand girl or whatever you want me to do. I will do it. Just leave her alone."

You couldn't properly hear what the adults were talking about. Jisoo covered your ear tighter to ensure you heard nothing. It took a while before your mother spat on the ground for the second time, but she relented and let Jisoo take you away.

Your memories were pretty vague. All you remembered was that Jisoo had brought you into a tiny apartment; it was cramped and dark and smelled like dead rats. But it was better than those heavy-scented rooms at the club. At least in here, Jisoo cared for you and did not try to beat you up.

It didn't mean all your trauma would go away instantly, though. There were many moments when you would wake up in the middle of the night, silently crying because of a nightmare. You usually dreamt about your mother's client beating up girls and throwing profanities at everyone, including you.

"It's okay, my little one. Your Jisoo-unnie is here, I'll protect you." You weren't sure if you were recalling memories of the past or if it was just part of your drunken dream. All you knew was that Jisoo's warm embrace was palpable. She used to cradle your little body in her arms.

You were a docile kid, wings clipped by those men at the club. They used to threaten to beat you up if you so much as made a small noise or a mistake. For a long time, you carried that pain and refused to talk to your Jisoo-unnie, or anyone else, for that matter. At school, kids made fun of you for acting all meek and weak.

There was a time when Jisoo was called by your teacher, asking if there was something wrong at home for you to act so distantly. You were seven years old around at this time, and you still didn't understand adult words. You just recalled your teacher telling Jisoo that you needed therapy or whatever that was.

Jisoo was barely of legal age. Your mother had a cut whenever Jisoo took in clients at the club. She spent more than half her money to feed you and ensure you could attend class.

Your Jisoo-unnie only had one reminder: "Study well, my dear. That's all I ask. You can get anything you want if you're smart and have lots of money."

You still didn't speak much but diligently followed whatever your sister said. Things took a turn after your teacher talked to Jisoo. The latter took the teacher's advice to heart, but she didn't have enough money to bring you to a professional. She could simply improvise.

"My dear, there's nothing to be scared of anymore, okay? I won't ever hurt you the way they did. Here," Jisoo offered her cheek to you. "You can slap me and tell me all the bad things those men did to you, I won't ever fight back."

You shook your head rapidly, cowering. Memories of those nasty men came like a tidal wave, sweeping you off your feet until you felt nauseated.

"Sshh, my dear. It's okay. Just try, okay...You're okay."

It took a lot of conviction before you relented. Every day, Jisoo would coax you to act like a regular kid who was not frightened of acting difficult and throwing tantrums. She made you feel like it was okay to be mean and that whatever you did or said, you would still be loved—this was the beginning of you having a sharp mouth that couldn't go one statement with profanities leaving your mouth.

You got away with so many things because of Jisoo.

That had been your setup for many years, but your life slowly progressed. You worked hard in school while Jisoo did all the jobs available to her. You got out of that tiny apartment and were able to move to a new house. You were initially reluctant to leave, afraid you would lose connection with the first friend you made in the neighborhood—Jungkook.

You didn't talk to Jungkook before, either. You two would casually sit beside each other and be in your own world.

"You don't have an adult at home? Cool, me too." That was the first thing Jungkook told you. You weren't bothered by his presence before, but Jungkook had become insufferable over time, teasing you here and there until you had to snarl at him.

Despite your banter, you had grown attached to Jungkook and even begged Jisoo not to separate you. Jisoo smiled at you, ruffling your hair and explaining that you would only move to a nicer home, but it was still around the area.

You felt relief flood your veins. Things were going well. You slowly healed from your traumatic childhood as you stayed close to Jungkook and your Jisso-unnie. Your sister kept her promise, never once leaving you.

Every day, Jisoo would go home to you. You gingerly waited for your sister to arrive; you'd set aside your homework and other stuff to open your front door and greet Jisoo with a simple "Welcome home!"

You couldn't maintain your happy façade as Jisoo smiled faintly at you, coughing and smelling like smoke. There were bags under her eyes, too exhausted at her work at the club.

You were getting older. You thought you could apply for a part-time job and help your sibling with the expenses, but Jisoo wanted you to focus on your studies. She brushed your concern off, saying, "It's just secondhand smoke. You know those men at the club, they can't live without cigarettes. Don't worry."

As usual, you blindly followed your sister's request. You hid your verbal concerns and could only welcome her home with hot water with honey. You did your best to care for your Jisoo-unnie until you moved to the university dorm and got busier with school. As time passed, your time with Jisoo lessened until it reached a point where Jisoo would not contact you. She even went as far as betraying you.

She must have known, right? How could she not know that you were hopelessly in love with Jungkook? How could the two most important people in your life betray you like this?

It just didn't make sense.

But then again, nothing made sense—not when feelings were involved. For instance, you flew all the way to Europe so you wouldn't have to deal with the mess back in Incheon. You had cut off connections with Jungkook and Jisoo, but months later, right when you were recovering from your hangover from clubbing too much, was when your doorbell rang.

It's probably Professor Verlaine, you thought. You didn't bother checking the peephole because, for one, you didn't want to see your professor looking prim and proper while you looked like shit. You were still wearing your clothes from last night and you just got up from the floor. Seeing Verlaine at the peephole would make you want to freshen up first; you just didn't have the energy for that.

And for fuck's sake. It's seven in the morning. Seven! Anyone who dared to disturb you at this ungodly hour deserved to see your bed hair, drool on the side of your mouth included.

So you opened the door, fully expecting to grin at your professor, but your smile froze mid-air.

You were still hungover, yet your reflexes were as agile as ever.

You slammed the door shut—no, wait, that's wrong. You swore you were about to slam the door shut. You were not a pushover and didn't intend to talk to your traitor sister.

But you stood there, stiff and unable to shut the door to her face when you heard her cough.

A stupid fucking cough.

Jisoo coughed, and you felt as if you were a child again, excited to open the door and welcome your sister home with hot water mixed with honey from the comb.

***

In hindsight, you should have seen it coming. Jisoo could go a long time without contacting you, though she could never cut you off completely.

Once, she promised to stay with you forever, and until now, that promise still stands.

A promise is a promise.

Jisoo was sitting on your couch. You foolishly let her in, heart still throbbing after hearing your sister's cough. It was just a stupid cough, yet you felt your resolve crumbling.

This can't be. You couldn't possibly still have a soft spot for her.

"Ya having a sidepiece spawn?"—so you attacked her.

Jisoo visibly flinched at the roughness of your tone. You sighed a breath of relief. Her expression would help you sleep at night: Jisoo lowered her eyes, lashes trembling because of your intense look at her stomach. You longed to damage her heart until all she wished to do was run.

Jisoo called your name, choking back a sob. It was hard to say if it was because of the guilt she felt toward you or if it was because of what you called her unborn child.

Yes, Jisoo was heavily pregnant.

It was unfair. Jisoo felt the kick in her belly while you felt like your heart had been stomped.

"It's Jungkook's." There was no room for rebuttal. You said it with finality.

Jisoo didn't deny it, either.

"Of fucking course." You chuckled mercilessly. "How many rounds of 'playing around' did it take before you finally managed to get knocked up?"

"We weren't playing around." Jisoo defended. It was real. The thing they have done, it was real. "But I never dated him."

You scoffed. "But you fucked him." Your jaw slackened. Looking at your sister ignited your anger.

"Once." Jisoo was desperate.

You did not know what to feel anymore. A searing headache hit you. You barked a laugh.

"Tell me, Jisoo-unnie," you said pointedly. You might as well knife her heart. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

Crashing defeat settled at the pit of Jisoo's stomach. The baby kicked her tummy aggressively like it was punishing her, too.

Jisoo called your name, trying again. "It was a one-time thing."

"A one-time thing." You repeated. It was probably said to reassure you, but it didn't. If anything, you just found a way to nitpick her excuse. "Not a one-time mistake?"

Jisoo inhaled sharply. For a moment, she looked like she wanted to cup her stomach to calm her baby, but she saw your piercing gaze there, leaving Jisoo no choice but to keep her hands on her side.

"We were both drunk. I admit, it was a moment of weakness."

Cliche. You snarled, feeling acid burn your throat. You wanted to vomit bile. "Still not calling it a mistake?"

"We both wanted it."

"Why!" Millions of questions attacked your head at once. Why did you betray me!? Why did you sleep with him, out of all people!? Was it good!? Was it worth breaking my trust? Why did you want it!?

Jisoo parted her lips, seemingly ready to answer your query, but you raised your hand to shut her up.

Jisoo obediently followed.

"Don't answer that." You felt your knees buckling. You wanted to crawl and die.

"It is—"

"Please, stop." You were certain your heart had been broken to pieces, and you thought there was no way Jisoo could shatter it more.

But now you weren’t so sure anymore.

You could only storm off to your room, slamming the door and hoping Jisoo would leave you alone.

***

Jisoo did not leave you alone. She was sheepishly sitting on the couch when you emerged from your room.

"You're still here," you observed, no snark in your voice, but exhaustion was there.

"I will be here," Jisoo responded with a small smile.

You ignored her, but she kept her promise.

She stayed the whole day in your home. The next day, she was still there.

Then the next.

And the next day.

You couldn't keep track anymore.

***

You and Jisoo were certainly not on good terms or talking terms. Fortunately, you learned to cohabitate without tearing each other apart.

Sometimes, you would buy baby clothes for Jisoo's child. You’d leave the shopping bag on the couch where your sister usually sat. However, you wouldn’t wait to see her reaction after checking the clothes.

Once, though, you accidentally saw her hugging the new clothes you had bought.

You caught Jisoo's gaze. Your sister smiled shyly at you.

Unlike before, you didn't immediately look away. In fact, you gazed at her as if asking, "It's white. A pretty neutral color. That should work, right?"

You weren't siblings without a reason. Jisoo picked up the question in your eyes.

She embraced the clothes tighter. "It's a boy. You’re going to have a nephew."

You did not react. You cast your gaze away and wordlessly left your sister alone.

But the next day, you had ten shopping bags in your hand. You left them at the usual spot.

Blue. You brought blue clothes and a bunch of toys.

You also brought pink clothes because assigning colors to gender was stupid.

But also because your nephew would surely look cute in blue, pink, and all other colors.

***

Jisoo was 32 weeks pregnant when you made up your mind to say something to her.

"That's it." You barged into the bathroom, catching your sister on the spot. She was vomiting blood.

Jisoo gave a start; her eyes were glistening with tears when she snapped her head up and met your glare. She hurriedly wiped her mouth.

"Why are you here?" Jisoo felt cornered, so she stepped back like a frightened lamb.

You smacked your lips together, finding this situation ridiculous. Jisoo had already slept with Jungkook; nothing could ever top that betrayal, so why was she acting like you would strangle her for puking blood?

"This is my apartment, in case you forgot."

"That's not what I meant." Jisoo inhaled as she struggled to swallow blood back to her stomach. "You're supposed to be at school."

"Yeah, whatever I skipped." You couldn't bear to see your trembling sister any longer. You helped her sit on the wide edge of the bathtub.

You worried about your Jisoo-unnie. She'd been retching in the bathroom almost daily. She thought she could hide it by turning the faucet on to muffle the sound, but she was wrong.

You planned to put an end to this. Your brow creased. "Enough with your bullshit. You are thirty-two weeks pregnant, and you can't possibly still be experiencing morning sickness. Even if you were, you'd be vomiting vile or that strawberry yogurt you've been eating every day. Not fucking blood."

"It's fine." Jisoo brushed it off, making a move to stand and end this conversation. You two never talked for more than one minute since she arrived, so why were you being loud now?

"You are not getting out of this conversation." You blocked her way out, glaring at her with the storm in your eyes. "I'll ask again. Why are you vomiting blood?"

The silence was deafening.

You wanted to punch the mirror. You cursed your sister; your eyes were turning bloodshot. The betrayal from before was back in full force. The fact that Jisoo wasn't telling you anything made you feel like she was hiding a nasty secret again.

You couldn't handle any more treachery. You might actually die.

"Don't lie to me again—" You cut yourself off, afraid you’d make yourself look pathetic by murmuring a soft please.

Jisoo stubbornly refused to speak. She watched as tears fell into her open palm.

She had done so well hiding this. She didn't want to tell you about her sickness, but every second that passed made Jisoo feel like the distance between you and her was stretching.

In the end, she could only concede.

"I'm dying." Shallow breath. "I've cancer."

This time, it wasn't the distance that stretched but the silence.

Jisoo dared to peek at your reaction as the silence made her uncomfortable. Only two people knew she was sick: Jungkook and now you.

Jungkook at least hugged her and wiped her hands, telling her it would be all right.

But Jungkook was Jungkook. She hadn't done anything to hurt him.

But you? She shattered and betrayed you, so she should have expected it when she heard your giddy chuckle. However, when Jisoo looked at you, no sign of happiness or sadness could be traced on your face.

It was eerily impassive.

And then she heard you say:

"Good. That's good. I hope you die."

The bathroom door slammed shut, leaving Jisoo with tears in her eyes and kicking unborn child.

***

Jisoo was 33 weeks pregnant when you gave up on radio silence. Your sister was lying on the bed she bought herself. Your apartment only had one bedroom, but Jisoo still squeezed herself in. Seeing her dozing off on the couch was a pain, so one day, you brought brochures where Jisoo could choose a bed of her liking.

Jisoo bought a single bed, putting it close to your bed. You two slept without bothering each other. Tonight, though, you couldn't take it anymore.

You lay on your side, staring directly at Jisoo. Your sister was already looking at you.

She smiled and said hi.

You didn't bother with greetings. You went straight to the point.

"What type of cancer." It was like you were reporting the weather, refusing to ask the question properly. Your monotonous voice made you appear apathetic. No one knew how heavy your heart was.

"Does it matter?" Jisoo cupped her bulging belly. Her baby seemed excited whenever he heard his aunt speaking. He was wildly kicking Jisoo's belly.

"Tsk. Just answer the damn question. Why do you have to make everything difficult?"

This was starting to get on your nerves. Even after everything that happened, you still weren’t used to Jisoo not indulging you.

"It's not difficult. It just doesn't matter. I'm dying, anyway." Just like what you wanted. But Jisoo didn't say the last part. She was not in a position to hold grudges against you.

You hugged your pillow to your chest like you wanted to shield your heart that was about to jump out of your body.

"Just answer."

It was getting harder for you to breathe. Beads of sweat formed on your forehead; you couldn't seem to get the image of Jisoo coughing in your head.

Please don't let it be lung cancer. Please don't let it be lung cancer. Please don't let it be lung cancer. Please don't let it be lung cancer. Please don't let it be lung cancer—

"It's lung cancer."

Your heart missed a beat.

"How much time do you have left?" You dug your nails into the pillow while Jisoo sighed. She was sure you couldn't wait for her to die.

"Not too long. Maybe I'll pass soon after I have my baby."

"But why." Jisoo wasn't sure if she was imagining things, but she thought she heard you whine. "Don't you have a treatment plan? Fucking chemotherapy and stuff?"

"Chemotherapy is harmful for the baby." Jisoo's tone was soft.

"Fuck the baby!"

Even you were surprised by how resentful you were. But it was true, wasn't it? Her baby was the devil's spawn. It was the fruit of betrayal, so why was Jisoo choosing it over herself?

"Why didn't you abort it?" You abruptly sat on the bed, shooting daggers at Jisoo. A whirlpool of abuse danced at the tip of your tongue. You didn't voice it out because Jisoo looked sad.

"Don't be like that to Soobin."

"Who the fuck is Soobin? Why should I care!?"

"It's your nephew's name," Jisoo explained patiently as she caressed her stomach. Soobin had stopped kicking, probably scared of his aunt.

"That's such a basic name. It's so ugly. I hate it. I hate him."

You didn't give your sister a chance to speak. "Forget it." You turned off the lampshade. "I don't want to talk to you anymore. I'm going to sleep."

You laid back down. Darkness enveloped the room. This was better. This way, you couldn't see the sadness in Jisoo’s face.

But you couldn't sleep. You tossed and turned all night, but nothing worked.

It's my fault. You wanted to say. Jisoo got cancer because of you. That club was a rotten place. You should've stopped her from working there.

Lung cancer. What a bullshit thing to have.

"Don't die." A week ago, you were saying the complete opposite. "If you die, I'll chase you to hell. You can't die, Jisoo."

You still have debts to pay. I have not forgiven you yet. You have to suffer my eternal wrath, so do not die before me.

*** In Jisoo's 34th week of pregnancy, you had asked her another question.

"Why did you do it?"

Jisoo didn't need context. She knew exactly what you were talking about, but like before, you cut her off before she could explain.

"Never mind." You covered your face with a blanket and slept.

***

In Jisoo's 35th week of pregnancy, you pestered her again about chemotherapy.

"I told you already. It's harmful for Soobin."

"And I told you already, I don't care about Soobin." You rebutted.

This bedtime routine was tiring Jisoo. She felt like she was arguing with a wall.

"Good night," so she just turned off the lampshade and went to bed.

*** You asked about the betrayal again in Jisoo's 36th week of pregnancy.

"Are you sure you want to know now?" Jisoo's carefulness shot your heart.

You shook your head, your chest heaving.

"No," you admitted. "Never mind it."

***

Jisoo's 37th weeks pregnant when you panicked upon seeing her looking like she was in a lot of pain.

"What's the matter?" Your heart leaped to your throat. You were beside Jisoo at once.

Jisoo bit her lip and wiped the sweat on her forehead. "It's nothing. Your nephew's just being naughty. He keeps kicking my tummy."

Oh.

Your heartbeat returned to normal. And then you snorted and folded your arms across your chest. "Tell that scrub to shut his trap and quit being annoying."

You were about to return to your bed when Jisoo seized your wrist.

You flinched, but you didn't push her away.

It gave Jisoo the courage to push through her suggestion. She cleared her throat, "Why don't you pacify him yourself? He's quite obedient. Here, I'll guide you."

Jisoo slowly led your hand to her tummy. Your hand was stiff at first, almost resisting when you had contact with the skin of Jisoo's belly.

"Sshh, it's okay, dear." Jisoo's voice was like a lullaby. You relaxed at once.

It took you a while before you finally started caressing your sister's stomach without wanting to die.

And then you felt it.

"Oh!" Your eyes grew big. "He kicked me! Your kid kicked me!"

An involuntary chuckle came out of Jisoo. "Yes, he likes his aunt a lot."

"Hmp." You withdrew your hands. "Too bad I don't care about him."

Jisoo didn't react because, deep down, you were fooling no one.

***

You asked about the betrayal again in Jisoo's 38th week of pregnancy. Jisoo had learned her lesson, so she did not speak and pretended to be asleep.

***

You found the courage to be honest in Jisoo's 39th week of pregnancy.

"I take it back." You gripped your blanket. "Soobin isn't so bad. I think his name is cute."

Jisoo gasped, which had you worrying. You thought your sister was in pain again. These days, all she did was vomit blood.

However, Jisoo's gasp was because of plain surprise. She beamed at you, "Soobin just kicked me three times. He means to say he loves you."

"You're an idiot, and you know it." You clicked your tongue in disgust, "Tell your devil spawn I hate him."

Your words were harsh, but Jisoo knew your heart was melting.

Just a few more. Jisoo mused, mentally patting her baby's head. Your aunt’s gonna warm up to you soon, Bin-bin.

***

Jisoo was in her 40th week of pregnancy when she gave birth to a healthy baby boy.

It took a while before you got out of the hospital because of Jisoo's worsening condition. Thankfully, you were there to look after Soobin.

"Welcome home, mon bébé," you secretly whispered when you finally got home.

Soobin cooed at you, and you wanted to cry.

You stopped calling Soobin the devil's spawn.

***

Jisoo's 3 weeks postpartum, and she was delirious.

"Jisoo-unnie, it's time for your medicine." You were sitting in your sister's bed with a glass of water in your hand.

"Honey water again...?" She blinked, eyes unfocused. She was hot to touch. "I don't want honey water. You make them too sweet."

"This is not honey water." You tried to make her drink, but Jisoo was stubborn.

She called your name. “My dear, please. You have to listen to me, alright? Hide in the closet. Don't answer even when mom calls for you. I will..." She cupped your cheek. "I will be back for you, okay?"

Postpartum was foreign to you, but you figured your sister was struggling.

"There's no need to hide. I'm not a five-year-old anymore, Jisoo-unnie."

It was the wrong thing to say because Jisoo scowled. She was unhappy, though she kept caressing your face.

"What are you saying? You'll always be my little girl."

***

Jisoo's 9 weeks postpartum when her mind cleared up. Regrettably, her body became weaker.

"You can't even carry your own baby," you taunted, peering down at your bedridden sister as you gently rocked Soobin in your arms.

Your nephew was so well-behaved.

"It's okay." Jisoo coughed. "Soobin has you."

"I'm not a babysitter." You jutted your chin, annoyed. "Hurry up and get better. I'm getting tired of—oh."

You weren't able to finish whatever you were saying. You couldn't even remember what you were trying to prove. All your thoughts vanished when Soobin wrapped his tiny hand around your pinky.

"Jisoo-unnie! Look! Look! He's holding me!" You stepped closer to Jisoo's bed, crouching down so your sister could see.

Jisoo forced out a smile. But that small action was taxing to her body. She coughed up blood again. She wiped it before you could see it.

"That's good. That's really, really good...."

***

Jisoo was 10 weeks postpartum, and she was still rotting in bed.

"You have to force yourself to get better," you demanded, a deep scowl on your lips. "Just look at your son. He clings to me a lot. Do you want him to recognize me as his mom?"

Your statement was meant to be threatening, but it made Jisoo happier.

"He is yours, dear." Her voice was barely above a whisper. She didn't have the energy to speak louder, but she could still smile. "He is meant to stay by your side."

"Shut up." You rolled your eyes. "I'm not cut out to be a parent. This is your mess. I was not there when you made him." I was against you making him. You hurt me.

Jisoo's forehead creased, though. She didn't agree with you. "But I made him for you."

What?

You couldn't believe your ears. If postpartum was this kind of bitch, then you were willing to fight it. It was making your Jisoo-unnie act crazy. She was full of shit.

"Soobin...stay...you..." And she was blabbering random words.

You touched her forehead. She was burning. Her fever was probably making her crazy.

"Next time, I'm bringing you to an asylum." Soobin slept soundly in his crib, so you had time to care for your sister. You put a wet towel on her forehead. "You're crazy, did you know that? Who would have thought a cute baby like Soobin came from a nasty girl like you?"

Jisoo's scowl deepened. She struggled and weakly caught your wrist. "No. Soobin looks like...me."

You glanced at Soobin's sleeping form. Yeah, right.

"Keep dreaming. It's free."

"No." Jisoo cried. It looked like she took your statement to heart. "He looks like me...he should look like me..."

Suddenly, Jisoo was crying. You were stunned. What was this drama queen crying for!?

"He looks like me. Please. He should remind me of you. I'm dying, I'm dying. I'm dying--!!"

Your eyes widened. Jisoo was out of control. She was sobbing and kicking her feet, albeit weakly.

"Jisoo-unnie, calm down." You held her hands, giving up. "I believe you, okay? Soobin looks like you."

She was easy to pacify. She stopped crying at once, and then she cupped your cheeks.

"My dear, my little one...I'm sorry, your Jisoo-unnie can't keep her promise to you. I'm going soon. Stay...stay with Soobin, alright?"

Jisoo slowly trailed off. The terrible realization slapped you in the face.

You were shaking, bile crawling to your throat when you connected the dots:

There was a high possibility that Jisoo, your sister, planned on sleeping with Jungkook so she could get pregnant. She wished to get pregnant because, after all this time, she still saw you as a little girl who needed someone by her side.

And since she was dying, she needed someone to...

You stopped thinking. You looked at Soobin's sleeping form and sobbed; your sister's words echoed in your mind:

Stay with Soobin. I made him for you.

Fuck.

***

In Jisoo's twisted way, what she did was for your sake. Unfortunately, you did not ask any of this.

Jisoo was 15 weeks postpartum. She was like a withered flower. No color was left on her face. Death was around the corner.

"Are you there, my dear?"

You did not answer. The question you didn't have an answer to entered your mind. You hadn't asked in a long time. Should you?

"Why did you betray me?" You asked it aloud before you could think properly. You thought Jisoo's too weak to answer, but she forced herself to speak.

"I was lonely. We were both lonely."

In the grand scheme of things, that explanation should have made sense. Lonely people sought comfort. You should be the first to understand that. But you didn't. It only brought you pain.

"I can't make you happy?" But you were her sister and Jungkook...Jungkook was your best friend. How could you not know that the people you loved were suffering? That they were lonely? Were you that...insensitive?

"It's not about you." Jisoo groaned. She was in a lot of pain. "You will never understand our grief. Your life is...a bliss."

The pain was unbearable. You wanted to cover your ears. You regretted asking that question, but you just couldn't stop.

"So you don't trust me? You don't think I'd understand you?" Did Jungkook think so too?

Jisoo didn't give a clear answer. She couldn't breathe. Her chest was stuffy.

Silence prevailed.

You stared blankly at Jisoo.

Jisoo struggled to maintain her breathing. She called your name.

"Have you forgiven me?"

It took you an eternity to respond, but your tone was biting when you did.

"You and Jungkook bonded over something you thought I was too immature to understand, so tell me, Jisoo-unnie, how can I forgive you?"

It meant to hurt. But Jisoo smiled through the pain.

She seemed...happy.

"Good…Good. Don't forgive me. I don't deserve it."

Blood. There was blood everywhere. Jisoo was barely awake.

"But leave Soobin...out of your...anger. That kid will love you. I swear, he will love you."

You had no plans to give Soobin away.

"I know...I am in no position to ask you anything, but...Jungkook...he must know about his son. He deserves that much, no--" She seemed to shake her head. "Soobin deserves that much....Promise me, in three..."

She paused. She was thinking....calculating...

"No four...four years...three years..." It was getting confusing. "Return him home in three years. Ugh."

Jisoo couldn't hold on.

She called your name. “ You and Soobin...you two are my life...I love you...I'll see..." you.

Jisoo didn't get to finish her last statement. She died, eyes clamped shut and blood splattering everywhere.

She died while her son slept, and you wept.

**** A/N: I wrote this for so many hours...this is not edited, I feel like I'm going to vomit if I read this chapter one more time. Imdeadtired.exe.

We will be back in the present in the next chapter.

← Previous Chapter (06) | Next Chapter (08) →

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #ficswithluv #jungkook x oc #bts fic #jungkook x y/n #pseudo cheating

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 15 hours

Text

The Man 10

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Lloyd Hansen

Summary: a demanding customer complicates more than your work life.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Gah. You hate the taste. It doesn’t get any better and it feels worse on your skin. There’s something unnatural about human biology. Should that be so slimy?

You’re not a prude, not mentally, only experientially. The act itself, yeah, it’s kind of hot, but the finale. That’s too much. Not to mention, it wasn’t exactly mutual. None of this is.

It’s weird, actually. The more you think of it, sat naked under a desk, in the mess of his excitement, you can’t help but analyse the situation you find yourself in. This man articulated a strategic destruction of your life; he messed with your rent, your bank, your job, and now you’re sitting her in his house, perched on your heels like an orphan begging for more gruel.

You frown as you rub your chin again. Despite the single tissue he offered, you still felt the residue clinging to your skin. You need a shower. Or maybe some clothes. That would be nice. You scrunch up your nose and sneer.

“What the hell is that face for?” Floyd—Lloyd snips and you look up to meet his gaze through the glass top of the desk, his keyboard blocking out all but one of his blue eyes. Hey, he has nice eyes for a meanie. You’d never tell him because he’s not a very good listener.

“Nothing, I just...” you shrug and his eye flicks down to the jiggle of your chest. You cross your arms and tilt your head to the side, “can I go wash off or something?”

“Why?” He challenges.

Your lips part and a puff of air shoots out. Is he serious?

“I... I’m not saying it’s your fault or anything but semen smells and I smell like semen, so going by a very basic formula--”

“Oh my god, you don’t stop. Why can’t you just say anything straight out? Why’s it this nonsense?” He growls.

“Fair enough, but I’m still hoping to see a sink or maybe a washcloth--”

He rolls his eyes and closes them. He sits back and puts his hands to either side of his nose and exhales heavily. He clucks as he drops his arms and considers you as he leans against the leather cushioning.

“You don’t make the rules. Stay.”

He rolls back up to the desk and starts typing again. You look at the bottom of the sleek keyboard. He’s definitely an Apple guy, the iMac isn’t even the biggest giveaway. He just has that essence to him. He’s one of those guys who claims to be all about the best of everything but really he’s just buying into capitalism. He’s basic; mainstream.

What is he even doing? Typing, clicking, scowling at the screen. Is he working? What on earth does he even do? Well, if you account for the mustache, the tacky clothes, and shoes without socks, you might assume he’s some sort of salesman. Used cars if you were to go by looks alone and yet his house would suggest more than that.

He doesn’t look like a lawyer. He could be a tech bro, again, Apple everything. Still, the way he types doesn’t really seem savvy. He’s got the whole chicken peck down pat, jabbing each key with his index finger. So you’re at a loss. What the hell do rich people do? How do they even get rich?

“Would you stop staring at me like that?” He stops again, another glare through the glass.

You swallow and shake your head, shifting on your knees as you keep your arms across your chest.

“Sir, Mr. Jansen--”

“Hansen,” he grits dangerously.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hansen, sir, please, it’s cold in here, can I get a sweater or maybe you could turn off the air? This time of day, the rate must be ridiculous.”

His lashes flutter and his forehead lines. His hand closes to a fist then opens. His chest rises and he squares his jaw.

“You’re distracting me. I’m trying to work.”

“So maybe I could go somewhere else. It’s a big house--”

“My house,” he insists.

“A very nice house,” you offer, “I mean I’m sitting down here, my knees are killing me, I’m shivering, I can’t sit still. You’re not gonna get anything done. I’m agreeing with you. One hundred percent. I’m annoying. A real nuisance so let the leash go a little bit. Promise, I won’t touch a thing--”

He squints then his eyes flick up as he thinks. His lips thin and he huffs. He brings his fingertips together, elbows planted on the glass desk, and taps them as he hums.

“You’re lucky you can make me cum,” he grumbles.

“Ah, but sir, don’t give me all the credit. You’re a very good cummer. An expert, it seems.”

His nose crinkles and his mouth falls open, for just a second. His cheek dimples and he shakes it away, “what on earth are you fucking on about?”

“I’m just saying, sir, I don’t know much about the old sausage link but I’m comparing it to the hub--”

“The hub?”

“PornHub, I’m sure you know it.”

He lets out cluck but says nothing else.

“Anyway, you got what they would call girth,” you gesture with your hands. “Good job, although, maybe it’s more a genetic type thing. Not really something you did...”

He stares at you for a moment the pushes his knees wide. He takes a breath and slides slightly forward in his chair. You are keenly aware of the twitch beneath his pants. Please, not again. Are their calories in cum?

“You watch a lot of porn?” He asks, a genuine hint of interest in his voice. The furthest from spite you’ve heard from him.

“Eh, not as much as some people, I'm sure. I get curious,” you say. “but within discretion. Never wanna go too far down the rabbit hole.”

He taps his toe and gives a thoughtful angle of his chin, twining his fingers between each other, “what kinds?”

“Mm, well, I dunno. Usually, I just click something on the front page that doesn’t look too wild. Like creampie is pretty standard, I guess. Doggystyle is usually all over, but the stepdaughter stuff, ick. Not for me, sir. No way.”

He makes a clicking noise in his throat and slowly reclines in his chair, “you are way too honest for your own good.”

“Maybe, I guess. In this situation though, what do I get from lying? Besides, I see the stache,” you shoot him with a fingergun then quickly holster it. “You definitely are trawling around. RedTube? Xvideos?”

“You said you’re curious,” he ignores your question, “you don’t... do anything while you watch?”

You feel a subtle tickle in your thighs. The casual air turns thick. You’re starting to get worked up.

“Eh, well, you know... the fingers find a way,” you look away and giggle nervously. “I go on these women’s forums. They say you should know yourself best before you try with a partner. Obviously, I haven’t found my number two yet but I know my way around my captain's chair. I can get to warp speed.”

His lips curve slowly as you look back to him and you gulp. You’ve said too much. Again. The very reason you fell head first into this predicament.

“Sir, why are you looking at me like that?” You squeak.

He chuckles and brushes his fingertips over his bristly mustache, “well, sweet lips, show me the way.”

“Huh?” Your eyes round.

“Show me around your captain's chair, as you so eloquently put it,” he demands and wiggles two fingers at you.

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #drabble #series #au #mob au #the man #the gray man

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carmenized-onions · 2 days

Text

Zero Pulse. | Oven Hotfix

logline; It's Friday.

[!!!] series history, this is the tenth; You're gonna need to check to make sure you're caught up babe because there's a LOT of context behind this one.

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. Wish you could sort by emotions, on playlists, but this is really a very good playlist i think.

portion; 12.5k Jesus Christ, new record.

possible allergies; Incredibly excessive hateful self-image, very frivolous way of talking about mental illness/death/Mikey, I'd say just like ? stress? BLOOD ALSO !! minor cut dw

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (gets she/her'd into oblivion this round, mb)

said it before i'll say it again, this is the new best and longest chapter i've written-- of all time now. and im being so fr if i don't get actually like harassed in my inbox with the amount of people chattering about this i will WALK INTO THE PIER BITCH

It’s Friday morning, and today is the first day in possibly years that Carmen has actually snoozed his alarm. Opting to sleep in for an extra hour, despite how uncomfortable his whole body is where it lays. He’s trying to avoid waking up today— Because he knows, he can tell: Today is just not going to be his day, today. Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, today— Not even—

He fell asleep on his couch, last night. His TV is still on and when he turns it off, it sizzles from being on the stupid Cooking Channel for so long. He’s covered in crumbs, hands coated in chip dust— Chin and neck sticky with spilled Diet Coke. Just don’t wake up and you won’t have to clean it. The day can’t get him, if it never starts.

But then his alarm rings again, for maybe the hundredth time, and there’s no real reason as to why this time is different from the other times, but he suddenly remembers why he fell asleep on his couch, last night. Why he had such a difficult time crawling just fifteen feet further when he got home last night. His face grows hot and red with shame and embarrassment, like a child.

A plate was sent back. A plate he made, was sent back.

Most would find it too dramatic, but he really did almost throw up. Syd gave him an antacid— From a pocket pack that you gave her. Did it help all that much? No. But at least he kept everything down. He just heaved a lot, in the walk-in. Probably good that he didn’t eat much of anything, yesterday.

He’d been thinking far too much. Spent way too long thinking about what to make for you, tonight— Which is fine, you’re inspiring— But he should’ve been keeping those thoughts to pen and paper. But he was making the stupid fucking roux for the stupid fucking order and his autopilot system got all mixed up and suddenly he was making a fantastic Montmorency, but an awful roux. Fucking brain dead, Berzatto. Talentless. Can you not handle this?

How is it possible, to fuck up that bad? You’re terrible at this. His instinct— Everyone’s instinct was to tell the patron to get off their fucking high horse. There’s always that one guest, that thinks they own the goddamn place. But then the dish came back to the kitchen, and everyone just stared. Silent. He was mortified. Is it too much for you? Practically unrecognizable, from what was ordered. It was entirely his fault. Dumb fuck. So fucking slow.

What happened to him? Seriously, what the fuck happened, to him? How could he possibly forget what’s important here? What’s at stake? He can’t look himself in the eyes when he brushes his teeth. Why are you so fucking slow? You are bullshit.

Regrettably, you happened to him; in a good and bad way.

He sighs, washing your conditioner out of his hair in the shower. Scrunching it, as you’d directed. He listens, he does. He takes direction well. Go faster, motherfucker. And he likes you, Carmen does. You are not tough. And he doesn’t fault you for being a good person, no, he faults himself.

He’s not meant to be a good person, he’s meant to be a good chef.

He’s not meant to be a good work partner, with Syd— That doesn’t get results. Everyone thinks they’re happier when he’s happier, sure, but they’re in the red. They’re not gonna be so fucking happy when their cheques start bouncing. It doesn’t matter how good a person he is— What matters is what he’s actually capable of providing— And it’s not amusement or enjoyment— It’s fucking talent. But he sought out your affections, your approval, in a key moment, in every moment— In place of who he should’ve— A Michelin Inspector.

He's let himself forget, what it meant, what it takes, to get a star.

And that made him fuck up a dish— A simple fucking dish. Again, not your fault, his. But God, he wants both. Carmen needs both. He can have both. You should be dead. He just needs to lock it in, keep it tight, push it down, comb it back, you should be dead—

He needs to spray his hair with rosemary, it’s looking thin. The basil on his balcony is coming in nicely, though.

It’s just hit four o’clock when you’re mostly finished getting ready— Well, you are ready, but, y’know, final checks and all that. You smooth out your palazzo pants. Gotta look presentable. Or at the very least, normal.

The Bear is high-class, you’re not going there as a repairman, tonight, for once. Plus, Richie wears suits twenty-four fucking seven now— So you need to dress accordingly, or he and every other guest there are going to look at you like you’re some broke freak. Which, like, not inaccurate, but still hurtful. You’ve broken out the good but not too good jewelry. Money talks, wealth whispers, or some shit. Black turtleneck, blue pants— To match the stupid fucking Executive Chef’s eyes, or whatever, shut up! The pants are not actually that bright, but you think they’d still pair well with Carmen. And even if they didn’t, they match The Bear’s aesthetic, and you like to remain on theme, even when there isn’t really at all a required theme.

Not like you’re going to be seeing much of Carmen tonight, anyway. As much as you’d like to see him, he didn’t send you his Connections, this morning, not even after you sent yours, and you’re taking that as a sign that today is probably rough. And not in the way that can be helped by talking to a person, either, in fact, probably the exact opposite.

You debate whether or not to wear Carmen’s jean jacket. This is a thin turtleneck, and it’d go really well with the whole outfit, and like, Sydney already caught on— It’s only a matter of time before the whole kitchen clocks it.

Yeah, fuck it, hard launch this situationship. You toss it over your shoulders. Okay, okay, one last last final fit check. Hm. Yeah, you’ve definitely gotta put the necklace away. You kiss the plastic pendant for good luck, before tucking it under your shirt. Not ready for that story, just yet. You will be, eventually. But you certainly don’t want Carmen to notice and ask about it. Soon, though. You will, soon.

You grab your purse, your keys, your finished art piece— Wrapped, neatly, in brown paper, with a little card taped to it. Okay, that’s everything. One last last last final review. Makeup? Great. Hair? Perfect. Outfit? Stunning— Fuck, what shoes are you going to wear? Fuck fuck fuck—

Alright, you know it’s not the shoes you’re worried about. Just get out the door, Chip. It’s gonna be fine, Chip. Dinner’s gonna be good, and normal, actually, because two people having their first real one-on-one conversation after their mutual best friend killed himself just under a year ago is historically always super calm and chill and normal, actually. That’s how that works. It’s not gonna be tense, at all.

This is immediately so tense. “Hey. Good to— Good to see you.”

You go in for the hug, so does Richie, only then do you both realize how full your hands are. And then it becomes a weird side hug from you combined with a full hug from him. It’s terrible, this is terrible, this is so tense. Maybe you can still run and have it not be weird, somehow.

“You— Too.” Richie clears his throat, “Cousin.”

It’s not like this is the first time you’ve seen each other since, no, you’ve seen each other thrice now, but it was different all those times. You were helping Carmen escape a freezer, or having an episode over a broken toilet, or delivering a baby— It wasn’t awkward all those times because it couldn’t be. You didn’t have time to be awkward, they were always emergencies.

“So uh, Fak’s gonna be our, our server?”

“Yessir.”

“He any good?”

“No-sir.”

But this meet up is intentional, booked. It’s got a point to it, and both of you know what it is. You’re just anxiously waiting for the other person to be brave enough to bring it up. Thankfully, neither of you have to, just yet, as Fak sidles up to the host stand.

He’s pushing so many buttons on the P.O.S. before even speaking to either of you that you’re starting to believe he doesn’t know what the fuck the buttons he’s pushing are doing. Based on the way Richie starts to lean over the stand to see what he’s doing, you’re pretty sure you’re right.

“I— I got it, man.” Fak puts a hand up, defensive. Richie backs up, then gestures for Fak to get the fuckin’ show on the road. He does.

“Table for, for uh, how many are you?”

“Oh wow.” It comes out of you instantly, in a true state of shock, at how bad this is already going. You cover your mouth, uh oh, inside thought became outside thought. “Sorry!”

Richie loses it, next to you. You slap his shoulder with your free arm, but you’re laughing too. “Don’t be mean!”

“You’re the one bein’ mean, Chip!”

“I didn’t— He’s trying.” You turn your head back to Fak. “I— Table for two, darling. M’sorry.”

Fak is quick to fold and forgive you, you’ve just called him darling— If a siren ever called to him, he would be dead. “Right, right this way— My name is Neil, I’ll be your server, tonight.”

You follow him to a table that lets you see pretty well into the kitchen. It’s a decent trade-off for not getting a cozy little booth. You look into the window, everyone’s far too focused to know you’re here, right now, but that’s okay— It’s not rushed right now, though, so that is a little… weird.

Richie pulls out your chair, fake Italian chivalry, and what not. When you’re half way through sitting down, a few things are realized instantly, and all three of you speak simultaneously.

“Oh, I should drop this off in the back, first.” Your art piece, you mean.

“Is that Carmy’s?” Your jacket, Fak means.

“You’re fucking Carmen?” What the fuck else could Richie possibly mean.

“I—” You pause, pointing to Fak, first. “Yes, it is.” Then pivot to Richie, “No, I’m not. It’s more like a reservation—”

“Don’t talk about your sex life like it’s a restaurant.” He waves his hand in the air, immediately regretting asking. Listen, it was just the first metaphor on the brain.

“You fuckin’ asked! And we haven’t done shit yet— Not even a fuckin’ date, a’right? Technically not even dating.” It takes maybe, two seconds, in the presence of Richie, for you to go full Chicago accent. It’s unhinged. You have to stand up. “I’m gonna drop this off, in the back.” You lift up the wrapped piece. “I’ll be back, don’t be weird.”

As you walk off, you do your best to pretend you don’t hear Fak mumbling, “Bet it’s one of those sex paintings.”

But it’s very hard to do so when Richie all but booms out a resounding and genuinely baffled, “...What?”

As much as you’d like to continue to hear that insane conversation, you swing through the door, and it’s thankfully a pretty soundproof divider, considering all the yelling you know happens in here.

“Chefs, table twenty-four, two people.” “Yes, Chef.”

Or… Maybe… It’s instead, weirdly subdued? In a tense way, not a calm way. Like when a knife falls off a table, and you’re not sure if it’s going to stab you in the foot and there’s no time to pull back.

“Twenty-one, four people.” “Yes, Chef.”

That kind of quiet. The calm before the storm, maybe. The fall before the blood, you think may be more accurate. God, Syd looks exhausted and it’s only half past four. The rush hasn’t even started yet. Why are they pushing so hard, right now?

Carmen’s on expo. Which, based on the night terrors he told you about, seems like a recipe for fucking disaster. Again, he’s not yelling. His voice is monotone, it sounds dead, frankly, and you’re wondering if you would prefer him screaming, actually.

There’s a mantra, amongst first responders, that it’s better to hear screaming than silence, because then you know they have a pulse, they’re drawing breath, they’re able to feel. You can’t honestly tell, with Carmen.

Syd hands off a plate to expo, to Carmen. He calmly, quickly— And like, really quickly, barely more than a two second glance is given, to the dish, before he says, “Refire, Chef.”

Oh, Jesus Christ. Not your business, not your restaurant, don’t overstep. But God, it hurts to watch the order hit Syd in the face, like a splash of cold water. She repeats, in disbelief. “Refire?” The dish looks fine to her— And it sure as fuck looks fine to you.

“Yes, Chef.”

“Why, exactly? Chef?”

Carmen does not look up from his system, he does not watch what is practically heartbreak, mortification, tempered anger, play out on Syd’s face. “Not perfect. Fire twenty, twenty-five— Two waiting on twenty, Chefs.”

“Heard!”

“Not perfect?”

He looks up, finally, at her. You can only see the back of his head, so you can’t tell the look. “Sauce is broken.” It’s definitely not. Well, at least to your untrained eye, it’s not. “We don’t serve what’s not perfect. Do we, Chef?” He slides the plate aside, deading it.

“Do you want your star, or not?” You don’t think he means to be antagonistic, or at least hope he doesn’t, but it really comes off that way. He rubs his chest, but his tone lack empathy.

Syd closes her eyes, taking a breath. She has so many words, for this man, but she holds her tongue. She does not rub her chest in return, she just restarts the dish. “Yes, Chef.”

“Thank you, Chef.”

There’s a lull in orders, for the moment, so you very gently place your hand on Carmen’s back, to make him aware of your presence. As gentle as you try to be, he still flinches. Anyone over his shoulder would make him flinch right now, but it’s you. “Oh—!”

Now, do you let out a small yelp, inadvertently, when he turns to look at you, and you see him as he is right now? Yeah, yeah you do.

“—Good to— Did you just scream, at the sight of me?”

Syd puts a hand over her mouth, heavy exhale of laughter still escaping through her nose. Schadenfreude.

Your mouth hangs open, for a second, squinting, goddammit, inside thought got outside, “…No?”

“What— What, I look bad?” He’s immediately looking over himself, trying to find the culprit. And though the emotion he’s feeling right now is insecurity, you feel relief that at the very least, the glow of anything is shining through him, right now.

Doesn’t make you a fan of the slicked-back hair look, though. That’s what made you yell— Like when a dog or a baby doesn’t recognize their parent. Like when Mikey shaved for the first time after you met him, and you considered him completely unrecognizable. You practically ignored him until some stubble came in. What did he expect?

You also just don’t like it. Clean-Shaved Mikey nor Hair-Gel Carmen. The pomade is overpowering your shampoo, and now he doesn’t smell like you. Doesn’t smell like him. His curls are all gone— Man, his pattern was just starting to revive, too. He looks just too clean, too cookie-cutter, too… Someone else. He just doesn’t look like— “No, Bear, you look good— I just— You look— Don’t look like the Carmy I’m used to, is all.”

Who are you to tell him what he looks like? You don’t know why, but the energy today is just making you feel like… You’re intruding, you’re stepping in on a space that has nothing to do with you, but that couldn’t be further from the truth, right?

He nods, compartmentalizing, only acknowledging that you’ve said he looks good. “You look nice.”

“I clean up.” You shrug, it gets a nearly imperceptible smile out of him. Hm. Where’d your Carmen go? He’s really making you work for it, tonight. You gesture to your painting, holding it by your knees. “Not here to disrupt, M’just gonna put this in your office, for later.”

“Painting?”

“Incredible guess.” Again, that smile and that exhale of laughter, thin. “Yes, it’s the piece— Wait ‘til close, to open it, please.”

He nods, when you start to walk off, he grabs your arm. “Ah, uh—” He lets go. “Can I, uh— I planned— I planned an off-menu main, for you, is that, that okay—”

“It would always be okay, yeah.” You nod, reassuring. It would be more than okay, if Carmen decided and designed every meal you ever had for the rest of your life, you think. “Trust you— With, with my taste buds.”

You’re not sure if it’s the right move, but you awkwardly step forward and kiss Carmen’s temple anyways— In his hairline. He seems to care a lot about appearances, right now, so you don’t want to get lip gloss on his forehead. Despite your quickness, there is still a very childish ‘ooooh’ reverberating throughout the kitchen. But he’s ignoring it, so you ignore it too. Carmen, more than anything, would like to reciprocate, but he’s running a kitchen, and he cannot let himself nor the crew get distracted. He nods, smile small, and turns back to his station.

“Waiting on twenty, Chefs.”

You don’t take it personally; the guy is busy, what can you do? You drop the painting off in his office, leaning it against the table for Carmen’s perusal after close— It’s not the kind of piece he should look at during his break— Who are you kidding, you saw him, he’s not taking a break tonight. God, he might hate this piece. What if he hates this piece? It’s a risk you have to take, it’s art. Hopefully the card will help smooth any questions over. You’re clearer over text, you think.

On your way out of the kitchen, you nod to Marcus and Tina. A sign of ‘Hey, I’m here, I know we can’t talk, but I’m here.’ They nod back. When you pass Sydney, you take a moment to squeeze her shoulder. That star thing was rough, but you don’t know enough about cooking to intervene— It’s not your place. Still feel for your girl, though. Awe, you’ve only just noticed, she’s wearing your collar pins. She puts her free hand over yours, squeezing it in return, just for a second. She doesn’t turn to face you, but the silent encouragement and sympathy is exchanged. She gets back to work, and you get back out to the front.

If there was time for it, you’d be her designated coach and cheerleader, find a motivational bookshelf to carry somewhere again and give a speech, but there’s not. So, this will have to do, for now.

Fak is absolutely bombing every step of this introduction, when you sit back down. The second-hand embarrassment is truly eating you alive, as he stumbles through today’s specials, which, you’re pretty sure is not the order these things happen in—

“Hey, uh, Neil, wasssit?” Richie scratches his nose, attempting to play the part of blind customer. “How ‘bout drinks first, bud?” He’s trying to keep a sympathetic attitude, which is making all of his pointers come off as extremely passive aggressive.

“Yeah, for sure, right, yeah— What’uh— What can— Drinks? Hey, hey you want? Drink?”

You cup a hand over your mouth, to block your mortified expression. “Yeah, yeah, Neil, I’ll just have a water.”

“Water!” Fak yells back, way too fucking emphatically, “I— I love water, that’s so crazy.”

“Jesus Christ.” Richie holds his face in his hands, elbows on the table. “I’ll get a fuckin’…” He lifts a hand to wave in the air, willy-nilly, still not looking up. “Chippy, name a wine.”

“Red?” Richie usually doesn’t have wine. It’s the rich man’s beer. But when he does, it’s red.

“Mhm.”

He’s probably gonna get steak, just go with a safe bet, “Cab Sav, for the gentleman, please.”

Fak writes it down, but seems bewildered and confused, staring at it. “You want a taxi?”

“Oh my god.” You and Richie are in unison. Two very different tones, though. You sound baffled, he sounds like he’s two seconds from lunging.

Which, isn’t an entirely unfair reaction, Fak has been training for this moment for a month. Rich thought he’d at least be ready to start with you. You’re the least intimidating person he knows, you wouldn’t hurt a fly. Maybe that’s what makes it so difficult? That you’re too nice? Even still, Fak should at least know this, not choke as hard as he is, right now. It’s embarrassing for Richie, when his staff are flailing this bad, especially in front of the people he loves and admires.

Rich wrings his hands together, looking back up to you. “I fucking taught him this, just so y’know.”

You nod, looking to Fak. You’ve just gotta get him out of here, honestly. “Cabernet Sauvignon, baby— Just a glass, not a bottle. We’ll look over our menus, in the meantime, maybe?”

The sleeper agent line has been spoken, and the server autopilot in Fak’s brain finally turns on. “Right. I’ll just give you lovely two a second to look over your menus, alright, haha, be safe— Be back with your drinks, folks.”

The delivery may need a little work. Though you think his edits should probably start with the way he walks backwards, eye-contact unyielding, and almost trips as he pushes backwards into the kitchen door. That might be considered bad, to some.

“Trainwreck.” Richie presses his palms into his eyes. “M’fuckin’ sorry, Chippy, Jesus Christ.”

You shrug, leaning back in your seat. “I don’t see a problem, it’s dinner and a show, baby.”

Richie laughs, at that, after a few seconds of silence, he adds. “He’s not gonna fuckin’ last.”

“Probably not.” You shrug. “But it was worth a shot. N’ he’ll do in a pinch, if you’re ever short-staffed.”

“We are always short-staffed.” Richie grumbles. “Do fuckin’ servers ever actually stage? Need the free labour.”

“What the fuck is stage?”

“I honestly still don’t know.” You both laugh. “I fuckin’ did it and I still don’t know.”

“What have you been up to, besides uh, staging?” You finally open Pandora’s box.

Well, it’ll stay small talk for a little bit, to be fair, gotta warm up to the real stuff—

“Tif’s getting remarried.”

“—Oh, holy shit.”

He nods, looking aimlessly nowhere, certainly not your eyes. “Engaged, at least— Haven’t gotten a fuckin’ invite, or anythin’.”

“You think she’ll invite you?”

“She asked.” He closes his eyes, for a second. This has been hanging over his head, all day. “Called, this uh, this morning, cause of Cousin Vinnie n’ Mira—”

“She comin’ to that?” You’ve never actually met Tif. They were on the rocks when you’d come to The Beef, so it was mostly just waves through car windows, if anything. It might be better if it stays that way, you think.

He shakes his head, “Someone’s gotta take care of Eva, n’ she’s got work. But the invite made her think of my invite, and uh, if I’d want one, come when it may.”

These are the moments you wish you had a glass of water, so you could sip and do something with your mouth and hands, as you think of what to say. He continues, because he knows you’re going to ask, “Said I’d think about it.”

“I think it’s okay, if you don’t want to.” You lean forward, as a show of sympathy. “That’d be a fuckin’ lot, for anyone.”

“Yeah. Yeah, but it’s uh, it’s— I’m good, Chip.” Richie leans back in his seat, swiping at his nose. He’ll talk about it when he’s ready, and you know that. He makes eye-contact, again, finally. “How’ve you been holdin’ up?”

You bite at your lip, alright, its fucking game time, this is what you’ve been prepping for, time to tell him everything you’ve been thinking about, for the past year, time to tell someone other than your former therapist what the fuck is in your head. “I—”

“Drinks! Hyah!” Fak busts through the door, far too boisterous. It scares a few patrons, and honestly you, a little bit. He returns to your table, pitcher and bottle of wine on a tray— Hey, it actually is a Cab Sav, he did it! Gotta celebrate the victories, here.

You can’t help but notice, as Fak pours your glass of water and attempts small talk, that he seems a bit more distressed than he did before he went in the kitchen. You crane your neck to peek through the window. Hm. Syd and Carmy are not where they were before. They’re talking. It doesn’t look like a fight, though. Let it lie. You’ve really got to let it lie, because Fak is in front of you, staring straight forward like he’s in a catatonic liminal state, not acknowledging either you or Richie with his gaze. A touch disconcerting, possibly.

“So, hey, you guys, you guys like food?”

Your lips form a line. “Fak, are you okay?”

“I’m great—” His voice cracks, oh dear. “Am I doing great?”

“You’re certainly trying—” “You’re fucking this up tremendously.” At least Richie is honest, and usually you are too, but, when it comes to a trainwreck, you’ve gotta tell the train they’re doing a great job. You just can’t bear to let it know it’s on fire.

When your glass of water starts to overflow, you take the pitcher from Fak’s hand so he can’t keep overpouring it in his fugue state. Jesus Christ, what happened in the kitchen? Who died? Actually, probably don’t joke about that.

It’s in within this moment that you learn a lot of things very quickly. First thing you learn, Sweeps is a server now, you guess. He’s in the suit, coming out of the kitchen, terrified, serving tray in hand, two champagne flutes wobble upon it. Second thing you learn, Sweeps is not a good server, or at the very least, isn’t right now, he’s too shell-shocked to keep any level of awareness of where he’s going. He bumps into Fak’s back. Third thing you learn, Richie has great reflexes, he catches the wine bottle from Fak’s tray. You have decent reflexes, managing to reach an arm out in time to keep Sweeps from entirely falling over and eating shit.

You were however, not able to keep the champagne flutes from elegantly flying off of Sweep’s tray, and falling to the ground, shattering. Sonofabitch.

There’s a silence, then an overlapping chorus from the two distressed servers, “I’ve got it, I’ve got it, I’ve got it—” That’s the fourth and last thing you’re able to clock immediately. These two know serving is not for them. They do best sweeping or fixing, not fucking talking to people. Breaking something and needing to clean it up is like a gift from God, to them, they’re genuinely fighting to be the one to clean it up. They end up tag-teaming it, as they feel Richie’s quiet glare burn into them. He’s gotten very good at silently laying down the law. They apologize, scramble to clean, hastily apologize, and rush back into the kitchen as soon as possible.

Fuck. It’s like Richie texted, Fak has shit the bed, and that almost certainly means your dinner is gonna get cut short. You’re not going to get the chance to tell him everything— Let alone anything you wanted to get out. You won’t get to apologize properly, and then he’ll head right back on his shift, and you’ll just be the kitchen’s friend that’s taking up a table. Fuck, you’ve got to try to stumble something of note out.

“I missed you, Rich.”

The man in question turns his head from looking through the kitchen window, back to you, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I was here.” Could’ve visited.

“I know.” No, I couldn’t.

He nods. The unexchanged words are still understood between the both of you, somehow. You fiddle with your fingers, gearing up to just say your big speech, you practiced it in the car ride here, if you just cut it down to the key bullet points, you can probably get it all out.

“Richie, I’m sor—”

Once again, Fak interrupts, door swinging open, he looks extremely panicked this time, tripping over nothing, sweating like it’s a million degrees, looking to both of you, alright the kitchen situation seems to have escalated. It seems like he’s about to scream to you— But then remembers that there are guests other than you and Richie, in the front of house, and so he speed walks to your table.

Richie is the one to ask this time, “Are you fuckin’ good—?”

“Uh-uh.” Fak shakes his head, in repetitive, tight small swivels. His posture militantly straight, taught, eyes darting everywhere, like there’s spies lurking in the booths, watching him. He speaks through tight teeth, to hide his words from onlookers. “Bad. Bad bad.”

“Bad bad?” You repeat after him, waiting for him to lend any explanation to the subject, he doesn’t really.

“Need you.” He nods to Richie. Then nods to you. He looks… Disdainful? Remorseful, maybe. To be doing so. “You too. Bad.”

Richie looks to you, letting you make the call, here. You look at him and sigh, your plan has been utterly ruined, your speech— Dashed. He adds. “Intermission?”

There’s no way this is just going to be an intermission. “Intermission.”

You both stand, he takes his wine glass, then takes the bottle, a bit more realistic. You take your water. Cheers, and into the cesspool you go, abandoning your table, for what Richie hopes is for an interim, for what you both know is for the night.

The first thing you notice, Carmen’s not at expo. No one’s on expo, actually. Which feels like a problem. The second thing you notice is where Carmen actually is— In the walk-in— Not locked in, no, not this time. No, you notice he’s there because he’s yelling, better than zero pulse, but you still wince. All yelling makes you wince.

“Who was on veggie prep today?! What is this dice, Chefs!?” He storms out, large deli container of onions in his hand— He’s bringing it to his station— Which was Syd’s station, but he’s now co-opted it, seemingly, as she’s not there. However, in her stead, are five more containers of pre-diced veggies— You imagine Carmen brought those out, too. “We are not serving fucking sandwiches, anymore, Chefs—”

Carmen stops short of his aggression, when he sees you. You can’t tell if you like that. You’re pretty sure you don’t. What’s that stupid idiom? Mean to the world, good to your girl? Don’t like that. Don’t like two faces. Don’t like the shade on the old sandwiches— Mikey’s sandwiches, either.

Carmen doesn’t move to you, or anything like that though, no, he’s busy— With what exactly, you’re not sure. No fucking way he’s redoing all the prep right now, right? That would be insane. The dices are fine, and they can’t just waste food right now with their budget nor their time— Fucking Christ, he is actually redoing the prep and making Tina use the old for broth— Oh dear God.

The third thing you notice is where Syd really is, in lieu of her station. She’s having what looks like a panic attack with Sweeps by the ovens. Your legs move to her before your brain really registers anything else, and you can hear behind you that Richie has gone to Carmen and is handling expo. Fak did not need to tell either of you what your jobs needed to be back here, you just know.

“This is, this is just fucking great—” Syd heaves, holding onto the handle of the oven. Next to her, Sweeps is still in his hosting attire, but he’s mopping up water by Syd’s feet. There’s a tipped over mop bucket on the ground. He looks significantly more comfortable now, but still equally as distressed as the rest of the kitchen seems to be.

You put a hand on Syd’s shoulder, leaning down to her level. “Bubs, what’s going on? M’here.”

“Fucking everything is going on.” She starts to catch her breath; she brushes your hand away. You know it’s because she has sensory overload, it still kind of hurts, though. “Carmen’s fucking freaking…”

“No shit.” You step aside and lift your left foot, when Sweeps needs to mop by your feet. “Why, though?”

“On our opening night, he had a fuckin’— Episode, I dunno.” She’s still keeled over, hands on her knees, but she’s breathing. “N’ he had this like— Like saw this guy, who wasn’t actually there. Out—” She nods her head to the window to the front of house. She stands up, again. “Out there.”

“His, his old Executive— Chef.”

“Oh.”

The night terrors. The oven. The fire. The wanting it to happen, even just a little bit. The man who’s in his head, talking to Carmen, every night. The man he saw on his opening night, apparently. Your poor Carmen.

“Yeah, yeah he was like— Apparently kind of a dick—” Understatement of the century. “But like, so is he.” Syd nods to Carmen. You can’t completely deny that. You wish you could. “Anyways, he called.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I fucking know.” She nods, emphatic. She then realizes that this story is going to take a second, and gestures to the oven behind her. “This won’t turn on, spilt water on it.”

“Oh.” You take a beat, then remember this is what your job is, “Oh!” You feel around the pockets of your pants. Should’ve expected to bring a screwdriver, at the very least, it’s The Bear. Get with the program. The tools are in your car, to be fair, but for a quick simple check-up—

You call out, “Yo, Fak—” “Yes?”

You jump, he’s standing a mere inch behind and adjacent from you. You hold your heart, stepping back from him, just a touch. “…Do you… Have a screwdriver?”

Neil leans back, like he’s tough, like he’s sizing you up. “Something broken?”

“Tryin’ to figure that out.”

“Cause you’re a repairman.”

“Cause I’m a repairman, yeah.”

“You got a degree?”

“Just give her the fucking screwdriver!” Syd yells before you can answer. Fak begrudgingly and with a lethargic show, hands you the screwdriver from his chest pocket.

Jealous, is he? Oh, that’s cute. That’s very cute. He’s the one that said he wanted to host— Whatever, no time to tease or bicker, you’re pulling the oven out, trying to lift as much as possible with Syd’s help, to keep from scrapping tile, but it’s inevitable.

You kneel down, taking the screws out the back, “So Exec dude, he called?”

“Uh-huh.” Syd focuses on her pan on the oven next to you— Thankfully that one did not get fucked in the crossfire— so they’re short but not fucked, just yet, at least. “Called Carmen, said he’d heard about the opening— That he wants to come try the place.”

“Right, but he’s from New York, isn’t he, you’ve got time—”

“He already took a flight here; he’ll be here in thirty.”

“Oh, my fucking God.”

“I fucking know.” Everything is going on. It’s all starting to make a lot more sense now. The kitchen’s general distress, Fak and Sweeps dropping shit from anxiety but also an inadvertent way to guarantee Richie does not table them with the fucking guy, Carmen’s sudden paranoia over someone noticing a decimal less than perfect dice— Because he would, he will.

The man in Carmen’s head that’s been torturing him has at the very least been confined to his head. And now he will be materializing, before his family, to dress him down at any opportunity, in thirty fucking minutes. Oh, your poor Carmen…

“And this guy—He’s like, like fucking big, if he likes the food— Likes The Bear— We might end up getting an inspector, in here.”

You lean out from the back of the oven, practically being swallowed by it. Confused. “Getting an inspector is a good thing?” To your knowledge, inspectors are what shuts down restaurants.

“A Michelin Guide Inspector.” Oh, fuck.

“Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah, I fucking know!” Syd replies, emphatic, Richie calls out an order to her, from expo. She clears her throat. “Heard, Chef.”

A Michelin Guide Inspector. What’s that mean? Well, if you’re thinking correctly, it means a star. It means accolades. It means recognition. It means money. It means 800k. It means not going under. It means clawing their way back out of the woods. It means everything. Oh, fuck.

“So, anyways—” Syd sautés, violently. “Carmen fuckin’ finishes that call, storms out the office, and like demands shit to be perfect— Which like— Like it should be, I know, but like— Tellin’ me to fuckin’ mop already perfectly clean floors, is like, like fucking stupid— Especially when I’m fucking cooking here, like what?”

It’s amid this retelling, as you stand, that you notice Syd’s hand— The left one, the one on the pan’s handle, is bleeding, two of her fingers, cut. “And I— I fucked up, like, like I know I did. I dropped the mop bucket, n’— n’ now my fucking oven won’t turn on.”

You take her hand, she tries to rip it away, you don’t let her. “I cut it on the edge of the bucket, stupid sharp plastic, I’m good—”

“Lemme just bandage it.” You’re already fishing through your pocket, with your free hand.

She’s quick to shake her head. “You need to figure out how I fucked up the oven.”

“I already know what’s wrong with the oven.” You pull out your wallet, flitting through the bill fold with your fingers— You keep band-aids there, in case of emergency, because of course you do. Syd tries to tug her hand away, again. Her blood is rubbing onto your fingers. It’s not a big cut, but it’s enough. You can’t help remember the ye old days of you as teens, hearing about the concept of blood brothers for the first time, and genuinely considering going through with it. Funny what time does. Funny who it brings back.

“Then fix the oven.”

You mumble, tearing the paper open with your teeth. “This first.”

“I’m fucking good, Tony.”

“Don’t bark at me.”

She grimaces when she notices they’re children’s band-aids, with goofy little cartoon heroes on them. “I don’t fucking need—”

“Sydney, I love you.” There is no subtext, behind it. You look her in the eyes, stern. Tone inarguable. It catches the words in her throat, and keeps them there.

“Will you let me?”

She shuts her eyes, tight, for a second, and just looks away, hand going limp in your grip. Which means okay, I love you, too. She does not need to say it. You wrap two band-aids, one around each finger that got cut, and let her go.

Syd takes a second, to look at it. She looks at you.

“The Miles Morales feels racially targeted.”

“I fuckin’ hate you.” You point at her, you both break into laughter. Richie barks out another slew of numbers and orders, and it’s like getting caught talking in class. She goes back to her cast-iron, you start walking off to Rich. From behind you she mumbles.

“Love you, Inky.” Oh my God. Chippy’s a flashback, Inky is like a history textbook.

“Love ya, Squid.”

At expo, Richie’s sweating, he turns to you, and you speak at once.

“Carmy give you the run down?” — “Syd tell you the bullshit?”

You both nod. You’re first to ask, “Fuck dinner?”

“Raincheck. Let’s say.” He shrugs. “M’sorry.”

“Don’t need to be.” You nod to the oven. “Thermocouple in your oven’s broke. I have backups in my car.”

“You have backups in your fucking car?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Of the one hyper-specific part we need?”

“Yeah, the timing is crazy—” “Ey, when’d you get a fucking car, Cousin?” Richie realizes a discrepancy he simply always forgot to ask about for the past few weeks.

“Early this year. It’s a piece of shit. It works.”

He nods. “Hands!” Fak, swings by you, grabbing the plate from Richie, “Got this!”

Richie nods, smiling, very clearly fake, turning his head to watch Fak walk all the way out and have the door swing shut behind him. When he’s sure Fak can’t hear him, his head snaps right back to you. “We cannot let any of my fuckin’ staff near the fuckin’ big shot.”

It’s honestly nice that dinner is over, despite how bad you wanted to talk because now it’s this. Now it’s nostalgic. Now it’s comfortable— Distressing— But it’s you two, again. You nod. “So you’re gonna run expo and serve him at the same time?”

“What, you think I can’t?”

No, you don’t. “Of course you can, you’re Richie Jero—Uh, whatever the fuck.” You’re already walking to the back door to grab your tools.

“Jerimovich, Chippy! Not that fuckin’ hard!”

You should put oven expert on your business cards, when you eventually get to making new business cards. This is like, the third oven fix you’ve done in two weeks? And you just changed a thermocouple a few days ago! It takes you maybe five minutes tops, to switch the old wire for the good one.

When you push the stove back against the wall and test the burners— It works, thank God. You might’ve hyped yourself up a little too much before even checking that. Once you do, though, before even saying it’s fixed, Syd violently shakes your left shoulder, as a point of approval. Tina, on your right, slaps you on the back several times as her vow of praise, too. This is like riding a roller-coaster, and not in a good way.

But it ends soon, as they’ve got to get right back to work, since Richie calls out—

“Guys fuckin’ here!” That’s like, ten minutes early, bullshit— “He brought a party of five—” Are you fucking kidding— “Booth Twelve— When I say booth twelve, don’t fuck up booth twelve, a’right, Chefs?”

“Heard!”

Where’s Carmen, right now? You look around— He’s at his station, on the final part of the line. He’s simultaneously making a dish completely on his own and doing the final touches on plates before they get sent out. Alright, okay, so maybe it’s best expo doesn’t get foisted on him, right now. But fuck, how is Richie gonna serve five and run this fucking kitchen?

Tina claps your back again, bringing you out of your state of worry. “Baby.”

“Yeah, T?” She turns your attention to a big pot of stock, on the burners that now work, thanks to you.

“Can you just stir this, f’me, for just a minute? Make sure the—”

“I’ll get the brown off the bottom yeah.”

She slaps your cheek, approving, “That’s my baby.”

And so, you stir. It’s an easy job, it just takes time— Time this kitchen doesn’t have, time you’re happy to give. Tina rushes over and takes over expo, while Richie moves out to take in stupid fucking booth twelve.

This kitchen is dysfunctional, the constant switches of expo require everyone to find a new rhythm, every time, and T needs to play catch up. Tina, Carmen, and Richie run expo just a touch differently from each other, since it’s a pretty cookie cutter job— But those minute differences change a lot. The tempo and tonal switches throw everyone off just slightly. They’re small mistakes, like a poor aesthetic sauce splatter, like Syd cutting her hand, like Marcus fucking up his saffron placement like five times in a row— It takes seconds off, it takes time. Time you do not have.

But what can you do? It’s all hands-on deck. Except for Fak’s hands. Get that man a water and a corner to sit in. He needs a second. So does the rest of this kitchen.

When Richie comes back in, it’s with a whine, he’s already so tired of this stupid fucking Michelin Exec. “—Wants to see a fuckin’ wine menu, do we have a fuckin’ wine menu?”

“No, Chef!” Syd and Carmen both chant out from other sides of the kitchen. Your ears perk up. They could’ve just asked you to make one, you would’ve. But, guess you don’t work here, technically.

Richie grimaces, “I know fuck all, bout wine.” He takes a swig of the red wine he left sitting on the expo podium. “Tastes fuckin’— Red, I dunno.”

Finally, something you can actually help with, in a critical way— Well, you just fixed an oven, but that doesn’t count, in your head. Most things you do don’t count, in your head. “T! Switch!” You whistle to her, and though she doesn’t love being ordered around, you’re already walking away from the pot, so you don’t really give her a choice.

“Rich, let me take it.”

Richie looks at you like you’ve grown two heads, but also, he finds those two heads very amusing. “Chippy...”

“I fucking know wine. I tend. I’m personable, I—”

“You don’t know how to kiss ass.”

“But I could.” You’re already peeling off Carmen’s jacket— Hey, thank God you dressed on theme, right? This could absolutely be a server’s fit. “Under duress.”

If it were up to Richie, you would already be out there. But his name is not on The Bear, as much as he’d like it to be. He looks to Carmen, who’s been staring at the both of you this entire interaction. Which is kind of concerning, he should probably be focusing on his three-quarter dice or he might to chop his fucking fingers off. No, he’s wouldn’t. He could probably do it with his eyes closed.

Carmen looks from Richie, who’s silently asking him for permission, to you. “Y’sure?”

“Yeah.” You nod, tucking his jacket under the expo podium. You don’t catch the way his face hardens, just a bit— Because you turn your gaze to Richie. “I’ll just do the drinks part, like an actual somme— Warm him up, f’you, when he’s ready to order. Let you stay on expo, longer.”

Richie rocks his head back and forth, considering it. You tack on, “I’m stage— What the fuck did you call it?”

“Staging.” Carmen answers.

“That one.”

Carmen stares at his cutting board, thinking and working, working and thinking. He does not look up at you, when he makes his decision. He just nods, “Okay.”

You nod back, happy. You don’t wait for him to change his mind. You take one quick overview of their wine rack, noting what they do and don’t have, and then you’re off, out the door, to the front of house, to a warzone.

The motherfucker at Booth Twelve sticks out like a sore thumb. There’s something about the aura he radiates, that tells you immediately that it’s him, despite not knowing his face or name. Bet it’s fucking Tony, somehow.

He’s doing his best to peer into the kitchen window without being obvious about it, which, he’s currently failing at that. Richie sat his party in a good booth, it’s just the worst booth for a good view of the kitchen. Smart. This guy is an asshole, and it’s clear from his stupid equally punchable looking friends, that he’s doing all of this on purpose.

The big party, unexpected. The him, unexpected. The asking for a wine menu. He wants you all off guard, he wants Carmen off-guard, he wants Carmen’s breath to hitch, he wants Carmen to sweat, and most importantly, he wants to watch.

You stand in front of his view, on purpose. “Hi, pleasure to serve you lovely people tonight, I’m—” No shot you’re giving this guy your real name. “—Jack, I’m your sommelier. I heard you wanted to look over a wine menu?”

“Yes,” His voice is just as stupid as you expected it to be. This is the fucking voice Carmen hears? God, lock it in, bite your tongue. “And I see you are not holding one.”

“Well, actually, we don’t carry a wine menu because we at The Bear believe in a personally curated dining experience.” You don’t miss a beat, you don’t hitch, he hates this and you can tell. “I like to think that I’m your wine menu, flip through me at your leisure.”

Your eyes crinkle, as you do an expert customer service smile. This stupid fucking table laughs at the lukewarm joke, he just smirks, because rich men don’t have time for laughter. So, their cronies do it for them.

“Well then,” He gestures his hand, giving you the floor. “What’s the menu?”

“Ah, well, was there anything on the main menu that caught your eye, so I can best pair you?”

“Hmm…” There’s a glint in his eye, and you know you’ve just expertly set him up to say ‘No.’ And then you’ll have no fucking comeback. You’ll probably throw up on the table, fuck fuck fuck— “Yes, actually.”

Oh, thank God. “The Wagyu steak with wild mushrooms and hazelnut-gruyere croquettes?”

Oh, that’s the one Carmen made for you, weeks back, you know that one. “Ah, one of my personal favourites. I’d recommend a young Pinot Grigio, maybe a 2006 Gravner?” How the fuck did you remember that? Doesn’t matter. What matters is this motherfucker is not getting under your skin.

“And what about the braised oxtail wellington?” The hot pocket, he means. You’ve had that, too.

“We have a fantastic Barolo Brunate to pair with that, Giuseppe Rinaldi 2019.” You have no idea if it’s fantastic. Who fucking cares. It’s expensive, you know that much. You only bothered to review the top rack.

“Lot of Italian vineyards.” A woman next to him comments.

“Well, we are Italian owned, so.”

It does not end there. No, why would it? No, he and his compatriots go about naming every single fucking thing on the menu, asking you to pair it. And not to toot your own horn too much, but this is, really, the one job you feel the most trained to do. All those games with Syd, all those men at Eden’s, all the parts and tools and forty different types of wrenches you have to keep track of and memorized as a repairman— Your brain is trained for this. This isn’t easy for you, sure— But you are maybe more equipped for this than any other person you could possibly think of. Good think you don’t have to think of people, you have to think of wines.

Once you survive the gauntlet, his ‘friends’ order their actual wines— Each by the bottle. Alcoholism in the food world is crazy. Also, how are you going to carry four to five full bottles here? Dear God. Whatever, you’ll live, and make insane bank— Or, The Bear, will, rather. That’s like a thousand on wine alone. When you get to Him, he puts his menu down and sighs, it’s very clearly fake.

“Can I be honest with you?”

“I’d want for nothing more.” You’d want for a lot more; actually, you’d want for him to shut the fuck up. But this is kind of a good thing. They’ve wasted a solid ten minutes just talking wine— Giving the kitchen ample time to catch up. This guy just shot himself in the foot with the sweat plan.

“This is a fine menu, but as you said, The Bear believes in a personally curated experience.” Fuck. “I don’t know if you know this, but I have a very personal relationship with the owner.” Fuck. “Would you hate me, if I asked for you to… Surprise me?”

He doesn’t need to ask for a surprise for you to hate him, is what you want to say, but instead you just smile, appeasing, kissing ass. You hate yourself just a bit for it. “I’ll see what we can do, sir. And so, you’d like a surprise wine, as well then?”

He does a customer service smile right back. You’re both passively cursing the other. “If that’s no trouble. Oh—” He tilts his head, cocky attitude really coming to a head now, “And budget isn’t a problem. Just the best.”

“I couldn’t imagine giving anything less, sir.” Another coy smile from you, before bowing and leaving their table. Your tight shoulders fall as soon as you walk back into the kitchen.

“I want him dead.”

“Agreed. Temp check?” Richie hums flitting through his notes, “We’ve got five steaks all day, Chefs, kill two. Fire now, Chefs.”

“Yes, Chef!”

You sidle up next to Rich, “They’re trying to make us sweat with quizzes. Just know your shit and they won’t be able to touch you.”

“Heard.”

“They ordered like five fucking bottles of wine.”

“Christ.” He turns to you, at that. “You upsell?”

“Didn’t have to. Named the most expensive bottles and they didn’t give it a second thought.”

He daps you up, it is difficult to hide your pride. “That’s my fuckin’ Chippy!”

You quell your smirk to the best of your abilities, especially since it isn’t all good news, “I think they’re ready to order, one problem, though.”

“Problem?” That’s when Carmen tunes in. He hands a finished plate to Richie, who hands it off to Sweeps, who begrudgingly heads out to deliver. “What’s the problem?”

“He says he wants to be surprised.”

“Like fucking Ratatouille?”

Carmen squints at Richie, for this, incredulous. You cannot back up your man, in this case, fully on Richie’s side. “Don’t act like you didn’t fuck with Ratatouille.”

“I didn’t see it.”

“You didn’t see it?!” Carmen’s always liked it, when the two of you speak in unison. Carmen hates it, when you and Richie speak in unison. “You’d love it, Carm.”

Any other time, he’d love to entertain you, on this, but he can’t. It makes you both feel very cold, when he brushes past the idea. “I’ll think’ve something.”

You nod, already moving to the wine cooler, sorting out bottles. “You have time, I’ll stretch out serving them—Richie, help me bring out bottles? Take their orders? Two birds, one stone?”

“It’s bullet.” “It’s not.”

The wine pouring is nothing to write home about.

“Don’t mind us tag-teaming, didn’t want anyone to feel left out for a minute!”

But is definitely a weird vibe, when you and Richie serve this table. You’re both equally personable— Though, going as fast as you can without making them feel rushed. Richie needs to get back on expo A-S-A-P.

Despite the fact that both of you are just as nice as the other… This fucking guy is absolutely giving Richie more attitude, in comparison to you. You have a feeling the only reason he didn’t shut you down earlier with the menu is because you’re a hostess. Yeuch. Gross man senses are tingling, but maybe it’s just you.

Richie whispers to you, when you’re walking back to the kitchen, “He’s a fuckin’ creep, eh?”

Okay, not just you. You know it’s bad when another man notices it. “Yep.”

Whatever. Use it to your advantage, in this case, if possible. Not like you have anything to worry about, just about everyone in the kitchen would jump him for you, upon request.

Would Carmen?

It’s a weird thought to have, but it’s a thought you can’t seem to stop yourself from having. Would Carmen choose your safety and comfort, over the chance to get a chance to get a star? …He would, right? He’d choose you, right?

“M’sorry for derailin’ dinner with our bullshit, Chip.”

The door swings open, Richie lets you in first. “You kidding? No where I’d rather be, than in your bullshit.”

Maybe this is better, than any apology you were planning to give. Better that you show with your actions, that you’re both actually back. That it’s you two, again. That you’re not going anywhere, this time. That even if you did leave, Richie’s gotta know, with a certainty, you’d rather be here.

Richie smiles, and you think you’re right. While he’s shouting out Booth Twelve’s orders, Carmen hands a plate to expo. You tilt your head, curious. He slides a folded-up card, with it. You don’t recognize the plate at all from the menu.

“S’yours.” Is his simple answer, already getting to work on Booth Twelve. He’s scribbling down notes and quick sketches of what surprise dish to make for the Exec. On the front of the card, it says ‘won’t have time to do it myself’, alongside a smiley face, for levity.

You open the card, flitting vision between the dish, the note, and Carmen. Digesting the recipe he’s written for you and your eyes, only. He knew he wouldn’t have time to explain it verbally, so he wrote it down for you. You could throw up, honestly.

This is, the sweetest, most thoughtful, most complex thing, anyone has ever made for you.

You have done your damndest, to almost never be the one to instigate a kiss, not a real one, with Carmen, because he asked for distance, so you try to give it. But right now, more than anything, you’d like to assail this man to the floor right now with your affections.

But you can’t. Because he’s busy, and he needs this, not you. Carmen needs this to go well. He needs this guy to like the food, he needs the inspector to like the food, he needs a star. Fuck, even without the prospect of an inspector looming over him— He needs to prove the man in his head wrong. There is no time for any of the love you have to give.

…Did you just think love?

Gotta table this, for now…

“Thank you, Carmy.” His movements relax, when you say it. He doesn’t stop, he doesn’t slow down, he doesn’t pivot to you and confess some long-standing prose of love, but he nods, and his shoulders untense. That’s practically the same thing.

His phone, laying on the expo podium, rings. Sug. You furrow your brows. “Carmen.”

“Hm?” He’s tense, and still not himself, but he sounds so sweet, when he hums.

“Nat’s calling.”

“Let it go to voicemail.”

“She’d know you’re working, right now.”

“She’s got mom brain.”

“Mom brains’ aren’t dumb.” You frown, a touch worried. Always doting, aren’t you. “Could be an emergency.”

Carmen wants to say it’s not a big deal. That there’s bigger fish to fry. That if he fucks this dinner up, it could mean Nat won’t have a job to come back to. That with all the love in the world, he does not have time for this, right now. And then he thinks of his brother, and suddenly he has time for this, right now. He picks up his notepad and pen, he can work anywhere, it doesn’t need to be at his station. “Give me.”

He takes the phone, shouting to his crew, “Taking two minutes, Chefs!”

There’s a half-second of complaints before a resounding, “Heard!”

Carmy points to you, as he walks to his office, “Eat.”

“I will.” You nod, and lie.

You won’t be eating the most perfect, most complex, most personal, most thoughtful thing anyone has ever made for you.

You already made your decision, when you saw the plate. When you read the note. When you saw the frantic scribbles at Carmen’s station, loose pieces of paper everywhere, all crumpled. He can’t come up with shit for the man in his head. You already made your decision, when the four other plates showed up on expo for his table, and all that’s left is the surprise dish, for The Man.

You will not be eating the most perfect, most complex, most personal, most thoughtful thing anyone has ever made for you. The man out front, the man in Carmen’s head, will.

Carmen needs this.

Your heart just short of breaks, when you put it on the serving tray, handing it off to Richie. “What’s this one?” He asks, not knowing, not having paid attention. He would’ve refused, if he did.

Syd was, though. She looks like a puppy watching another puppy get kicked. You swallow the feeling down, ignoring her stare. You don’t need to reread the card, it’ll stick in your head, for the rest of your life.

“Lamb saddle, roasted, pink. Aigre-doux eggplant, means sour sweet sauce, with lamb confit, fresh spring garlic, Montmorency sauce— It’s a dark red cherry sauce, topped with cherries and baby basil.”

You wouldn’t know any of the French terms, if they weren’t defined for you in the margins. There’s a parenthetical, next to the lamb— Mentioning that it’s roasted, explaining why saddle is a superior cut of lamb, noting why it’s best served pink— Mentioning that it’s similar to pork. Your favourite. There’re exclamation points next to the cherry additions, because it’s your favourite Italian ice flavour. They need to be emphasized, in the recipe. There’s another parenthetical, next to baby basil, ‘(yours)’. It’s your basil, from your balcony to his, now to his kitchen, now to your plate.

In spades, this is the best gift anyone has ever made you, and you watch it leave, through the swinging door. You can’t stop your expression from twitching, falling into a frown. Your heart sits heavy in your throat. When Syd silently stands next to you, taking over for Richie on expo, she returns your tiny container of Tums. You take one, eyes distant, looking at the kitchen, Carmen’s kitchen, biting down on the antacid.

Cherry.

This isn’t sad. It’s just a plate. It’s literally just a plate. Carmen can make it again. Carmen can make it a million times over again. So why does it sting like this? Why does it carve its way into the pit of your stomach? That was yours. Carmen— Carmen’s plate was yours, and you had to give it up. You want nothing more than to rip the dish from the stupid fucking Exec’s greedy fucking hands, take it for yourself, eat it whole, in one bite— Decree that he can’t fuck with Carmen anymore, that he holds no ownership anymore, that he is not the be all end all, that he is not the gavel and the sound block.

But he is. It hurts, because he is. Carmen is still under him, and so, you, being by his side, are under him too. You know you made the right call, giving the plate up, but the meaning behind it all hurts insurmountably.

Syd takes your hand; the wrinkles of her band-aids are a nice texture to return to. You appreciate that she’s comforting you, but you can’t help but notice, “Uh, uhm, let’s fire table twenty-five, twenty-eight, and— And fuck, twelve, Chefs.” She’s not great at the whole expo thing. She’s fast as a cook, she’s slow as a speaker.

You take a look over the book on the table, and bump her aside with your hip.

“Chefs, I’m gonna need ‘ya to fire six fish all day— ‘kay?”

“Heard, Chef?” The crowd is confused but they’re not gonna stop you.

“Good, good.” You note the dead plate by you, “This asparagus is fuckin’ dead can I get hands on flashing it, please, Chefs?”

“Yes, Chef!”

Syd eyes you, on the sidelines, perplexed. You shrug, “You and Carmen are not the first people that tried to get this fuckin’ kitchen in order, check yourself.”

You didn’t do all the French bullshit, but some days at The Beef definitely ran better when they had a former Lead EMT barking at them— With love, though. Always with love. Syd just laughs, shaking her head. It’s a delight, to always be learning new things about you. How overarching your handful of talents are. You really are a Jack of All Trades.

You run things a little differently than a typical actual expo would. But sometimes, that’s kind of a good thing.

“Baby, where are we at with table twenty?!”

“T,” You say names, instead of Chef, more often than not, “If you yell at me like that, I will, what—?” Your call and responses, are a bit different. “Start crying, yes, thank you, Chef. Table twenty’s plated, we’re just waiting on placement from Syd, take your time but not too much, babe.”

“Heard!”

Levity, temperature, ease. It’s what you bring to the table, in everything you do. And sometimes, yeah, that’s not what you need. But right now, that’s everything this kitchen needs.

When Richie eventually comes back, handling front of house almost entirely by himself, he’s relieved to see you on expo, and the kitchen functioning, but he seems a little thrown. Off his rhythm.

You put a hand on his shoulder, as he stands next to you. “You good, Cousin?”

He sighs, he’s not good. “M’good, Chip.”

“Can I get an all-day on pasta, Chef?” Marcus’ voice doesn’t really occur to you, in the background, right now. You’re all about Richie.

“What happened?”

“It’s nothin…” He kisses his teeth, “S’just, man’s a real piece of work— N’ I can’t— Can’t give it back to him.”

“What’d he say?”

“Just, just kinda… Made fun ‘a—” Richie pauses, clearing his throat. “He made fun of my voice. To his fuckin’ friends. Called me unprofessional, said the suit’s prol— Probably a knock-off— Which, it is, but—”

“Chef, pasta?”

“One second, Marcus!” You call out, quick, not taking your eyes off Richie. You hate to hear him attempting to switch, all the syllables fit uncomfortably in his mouth. You frown. “He’s an asshole. Don’t listen to ‘em. You should bite back a little, I think.”

Richie hums, arms crossing, guarding himself. He sighs, finally voicing the worry. Son of a bitch, this guy’s in Richie’s head now, too. “…D’you take me serious, Cousin?”

You soften, while simultaneously growing so angry, at how quickly Richie’s become demoralized, “Richie— Cousin, of course I take you seriously.”

The moment is cut short, however, by a reasonably frustrated Marcus, at his limit. “Tony, all-day pasta, shit, c’mon!”

About a minute or two earlier, Carmen went into his office to take a call. He’s still jotting down notes, trying to come up with a recipe, not knowing the effort is meaningless now.

“Everything alright, Sug?”

“Hm? Yeah, everything’s good, I just wanted to call ‘stead of text ‘cause my hands are full of baby.” He told you so, not an emergency. “You guys busy?”

“Yeah, actually, s’maybe I’ll call you back, after?”

“Sure, sure, yeah, I just wanted to let you know I didn’t get Tony’s invoice.”

He pauses, no longer writing. “What’d’you mean you didn’t get her invoice?”

“She said you took care of it.”

“She told me you took care of it.”

“Oh.” There’s a pause, as Natalie thinks, trying to recount. “Well, maybe I’ve just got mom brain, but I swear she told me you covered it, thought I wrote it down…��

“Yeah, you did.” Carmen flits through the folder he was looking at yesterday, finding her sticky note. “You wrote down to ask me for her invoice.”

“Yeah, so I could get a copy for our records. Maybe I just got mixed up and left it somewhere— Just double check before you ask her for it again, I like her, Carmy, I don’t want her to think we’re unprofessional.”

“We are unprofessional.” And you like them anyways. He pops open the desk drawer, flitting through folders, most of them labeled ‘stuff’ ‘shit’ ‘bullshit’ ‘bullshit stuff’. Carmen loves his brother but sometimes he curses the fucking sky. There’s every chance Sug slipped your invoice into one of these by mistake.

“Yeah, but I don’t want her to know that.” Carmen can hear little baby Michaela murmuring on the other end of the phone. “Tell her to come see the baby, by the way.”

“I will. I’m plannin’ on it.” After dinner. Maybe when he opens up your painting and he forces you to tell him ad nauseum what you thought of the cherry and lamb dish. Your dish. That shit is never getting put on the menu, no. It’s a lot easier to think of plates when they’re for you, it’s fucking impossible to come up with a dish for his old Head Chef— He really needs to get back out there, actually, he’s out of thinking time, he just has to throw shit at the wall.

But then he sees a folder he’d never paid attention to, before. ‘ICE Chip’s’. Another one of Mikey’s extremely confusingly titles. Carmen always figured it’d been a weird way of naming a folder meant for bulk orders of ice for drinks or for the walk in— But now, Carmen knows better, Carmen knows you. No harm in looking, right? He’ll take a quick peak, see it’s actually for ice, and then he’ll go back out there, rip his hair out, and put it on a plate for the fucking man out front that talked to him during his entire morning routine, today.

Except there’s not invoices for ice, in this folder.

“I’ve been reading her Frog and Toad, almost every night, by the way, Mickey loves it.”

No, it’s you, in this folder. Carmen wants to throw up. He’s being dramatic, he needs to relax, the blood in his veins is freezing and boiling at the same time.

And maybe if Carmen's day had started off a bit better, if he was acting like himself today, and not the man in his head, in his restaurant— Maybe he'd be a little more reasonable, right now. Maybe if he ate family earlier, instead of skipping it to re-tape all the containers in the walk-in, he'd feel a little more forgiving. If he wasn't so tired, if he wasn't so hungry, if he wasn't shaking off a minute cold he got from walking to your house past midnight, a few days ago, he'd be a bit less inclined to spiral.

But there’s a handful of film photos with the two of you— Just the two of you— Richie’s in one or two, but it’s mostly just you and Michael. His arm, over your shoulder, in again, most of them. Mikey looks non-plussed in half of them. You’re always holding some sort of cupcake or cake, in all of them, and there’s always a numbered candle, being blown out. There’re a couple different times there’s a One candle, a few Twos, only one Three.

You knew Mikey for two to three years, didn’t you? Anniversary photos?

Carmen is going to fucking throw up. Why are there multiple ones? One week-iversary? One month-iversary? He has never imagined his brother to be some fucking sap sentimentalist, and it’s making his skin crawl. You dated his fucking brother? He is just a fucking gap filler, he is.

There has got to be another reasonable explanation, for this. You wouldn’t do this to him— Someone would’ve said something to him— Richie would’ve at the very least made some sort of stupid fucking derogatory comment about him getting sloppy seconds— There is no fucking way you dated his fucking brother—

‘I’m with you Bear!!’

‘Just one more, Mikey’

‘love you’

Sticky notes. Your handwriting. There are sticky notes with your handwriting in this forsaken fucking folder. Telling Mikey you love him, and to keep going— You called him Bear. That makes sense, everyone calls all three of the kids Bear— But that was— You— He needs to throw up. It cannot stay in his throat; he cannot let this stay in his throat— ‘We go under together’ — And yet he cannot stop reading them. ‘Same team.’

Same team. You’re on the same team. With his brother. Isn’t that fucking sweet. Isn’t that just adorable. Isn’t the fucking photo booth strip of you two, clearly taken after seeing a movie, fucking precious?

The last thing in this folder is the nail in the coffin, the knife in the hand. Paperwork. Not an invoice, no. Not the fucking thing he was looking for. No. An old agreement form.

A joint bank account. Wells Fargo. Signed by both of you. Photo IDs photocopied, side by side on a black and white piece of paper, stapled onto the end. This feels more intimate than any piece of paperwork that has ever existed. Even a fucking marriage certificate can’t hold a candle to this. You had a joint bank account with a fucking two-bit junkie—

You fucking trusted him with your credit score— You loved Mikey enough to ruin your life— You wanted to go under together. That’s what you fucking wrote, isn’t it?

Every fear Carmen ever had is more than affirmed. He is here to fill a void, he’s here because his brother isn’t. He is nothing but a series of stories his brother has told you, to you. Nothing but another Berzatto man that you desperately try to rehabilitate and fix and inevitably fail with, because they’re all fucking hopeless, before moving onto the next.

He doesn’t even need to kill himself, this time, no— You’ll realize he’s a lost fucking cause when you realize he’s nothing like his brother, when you find out he’s sharp and rendered, that even if he was a good person, he’s still him, and that’s a rot that not even you can fix— You’ll leave him unfinished like all the projects in the corners of your apartment. Because that’s what he is, to you, a project, something to fix. He’s like all your other jobs. He’s a job. Just another distressed restauranteur. Nothing but a fucking replaceable part, that you’ve got ten more spares for in your car.

Carmen doesn’t need to be fixed— He’s perfectly fine the way he is— He was fucking great before you showed up, actually— No, he wasn’t happy, but he was talented, and he wasn’t so brain-dead that he’d fuck up a basic meal thinking of you, he wasn’t so stupid that he’d speak out of turn and call you pretty, he wouldn’t have gotten a cold walking to your house in the winter, he would’ve just taken a hot shower until it hurt, without you— Carmen was— is— A Two Michelin Star chef, he’s fucking great without his brother— He runs The Bear without him just fine, he did everything without his fucking brother just fine, it didn’t hurt when Mikey stopped picking up the phone, Carmen doesn’t need his fucking brother, so he certainly doesn’t need you.

“Carmen?” His sister is still on the phone. Waiting for him to respond. Waiting for him to entertain the idea of being a good uncle. He doesn’t need his sister, either. He hangs up without as much as a simple ‘bye’.

He hears Marcus, yelling for an all-day, yelling Tony. Even still Carmen’s expecting Richie’s voice to reply, but instead, it’s yours that reverberates in past the office door.

“Aye, Marcus! We’ve got three alfredo, two cannoli, one gnocchi, okay, sweets? Same team, right?”

“Same team, Chef.”

Oh, so it’s a fucking Beef thing, too? That’s so fucking cute. It’s so cute, how you’re everywhere, in everything. It’s so goddamn tender how he finds you carved into tables, finds you in filing cabinets, finds you under his booths, finds you in his walk-in, finds you in his shower caddy each morning, finds you on his balcony in a plant pot, finds you in his fridge in a spray bottle, finds you with Syd, finds you with Richie, finds you with Tina, Marcus, Jimmy, Mikey.

So cute. So fucking cute, that he’s gonna see you out there, running his kitchen, fixing everything you deem wrong with him.

Carmen Berzatto doesn't need anyone to ruin his own life except for him. He'll prove it.

i know i know i know i know--

I said it wouldn't be that much of a cliffhanger but when i got through writing the last fourth of this chapter i was having a lot of trouble because pace wise it just really really needed to be a separate part-- and this way, i get to do a fun format style change that i planned but thought i wouldn't get to do TURNS OUT I DO GET TO!! yeehaw

so much happened this chapter, like while writing it, when i'd go back to edit, i was like oh my god that was this chapter?? jesus christ. I was really waiting for y'alls reaction to this one, so please do harang me wherever you feel comfortable ranting to, i love to see it.

But yeah, really fuckin brutal, eh? And a lot of half lore dumps! You think they dated? You think it's something else? The RichiexTony and SydxTony crowds are eating fucking good tonight, also. Love those cuties and their friendships.

We've got a taglist now, I'm bad at keeping track of it, but remember if u wanna be added to this silly little thing you need to hand in an essay (more like a cute lil paragraph) tellin' me what you thought! And also ask. Duh. BUT YA GOTTA DO BOTH!~

@anytim3youwant @navs-bhat @whoknowswhoiamtoday @gills-lounge @slut4supersoldiers @sinceweremutual @itsallacotar @catsrdabestsocks101 @popcornpoppin @renaissance-painting @lostinwonderland314 @v0ctin

#carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen x reader #carmy berzatto #the bear x reader #the bear fanfiction #the bear hulu #the bear fx #the bear #carmen x oc

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causenessus · 2 days

Text

cold kisses

part 0.11. THINKING ABOUT ANOTHER MAN

PLAYING FROM KODZUKEN'S STREAM . . . picture in my mind by pinkpantheress & sam gellaitry

she recognizes him from a distance as she approaches the ice rink.

a sense of alarm kicks in before she tries to calm it down. to atsumu's credit, he’s been a lot better of a person since he found out she and kenma were dating and after the day he came to watch them. even though kenma hadn’t come to watch them since that day, he’s never flirted or blatantly done anything to make her uncomfortable.

still, she’s not sure he’s someone she’d like to be around outside of the time they’re required to stay together. she doesn't hate him as much as she used to, but she's not letting down her guard around him.

as she approaches the doors of the rink, she’s unsure of what to do; go inside immediately or stop and talk to him? he makes the decision for her when he pushes off the wall he’d been leaning on to greet her.

“hey, y/n,” he begins, looking down at her, “now that we’ve got an hour to kill what did ya plan on doing?”

“oh, i was just gonna go inside in practice, probably. i’m not sure yet,” she shrugs, turning her head to look at the doors instead of him.

“oh come on, do ya really want to do that? we have a whole four hours of that to look forward to later,” he sighs, stuffing his hands in his pockets and drawing her attention back to him. “did ya already eat?” he asks.

“oh,” she accidentally says aloud as the thoughts connect. she’d felt a little nauseous today but she’d assumed it was just because her schedule had been thrown off the rails. it was probably instead due to the fact that she hadn’t had time to eat since she came straight here. “no, i haven’t,” she answered, looking up at him.

“great,” he gave her a smile, using a hand to turn around and prompt her to start walking. she was so used to feeling him guide her on the ice it almost felt natural. “let’s go get something to eat, it's my treat.”

he sees her tweets and he’s not sure what he feels. whatever it is, it’s not good. it’s immediate repulsion, seeing anything related to miya atsumu followed by two other feelings. a sharp prick of nausea and anxiety like he’s jealous.

as soon as he labels it he tries to ignore the feeling. what was he thinking? he had no right to be upset about who she was around. they weren’t dating, he had to remind himself. he was just her friend. and roommate. and someone who she'd agreed to at least pretend to date. someone she may have started to like back, he'd thought.

the realization stings and kenma stares past his phone. his vision isn’t focused anywhere, everything just seems like a blur and it seems like his very body is shutting down at the thought that maybe she doesn’t like him.

it shouldn’t be anything new, or have this big of an effect on him. he’s dealt with his feelings for years and they’ve never affected him so badly. but what was their conversation earlier today? what was yesterday? was she just pretending? was he the one who had fallen even farther? had he stupidly started to interpret her feelings as something real?

he shuts off his phone and places it down.

he knows he shouldn't feel hurt because he knows her–at least he thinks he does. no matter if she was faking or not, it wouldn’t be her intention to mess with his feeling or go out with atsumu almost identically to how she had taken him out yesterday, bakery and all.

hell, she may not have even chosen the place. he couldn’t blame or assume anything about what she was doing, that would be unfair to her.

the only way he would know what she was thinking–how she really felt about him was to talk to her. but he couldn’t do that for a number of reasons; because of his own anxieties and because it wasn’t a good time. he didn’t want to ruin anything for her or take her attention away from the olympics. he’d have to wait until after her performance or hope that maybe she’d say something to him first.

none of this helped calm down his thoughts because there was one thing he could ask that wasn’t an assumption or projection, why would she go anywhere with miya atsumu in the first place?

prev. | m.list | next

extras <3

this got split into two chapters AGAIN because I YAP TOO MUCH

but that's okay because i have way too many songs that go with this chapter

PICTURE IN MY MIND FITS PRETTY PERFECTLY THOUGH (it'll make even more sense next chapter <3)

not sure if i already said this but kenma is also so pinkpantheress coded

i also apologize bc like none of the chats could be screenshotted perfectly like there's a lot of repeated text in some of the screenshots yk 😔

yn obviously named the gc with ukai and atsumu

ukai at first was like "wtf" and then decided he did not care

atsumu just rolls with whatever she says what a suck up

ukai also tries his best to be professional but it always slowly disintegrates the more he talks to yn

he was definitely texting and driving in traffic because his motto is "u can do anything as long as u don't get caught ❤"

yn was not too keen on going anywhere with atsumu until he said he was paying

she decided she could deal with it and just thought about kenma the entire time they were out together

but she also felt awkward when he tagged her in a tweet so she tagged him back

at this point, bc he's acting more agreeable, fake or not, y/n's decided he's a pretty okay guy. like he was always talented he just sucked as a person but now he's okay

(atsumu took her to a bakery to get back at kenma bc he knew kenma was vague tweeting about him when he told everyone to back off)

i didn't say that you heard that from a bird or something

taglist: @rinheartshyunlix @kettlepop @eggyrocks @cr4yolaas @httpakkeiji @keioover @does-directions @calx-bdo @staygoldsquatchling02 @cherrypieyourface @iluv-ace @kitty-m30w @h3xi2g0n3 @mylahrins @thechaosoflonging @momoriii-i @localgaytrainwreck @a-pastel-edgelord @bugglesboop @polish-cereal @osakis-gf @phoenix-eclipses @faesix @ryeyeyer @skylarkalchemist @kunimix @sereniteav @kodzubaby @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @r0seandth0rns @gsyche @kitnootkat @seillarium @tamimemo @myromanempiree @coldcigarette @eclipticnikki @squiishymeow @vivian-555 @cryptictheseus @eclecticeggknightpsychic @kodzukein @kawaii-angelanne @luvly-writer @kodzuken-hoe @kodzuken88 @bookworm-center @theweirdfloatything @glitch-karma @spicana

#kozume kenma #kenma kozume #kenma #kenma x reader #kenma smau #kenma x reader smau #haiykuu smau #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #hq #hq x reader

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cosyvelvetorchid · 1 day

Text

From a prompt sent by @titanlord231 ❤️

********

Buck stood leaning against the kitchen door frame just watching Tommy. He did that a lot. Two years they had been together and not a day went by where Buck didn't look at him with awe; still not quite totally believing that Thomas Kinard - the hero firefighter pilot who flew in to a hurricane on a whim - was his.

"Would you like me to do a little dance for you?" Tommy asked not looking at him.

"I mean, kinda." He replied and Tommy laughed. He finished plating up their breakfast and placed rbe plates on the table.

"Happy anniversary, baby." He leaned forward pressing his lips onto Bucks.

"Happy anniversary."

"So, are you going to tell me yet where we're going tonight?" Tommy asked. Buck shook his head.

"Nope." He grinned.

"You're such a tease"

"Yep."

"So can I know anything?' Tommy asked. Tommy had been not a huge fan of surprises. Mostly because his experience of surpises growing up were never good ones. But he'd learned that Evan only ever surpised him in the loveliest ways.

Like when he sometimes brings him breakfast in bed, which nobody had done for him before. Or before he moved in and Tommy got the flu, Evan cooked a whole weeks worth of meals for him, and put them in his freezer while he was asleep (Tommy kept the note he'd written that he left next to him). Or last year for his birthday when Evan had got in contact with some of his old army buddies, who showed up at the bar they were at as a surpise.

"Just wear something nice."

****

Buck lead Tommy down the street, his hand grasping Tommy's tightly.

"C'mon not even a hint if where we're going?" Tommy asked impatiently.

"No need - were here." Buck pointed across the street to the pizzeria.

"Our first date?" Tommy smiled

"I've been promising to take you back so we can redo it so I figured why not on our anniversary." Buck beamed at him and Tommys heart squeezed itself harder in his chest. He was inclined to argue and tell him there was no need to redo it, but Evan wanted to do it. Besides the look of excitement on his face was enough to shut Tommy up.

They spent the next two hours eating and talking and laughing. Unlike their first date there was no nerves, no awkwardness or humiliation. When they weren't needing their hands to eat they were attached across the table.

"Thank you, baby." Tommy pulled Evan to him for a kiss as they left the restaurant. He pushed further into Evans lips eliciting a quiet moan from both of them. He pulled away and rested his forhead on Evans.

"How about we finish this date off at home?" His voice was low and breathy. Buck knew what that meant. But there was one more thing he wanted to do first.

"Actually there's somewhere else we have to go first." He excitedly told him.

"Evan, you didn't have to do all this for me." Tommy said softly.

"I know. I wanted to. Its not far, don't worry. Then you can take me home for dessert." Tommy felt his pulse in his groin at Evans words.

"I'm going to hold you to that." He said as Evan took his hand and walked them back to the car.

Ten minutes driving and they pulled up. Buck got out and walked toward the building.

"Do you remember this place?" He asked.

"Yeah. We had coffee here. You asked me to your sisters wedding."

"Well, on the theme of recreating our first date I thought why not recreate this one too." Buck explaind. Tommy was confused.

"Evan, its 10:30pm at night - they're closed."

"Are they?" He asked, hand reaching out to knock on the glass door with his knuckle. A man in his 50s walked towards the door to unlock it.

"Hey Buck."

"Hey Tony. This is my boyfriend Tommy. Tommy this is Tony - he owns the place. He's agreed to open up just for the evening for us. Come on." He lead Tommy through the café and outside to the table that they had sat on. There were twinkling lights hanging all around giving everything a soft warm glow.

A minute after they sat down Tony came out and took their coffee order.

"Hopefully this time you'll like the coffee I bought you." Buck smiled

"I can't even remember what it was you got me, I just remember it was bad." He said and they both laughed.

"So tell the truth - how did you really feel when I invited you to my sisters wedding? Buck asked.

"Surpised honestly. Being a date to someone for a wedding is a big deal anyway but the fact it was going to be your family was even bigger a deal."

"Were you tempted to say no?"

"No. " He stated clearly. "I wanted to go with you but I needed to know that you knew how big a deal it was. I've since come to realise you like to jump I'm with both feet first regardless." He smiled. He loved that about Evan; his determination and passion to go for what he wants.

"I'm happy you did." He placed his hand on to Tommys mimicking their date 2 years ago. Tommy reciprocated.

"Me too." Tommy replied, with that famous crinkly-eyed smile that Buck couldn't get enough of.

"Speaking of weddings there's another one I wanted to invite you too." Buck admitted.

"Yeah? Who's getting married?"

Buck took a second to breath before standing up, reaching for the little box in his back pocket then taking a knee.

"Us."

"Evan.." Tommy's mouth was open as he looked down at Evan holding a little black Black velvet box with a black tungsten band inside.

"Tommy, my whole life I felt like there was something missing. No matter how hard i searched for it, I never found it; convinced I wouldn't. And then you flew us into a hurricane and.. and though my body came home I feel like my soul is still in there in the middle of it with you." His emotions rose up and tears began to fall slowly down his cheeks. "You have made my life infinitely better than I ever thought was possible. I love you so much and want to spend the rest of my life making you happy. Will you marry me? "

Tommy could hardly believe what was happening. His sweet, kind, gorgeous boyfriend wants to marry him. He never thought in a million years he would ever be in this place where the love of his life would be down on knee proposing. There was just one small issue though..

Tommy stood from his seat and a giant tsunami rushed over Bucks bones . For a moment he thought he was leaving. Instead, Tommy gave Evan the biggest surpise of his life by kneeling in front of him, reaching for something in his inside jacket pocket. He pulled out a black leather box and opened it revealing a tarnished silver band.

"Evan, I spent my entire life in fear. Fear of who I am, of who I wanted to be. Fear of being accepted. Always holding myself back because I was so scared of getting hurt again. And then you got into my chopper and suddenly everything changed." Tommy was now the one getting emotional, with his chin wobbling, tears rolling down his cheeks. "You taught me what love is. What kindness and support is. You made me feel like I didn't have to be scared anymore. And that even if I ever am, that ill have you to hold my hand through it. I love you more than I ever thought it possible to love another person. Evan, will you marry me?

Buck sniffed and wiped tears from his cheeks.

"I asked you first." He laughed.

"Of course I will marry you." Tommy answered with a smile so big Buck thought he'd never seen it before.

"Yes I'll marry you." He finally answered.

Tommy reached a hand forward grabbing Evans neck and pulling him into a deep kiss. A kiss that tasted of a wonderful future with the man he loved.

#tommy kinard #buck x tommy #bucktommy #911 abc #911 buck #evan buckley #911 #911onabc #evan buck buckely #911 spoilers #bucktommy fic #tevan #bucktommy prompts #bucktommy prompt

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vaaaaaiolet · 2 days

Text

You move to the big city in search of bigger and better, so naturally, you get your first place.

You just don't anticipate the roommate that comes along with it.

f / m, strangers to lovers, slow burn, hijinks and shenanigans, leon is bad at feelings :( but don't worry because there will be so much fluff omg, he is a sweetheart, like a romcom, and banter!! so much banter

a/n : inspired by the Japanese drama Good Morning Call!

chapter masterlist // read on ao3

chapter 1: what fine print??

Couch surfing, living off canned beans and rice, giving up your potted plant collection. Nothing has gone your way since you packed up shop and left your hometown behind for the big bright lights of the city, but things have never been this bad.

In typical you fashion, you hadn’t read the fine print of your apartment lease before signing it. It was too good of a deal not to snag: a 2 bedroom, 1 bathroom suite fit for Zack and Cody and for an unbeatable price! With a mediocre waitressing salary and a hefty college tuition to boot, you figured beggars couldn’t be choosy. You certainly weren’t when you’d signed the lease with flourish.

So now as you shove a chair in front of your bedroom door while an intruder jiggles the handle to force their way in, you think that moving into your first place couldn’t have possibly gone worse.

It had to be a setup. The sweet old landlord lady must have set you up in some mafia den and now you’d gone ahead and stepped on their turf. What kind of intruder breaks into a new apartment anyway? How’d they even get in through the front door? This neighborhood was supposed to be safe!, you whine to yourself as you cram your back against the door.

After a few seconds, the jiggling stops. You let out a sigh of relief. Thank goodness your old habit of locking doors from dorm-

BANG!

You land ungracefully on your butt with a surprised yelp as the intruder bashes the door in with a shoulder. Firm shoulder, honestly. You’ve tried that before and it’s nowhere as cool as the movies make it look. From your seat on the floor, you grab the nearest dangerous weapon (a particularly nasty curling iron) and brandish at your assailant. He, in turn, points a handgun at your face.

Cool, a loaded weapon! No biggie.

And just like in the movies, you both shout at the same time: “Who the hell are you?”

“I asked you first.” he points the barrel of the gun at your face. “You’ve got 5 seconds.”

“What?”

His blue eyes narrow as he slowly inches forward. “I said,” he repeats, “Who. The hell. Are you?”

“I live here!”

“Huh?” Now it’s his turn to look surprised. “You’re lying.”

Okay, rude. “What are you talking about?” you shoot back. Pretty rich of a burglar to break into your home and then accuse you of lying about it.

“You can’t live here.” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“I don’t think you get to tell me I don’t live in the apartment you just broke into.”

You gesture at the half-unpacked moving boxes surrounding you and he has the nerve to frown.

“No, I didn’t.” he shakes his blond head as if he couldn’t believe you’d accuse him of literally breaking down your new bedroom door.

“You didn’t?”

You think that this back and forth could go on all day until he quickly raises a pair of keys to answer your question. A pair of keys, you realize with a start, that are identical to the ones sitting on your dresser right now because they’re the ones to your apartment. You piece together how he got in through the front door; he’d simply unlocked it with his own keys.

You lower your curling iron as you take in the scarily well-built form of your would-be intruder. He mirrors you, smoothly clicking the safety back on his gun. A couple of snowflakes drift to the floor from his shearling biker jacket as he tucks the weapon into an inside pocket and you wonder how big men’s pockets really are if he could fit a whole freaking gun in there.

“Can’t break into my own apartment, can I?” he says drily. “But hey, this makes for one hell of a move-in day.”

back to the chapter masterlist...

#leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy fanfiction #vaaaaaiolet #vivisaidso on ao3

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maximoffcarter · 3 days

Text

It'll be okay.

Pairings: Emily Prentiss x reader.

Warnings: Mentions of COVID.

Summary: Emily Prentiss was known to always taking care of her team, taking full responsibility of everything, taking the blame, making sure they were okay, etc. But, it was true that she never let anyone know the hard time she was having, that was until y/n entered her life.

A/n: This was requested by anon, and gotta say I dunno if this is even good but I wrote what I felt was right. It’s angst with comfort and fluff😌 I added some backstory cause why nooooot? I mostly based this on the first episode, and maybe after the season ends, I'll do a better one, but I believe this was good enough for now haha. Our baby really does need some comfort and a goddamn break🥹 I also did not proof read this, I never do until it's too late haha, so my apologies. Hope you guys enjoy this, leave comments, hearts, whatever you like and reblog so this gets some love🫶🏻

*not my gif*

COVID had definitely taken a toll on the BAU, not only had the world stopped but a lot of things had happened then. People died, people left, the world entirely changed, and there was no stopping, no one could actually stop it. Emily Prentiss had tried to make it work, to make things a little easier as she tried to focus on her job every single day, drowning in paperwork, zoom meetings, not being able to freely do what they were so used on doing, it had been a hard year. Not only that, but the fact that her breakup had been so messy, but that was the least of all the other things she was going through. Emily thought it couldn’t have gone worse, but then y/n was very present in her life. It was funny the day where it all had gone down.

It was the end of the most painful and difficult year, 2021 was about to arrive, just a week for the so awaited new year. And it so happened that on Christmas day, Emily had gotten COVID. She was in complete denial of being sick, more so because she needed to work, and she also had nothing to help her with the undeniable symptoms; the unbearable headache and body ache, the obvious fever, the terrible cold that her body felt, the stupid and annoying coughing and the stupid stuffed nose. Yes, there was no denial she was sick, but of course she wouldn’t admit how bad it was. But that didn’t stop y/n from going into action and deciding to go to Emily. Emily had been on the phone with her a few hours earlier, and when y/n noticed how bad this had gotten, she couldn’t stop herself from getting everything she needed and off to Emily’s house she was.

“What…on earth are you doing h-here.” Emily was interrupted with a cough, her hand soon landing on her chest as she felt the horrible pain as she coughed.

“I’m here to take care of you. Go to the living room, need to keep our distance.” Y/n said softly as she adjusted her face mask, getting a bottle of spray out.

Emily furrowed her brows but went ahead to the living room, soon enough grabbing a face mask and turning back to look at y/n. “I’m fine, you don’t have to stay here.”

“Oh, but I do. We’re close to get the vaccine, I cannot have you stopping at the hospital just because you were too stubborn to accept that you’re really sick.” Y/n sprayed the whole area where Emily had just been, and then turned to look at her with a raised brow. “Okay, here’s what we’ll do. You stay in your room, I’ll sleep on the couch, you can only use your room and bathroom. I’ll be bringing you food and medication, already talked to a doctor. If we don’t see any progress, we’ll have to go to the hospital, which I hope, you’ll cooperate, Prentiss.”

Emily just stared at her, a bit surprised on how y/n had become so bossy, but she also couldn’t blame her, knowing perfectly well that she’d probably die on her own. “Got it. I will.”

Y/n nodded. “Good, now I’ll go disinfect your room first. You stay here while I do that, no touching anything anymore. Though, I will clean here too.”

Emily couldn’t help the small smile that spread through her face as she nodded, thankful that the face mask was covering it. “Got it boss.”

Y/n grinned softly as she nodded. “Good, I’ll be right back. Bed stuff?”

“Closet, second drawer, and the blankets are on top.”

Emily would be lying if she said she wasn’t happy to have y/n here. Ever since y/n joined the team, somehow, they had become inseparable, even if she tried to get her to work with the whole team, before she even thought about it, she was already saying that y/n would go with her, and of course, that didn’t go unnoticed by Tara, JJ and Penelope, but they never mentioned anything, even more when Emily ended up with a boyfriend. That of course till this day, Emily thought so much about how she had forced herself to actually like someone just so she wouldn’t feel so alone. But the one person she had actually wanted…had been y/n. And now having her here, willing to take care of her even if she knew there was a risk that she could get sick, it was everything for Emily.

Emily slowly opened her eyes as she heard her door opening. She looked up and smiled softly as she noticed y/n walking in with a tray of food. “Hey. Did I sleep a lot?”

Y/n looked at Emily and smiled, carefully putting the tray of food on the nightstand. “For like an hour and a half. It’s good that you’re sleeping.” She grabbed the thermometer and placed it on Emily’s forehead. She sighed relieved and offered a small smile. “It’s coming down, finally.”

Emily smiled. “And the headache is not as bad.”

“No, Prentiss. I will not leave, it’s good you’re getting better but no way I’m leaving in the next few days.” Y/n raised her brow as she placed back the thermometer in its place.

“I was not going to say anything about that.” Emily chuckled softly. “Just…thank you.” She smiled softly as she sat on her bed.

Y/n nodded softly. “You welcome.” She smiled as she looked at Emily. “So…I ordered some groceries for tomorrow, we’ll have our own Christmas celebration.”

Emily’s heart stopped for a moment, her eyes widening. “Oh my…tomorrow is Christmas! Y/n, you shouldn’t be here. I’m sure you have-“

“Ah, stop.” Y/n grinned softly. “I have nothing to do, and I wouldn’t want to spend my Christmas any differently. What better way to celebrate it than with a sick Emily Prentiss? Such a great gift.” She chuckled softly as she grabbed the tray and placed it on Emily’s legs.

Emily’s heart swelled as she stared at y/n, a small smile on her face. “If you say so.”

“I do say so.” Y/n smiled softly. “Eat that, I’ll bring your medication.”

Emily watched her leave and her smile widened even more. All these years, she had been taking care of herself, not letting anyone in because she knew how that’d end up. She had never liked to be taken care of, but she loved to make sure that her loved ones were always good taken care of. So now, y/n doing all of this…it made her realize that maybe, just maybe…she did feel the same way.

********************

Emily groaned softly as she stretched, slowly opening her eyes to the sound of a groan and then a small whisper. As she looked up, rubbing the sleep away from her eyes, she furrowed her brows as she noticed y/n moving a small table and placing it in the middle of the door. She tilted her head in curiosity as a small, silly smile spread across her face. “What are you doing?”

Y/n looked up at Emily and smiled, her cheeks turning slightly red. “Oh uh…moving a table?”

“And…leaving it right in the middle of the door?” Emily raised her brow.

“Okay don’t laugh but…I thought this could be a way for us to have Christmas lunch together.”

Emily’s face softened as she stared at her, her cheeks turning red and not for the fever. She grinned softly. “Charming.”

“I tend to be.” Y/n grinned softly. “Grab your chair and I’ll bring the food.”

Emily smiled softly and did just as she was told, grabbing the chair that was just might the closet and sitting down in front of the table. She smiled softly as y/n came back with a chair for herself and started brought Emily her plate already with food and her drink. They ate together and right after they talked about everything but work, laughing as they told old stories about themselves and even some stories with the team. Y/n was fascinated just listening to Emily talk, loving that she had chosen the idea of spending Christmas with her, and that Emily had allowed her to take care of her. As for Emily, even if she was tired, she was enjoying every moment she was spending with y/n. As she watched her talk, she kept wondering in her mind if she was right or she was wrong about her suspicions, smiling softly without even noticing.

Y/n furrowed her brows and tilted her head as she stared at Emily. “What?” She hugged a chuckle.

“What?” Emily snapped out of her trance. “Oh! No, nothing. I’m sorry.”

Y/n chuckled. “You should get back to bed and sleep, I’ll clean up and wake you up for your pills.”

“Wait!” Emily coughed, grabbing her glass of water, and taking a deep breath afterwards. “I uh…have a question.”

“Yes?”

Emily took a deep breath, feeling her body still pretty much aching and getting all warm. “Why are you doing this?”

Y/n furrowed her brows again. “I…because I didn’t want you to be alone, Em.”

“Is that the only reason?” Emily raised her brow, a small smile on her face.

Y/n tilted her head as she smiled shyly, looking down at her glass. “Well…I don’t wanna get fired after what I have to say.”

“Which is?”

“You’re a profiler, Em. Isn’t it obvious?” Y/n blushed slightly as she looked back at her. “I…care a lot about you. Which means…that I like you…a lot.” She whispered softly as she nibbled on her lip.

Emily smiled softly as she nodded, tilting her head. “And you’re also a profiler, y/n. Isn’t it obvious?”

Y/n’s eyes widened slightly as she stared at Emily. “Wait…are you serious?”

“If I wasn’t sick and this table wasn’t in the middle of us, I’d be kissing you right now.” Emily smirked softly.

Y/n’s lips parted slightly as she stared at Emily, a soft smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Is the fever making you talk?”

Emily laughed softly, coughing afterwards, and placing her hand on her chest. “No, no…I’m…I’m serious.” She smiled.

“We’re gonna check back once you’re not sick.” Y/n grinned. “But for now…this could be considered our first date.”

“And I’d like to take you in a second date…next year.” Emily joking as she grinned.

Y/n rolled her eyes playfully. “You’re so funny, Prentiss. But I accept.” She smiled softly.

Emily laughed softly as she nodded, feeling her heart beating faster as y/n kept staring at her with that beautiful smile on her face. After all, there was something good out of this pandemic.

********************

It wasn’t new that y/n saw Emily drowning in work, not after all the changed that the BAU had over the years. Having JJ back had at least eased things, but Rossi losing his wife, not having Penelope around, a whole new case that fell into their lap, Bailey not helping at all, Emily was losing her mind. But once she had most of her team back, including Penelope, things didn’t seem to be so bad…until they were, again. Y/n always had her eyes on Emily, the entire time, they both had promised that their relationship wouldn’t interfere with work, it wouldn’t change the way they worked, and it also wouldn’t stop them, meaning that things would stay just like they were before. Of course, the team was now aware of their relationship, and they were happy that at least, there was something to look forward to -Penelope joking that she was already planning the wedding…they believed she was joking-.

But once the whole ‘Gold Star’ started, y/n noticed how Emily just kept getting home late, trying to drown herself in work and compensate for what had happened. She had tried her best to be there for her and let Emily know that it had not been her fault, and that she had done what she and the team had thought was right. Emily tried to hide everything that she was feeling to not let y/n and the team figure out that she was having a hard time, but y/n knew better, she could now see through Emily, but she also knew not to push her. Even if it killed her to know that Emily was having a hard time.

“Hey, so where’s Emily? Thought she’d be here.” JJ snapped y/n out of her trance, making her look up at her while JJ offered a small smile.

“Oh…she had uh…she had something to do.” Y/n tried her best to smile but they knew better.

“Work, huh? She feels…guilty about Bailey?” Tara asked as she turned to look at y/n.

Y/n sighed softly as she nodded. “I don’t know what to do.”

“We know Emily. There’s not much we can do if she doesn’t want to talk.” Tara said softly as she placed her hand on y/n’s shoulder.

“But I’m her girlfriend. I mean…I should at least…I don’t know. Try harder?” Y/n shrugged. “I just want Emily to know that I’m here…”

JJ sighed softly. “Well, I’m sure she knows, she’s just…trying to deal with her stuff.”

Y/n nodded softly as she looked back at JJ, smiling softly. She felt her phone vibrating and got it out of her pocket, furrowing her brows as she saw Emily’s text. Soon enough she was saying goodbye to everyone and then heading back to the office. It felt a little weird to be here so late, the whole office was silent and almost dark, Emily’s office was the only one that had its light on. Y/n took a deep breath as she noticed Emily walking around her office and then stopping by the window. She wanted to support her in every possible way, but she was also afraid that Emily was overworking herself and that didn’t sit right with her. She slowly walked to Emily’s office and leaned against the doorframe, trying her best to smile as Emily turned to look at her.

“Hey you.” Y/n smiled softly.

Emily offered a smile in return. “I’m sorry I made you leave Penelope’s birthday.”

“I was going to anyway.” Y/n shrugged. “What’s going on?”

Emily sighed softly. “We need to talk.”

Y/n felt her heart drop for a moment as she stared at Emily. She could only nod, not trusting her voice as she felt her body slightly trembling as she waited for Emily to say anything at all, but instead, she walked to y/n, grabbed her hand, and kissed it softly, offering a smile as she pulled y/n with her. Soon enough, they were on the ceiling, Emily had sat down and had pulled out a box of cigarettes, catching y/n off guard for a moment, but also keeping in mind how incredibly hot it was to see her smoke. Seriously, y/n…not the time. She crossed her arms and listened to everything Emily had to say, and again, she felt helpless as she listened to Emily, wanting nothing more than to be able to fix all this with a snap of her finger and be able to take Emily anywhere so she could relax.

“Well, you’ve been doing your homework.” Y/n teased as she walked closer to Emily and grabbed the cigarette putting it in her mouth before she returned it to Emily.

Emily scoffed. “Well…we need to get to the end of this.”

Y/n nodded, sighing softly, and looked away for a moment. “So…you think he’s government trained or something?”

“He’s definitely too proficient to be self-taught.”

“And that’s why they’re keeping it a secret.” Y/n tilted her head as she looked back at Emily. “I know that you’ve been overprotective after what happened…but we need to let the team know about this. You know that working together, we’ll get it done.”

Emily sighed softly as she nodded. “I know.” She nibbled on her lip for a moment as she looked at y/n. “Baby…I need you to promise me that whatever we do here, I need you to be safe. We see what he does…what has happened so far. I cannot…” her voice cracked for a moment, looking down at the floor as she put back the cigarette in her mouth.

Y/n sighed softly as she walked to Emily, positioning herself in between her legs and placing her hands on her cheeks, tilting her head up so their eyes locked. “I will promise you that if you promise me the same.” She smiled softly. “Em, I need you to take a break too. You’ve barely been home, you’ve barely been sleeping. I will make the promise if you promise me you’ll also take care of yourself.”

Emily took a deep breath, moving her free hand to y/n’s hips, offering a small smile. “Alright. I will.”

Y/n smiled softly as she leaned down to kiss Emily’s forehead. “You’re stubborn, Prentiss. If I don’t take care of you, you won’t.”

“That’s why I have you. Couldn’t have it any other way.” Emily chuckled softly, leaning up slightly to kiss her lips while she put out the cigarette.

Y/n smiled against her lips. “I know I should be forbidding you from smoking but…did you know you look extremely hot smoking?”

Emily chuckled softly as she wrapped her arms around her waist, pulling her closer. “No but thank you.” She grinned.

Y/n rolled her eyes playfully and then leaned down to kiss her lips again. “Let’s go call Garcia.”

********************

Y/n could only stare at Emily while everyone else talking, giving their thoughts about the video they had just watched. she couldn’t really concentrate on what they were even talking about, part of her was trying to comprehend everything, work with them, say anything at all, but her mind was entirely focused on Emily. The moment Rossi and Emily had walked into the office, she could tell that there was something wrong with Emily; the way she stared at them, the way she talked, her eyes seemed…lost. She tried to keep up with everything, every now and then feeling JJ’s eyes on her, even Tara’s, but her eyes were only focused on Emily.

“Em?” Y/n asked softly as they all left the room, walking to Emily and taking her hand. “Are you alright?”

Emily looked back at her and furrowed her brows. “Yes. Why are you asking?”

Y/n tilted her head slightly as she raised her brow. “That was not nothing. What you and Rossi saw…and you…you don’t look okay.”

Emily shrugged. “It’s part of the job, isn’t it?”

Y/n sighed softly. “Emily, I-“

“Right now, we need to focus on this case. We might have something important here. I know I promised, but we also promised we wouldn’t change the way we work here. Right now, we’re at work, and we need to focus on that.” Emily said softly but firmly, not wanting to sound rude or harsh, but the way she looked at y/n, with stress and frustration, made y/n’s insides turn.

Y/n nodded softly as she let go of Emily’s hand. “Right.”

Emily only nodded before she left, leaving y/n standing there, not knowing what to do or say. She knew working together wouldn’t be the easiest thing ever, but she couldn’t help it, and Emily couldn’t blame her for worrying. Y/n had stayed behind with JJ at the office, she had tried to brush it off and focus on their main task. But again, once they came back, y/n noticed it again, she noticed the way Emily rubbed her temple and went straight to her office. She didn’t say anything, she stayed with JJ as she let Emily have a minute. She was right, they had made it clear things wouldn’t change, and so far, it had worked out, and she was not about to stress Emily more.

********************

Y/n closed the door behind her and sighed softly as she locked it, standing there staring at it as she took a deep breath before she turned to walk to their room. Emily was already sitting on the bed, taking off her shoes. Y/n said nothing, walking to the bed and also sitting down and doing the same as Emily. Silence surrounded them for a moment for a while, y/n knew it was stupid that Emily’s words had hit her the way they did, but she couldn’t help it, she knew that if it was the other way around, Emily wouldn’t drop it until y/n accepted that Emily was right, but in this case, which was not even an option.

But then she heard a soft groan coming from Emily, and as she turned, she noticed Emily’s head in her hands, and y/n was back to feeling worried. She stood up slowly and walked around the bed, kneeling right in front of Emily, and positioning herself in between her legs, her hands on top of Emily’s as she leaned her head against Emily’s.

“Em…” Y/n whispered softly.

“I’m exhausted.” Emily breathed out, her voice cracking slightly. “I don’t know what’s going on, nothing seems right, everything seems to be against us, to be against me. It’s like they want me to resign so badly, they want…they want the BAU to disappear. I don’t know what they want from me, I cannot just drop this, not after everything we’ve been through.” She said quietly as she felt her eyes getting teary, not being able to look up at y/n. “They’re making us get involved with a fucking serial killer. What has gotten into their minds?! What are they hiding?!”

Y/n wrapped her arms around her, only being able to hold Emily tightly as she started sobbing. Emily knew that she was overworking herself, that she was doing too much, she was obsessing too much, but there was no chance to back down, she couldn’t just let it happen, she couldn’t let them win. But she felt so…heavy. Everything hurt, her head felt like exploding, her chest felt heavy, she had felt the usual anxiety creep in her body, she felt worse than she had years ago. She sobbed quietly as she felt y/n tightening her embrace, Emily suddenly wrapping her arms around y/n’s neck, feeling bad for the weird position they were in, but needing y/n to hold her so badly, she’d worry about the position later.

“I can’t just drop this.” Emily whispered as she buried her face on y/n’s neck, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“I know. And we won’t drop it. I’ll be by your side.” Y/n whispered softly.

“I’m sorry I’m so stubborn…”

Y/n shook her head, smiling softly as she turned to kiss the side of her head. “But you’re mine. You can be as stubborn as you want.”

Emily chuckled softly as she pulled away, looking into y/n’s eyes. “I’m sorry that I’ve been drowning myself in this case.”

Y/n sighed softly. “I don’t blame you, Emily.” She rubbed Emily’s back softly as she leaned in and kissed her forehead. “I just don’t want you falling sick for so much stress. I don’t want you to get stuck in this to the point where you can’t notice that you’re putting everything and you’re putting yourself in danger.” She said softly as she looked into Emily’s eyes. “I’m just worried about you.”

Emily nodded as she let out a shaky breath. “I know. I won’t keep anything else from you, I promise. And…I’ll come to you when it’s too much.”

Y/n nodded as she smiled. “Em…baby, look at me.” She ran her fingers through her hair as Emily locked her eyes on hers. “I’m here for you, no matter what. The good and the bad, you’re not a burden to me, okay? I love you. And you’re not alone.”

Emily’s eyes filled with tears as her face softened, her body slightly trembling as she finally gave up and let tiredness take over her. She took a deep shaky breath, nodding her head as more tears rolled down her cheeks. Y/n rapidly wrapped her into another tight hug, letting Emily bury her face on her neck and sob as much as she needed. They stayed like that for a while, y/n rubbing her back and whispering sweet nothings while Emily cried. It was becoming too much, and Emily knew this wasn’t even the half of it and there was so much more to come, but for now, for now she had y/n, she was present in this moment. Y/n gave her the space to break and make her feel like she deserved to have this sort of moment even if they still made her feel weak, but she knew her lover would never judge her, not like she had been judged before. After a moment, she finally felt like she had gotten everything out, slowly moving back but resting her forehead against y/n’s, not wanting to be away.

“Thank you…” Emily whispered softly.

“Why are you thanking me?”

“Because you always take care of me even if you don’t have to.” Emily smiled through her tears.

Y/n smiled softly pulling away just enough to wipe her tears and stroke her cheek. “And I’ll be here to do it over and over again. If I risked my life with COVID, why not now?” She grinned a little.

Emily rolled her eyes playfully. “Well, it kept you in my apartment for a whole month. Not my fault you were so eager to kiss me.” She teased back.

Y/n gasped softly. “In my defense, you were supposed to be out of risk, and also, I couldn’t help it when I had you right in front of me. We had become girlfriends, and I hadn’t even kissed you yet.”

“That’s true.” Emily chuckled softly as she leaned in and kissed her forehead. “And I got to take care of you.”

Y/n nodded. “We’ve got each other’s back. You take care of me, and I take care of you.” She smiled softly.

Emily smiled and nodded softly. “Yes.” She rested her forehead against y/n’s once again. “I love you.”

“And I love you.” Y/n smiled softly and sighed softly as she closed her eyes for a moment. After a while, she moved to kiss Emily’s nose and offer another smile. “C’mon, let’s take a bath together. I’ll bring some wine and snacks.”

Emily smiled softly and nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

Y/n nodded before she got up, but as she was about to leave, Emily pulled her back to her, making her turn back to Emily who was now standing. “Yes?”

Emily smiled softly as she shook her head. “Nothing.” She placed her hand on y/n’s neck and brought their lips together into a tender kiss. “I love you.” She whispered softly against her lips.

Y/n giggled. “I love you too.” She whispered back and kissed her lips one more time before she walked out of the room.

Emily knew there was still a very long way, she had no idea what they were getting into, a lot of stress was coming their way, but she knew that as soon as she walked into their house, she’d be able to leave that stress behind at least for a while. This little bubble they had created for themselves was everything to Emily, and what got her to keep going. And that was all she needed.

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