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supernovafics · 7 months

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𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

"i'll be there for you" universe masterlist

pairing: bestfriend!roommate!steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 5.7k words

warnings: explicit language, so so much angst (but with a happy ending), some fluff at the end, just a whole lot of emotions in this one!

summary: in which during steve’s birthday ski trip to colorado everything he’s been keeping from you finally comes out

author's note: i had the idea for this specific one probably since the beginning of this series and now here we finally are many many months later<333 also this one is very much that one episode of friends coded where they were supposed to go skiing but never did. not once do i actually write them skiing in this but i promise the thought was there lol

general note: everything in this universe/series can be read as standalone oneshots but to understand the full “lore” it would prob be best to read the other stuff too<333

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Winter 1986

When you first suggested the idea a month before Steve’s birthday, Robin and Eddie thought that a seventeen hour car ride to Denver sounded like hell. But, it luckily didn’t take a lot to convince them to agree and come along for the weekend trip. Because aside from gas and food, it was essentially a free trip to Colorado.

You’d all be staying at the cabin that your parents and Steve’s went to during Thanksgiving; which, after enduring an hour-long phone call with your mom when they came back from the trip because she wanted to tell you all about it, you learned that the place was really nice and they all were happy about buying it as a timeshare before even seeing it in person. She also told you that if you and Steve and some friends ever wanted to use it, you could, and you only responded with a half-hearted, “Sure, that would be nice,” because you just wanted to get off the phone, but months later you thought it could be a cool thing to do for Steve’s birthday.

You mentioned it to him first and he liked it, saying that it sounded fun and it would be hilarious to see you finally attempt skiing. You only rolled your eyes and playfully hit his arm in response, and then you mentioned the trip idea that night to Robin and Eddie when you all were on your way to the movies. And once they agreed, the plan became set.

It was barely four in the morning on Friday, the day before Steve’s birthday, when you all bunched into your car instead of Eddie’s van because he didn’t think it would be able to sustain that long of a road trip. Which, after spending many, many times in the old van, you completely agreed with him.

The drive surprisingly wasn’t that unbearable— Steve drove a lot of the time because he didn’t really mind it, you forced everyone to play dumb car ride games to help pass the time, Eddie controlled the music for most of the drive, and Robin had to go to the bathroom every hour until she fell asleep for most of the afternoon and evening. When the four of you made it to Denver around ten, you simply picked your rooms and then went to bed because of how tired you all were.

You woke up at some random time in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, and the loud creakiness of the wooden floors annoyed you and washed away most of your tiredness. When you noticed that it was a little after twelve, you went to Steve’s room, which was right across from yours. You gave his door a quick knock before walking in, the bright moonlight shining through the open curtain of one of the windows did enough to let you see him in bed. He was fast asleep, buried beneath the covers and softly snoring.

You lightly tapped his back to stir him awake and pulled the blanket off of his head a bit, which revealed his messy bedhead that you forced yourself not to laugh at.

Steve turned his head and looked up at you for a brief moment before letting out a soft, “Hey.”

You smiled at him. “Happy birthday, Stevie.”

You could tell that he was too tired to playfully roll his eyes at the nickname you had for him that usually only came out during moments like these or whenever you were drunk.

“Thanks,” He said instead, smiling back at you and letting out a small yawn.

You walked around to the other side of the bed and got in, pulling the blanket over your legs. “Also, I’m sorry, but I’m an idiot and forgot to pack your present, so you’ll get it when we get back home Monday night.”

He turned on his side to face you and rubbed his eyes. “Can I know what it is?”

You nodded. “It’s that denim jacket that you saw a few weeks ago at our usual thrift store. I convinced you not to buy it because I wanted to get it for you. I went back and bought it the next day, and I also put some pins on it that I thought you’d like.”

Steve gave you a small tired smile. “Nice, I knew that you actually liked the jacket.”

You laughed a bit. “I was honestly surprised that you didn’t immediately see through my lie.”

Steve didn’t say anything in response to that, and instead, you noticed his eyes slipping shut for a brief moment before he was looking at you in the darkness again. You smiled as you pulled the blanket off of you and got out of the bed.

“Okay, I’m gonna go. I’ll see you in the morning when we all go out for breakfast,” You told him, referring to the diner about ten minutes away that you had passed when you all were driving to the cabin and it looked fairly nice.

“You can stay if you want,” Steve said as he turned and watched you head toward the door, and you shook your head at his words.

“I know it’s only been a couple of hours, but I really like my bed,” You told him. It actually surprised you how easily you had found comfort in the full-sized bed. “So, goodnight and happy birthday again, Steven.”

You noticed his amused smile as he spoke. “No ‘Stevie’ this time around?”

“I wanted to spare you for a second.”

“That’s very considerate of you.”

“You’re welcome, Stevie,” You said with a nod and playful smile before you opened the door.

You closed it behind you and then headed across the hall to the room that was designated as yours for the weekend.

“Wait,” Hearing Steve’s voice at that moment surprised you; you hadn’t heard his door open again or the annoying creak of the floor.

You turned to look at him, dropping your hand from your doorknob, and even in the darkness of the hallway you could tell that he looked much more awake than when you had left him just moments ago.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to tell you something,” He said softly, and those words immediately made your mind travel back to that conversation you two had after playing basketball in the park.

“Is it what you’ve been holding out on talking to me about for the past few weeks?”

He gave you a small nod. “Yeah…”

During that conversation in his car all those weeks ago, he had said that what was going on with him was too hard to explain right then and you decided not to push him further on it because you knew that he’d tell you eventually.

You weren’t entirely sure why you suddenly felt worried about it all and what he was going to say to you in this moment; maybe it was because of the look on his face that was a solid mix between serious and nervous. “Okay. What is it?”

“I love you.”

The breath you let out was a mix between a laugh and sigh of relief because you were completely unfazed by his words. “Jesus, don’t scare me like that again. I love you too, Stevie.”

Was that all he had to tell you? That didn’t entirely make sense to you because it wasn’t like you two hadn’t said those words to each other a million times before. You expected him to laugh and smile along with you, but he only shook his head at first, which made you confused all over again.

“No,” He said, pushing a nervous hand through his messy hair. “I don’t mean it like how we’ve always meant it anymore. I’m… I’m in love with you.”

There were only a handful of times that you could say that your best friend had ever rendered you speechless; it was hard to completely stun you into silence when it came to him. Not much that Steve did could ever truly surprise you or throw you for a complete loop because you felt like you knew him well enough that most of his actions just made sense. The last time it happened was when he suggested that you two get Harold, he had never been a huge pet person so it genuinely surprised you when he was the one to come up with the idea.

And now you had another moment to add to the list; a moment that entirely topped all of the others.

“Oh.” It was the only word that came to your mind at that moment, and it was barely even a word, it was more so a sound. But, it was the only thing you could say. You didn’t understand how it was possible for your mind to be simultaneously empty and running a thousand miles a minute. “Oh.”

You could feel Steve’s eyes on you, but yours were fixed on the ground; your sock-covered feet and the dark wooden floors.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything,” He said, breaking the prevailing silence. And when you still couldn’t find any words to say in response to fill the quiet again, he started rambling. “This entire time, these past few weeks, I’ve been waiting for some sort of “perfect” moment to tell you, but nothing ever felt completely right. And then as you were leaving my room just now I realized that I don’t think that I was actually waiting for it to feel right to tell you— because, honestly, there were a bunch of moments where it did feel “right” enough. I was really just holding back because I was worried about what your reaction would be. And I don’t think there’d ever be a moment where I wasn’t at least a little scared or nervous to say it, so I finally decided to just do it now and tell you. But now, fuck, maybe I shouldn’t have said it.”

“No,” You told him, suddenly somehow finding your voice and finally allowing yourself to meet his eyes. “No, um, honesty is good. You should be, uh— You should be honest about everything. We’re always honest about everything, y’know? It’s good that you said it, I think? Right?”

You were certain that what you were saying didn’t make any sense; your mouth was moving much faster than your brain.

A confused look crossed his face. “Okay? Yeah?”

You dropped your gaze from his and turned around. “I’ll, uh, be right back. I just… I think I just need a second. I don’t know.”

You opened the door to your room and then stepped in, softly closing it behind you and leaving Steve on the other side. You let out a quick breath and leaned back against the door, shutting your eyes in the process, before sliding down it and sitting on the floor. It was cold and you could feel the goosebumps starting to rise on your legs that were only barely covered by your thin pajama shorts. But, the cold was surprisingly soothing, and focusing on that feeling helped clear your mind a bit. Slowly, your thoughts finally started making sense and your brain began moving somewhat normally again.

The sound of the floor creaking on the other side of the door let you know that Steve was sitting down and leaning back against it too. You wanted to say something to him, but it still felt impossible to find any words right then.

“I’m sorry,” You could hear his slightly muffled voice through the door. “I really didn’t want this to fuck things up between us, and now it has. And I’m sorry.”

“Things aren’t fucked up,” was what you immediately thought to say— it was actually the first coherent thought that came to your mind in the past few minutes— but, for some reason, it wouldn’t form on your lips.

Steve’s past words started playing on what seemed like a constant loop in your head.

I’m in love with you. I’m in love with you.

The only way you could view this situation, the only way you would allow yourself to view it, was logically. You weren’t considering your own feelings in this moment— whatever they were; you weren’t sure how you were feeling, and you actually refused to think about it right then.

“It’s not true, though,” You told him, making your voice loud enough so that he could hear you, even though it was hard to speak above a whisper.

“What?”

“It’s not true,” You said again and then let out a small sigh as you leaned your head back against the door. “You’re not in love with me.” The words felt so weird falling from your lips, so foreign. “You can’t be. Whatever you think you’re feeling now, it’ll blow over in a couple days or whatever.”

It was a thousand times easier having this conversation without having to look at him right then. You waited for him to agree with you, to maybe even let out a breath of a laugh as he said that you were right. Everything that happened in the past five minutes could become a moment that you two laughed at in a couple of weeks if he simply took it all back.

Remember when you told me that you were in love with me on your birthday? Yeah, that was kinda insane, right?

You actually couldn’t imagine playfully joking about this anytime soon. It would probably be the one thing between you two that would feel weird and awkward for a while— even more awkward than the moment when he accidentally walked in on you naked, and you accidentally did the same thing to him a few months later. But, just like those now unspoken of moments, this would blow over eventually too.

“No, it is true,” Steve said instead and the absolute certainty in his tone surprised you a bit. “That morning after you picked me up from the bar, it just hit me like a ton of bricks, and it hasn’t changed since. That day at the park when we played basketball, I was jealous that you liked that guy and wanted to get his number, and that’s why I was being kind of an asshole.” He let out a small sigh. “And I did think that maybe all of this would go away and ‘blow over’ too, but it hasn’t. Honestly, it’s only felt more real.”

You were quiet for a second, not knowing exactly how to respond to that at first. He was being a thousand percent honest— at this point, you knew that— but it was still just so hard to accept it all, to fully let yourself believe it. The thought of him wanting something more changed everything that you had been so sure of for the past almost ten years of friendship.

“Okay, very dumb question incoming, but you remember us meeting, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” Steve’s answer was immediate. “That cruise when we were ten. Our parents bumping into each other and meeting and then kind of forcing us to be friends, but we were both glad to hang out with each other instead of them, anyway.”

You nodded at his words even though he couldn’t see you, and felt yourself smiling as you started talking.

“That trip was our first memory together, and it’s definitely still one of my favorites. We went to the arcade onboard like every day— I beat you a bunch of times at air hockey, but you were way too good at pretty much everything else. And we snuck into that stupid “club” meant for teens almost every night and never got caught, but we were still nervous about getting caught the entire time we were there. From the beginning, it was so clear what we were to each other, y’know? I think by the end of that trip I knew that you were my best friend. I knew that I wanted you in my life forever,” You said, slightly rambling and mindlessly starting to play with the hem of the t-shirt you were wearing, picking at one of the loose strings. “Basically, I guess what I’m trying to say is, the lines were clearly drawn pretty much the first day we met, and they’re not supposed to change.”

Steve didn’t say anything, and it was then that you wished that you two were standing, or sitting, right in front of each other because you wanted to see his face and attempt to gauge whatever was going on in his mind right then.

“But, it did change,” Was his response after what felt like an hour’s worth of silence, and somehow it was hearing him say those four simple words that made you finally accept everything he had said in the past ten minutes. You finally found yourself believing him entirely.

“At least, for me, it has,” He added, and there was something about the softness of the statement that managed to break you. A wave of tears hit you so abruptly that you didn’t even get a chance to process why it was happening before your vision became blurry.

You sniffled and then sighed, haphazardly pushing away some of the stray tears that managed to slip out and attempting to swallow the apple-sized lump that now sat heavy in your throat. “Shit. I’m sorry. I don’t even know why I’m crying right now.”

“Can I come in?”

Instead of verbally answering Steve’s question, you stood up and opened the door and he didn’t waste a second to pull you into his arms; he had seen you cry enough times to know exactly what to do at this moment. You wrapped your arms around him and buried your face in his chest, letting your tears soak his dark gray t-shirt, unable to hold them back anymore.

“It’s okay. I promise it’s okay,” He said softly as one of his hands lightly stroked your back. “Let’s just forget this ever happened; forget I said anything. I’ll get over all of it. We can just add this to the list of things to take to the grave, okay?”

He took your crying as a rejection, your way of saying that you didn’t feel the same way without actually saying it to him.

You didn’t see it that way, though. You honestly didn’t know how you felt— during this entire conversation, you hadn’t considered yourself. It just felt like second nature to immediately try and protect what you two had and not let it change in the slightest.

When you pulled back and looked up at him, you didn’t really know what you were expecting to see, but he didn’t look sad or upset, he just looked concerned about you.

You weren’t even entirely sure why you were crying at that moment. Everything that had happened in the past barely ten minutes just felt so overwhelming and confusing.

You sniffled again and then found yourself nodding at Steve’s previous words. “Okay.”

“Okay,” He gave you a small nod back.

You glanced down at his t-shirt, quickly taking notice of the wet spot on it even in the near complete darkness you two were in. “Sorry about your shirt.”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

You hugged him again, pushing up on your toes and letting your arms circle around his neck. He didn’t hesitate to hug you back and that only made you hold him tighter.

“Can you stay in here, please?” You asked, voice quiet but Steve still heard you.

You felt his nod in response and then moments later you and him were in your bed, not even bothering to get under the covers, and instead simply settling in a position that was completely familiar; your back against his chest, one of his arms wrapped around you and keeping you close, and heads against the pillow. You took hold of his hand and gave it a light squeeze, not completely knowing what you meant with the gesture.

Neither of you said anything. Not for one minute, and then not for five according to the clock you took notice of on the nightstand.

There was a lot more that you knew the two of you needed to talk about. What just happened couldn’t be something that was forgotten and simply “taken to the grave.” It didn’t feel right to do that.

However, you were falling asleep with your hand still intertwined with Steve’s before you could even try and think of something to say to him.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

When your eyes opened again, the first thing that you noticed was that it was still dark outside. You glanced at the nightstand, taking a look at the clock, and it surprised you to see that only two hours had passed; it felt like so much longer.

You could feel Steve’s steady breathing behind you and that let you know that he was still sleeping. You shifted around to face him, surprisingly not waking him in the process. Your eyes were adjusted to the darkness that surrounded you both so you could see him pretty clearly; eyes shut and lips slightly parted and hair still a messy pile of bedhead.

For the first time probably ever you became so acutely aware of the close proximity between you two. You were only a few breaths away from each other, his arm was still around your waist, and your legs became a tangle of limbs. None of this had ever fazed you before, but it felt a little different now.

But, it did change.

It actually physically hurt realizing how right Steve was, and you had to close your eyes as you let the words swallow you whole for a second.

There was still a part of you that wanted to not think about everything Steve had said— the I love you that meant so much more now— but it felt impossible to do that. It completely took over your thoughts; consumed them, really.

You thought about how it was damn near effortless to picture something more with him; a something more that now felt so obvious, and in a way, so inevitable. You could see it all so easily.

You thought about past moments that had been shoved away for the sake of protecting your friendship. Late night drunk and high conversations shared between you and Steve that were always supposed to be long forgotten. Moments where the line between friendship and something more was playfully toed but never fully crossed, moments where you two would almost talk about actually crossing that line, moments where the smallest part of you would think about it.

Those moments, and the feelings that came along with them, were never supposed to be remembered when morning rolled around, but you always remembered them. And instead of doing anything about it or entertaining those thoughts in the slightest, you simply buried it all down and pushed it away. You placed all of those feelings in a box deep down inside of you that was never supposed to be opened.

However, now with Steve’s burst of honesty, it was opened; and you honestly didn’t feel the urge to bury it and push it back down anymore. Instead, you let the feelings that would lead to completely uncharted territories between you and him wrap around you like a warm blanket and find a home in your heart.

You opened your eyes again and let your gaze fall on Steve. You slowly pushed one of your hands through his hair, knowing that that would gradually stir him awake.

His eyes opened and he only blinked at you for a second before mumbling out a quiet, “Hi.”

“Hi,” You said, matching his soft tone.

He gave you a curious look, and you knew that he was probably wondering why you woke him up. You simply stayed quiet for a moment, pulling your hand out of his hair and letting it find his cheek instead.

“I love you too,” You whispered, not breaking his gaze. “I’m in love with you too.”

Just for a second, there was a part of him that looked surprised hearing your words, but then he was smiling at you, the softest and sweetest smile that actually made your heart ache.

Before he could say anything, you kept going. “And I’m sorry. I wish this could’ve been my reaction from the moment you said it first. I wish it would’ve hit me the second you said it. Books and movies make this thing look so much easier, but it’s actually really fucking hard.”

“I know. That’s why it took me almost a month to tell you.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it.”

“I’ve become a really good actor. Might make it my career now,” Steve joked and you laughed at that.

He kept smiling at you and you smiled back. A comfortable silence took over as the two of you simply looked at each other, admiring one another in the darkness that you’d still be surrounded by for the next few hours. Your eyes flickered down to his lips for a brief moment and then met his gaze again. Out of all of the things that could’ve been said or done right then, it only felt right to close that last breath of distance between you two and finally do one of the few things that you had never done with one another.

You let your nose brush against his for a brief second before you tilted your head upward a little and let your lips meet his.

The kiss was chaste at first, Kindergarten-sweet, not much more than just a simple peck. But then Steve was quickly kissing you back, his hand squeezing your waist and pulling you impossibly closer to him, and your hand went from cupping his cheek to tangling within the hair at the nape of his neck. He deepened the kiss with a graze of his tongue against your bottom lip, which elicited the softest sound from you, and you were hit with the sudden thought that you never wanted this moment to end. You wanted to savor this first kiss, revel in it, pretend as if nothing else existed except for you and Steve and this moment that you wished you could drag out for minutes, hours, years.

In a way, it was a little confusing how even though this was completely new, it didn’t at all feel like it. Maybe there should’ve been at least a tiny bit of awkwardness laced within this moment, but the soft feel of Steve’s lips against yours felt familiar, like home, like it was something that should’ve happened a thousand years ago. It was so fucking right.

You slowly pulled away when you needed to catch your breath and softly dropped your forehead against his, eyes still shut. “Shit. Fuck.”

Steve let out a breath of a laugh that fanned right against your cheek. “I agree.”

You lifted your head and pressed a quick kiss against his nose before pulling back a bit, meeting his eyes, and giving him a small smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” He said, smiling back and giving your waist a light squeeze. The warmth radiating from his touch made you wish that his hand was slipping past the hem of your t-shirt and actually touching your skin instead.

A part of you wanted to let out a small happy laugh at how things had so easily shifted. You were finally kissing the guy that you’d known since you were ten and since an irreplaceable friendship was forged on that weeklong cruise trip. Steve was still your best friend, that didn’t feel like it had changed at all, but that didn’t mean that things weren’t different now; better, in so many unexpected ways.

However, it also abruptly became a little scary— the thought of potentially losing everything you had with him if things ended badly.

That thought was why you had pushed all of your feelings away and never acknowledged them in the first place. There would always be that part of you that wanted to protect the friendship you two had.

“Promise,” You held out your pinky for him to take. “Promise that whatever happens, if this doesn’t work out somehow, we will not make it weird or grow distant or leave each other. I can’t lose you in my life. I need you, no matter what.”

He didn’t hesitate to link his pinky with yours as he nodded. “Promise.”

“And we should just keep all of this between us for now, maybe,” You said, the idea coming to you randomly but it made sense in your head; it felt like the logical thing to do. “Just in case.”

“Just in case?”

“Just in case we end up imploding immediately or something, I don’t know.”

You could tell that Steve couldn’t really see that happening— and in a way, neither could you— but at that moment he let himself agree with you, anyway. “Okay.”

Your lips found his again for a second before you shifted around and settled back in the position you two had fallen asleep in. Steve pulled you back against him, arm circling your waist, and you let out a sigh in contentment as he pressed the softest kiss against your neck.

A comforting silence began to linger and you broke it after a few minutes, hoping that Steve hadn't fallen asleep just yet.

“I’m really glad this is happening right now. Like, really, really glad. I love everything about this moment. And I love you. Like, a lot. And, yes, I know exactly how cheesy I sound right now."

His mouth brushed right against your ear and you could practically hear the smile in his voice as he spoke. “Yes, that was very cheesy. I loved it. And I love you too.”

You only grabbed his hand and pressed a soft kiss against it in response.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Okay, dingus, I know that you’re probably gonna hate me for saying this,” Robin started as she set her mug back on the table of the booth the four of you had been sitting in for the past twenty minutes. The cup looked way too close to the edge of the table, so you reached out and moved it over a bit. “But, I really need you to get a picture of you and your smiley face pancake.”

Eddie immediately laughed and nodded. “That’s a great idea.”

You turned and looked at Steve, smiling at him. “Please do it. It would be such a missed opportunity if that didn’t happen right now.”

He only rolled his eyes. “I hate all of you for telling the waitress that it’s my birthday.”

The moment you mentioned it to Carol after she asked the reason why you all were in Denver for the weekend, she smiled and said a “Happy Birthday” to Steve before taking your orders. And then when everything came out, she also handed him a pancake that had a whipped cream smiley face, two cherries for the eyes, and a candle in the middle as the nose.

Robin pulled the Polaroid camera out of her bag and pointed it at Steve. “Okay, hold up the plate and smile, birthday boy. God, I wish we had party hats right now.”

“I’m glad we don’t,” He said with another eye roll but still proceeded to hold up the plate and give her a quick annoyed smile.

When he put the plate back down, you stole one of the cherry eyes and then started on your waffle. The conversation shifted away from Steve and his adorable birthday pancake and went to talking about hitting the slopes in the afternoon. You had been in the middle of mentioning that the drive would only take about thirty minutes when you felt Steve’s hand find yours underneath the table and link it with his. The booth was small and you were already sitting shoulder to shoulder, so the action went completely unnoticed by your friends sitting across from you.

You and Steve had held hands countless times before, but it felt so much more significant in this moment because now the meaning behind it was so different— this was no longer just a friendly handhold. It was hard to fight how much you wanted to immediately smile at the subtle action, but you kept your face straight and managed to finish out your thought.

You fought the sudden urge you had to lean your head against his shoulder or kiss his cheek, and instead grabbed your mug with your free hand and took a sip of your coffee. You tried your hardest to pay attention to the conversation taking place at the table— Robin talking about how she was nervous about skiing for the first time, and Eddie saying that yes she probably would be bad at it. However, all you could really focus on was Steve; his hand intertwined with yours and the warmth radiating from the subtle touch.

You felt equivalent to a lovesick teenager with a crush that actually wasn’t a crush at all because that word wasn’t enough to fully describe how you felt about him. It would be hard keeping this a secret for the time being, and the smallest part of you questioned why you even proposed that idea. But, for the most part, you still agreed with your “just in case” reasoning. If exploring this uncharted territory with Steve somehow ended up becoming the worst idea ever, it would be good that you didn’t tell anyone about it because you two could go back to being just friends without anyone else in the group knowing what happened.

You hated thinking like that— that it all would or could end, that one or both of you would come to realize that this actually wasn’t a good idea. But, it felt too hard not to think about it for at least a split second.

Steve gave your hand a light squeeze, it felt both comforting and questioning; maybe he could tell you were getting so deep into your head about something.

“Feel free to steal the other cherry,” He told you. Your eyes met his and he gave you a look that said everything he really wanted to tell you at that moment but couldn’t, and you let your nonsensical worries wash away for the time being with that reassuring look.

You placed your coffee mug down and then grabbed the second cherry from his plate, smiling at him as you did so. “Thanks.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

let me know ur thoughts<333

(requests are open for stuff you wanna see in the universe/series!🫶🏾)

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington series #steve harrington x fem!reader #stranger things fluff #stranger things imagine #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things fic

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ticktokrobotsnot · 1 year

Text

Cooking Up Speculations

Pairing: Carmen Berzatto x fem!reader

Summary: With y/n rushing around to doll herself up for an event, it's only a matter of time before things get out of hand.

Word Count: 6.7k

Notes: I have never written something like this before, and I thought I would give it a shot. I haven't checked the grammar, but if Google Docs missed anything, that's none of my business.

warning: alcohol and mentions of throwing up out of nervousness but no one actually does, or even comes close.

The prep work was close to done and for once in The Bear’s short existence it was not a screaming disastrous mess. Everyone was on track and prepared, the sauces were sitting in the fridge, the cakes were waiting to be sliced, the rolls were warm and ready to be cut open and it was all thanks to (y/n) coming in extra early this morning. She had started the prep work for most of the chefs that had yet to arrive in the effort of softening the blow. She would be abandoning them for the dinner rush on what was predicted to be a very busy day.

What sport was being played? Who is playing? And who won were all unknown to y/n but all she knew was that the restaurant was going to be filled with rowdy and obnoxiously drunk men who were going to make everyone’s life miserable and she was going to get a “get out of jail free card”. She felt a small pang of guilt for basically leaving them for dead but sacrifices had to be made and if she could cover anyone’s shift with little to no notice she was allowed one day to herself.

The restaurant was expecting the dinner rush to crawl in at about 6:30 pm which left y/n about an hour and a half to get ready. Y/n was finishing up cutting up some garnishes so that everything would be perfect. The sounds of a spoon slapping skin was approaching and y/n knew that she needed to state her case convincingly so she could leave early. Fighting the urge to not bring anything up, work through her shift and miss her event was deviously tempting but with a deep inhale she put the knife down and turned on the balls of her feet.

Her (e/c) eyes meet his and before she could choke out a lame excuse as to why she was blocking him she spit out, “I was wondering if I could have a word with you.”

Carmen looked expectantly, he thought she was going to ask him to taste test the braised beef she had just finished prepping, or ask an obscure question about the food science between ingredients. Y/n had once asked if he found it annoying during one of their late night clean up sessions and he said it was a nice change of pace and he really didn’t mind. How could he when you were so eager to learn?

Y/n didn’t want to do this out here, people are working and if she was going to beg, which is how she expected the next 5 minutes to go, she didn’t want any witnesses. The damage that would do to her pride would force her to change her name, move to Vegas and make money by selling timeshares to idiot tourists.

She cleared her throat, “Privately, chef”

Although his face didn’t betray anything, y/n knew that she had caught him off guard. After a while of spending most of their time together cleaning the kitchen after hours and talking about every minute detail in their lives, y/n knew that she had raised a few alarm bells in Carmen’s head. If she paid attention she could hear the sounds of a car alarm blaring in the back of his head signifying that he thought something was wrong. He always assumed the worst possible would happen, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He wordlessly guided y/n to his office. The door was closed and it felt like they were transported to a different dimension where there was nothing outside but the vacuum of space, it was just the two of them in this room and if one of them were to leave the outside pressure would make their body implode and smash into the size of a ping pong ball. She really didn’t want any of them to leave.

With a silent inhale, “I have to leave early today.”

Carmen softened the crease in between his eyebrows, “ Yeah sure, take the day off.” The imaginary crisis was averted and the car alarm stopped blaring in Carmen’s head.

Y/n was surprised that he was being so easy today. Y/n had yet to ask for a day off but she had spent last night imagining the worst possible scenarios possible, she would get yelled at, rejected, or worst he would guilt her for leaving them to deal with the upcoming shit storm.

“Honestly, I was expecting a bit more of a fight.” Y/n joked, “I even made this whole pitch to convince you.”

“ I can hear the pitch so that it doesn’t go to waste,” Carmen said with a glint of humour in his eyes.

Carmen was giving her an inch and so she might as well take the whole mile. Knowing she was about to push her luck and Carmen’s patience a bit more she continued.

“I came in at 4am and started everyone’s prep and helped Tina with the sandwiches during lunch, and did all of Syd’s prep because she had that doctor’s appointment. And I think it's cruel and unusual that you wouldn’t give me a day off when all I did today was prove how much of an angel I am. The least I can get is a measly day off…What you're not gonna give me a day off you selfish prick? You see this is what always happens, little guys always get pushed aside by the Big man. Carmen you're supposed to be better than those billionaire pricks who probably hunt their interns for sport. And I think it's so unfair that I grace you and this business with my presence and I don't even get a single day off- ” Carmen let out an exhale from his nose and covered his mouth with his hand to hide his smirk. The move had almost made y/n fall to her knees, the way his hair was tousled, the way he looked up at her with his sharp blue eyes, the tattoo flexing on his hands that were a calloused and dry from years of washing them nearly a hundred times a day, the veins trailing up from his hands to under his white shirt.

“Okay, I get gist.”

Y/n knew he didn’t ask for an explanation but she wanted to keep him here for just a bit longer.

“I have this thing I have to go to and I live too far away to go home and change so I need your office to get ready. I would get changed and stuff in the bathroom but the lighting is really bad, the outlets don't work, it’s smelly-”

After a quick glance at his watch he realised that he had a few vendors coming by and he needed to get back to the kitchen. “I know, that bathroom is a real shit show. I told Fak to fix it but nothing he fixes lasts for very long. The office is yours.” Carmen rushed out.

“I'm going to be here till 12 so if there is anything you need me to do before I leave just give me a holler.”

Carmen gave a nod of appreciation before his eyes lingered on her face for a second before grabbing a few papers and a clipboard and then opening the door to leave. It was stupid and childish but y/n held her breath wondering if he would be crushed to the size of a ping pong ball as soon as he left but when she heard him yelling at Richie she knew that the “alone in space” fantasy had died.

Y/n slipped out and went to her locker where she pulled out a dress, makeup and a straightening iron. She had an hour and a chance to make herself look like she just came out of a Mattel box and it was a daunting task for someone who didn’t have much experience dressing up.

Makeup was a bit of a disaster at first because she didn’t want to ruin any of Carmy’s papers but after she accidentally dabbed a bit of concealer on a light bill she just stopped giving a fuck and finished up. The hair was tricky, the outlet was near the ground and she had to crouch to straighten her hair.

The last and most daunting task was the dress because y/n was about to strip in her bosses office and although she had dreams about something this amazing, the reality was much less sexy. In a small burst of paranoia she rolled the chair over to the door so no one would walk in by accident and quickly changed. In the back of her mind all she was thinking about was the small glimmer of hope that Carmy would be the one to walk in. In reality, it would be Rich or Fak because boundaries were a foreign concept to the both of them.

And with 10 minutes to spare, y/n was done. She sprayed some perfume and hyped herself up to leave. She knew she would get teased so she wanted a smooth exit, an Irish goodbye would be perfect, fingers crossed hoping that Richie was out back so she would get out before he made these stupid jokes.

After a few deep breaths, y/n picked up her things and opened the door. The coast was clear and she made a beeline to the lockers to grab her purse, change her shoes and go. She would leave most of her stuff, because if you want to survive you have to be light, like those firefighters that ditch their equipment so that they don't get burned alive. Everyone looked busy and with a quick once over, y/n tried to walk through the kitchen. And although women and heels have had centuries of history, the heels still managed to betray her at the very end. The long sound of heel on tile brought Syd’s head up. Y/n eyes widened as she shook her head as to signal to Syd to drop it but Syd let out a playful gasp and Y/n knew that the jig was up.

“You look amazing.”

And a sea of eyes were looking at y/n.

“You get all dressed up for me?” Syd joked and for a split second y/n wondered if she could make a run for it before she realised that she would fall and crack her head open.

“Who else?” Y/n joked back hoping to get out before she was held captive by their questions.

“You look so nice, where are you headed?” Tina said as she came closer and dragged you closer to everyone.

“Umm- I was actually going to-”

“You know who you look like?” One of those women who seduces James Bond at a casino.” Sweeps commented unhelpfully. A hum of agreement was shared among the crew. Y/n’s face grew warm.

“So where are you going?”

“A date, women don't dress like that if it's not for a date” Ebra chimed in.

Another gasp, “ IS it a date, is he handsome?” Sydney probed.

“Actually, I'm not- '' Y/n tried to finish before she was interrupted.

“What type of car does he drive?”

“We'll see when he picks her up. When is he picking you up?”

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU CLOWN JABBERING ABOUT '' Richie burst through the door to see what all the commotion was about and he looked like he was in utter disbelief.

“I didn’t know that it was possible for you could look like that”

Y/n was slightly offended.

“You normally look like death.” Richie laughed. Scratch that y/n was very offended.

“I could look like this everyday if I wasn’t in front of a stove, you clown.”

Ignoring her, Richie asked the room,“ Where is she headed?”

“A date”, Sweeps added.

“I'm going to my friends-” y/n tried to interject.

“A date huh, our little y/n is all grown up now. Soon we’ll be sending her off to college.” Wiping a fake tear and leaning on Tina for mock support, “They leave the nest so soon, it was like it was just yesterday when I saw her struggling to walk.”

“It WAS yesterday and I was only struggling because I hit my knee on the shelfs in the walk-in.”

“Who’s the guy?” Richie asked

“ Your dad.” Y/n knew it was childish and unoriginal but she was too flustered to be a bit more creative.

Richie ignores her and continues, “You know what you look like? You look like one of those girls who kills Johns”

“Are you saying I look like a prostitute?”

“A classy one for like the president and shit.”

“or an ambassador,” Ebra added.

“or a CEO,” Richie continued.

Y/n knew it was going to be tough but she wanted to get out before she was stuck forever.

“I have to go now, I’ll see you guys bright and early tomorrow. Richie you suck major ass. And just so you know, i'm not going on a-”

Carmen walked in with a clipboard and a pen not even sparing a glance up.

“Ok, I just got the beef delivered so we should have enough for Ebra till the end of the week.”

“Heard, chef”

“And Marcus”, who watched the whole thing and didn’t offer any help to y/n except the occasional chuckle.

“I have your eggs”

“Heard, chef”

Although no one said it, everyone was waiting for the moment that Carmen looked up and saw y/n. The dishwashers who never really left their stations shut off the water and were subtly watching this mess unfold.

It was the longest that y/n had seen Richie quiet. He just stared at Carmen, while hiding his mocking smile under the guise of rubbing his stubble.

“I know we are low on onions but the guy is coming in a bit so sit tight”

“Heard”

Maybe, y/n thought, she would be able to walk past Carmen unnoticed if she walked on the balls of her feet so that the heels made less noise. Y/n took a step forward to hightail it out of here so she could make it in time and even though the heel was a lot quieter then last time, the unusual silence in the kitchen made it impossible to disguise the sound.

The sound of heels on tiles brought Carmen back to reality.

He looked up and y/n didn’t know if she imagined it but she thought she saw him raise his eyebrows. And if she was really going to feed into her delusions, she would say that his eyes widened and his pupils dilated too.

All that came crashing down thought, because after a beat of silence barring the sounds of sizzling and bubbling. Carmen questioned, “I thought you would have left by now chef.”

“I got held back but I really do need to leave now. I'm going to miss you guys and I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.” And with a quick wave y/n brushed shoulders with Carmen as she left. The smell of her perfume lingered and Carmen felt a bit dizzy.

Carmen wanted to ask where y/n was going but he didn’t want to overstep any boundaries, not when the two of you have already gotten so close. Richie had different plans, “Hey cousin guess where y/n going?”

“I don’t know cousin, that isn’t really any of our buis-”

“She is going on a date”

“A hot one” Syd chirped

“With a nice car” Ebra added

Richie’s comment felt like a ton falling on his head. Now he felt a different type of dizziness. He quickly composed himself

“Chefs, we have a dinner rush coming, now is not the time.” Carmen said with a bit of an edge.

Richie led Carmen to the front under the guise of asking a question about the tablet. The crew looked around and shared a knowing snicker.

“I can't believe that you let her go like that?” Richie added. “Right now she is in some guy's car about to get wined and dined to high heaven while you wait here with your cock in your hand like some cuck.”

“ Cuck?” Carmen said with venom, it's like he was giving Richie a chance to take it back before he killed him.

“I would be fucken pissed. I wouldn’t let someone take my girl out like that, all dressed up for someone who isn't me”

For a second Carmen imagined you sitting across from your rich new date with the nice car and the handsome face and felt like throwing up. He was angry, he was angry with this “date”, he was angry at Richie for saying all that stupid shit to get a reaction, and embarrassingly enough he was angry at y/n. He had no right to be but he just couldn’t help it.

“Richie if you don’t knock it off, I’m going to send you flying out the fucking window”

“Yes, chef.” Richie mockingly replied.

And with a swift turn Carmen returned to the kitchen with a different temperament then he had 10 minutes ago.

The dinner rush was a nightmare, but the kitchen was hell. There wasn’t a single thing that didn’t set Carmen off. He wasn’t screaming like he was with the to-go orders but he was on edge. They could feel it when they had to remake dishes because he didn’t like them, or when they had to listen to him criticise innocuous things after housekeeping. When that dinner rush ended, the crew looked like they wanted to be anywhere else but there. The second the restaurant closed, chefs cleaned as fast as they could to get the hell out of there. It was the fastest they had cleaned since the morning rush with the pre-orders.

With a quick goodbye, everyone but Carmen left the restaurant hoping that he would be in a better mood tomorrow.

Carmen did what he did every night, got on his knees and scrubbed the floor with a towel. Carmen knew it was unfair and he knew he had no right to dictate what you did. You weren’t his and he waited too long. A part of him understood where y/n was coming from, during one of their late night conversations he had mentioned that he had never had a girlfriend and he didn’t really have the time. This conversation took place some time after the two had gotten close but before he realised that he might have liked her for quite some time. Things were different now and Carmen wanted more.

He tried his best to be understanding but the thought of y/n clinging onto someone else’s arm and laughing at their stupid unfunny joke, made him livid. What if they kiss? Or what if they sleep together?” That thought made him stop scrubbing and sit on the balls of his feet and throw the wet towel with an unnecessary amount of force to another corner of the kitchen. He couldn’t do this today, he couldn’t be here. He got up and cleaned up the towel and bucket of dirty soap water and walked home.

He ended his night with a nightcap hoping that he would fall asleep easily but it didn’t work. He spent a good amount of time staring at y/n contact hovering over the call button before flaking out because it was 2 in the morning and he had to get to work at 6:30. Maybe Richie was right and he was a coward but before he could think too long, sleep had overcome him.

The restaurant was a bit of a walk away from Carmen’s house but he never minded it before, it felt like a good buffer between “Home Carmen” and “Work Carmen”. Today was different, he couldn't not think about y/n and that annoying date of her’s so for the first time in his time in Chicago he listened to music on his way to work. The music was so loud that it was just obnoxious noise and allowed him to stop worrying for a few moments. Carmen couldn’t think about y/n without feeling a bit… he didn’t know how he felt he just knew it was not a great feeling.

Being the first one in the restaurant was not new to him but it felt strange that after 30 minutes he was still the only one there, normally y/n would be there by now asking Carmen about a baking show they both happened to catch the night before, or ask what he ate for dinner last night and breakfast this morning. Carmen would always fight the urge to lie and say that he cooked something magnificent when in reality he probably ate a bag of chips and drank some flat soda. One of the things that these AA meetings emphasised was honesty, to both himself and others, and even if it was embarrassing he told you the truth. You never really judged him because you did the same thing.

After sorting through fuck ton of bills, a few of which had brown power on them and one of them had a (s/c) smudge on the corner he heard a buzz in his pocket. He looked at it hoping it was you saying that you'll be there any second.

(Y/N): I'm so sorry to do this to you but I'm going to be a bit late today, not super late but like an hour. I have to grab my extra apron from my place and I'm a bit far from there. I'll be there by 8 the latest. Again, super sorry :(

Carmen read the text a few times to check if he read that right, you were going to be late because you weren't home and slept somewhere else and needed a change of clothes. Which translated to, you were with someone else, which means you might have done something with someone else. He just stared at the text for a few more seconds before he heard the sound of the front door opening, Carmen didn’t have to look to know it was Sydney. He snapped out of it and sent back an “ok”, lowercase just to be a bit petty. Was it immature? Yes. Did he regret it? Not really.

Y/n spent the rest of her food budget for the week yesterday in a drunken haze with an uber from one side of Chicago to the other. The bachelorette party was a success and y/n was glad that her friend had a good time at the fancy restaurant that she picked out. Y/n was trying to be responsible and limit herself to a few drinks but it's hard to say no to the bride to be and before she knew it she had to leave her car at the restaurant because they took her keys and y/n and her friends crammed into an uber headed towards one of the bridesmaids houses.

Y/n woke up in a hurry, she grabbed a random shirt and joggers from her friends closet because all she had was that dress, which now had wine spilled on it. She quickly gathered her things and texted the group chat that she had to leave early so she could get to work. They would read it when they woke up. Not repeating yesterday’s mistakes she took the train to the restaurant, got her keys back and drove at illegal speeds to get to her place where she took a shower, changed back into her friends clothes because she was way behind on laundry. She took one last look in the mirror before grabbing the apron and sprinting out the door to drive to work. She got there at 7:30am and she felt like death. The hangover was finally catching up to her, and she poured herself some water from the dispenser out front. She knew everyone was in the kitchen by now. She gave herself a few more seconds of quiet before she opened the door to the kitchen and gave a quick hello and rushed towards the lockers to put her stuff in and change into her non-slip shoes and apron.

Richie raised his eyebrows. This was too good, it was too easy, all he needed was for Carmy to get out of that depressing office of his to bear witness to this.

Richie was the first to ask, “New shirt? Never seen it before? ”

“Good Morning to you Richie, if you need to know I borrowed it from my friend.”

Carmen wanted to rush out as soon as he heard your voice but he refrained. He promised himself that he would give you a bit of space to respect you and your date/boyfriend. That didn’t stop him from listening through the door.

“Some friend you got there, real close.” Richie jokes

y/n didn’t know what he was talking about, “Friends tend to be close, Richie. You would know that if you had any.” Y/n barked back.

“How was it?” Syd asked as she sliced what looked like gallons of onions.

Y/n knew that last night was probably a good night but she was so drunk then and so hungover now that it all made her a bit nauseous to think about.

“Honestly, I don't remember much but I do know it was fun.”

“Hungover?” Tina asked.

“Very, my whole body feels like i was run over by a semi”

Marcus handed y/n a gatorade before going back to work with the cakes.

“You come back to us in new clothes, showered, late, hungover, and sore. You must have one hell of a night!” Richie said louder than necessary just so that Carmen would hear, he had a feeling that Carmy was eavesdropping.

“Im telling you guys i didn’t actually go on a-”

Carmen didn’t want to hear anything after Richie spoke because he felt like he was going to hear something he didn’t want to know. He picked up a clip board, slammed the door open and began walking around.

“Chef.” Carmen said mechanically

“Chef.” Y/n replied back fully expecting this, she left early, came late and was now distracting everyone.

Y/n quickly busied herself with peeling garlic and the rest day fell back to its usual rhythm. The prep finished right before the restaurant opened and they worked on filling to-go orders along with the regular lunch and dinner orders. One thing was noticeably different to y/n, Carmen hadn’t looked or approached her once. Normally he would walk by all the chefs and ask how they were doing, checking the quality, etc but the second he got to y/n who was at the far end of the kitchen he circled back. He made comments to everyone’s dish and he had yet to even get within a 3 feet radius on y/n.

Y/n could feel that something was off and to test it, after the dinner rush she finished making one of the test items that Sydney and Carmen had wanted to try out and after a small taste she knew she killed it.

Y/n walked up to Carmen with the dish and set it down. “Can you taste it and tell me what you think?” Carmen didn’t look up, he just grabbed a fork, took a bite and said a quick “It's fine, chef”.

Y/n then looked the dish over to sydney and asked her to try it.

“It added a bit of chocolate because I read somewhere that Japanese people put chocolate in their curry”

“Chocolate huh?” Sydney grabbed a small notebook and made a note.

“It’s okay?” y/n asked.

“It's fire, chef. Great work”

In y/n mind that confirmed that something was wrong with Carmen. Y/n waited till the restaurant closed and everyone left to bring it up. It was just Carmen and y/n alone in the restaurant and y/n could feel there was something in the air.

“You don't have to stay late, you should leave early” Carmon proposed while not looking at her.

That was strange because Carmen never asked her to leave early. She walked up to Carmen who was sweeping the floor and ripped off the bandaid.

“Thanks for the offer but I want to stay with you for a bit longer.” Carmen’s grip on the broom toughened till his knuckles turned white. It was a risky thing to say and after a beat of silence y/n took the coward’s way out by diverting and changing subjects.

“I'm sorry I was so late today Carmen, are we good?”

“We're good.”

Another awkward silence.

“ I don’t think we're good, you seem, I don't know, pissed?”

“I'm good, you're good, we’re good” Carmen said by turning his attention to a very interesting onion skin on the floor.

“You didn’t say anything about the dish I made, or that I was late. Someone told me that you seemed off yesterday.”

“Was this someone named Sydney?”

“Cannot confirm or deny, Carmy”

Carmy finished sweeping and took a few steps back.

“There it is again! You keep walking away from me and not looking me in the eye.”

Carmen didn’t know that he was being obvious, he thought he was subtle because Richie would have brought it up if he wasn’t. Carmen forced himself to look up at y/n and felt like the wind was knocked right off his lungs, he really hadn’t seen her at all today and he missed her.

“You can tell me what's happening so that I can help or at the very least listen to what's wrong.” y/n offered

Carmen bent down, and started to scrub in silence. He looked like he was piecing something together and y/n didn’t want to intrude so she continued to scrub assuming the conversation was over and that they were going to spend the rest of their lives in this uncomfortable silence. A few minutes pass and then a long sigh is heard from the other end of the kitchen. Carmen looked up.

“I’ve been a bit..” Carmen started. Y/n wanted him to finish his thought before she called him a dick.

“It's been a weird day.. I know it shouldn’t but I can't help but ask..”

A pregnant pause passed.

“How was..” y/n leaned in so she could hear.

“How was your “thing” yesterday?” He spit out.

Y/n looked a bit confused, “Umm it was fine, I mean we were at a restaurant so it wasn’t anything to crazy”

“Why were you so late today?”

The other shoe dropped, “ I knew you were pissed that I was late.” With an exhale she continued “We went to dinner and then got shit faced drunk and ubered over to a friends house. I had to go by that restaurant in the morning to pick up my keys and drive to my place so I could take a shower and not smell like a walking liquor store.”

“How was he?” Carmen choked out after a few more beats of silence.

“How was who?”

“Your umm…”

“Mmm” Carmen continued.

Y/n waited but it felt like he was testing her patience,

“Your date?” Carmen finally conceded while swinging his head down.

“What date? I went to a bachelorette party with a few of my girlfriends.”

Carmen’s head shot up, “ I thought-”

“The people in here are so nosy, I kept telling them that it wasn't a date and they wouldn’t bother to listen.”

Carmen’s shoulders relaxed and he felt like he could finally look at you without feeling guilty that he was looking at another guy’s girl.

“What’s been on your mind, Carm?” Y/n probed and Carmen's shoulders tensed up again.

Y/n could feel the atmosphere change and she wanted to capitalise on it while she still could, she could trick herself into thinking that Carmy was jealous of some imaginary guy that he thought she went on a date on, when he probably was just diverting attention to avoid talking about his own problems.

More silence.

More scrubbing.

Carmen looked up with a look of determination, y/n assumed that he had finally hyped himself to tell her what has been bugging him. Although the tension was killing her she did want this moment to last for a bit longer. In this moment she could convince herself that Carmen was troubled because of her and not because work was drowning him or that he is a mess because his brother left him this shithole and left.

She wanted him to have a problem with an easy solution. If he liked her, the easy solution was that she would kiss him and tell him how much she longed for him. He would then confess how much he yearned for her and she would give all of herself to him and he would finally have a win in his life, something that wasn’t tainted by his love/hate relationship with cooking, his family, his brother. Something that he would have all to himself, her love.

Just for a few moments she repeated, that's how long she had till the dream died. This wasn’t the first time something similar had happened. They would stay late and in the comfortable beats of silence Carmen would look up with such a look of determination and y/n heart would flutter hoping for those three special words but she would get something completely different but still equally important, information about a very private part of his life whether it be the AA meetings, or the guilt he felt for resenting his brother. And everytime y/n’s heart would break a bit and then mend itself knowing that even if she couldn't have him like she wanted to, she would still be important to him.

That type of relationship, friendship, used to be enough, but not anymore. With his plans to change The Bear he was getting further and further away from her. It used to feel like it was the two of them but y/n was starting to wonder if she was going to be left behind. If she would stay friends for a while until the longing grew too strong and y/n would leave The Bear. Even if Carmen misses her for a while, y/n knew he would bounce back like he always did and she would slowly be replaced by Sydney or whoever. The thought that in a few years he will have learned to cope with his grief and trauma and move on from the past, move on from y/n, and maybe settle down with someone else made y/n feel like throwing up.

This time y/n didn’t fall for Carmen's “look”, she had a neutral face and was ready to hear what Carmen's issues were. She wouldn’t assume that she was going to get a confession. This time she will help him with his problems and move on from this one-sided crush. Maybe she WILL go on a few dates to forget about him.

“Carmen, do you want to talk about it?We don’t have to do anything you don't want to.”

Determination morphed into apprehension.

“I am feeling something, it is n-n-not…” He exhaled through his nose.

”It's selfish y/n. I'm being selfish. You have every right to do whatever you want but I..”

Y/n tried to look as comforting as possible trying her best to hide any confusion, if Carmen was any other person she would ask if he was sober right now because he was a total mess.

“I’ve never done this before, and I-” and he ran his palm through his hair.

Y/n refrained from thinking about how amazing he looked under the fluorescent lights with his tousled hair and apprehensive gaze. He could bring up his nightmares or sleepwalking, and she would feel so guilty for perving over his eyes.

“You looked very nice in that dress yesterday.” Y/n felt like a lump was forming in her throat. He was going to say something like this and think it's an off handed comment but she would go to the bathroom and cry because she knew nothing would come from it. Y/n thought it was a bit cruel.

“You looked so beautiful yesterday it was hard for me to look at you without making a fucking idiot out of myself. I wanted to run over to you and tell you that as soon as you left but Richie told me you're going on a date and it was…”

Carmen continued, “You are special and you deserve someone who isn’t…me. And you're free to do whatever and if this is completely …wrong…bad…i don't know, just stop me and we will never talk about this ever again…”

He searched y/n’s eyes looking for a sliver of doubt or disgust but he was met with glassy eyes and a look that longed for him to continue.

“When I thought you were going on that date I knew that I couldn’t not have you and that made me feel….” A sigh reverberated through the kitchen.

“ I like you…romantically.” Carmen uttered.

Y/n didn’t say or do anything for a moment, she spent a few moments wondering if she was hallucinating or dreaming. And in a moment of pure adrenaline, she scooted over to Carmen who was still on the floor before cupping his face in her hands and whispered, “Can I kiss you?”

The kiss wasn't electrifying; it felt like a wave of warmth seeped into every corner of their beings. It felt like dipping your hand in warm water after shovelling the show, the type of warmth that sends shivers down your spine. Y/n fingers get lost in his wavy hair and his hands hesitate, not knowing where they should go before landing one on her hip and the other on the back of her neck to pull her closer. Y/n heart was beating so hard she wondered stupidly if he could hear it, Carmen was wondering something similar. They slowly pulled away for air before getting a good look at each other, both their lips were swollen and red and their eyes were dazed.

Y/n knew he was a flighty person, one wrong move and he would go running for the hills so she refrained from asking if they were dating now, this could have just been a one time thing and she didn’t want to ruin it. Thankfully Carmen held her hand and stroked it with her thumb before swinging his head down and looking up at her.

“I want to be with you y/n”

“I like you too, Carmen, for a very long time.” And their lips meet once again.

Y/n resisted the urge to say that she only bought the dress in the hopes that he would take it off of her, that was a story for another time.

“Let's get you home” Carmen mumbled into her lips, the vibrations and the friction making her lips burn in sensitivity.

Carmen helped y/n get up before they both packed up their stuff and headed out the door. Both hiding the smile of triumph from each other, not really knowing how much the other loves them yet, and only time would remedy that.

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alchemistc · 3 months

Text

for love that i'll keep tending | bucktommy 1/1

read on ao3

Tommy has been... stewing, for most of the night. There's no way around it.

He's been reserved, picking at the label on his latest craft beer, something he'd actually used his timeshare on the chopper to fly out to Colorado to pick up because Buck had gone down a research spiral and mentioned might be fun to try (after he'd gotten teary-eyed about the one dedicated to a brewery dog who'd passed), only the brewery didn't ship.

Eddie is almost positive they haven't had a fight. He'd spent an entire 24 with Buck, and even if Buck had been keeping silent about it -- unlikely, but always a possibility -- he'd definitely have been brooding about it. But he'd been normal. For the general rule of Buck, anyway, he'd been normal. Maybe even a little more chipper than usual. When he'd smacked a hand to Eddie's shoulder on the way to his Jeep, he hadn't even done the usual rigamarole of acting a little jealous about Eddie and Tommy spending time together without him.

Shit, is Buck losing interest?

But -- no.

No, because a week ago they'd gone to a call for a lost little girl in the canyon, and when they'd gotten to her and she'd told them all about going camping with her dads, and how she'd gotten turned around and lost, Buck had done his normal routine with kids and charmed her into calm, and when they'd found the guys frantically searching for their daughter an hour and a half later, Buck had gotten a look in his eye that Eddie had been seeing a lot of lately.

There was the general look he always gave kids -- babies especially, but kids in general -- like he found them more precious than anything else in the world. And then there was the look he reserved for parents and their kids -- contemplative, a little wistful, like he was remembering there was someone out there in the world with half his genetic makeup.

And then there was the one for gay men and their children. It wasn't like it happened a lot, but often enough that even Eddie sometimes wondered if Buck wasn't accidentally manifesting these meetings. It'd been happening with greater frequency since the moment Andi from B shift had unceremoniously dumped her new baby into Tommy's arms so that she could grab a slice of Bobby's famous apple pie before it was gone. Tommy'd been magnanimous enough to refuse to hand the baby back for most of the evening, eyeing her frazzled hair and the circles under her eyes and making the executive decision that she needed a break, even if it was just forty-five minutes at the station while they all celebrated the new arrival and the extra two weeks of maternity leave they'd had to practically sue the city for.

Buck's love of kids seemed to have laser-focused since seeing Tommy rocking a baby in one arm while he spoon-fed Jee-Yun cake in the seat next to his.

And Eddie hasn't ever really talked to Tommy about kids, in general. He's good with Chris, unfazed in the face of all his angsty teenage moods, happy to be drawn into conversations that even Eddie and Buck sometimes aren't sure how to navigate. He knows Jee's a little obsessed with him, and that it's a point of pride for Tommy. Denny and Mara are always begging Hen to invite him over more.

Maybe it's finally hitting, though? That a future with Buck almost certainly means children, at some point?

The heavyweight match ends with a technical KO in the third round and Eddie stands to grab another round of beers.

"I bought a ring on my day off," Tommy says, staring hard at his mostly empty growler, and Eddie drops back into his recliner with a grunt.

"Okay," Eddie tells him, leaning in with his elbows on his knees. Neither one of them speaks as the next bout is announced. It's technically the one they went halvsies on the package for, but Eddie doubts either one of them cares enough about it to refocus. "I gotta say, man, if you're having second thoughts I'm the wrong person to talk to, because I'm gonna get defensive and tell you you're a damn fool, and I doubt it's gonna be helpful."

Tommy turns to give him a look so unimpressed that Eddie's actually a little jealous. That, at least, is helpful.

"Okay. Good. Great, even. So, what exactly is it that's been making you leak existential dread all over my couch since you got here?"

Eddie can think of a couple different possibilities. He isn't Buck-close with Tommy, but they talk, and it's not like he hasn't been around the two of them together enough to not have been privy to some of the more intimate conversations they've had. Family is a rough subject for all of them. So there's still that glaring what if they haven't talked about kids possibility. Or just a general fear that Buck isn't ready for this step -- completely unfounded, but Tommy's a lot more insecure about this stuff than he tends to let on.

Tommy grimaces. Gestures vaguely, and shakes his head, before he finally makes eye contact. "Evan's the grand gestures guy. And now I've got a ring burning a hole in my pocket, and jack shit as far as how to propose."

And this -- this is actually the most delightful answer he could have given. This is primo blackmail material. The best man speech is literally gonna write itself.

Eddie lets him stir in it for a hot minute. He tilts his head back and forth, nods to himself, rolls his tongue over his teeth, waits, waits, waits until Tommy narrows his eyes at him and reaches for a bottle cap on the coffee table to toss at Eddie's head.

Eddie laughs. "You could ask him two days laid up in bed with the flu, covered in flop sweat, and the answer would be the same."

Tommy rolls his eyes. "Clearly my point is that he deserves more than that, and I don't have a clue where to start."

"Well," Eddie starts, "I'm aware that everyone and their mother thinks I have a secret, elaborate proposal planned out for Buck already, but I am once again reminding you that we've been over this and I'm not actually hiding any unrequited feelings for the man you want to be your husband. So."

That saga won't make it into the speech. That's a private little story for the three of them to look back on, twenty years from now, and laugh about. That's a weekend stretch of conversations in the woods of Big Bear, sharing a tent that really should have only fit one of them, that Eddie will never be able to properly express his gratitude for.

"So you've got nothing," Tommy says, a little accusatory, a lot bitchy.

"Buck likes making big gestures, man. I have zero point of reference on what he'd like if the tables were turned."

But -- actually.

Tommy huffs, melting into the couch cushions like his marionette strings have been cut.

There's a thought percolating, though. He's just not sure --

"I shouldn't be worried," Tommy says, more to himself than to Eddie. It'd been an interesting revelation, half-a-year in, finding out that Tommy was actually kind of a yapper, once he was comfortable with someone. "We've talked about this. Marriage, kids, the whole nine yards. I don't know why I'm building this up in my head."

Which is unintentionally the most helpful thing he's said so far.

"I have... an idea," Eddie drops, tentative, as Pereira once again proves why he gets the title card every time he fights. Tommy's eyes snap to his, interested. "Depends how much you trust Jee to keep a secret."

She's her fathers daughter, so very little should be the answer. They'll have to keep her in the dark until day of. Probably find a way to keep Buck distracted until things are fully in motion.

Tommy leans in.

_____

Eddie's still riding the high of finally beating Josh and Maddie at pool when Buck and Tommy slide into the bar, the two of them grinning ear to ear. Eddie spots it first, and shoots a wide eyed look at Tommy, because they'd spent a week trying to plot out a time when everyone necessary to The Plan would be available for a long enough time to make it work without cutting corners. That day is still... three and a half weeks away.

And Buck's got a ring on his finger. Eddie's already seen it up close, a simple gold band, an inscription on the inside he doesn't really know the significance of, even if it'd made Tommy go a little moony-eyed when Eddie read it aloud.

Tommy... is also wearing a ring.

Dios, did Buck go out and buy a ring the night Tommy came over for the fights?

They're made for each other. They're both insane.

Buck isn't exactly subtle when he slams his hand down on the eight-top they'd snaked half an hour ago, and if Maddie hadn't immediately shrieked and drawn the attention of half the bar, Eddie is certain he'd have wiggled his fingers for emphasis. Maybe done a jig before he Vanna'd Tommy's bling, too.

Josh immediately monopolizes all of Buck's attention by demanding Buck tell him the story with haste, Buckley, so Eddie gets a chance to raise an eyebrow at Tommy, who quickly rolls his jaw to hide the massive grin threatening to overtake his entire face.

"Well I wasn't dying of dysentery," Tommy deadpans, as the smile leaks through at the corners of his mouth. His nose scrunches when he tries to bite it down.

"He forgot to put the box away before I got back from my run," Tommy admits, cheeks dimpling, and then the fight is out of him, left fist clenched tight so that the thick band catches in the overhead light, deep grooves stretching towards his ears as he unleashes the depths of his happiness upon the world.

Eddie can picture the mad scramble, the awareness that he's been caught, the doe-eyed grin that seems to be reserved specifically for Tommy.

Buck is making a gesture that is probably less obscene than it looks, based on the way Maddie continues to grin without any sign of pulling a face. Josh is sighing.

Chimney and Hen are gonna be pissed they were running late.

Eddie owes Hen twenty bucks.

("Yeah, have you met them? I'm taking bets right now, there's no way Tommy lasts a month with a ring and a plan.")

Maddie seems to realize at the same moment as Buck that they'd narrowed their focus so completely that the prospective fiance has had time to order drinks. She rounds on Tommy with the same unhinged joy she'd fostered in her brother, growing up.

"You didn't tell me!" she says, and Eddie assumes that means Tommy had (eventually, and god does he know way too much about how active their sex life is) divulged his plan.

"You would have told Howie," Tommy accuses, and when Maddie doesn't deny it Tommy just looks smug. His grin goes soft around the edges when he catches Buck beaming at him over his sisters shoulder.

Eddie takes the opportunity, before the rest of the party arrives and derails the conversation for a second retelling, to round the table and gather Buck up in a hug.

Buck's embrace is tight, and maybe a little teary. Eddie clings back, and thinks of the years and years of disappointed hopes, the loves that fizzled out, or burst into flames, the thing behind Buck's eyes that had only made itself known after Tommy stuck around.

Hen and Chim find them like that. He doesn't even let her get a word out before he's giving Buck a hearty smack on the back and digging for his wallet.

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan fic #eddie pov

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weird-obsessed-girl · 6 months

Text

Harry dealing with abuse trauma/people finding out about Dursley’s treatment

Ok so I didn’t know exactly how to word this particular genre of Harry Potter fanfiction, but I have been reading some fanfics where either the teachers, Sirius or the golden trio find out that Harry has been abused by the Dursley’s and how Harry deals or heals from that trauma. #cupboardreveal

so therefore below is a list of fanfics that deal with this topic, this is pretty obvious but TW for child abuse, some of these I haven’t read yet so i don’t think any of them feature active abuse, more so past abuse.

All of these will be angst but many with a hopeful/happy ending. Organised by word count. If you would like some fic recs that don’t focus on Harrys abuse here’s the link to my master list Harry Potter Fic Rec (mostly Drarry)

How Each Weasley Found Out About The Dursleys - burnthebodiesandbedonewithit

What it says on the tin, Harry/Ginny (very light tho), protective Weasleys | G | 1k

Food For Thought - LoveHP

Snape notices some things throughout the years, have not read yet so IDK | T | 1.2k

Bottle It Up - mallfacee

Disabled Harry, Severitus, hurt/comfort, hiding medical issues, apart of a series | T | 2.1k

Aftermath - CreateImagineWrite

Post-final battle, Harry is dealing with trauma, Ron helps him and finds out, Trigger Warning for food issues and trauma responses | G | 3.1k

Disguised as something else - aloneintherain

Everybody lives, au war ends early, Wolfstar custody of Harry, hurt/comfort, THIS IS SO GOOD #cupboard reveal | T | 3.1k

Muggle Management - LadyWinterlight, NerdyKat

Hermione recognises the signs of abuse, part of a series, Hermione finessing the muggle system | G | 3.4K

Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell - IamShadow21

Not focused on past abuse but is mentioned, Ron and Harry friendship through the years | T | 3.7K

The Cupboard - GreenEyesGreySkies

Drarry, panic attack, harmless prank that turns out to not be so | T | 4K

Bruised Hearts and Painted Skin - mikimouze16

Lupin, McGonagall and Snape find out, therapy, depression | G | 4.4K

Cascade - taradiane

Drarry, post-Hogwarts, Harry has nightmares, discussion about the Dursleys | PG | 4.7k

Claustrophobic- Annie1025

Summer at Spinner’s End, sevitus, 5th year, hurt/comfort, panic attacks | T | 4.8k

Where the Sunbeams Start - zedpm

Sirius/Severus, Soulmate au which leads to Severus getting Sirius freed, then they adopt Harry! T | 7.1k

Locked Cupboards - Lomonaaeren

Redemption, Draco is assigned to guard Dudley, Dudley talks about their childhood | T | 7.2k

Darker Than You Think - Lomonaaeren

Drarry, Draco is very much a psycho, bent on revenge, dubious consent | M (definitely should be E) | 7.8k

Fac Mihi Viam - MistressKat

Canon divergence, Harry stays at Grimmauld Plac, abuse not necessarily discussed but implied, Wolfstar | T | 7.9k

The Uncle - copprbadge

Wolfstar, gangsters au, Remus saves Harry from Dursley’s | T | 7.9k

Tugging Sleeves - Windschild178

Harry isn’t responding to Rons letters, POV Ron, Ron to the rescue | G | 8.1k

Harry Potter And The Summer At Grimmauld Place - Silver_Queen_DoS

What it says on the tin, Sirius is free, home renovation, book 3 | G | 8.6k

Listen - Marchling

Need to sign into Ao3, Sirius spies on Dursleys, hurt/comfort, misunderstandings, reconciliation | T | 10.9k

Finite Incantatem - skullcandy11

Rogue spell hits Harry and reveals some truths, manipulative Dumbledore, Harry joins the dark side | T | 12.3k currently, ongoing

Scars - pheonixgirl26

Some Gryffindor’s see some of Harry’s scar, and decide to help | M | 12.5k

Timeshare - astolat

Honestly i have not read this yet but it looks promising, Harry is spending summer at the Dursleys and then the Malfoy’s | M | 14.1k

Seven Plus One - ABlackRaven

Sirius adopts Harry, 7 times Sirius is called uncle and 1 time he’s called dad, Peter caught, hurt/comfort | T | 15.4K

What’s Left Unsaid - angel74

Post-Order of the Phoenix, Hermione and Ron look into Harry’s life at the Dursley’s, angst, hurt/comfort | T | 16.1k

A Hero - Celebony

Dudley begins to see his family in a different light | T | 18.1k

The Lioness - Aya_Diefair

Molly becomes suspicious of Harry’s relatives, she visits them, BAMF Molly, Sirius is freed | G | 18.3k

That’s Your Punishment? - slytherclaw7

Molly actually asks Harry questions, this is definitely a fix-it fic, Sirius is freed, Peter is caught, Dumbledore bashing, Tonks family taking Harry in | IDK how fanfiction.net ratings work | 19k

Pinky Promise - etymolodrarry, huffinglepuff

Remus is observant, angst with happy ending, Dumbledore bashing, implied self harm, Wolfstar | T | 19.5k

Listen Now - mrsfizzle

Harry confides in Remus, hurt/comfort, Wolfstar adopts Harry, moving into Grimmauld | G | 21.2k

Conquering the Dark - noeon (noe)

Healer!Harry and neuromagic!Draco, both work together, unearths trauma | E | 23.7k

The Chamber of Secrets and Half the Adults are Idiots - Des98

Apart of a series, Drarry, Harry recognises Lucius’ treatment of Draco, fix-it, inter-house friendships | M | 42.8k

The Article - LeeASherlook

outed by the Daily Prophet (not in the gay sense), 6th year, Drarry friendship | T | 43k ongoing

Burnt - lastcrazyhorn

Disabled Harry, Slytherin!Harry, have not read so refer to tags | T | 104.9k

Memories and Dreams - paganaidd

Series, one part Dudley’s POV | T | 140.3k

Malfoy Family Values - belana, Merry1978

This only really mentions Harry’s mistreatment but i thought it is an interesting fic to possibly explore, Malfoys adopt little Harry | G | 141.7k

Stronger At the Broken Places - enigmaticblue

More so focus’ on Sirius’ trauma, but it’s a whole Wolfstar family affair | T | 174.9k

Digging for the Bones - paganaidd

Hogwarts starts screening students for abuse, Snape conducts Harry’s screening, Snape is Harry’s bio dad, Severitus | M | 212.2k

The secret language of plants - Endrina

Severus/Remus, Sev rescues toddler Harry, this is a series of Severus/Remus being Harry’s parents, pre-Hogwarts to post, future Drarry | rating varies | 373k

Innocent - MarauderLover7

Ok so this does not focus on Harry’s abuse but Sirius gets freed and raises Harry when he’s 8 | M | 487.5k

A Year Like None Other - aspeninthesunlight

Disability, slightly Severitus, 6th year, canon divergence, Snape forces Harry to read letter from Dursleys | T | 789.5k

#remus lupin #wolfstar #sirius black x remus lupin #sirius raising harry #severus snape #harry potter fic rec #harry potter fanfiction #Harry Potter #Harry Potter abuse #the dursleys #protective wealseys #drarry #drarry fic rec #bamf molly Weasley #bamf Ron Weasley #dumbledore bashing #severitus #the daily prophet

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sunderwight · 10 months

Text

had a thought of what if Airplane had leaned a little more into the self-insert idea for Luo Binghe when he was still at the early stages of writing, with an end result that Luo Binghe actually Looks Like That because he basically looks like Airplane but with long flowing hair and a more idealized figure

SQQ going "why the fuck did you make his face so pretty???" and Airplane bullshitting about plausibility while trying really hard not to blush. twisting his fingers and scuffing his toe like jeez bro he's not that good-looking...

which of course sets SQQ off because how DARE!?! not 'that' good-looking?!?! just look at him! he's xianxia Helen of Troy with a face that launched a thousand harems! like okay sure with looks like that it does make sense that half the female population was willing to timeshare a marriage with him, but it's also totally unfair to SQQ, who has no recourse against those looks either! and who could? that is the most beautiful face ever!

Airplane's getting flustered. tries valiantly to make the case that objectively speaking Luo Binghe isn't that good-looking, it's just that SQQ is biased, but boy does that not go over well. SQQ has hitched the tattered remnants of his self-perception as a straight man onto the idea that Luo Binghe is just so devastatingly attractive anyone would want to hop into bed with him, and he is not letting go of it, so Airplane is just gonna get wrecked with inadvertent compliments

bonus if the Shang Qinghua look is actually the result of several illusions because when Airplane first transmigrated in, he got the same face too, and foresaw potential problems if the half-demon protagonist turned up looking like him. so he used illusions. he doesn't actually look all that different, in fact! the illusions just make it so that when people see him, they get a strong impression that he's unremarkable, so they don't really register what his face actually looks like and their brains fill in the assumption that he must just be kinda plain

oooh ooh double bonus if the system inserted a behind-the-scenes explanation for it too, which is that Shang Qinghua is actually unwittingly related to Su Xiyan!

and the whole thing comes to light post-epilogue when Shang Qinghua's illusions get stripped away by some monster-of-the-week, while everyone except Mobei Jun has a freak out about why do you look just like Luo Binghe?! (Mobei Jun isn't freaking out because he already figured out how to see past the illusions and just assumed everyone else wasn't mentioning it for some human cultural reason or something) and then Yue Qingyuan calmly explains that Luo Binghe's mom is Shang Qinghua's matrilineal cousin. Shang Qinghua's mother and Luo Binghe's human grandmother were half-sisters.

what? how does Yue Qingyuan know? you think that Cang Qiong doesn't check up on the candidates for the peak lord positions before handing off power, doesn't make sure there are no conflicts of interest or divided loyalties to other sects? what sorts of things do people imagine Qiong Ding's diplomats do? (I don't know either but, for the purpose of this scenario at least some of it is tracking down this stuff -- YQY handled most of it personally for his generation's ascension because he didn't want anyone else digging into his and Xiao Jiu's pasts) anyways, the connection could have been troublesome for its ties to Huan Hua Palace, but by the time it came to light Su Xiyan was deceased and there was no evidence that Shang Qinghua had ever even met her. so it wasn't deemed significant enough to matter, was just made note of and then mostly forgotten

so Shang Qinghua is like "oh THAT is why you kept bringing her up to me back then?!" because at the time he'd just been fully in "haha how would I know anything about the impending plot and the tragedies I am both partly responsible for and powerless to prevent haha that's so funny shixiong I KNOW NOTHING" mode, which luckily at the time was easily read as him just not wanting a dead cousin he never met to tank his chances of securing a promotion

SQQ is floored. he is having issues about this. Shang Qinghua is related to Binghe? Shang Qinghua looks exactly like him?! wait. Binghe has human family? still alive? like grandparents and stuff out there, who might want to meet him...?

Luo Binghe decides to step in at that point because he does not want to meet any more relatives! no more surprise relatives! no!

luckily this distracts Shen Qingqiu from thinking about all of the things he's said to Airplane about Binghe's looks for long enough for Shang Qinghua to flee the scene

#svsss #scum villain's self saving system #bingqiu #moshang #cumplane #well kinda cumplane anyway #by implication #long post #what if sqh can't get his illusions back up #everyone keeps bothering him even more now to ask why he's hot all of a sudden #it's even worse than when they just used to bother him about fixing broken doors or balancing budgets #sqq is not gonna be normal about this #'you said binghe wasn't a self-insert!!!' 'well by the end he definitely wasn't...' 'were you this hot irl? why were you poor?!'#'wtf is that supposed to mean...?' 'with these looks you surely could have found somebody willing to support you!'#'bro are you asking me why I wasn't a sugar baby?!' 'of course not!' 'you totally are asking me why I wasn't a sugar baby'#'...but you must have gotten offers' 'only from the hot single ladies near me on my computer and they were all viruses'#etc etc etc so on and so forth the usual insane banter those two have

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notbecauseofvictories · 5 months

Note

Longtime follower and I love seeing your insights, so wondered if you had thoughts or advice on this:

I live alone and I'm not in a relationship, though I do date. I'd say ninety percent of the time I really enjoy my life, seven percent I'm a bit sad or annoyed about not having a partner yet, and three percent I get tossed into the Pit of Despair. That three percent can be tied into hormonal cycles, bad timing, etc - even when I know the cause, it still needs to be lived through. Has that happened with you? If so, how do you manage it? I do okay, but it feels like I could do better.

Ah, but the Pit of Despair and I are best friends now. I've sent pictures from the Pit, all featuring me with an absolutely humorless, rictus grin, which does make me wonder why no one else has noticed yet. I have a timeshare in the Pit of Despair. I spend some time there every six months or so, standing in the middle of my impossibly overgrown, dingy garden, and thinking to myself, how did I get here? how do I get out?

And then, as though endurance isn't enough...then your timeshare in the Pit ends. You emerge in the daylight and immediately forget how grey and hopeless that garden was, the weirdly stained, collapsing furniture in the corner and the crooked yellowing plants and that mean laughter you could sometimes hear over the sounds of waving grass. You think to yourself: that will never happen again! I am free! I am cured!

(This will feel so much worse, the next time you're shoved back into the stupid garden.)

That said, I don't think you're going to like my answer to your next question. This is because I don't like my answer; unfortunately, it remains the only answer I have to this question.

I think having some unsettled sorrow, just a touch of existential despair, is the best we can hope to do in this life.

I think that with both rueful humor and deep, deep disgust, which is typically the combo I bring to musings about being a person. Of course it's a little funny---look at the monkey, it's got anxiety!---and of course it's also frustrating, unspeakable outside of bitter cursing, a problem that will not be fixed because quite frankly it's built too deeply into us to be cut out cleanly and thrown away.

(Look at the fucking monkey, you can tell yourself through gritted teeth, standing in that horrible garden with weeks of dirty dishes in the sink and an inbox of emails and friends blowing up your phone with plans you hate to even think about. It's got anxiety.)

I do not have a cure for this. I manage it with the same sort of humor and ruefulness and bitterness that I mentioned above---I don't beat myself up anymore, when I realize I'm standing in the horrible garden again. I know it too well. Sometimes it has an okay wifi connection? I watch some movies. I get done what I can, and forgive myself the rest. I have been here before; I will get out again. I just need to be patient.

Once I'm out, there will be a whole world, I know there will---full of music I haven't heard before and stories that won't make me cringe and emails I will respond to with ease and conversations where I can be light, amusing even. There is a world beyond the Pit. There is always a world beyond the Pit, I just can't find my way back sometimes.

In the meantime, I take another terrible picture in front of the stained furniture, and caption it "Hello from the Pit!!!" with a bunch of exclamation points to indicate that it's a joke, even though it isn't.

I wait.

#there is no experience of being human without suffering. even the most blessed happy person you know suffers.#so the question becomes: how do you fit suffering inside of you. how do you deal with it.#I sit in a horrible garden and pretend not to listen to the weird disembodied laughter #knowing that this too shall pass.#it will suck in the interim! but it will pass.#sarah gives advice

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fandomnerd9602 · 6 months

Text

It all started when she was wounded in a firefight with the Brotherhood of Steel. Lucy McLean couldn’t stop the bleeding, no matter how many stimpaks she injected.

You ran to your companions aid with your own loyal canine Dogmeat by your side. "dammit Lucy" you muttered as you shot another brotherhood member before trying to stop the bleeding.

"go" she tried to beg, "I'm just dead weight"

"not an option, vault dweller" you say back as you carry her in your arms to a nearby vertibird. Good old Dogmeat jumps into the copilot's seat as you pilot the aircraft.

“Where are we going?” Lucy asked rather weakly.

“Haven” you answered back.

You met Lucy rather recently. You were kind enough and caring compared to most people in the Wasteland. All she knew was that you were a fellow survivor and that you had recently left your home in search of supplies. You never told her where you were from.

Lucy woke up to a sound she never thought she’d ever hear: the gentle lull of the ocean. This vault dweller found herself in a small oceanside open aired bungalow. The walls were adorned with old posters with a magnificent view of a crystal blue ocean. The bed she found herself in was clean and pristine. Dogmeat was laying next to her bed, wagging his tail at seeing Lucy recovering nicely.

“Glad you’re feeling better“ you give a small smile from a nearby chair. “It was touch and go for awhile but I’m glad you’re doing well”

“I’m dead”

You chuckle, “no you’re not.”

“What is this place? I mean it’s perfect and untouched by-“

“It’s sort of a bubble” you explained. “Completely safe from the fallout”

A little parrot landed on a nearby branch. Lucy was absolutely floored. Life has found a way thrive on this spec of land. The whole island was rich with floral and fauna, an untapped paradise. The island itself was roughly the size of Maui.

“How did you find this place?” Lucy looks around in amazement.

“I grew up here.” You bring her a pic of your own parents. “I head out to gather supplies and my parents…they didn’t make it”

Lucy looked at you, like she was looking in a mirror. Someone who lost a lot and yet was willing to keep going. It wasn’t just about the supplies. She saw you out there, protecting the innocent, stopping the Brotherhood and raiders when lever you could.

“Must get lonely here” she found herself musing.

“You interested in a timeshare?” You asked back with a little smirk.

Lucy couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe she could set down roots here. With you. With Dogmeat. But the world needed the two of you. Because sadly like the old saying goes:

War. War never changes.

#fallout tv show #fallout tv series #fallout #brotherhood of steel #bethesda #ella purnell #lucy x reader #amazon #amazon prime #lucy maclean x reader #lucy maclean

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randomluck-ofthe-universe · 2 months

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"I have come to the place where I understand that there are no free lunches.

And anything that you take always has strings, especially from people who love to give because then they know they've got strings, right?" Hammer said.

"I would rather go get a job selling timeshares. I'd rather go get a job."

"Is there a world in which I could just say 'Fuck it' and figure out how to borrow money from family or do anything like that? Yeah.

But that's just not who I am.

That's now what I want to do.

That has never been who I wanted to be. When I was 19 years old, I decided I was going to be an actor."

the man that this man is.

pics by @zuzla33

#armie hammer #club random podcast #bill maher #july 2024

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formosusiniquis · 4 months

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i'll play giles, you be spike

ao3 summer reading starts on monday, your local children's librarian (me) is grabby handing any inspiration they can and running with it.

"There's a vampire in the nonfiction section." Steve says in a harsh whisper that feels louder than if he’d just shouted it from across the room at Robin like he’d wanted to in the first place.

She finishes her spinny chair rotation before saying, "And other rejected Bailey School kid titles. What game is this?"

"It's not a game!” He drops the stack of go-backs he was about to put on the shelf in a thump on the counter. His preference for taking small stacks instead of wheeling the whole cart has served him well both for his sense of dramatics and for his ability to stealth. “There is a Kiefer Sutherland Lost Boys vampire in the nonfiction stacks. Or he’s really more like the dark haired one."

"There really is something for everyone at the library." She says with a dreamy sigh, bringing her folded hands up to her face.

"Robin! Could you be serious for five seconds?"

"Could you? Why are you jumping to vampire when it's obviously just a goth patron?”

He leans further across the desk so he can whisper more aggressively in her face. “Because he was in the 800’s Robin, nobody just goes into the 800’s.”

“Plenty of people go into the 800's, that's where all of the poetry and short stories are?”

“Oh yeah, all the poetry and short stories Diana buys. You tell me the last time you remember a new poetry book hitting the collection that wasn’t for Adelle back in Kids and maybe I’ll believe you about vampire guy.”

She sputters, because he’s right, and he had to listen to her complain about how she never would have heard of Gay Poems for Red States if their digital collection on Libby weren’t so much better stocked than their physical collection. And he’s right about this.

“You’re not right about this, but let’s pretend you are. Why don’t you go out and live your Bella Swan fantasy then, dingus.”

“Because he’s super hot and intimidating-”

“-and you want him to bite you.”

“And,” he says loud enough that Mrs. Willis over on the computer shushes him. “And you don’t get to make fun of me just because some perky blonde hasn’t shown up to help you live out your little Tinkerbelle fairy fantasy.”

“Excuse me,” a warm, raspy voice pipes up from behind Steve, he doesn’t have to turn to be certain of who it belongs to. But he does, because he gets off on that edge of self-embarrassment and also it’s his literal job.

“How can I help you?”

The bulky leather jacket the guy has on, even though it’s May and basically already the summer, must have him hot. There’s a flush staining his face that is not a point away from Steve’s vampire theory even if he knows Robin is already thinking that it is. He’s wearing a shirt that says Corroded Coffin which is where vampires live, he knows that much even if he never can successfully keep up with Dracula Daily any year he tries.

“Yeah, so I made a bet with a friend that I could find a really specific piece of information before her by going to the library instead of using the internet.” Robin sucks in a sharp breath between her teeth, the sound of Steve’s wince. “I’m playing the long odds, Google kind of sucks now, so I think I’ve got a chance.”

“Steve can help you out,” Robin volunteers, standing up on the foot rest of her wheely chair to give his shoulder a shove. “He’s the best at finding things in the dark, secluded stacks where the cameras can’t see you.”

“Um…”

“Did you already know what you were looking for?” Steve asks, just to stop what is currently happening. “If it’s just the book not being where it’s at I can help you find it. Nonfiction is a pain, and people are always trying to be helpful and put things away; but I guess Hawkins Elementary isn’t teaching decimals like they used to.”

He couldn’t be rambling any worse if he were actually Robin and not the other timeshare owner of their worst brain cell.

Hot vampire guy just watches, a little amused but his smile is closed lipped, because he’s obviously trying to hide his vampire fangs. Not that Steve has a problem with being the hapless victim at the beginning of the Buffy episode, everybody has to go sometime and if it’s via a hotter Spike it’s better than the way he always assumed he would die (as a casualty of one of Henderson’s sketchy science experiments.)

“I have a confession,” hot vampire guy says, they’ve made it back to where Steve remembers him standing before.

“Yeah,” he prompts, idly scanning the shelf in front of him. Hopefully projecting whatever air of openness that gets strangers to confess their darkest sins to him unprompted at nine in the morning, so that this hot stranger feels comfortable admitting that he’s a sexy creature of the night.

“I don’t actually need anything from this row, our bet was actually about whether or not you and your coworker are an item.”

Well that wasn’t at all what Steve was hoping he would say. Hot guy -- probably a human hot guy since it is five o’clock and the sun is still high in the sky -- isn’t looking at him. He's straightening up the short story collections and bringing them up neatly to the edge of the shelf, letting his fingers gently flirt with some of the spines in lingering and wanting glances.

“Yeah, we're not together, and you're not her type. Sorry to be the bearer of that bad news.”

Hot guy sputters, mouth opening wide in his haste to deny his interest and revealing moderately sharp but definitely human canines and incisors.. Unfortunate, since Steve doesn't trust anyone who isn't a little obsessed with Robin like he is.

“She seems great,” he says when he's finished spitting all over the books, “she's just not really my type either. Seems like she's more into literary fiction and I’m looking for a guy who’s into campy horror and bad sci-fi.”

“The Star Trek novelizations aren’t bad sci-fi,” he says by rote, having spent too much time with the most annoying nerds in the world who only appreciated door stops that had ‘literary merit.’ Then the rest of the sentence catches up with him. “Oh!”

Hot guy smiles, and smug isn’t something that Steve usually finds attractive but it’s working on him. “I’m Eddie,” he says, “and if you’ll give me a second to win this bet you can tell me how you feel about maybe going out with someone who only plays a vampire on paper.”

#steddie #steddie fic #my fic #modern au #librarian steve harrington #pretty sure this is a crack fic #i have no excuse my brain is tired and the summer is just starting #(the week before is always the worst it's the anticipation once it actually starts itll be fine)

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insomniamamma · 2 months

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Needles & Pins: Tattoo Artist! Ezra x F!reader w/Cee

A/n: written for @secretelephanttattoo's Secret Springs challenge! Thank you, Mayor El, for planting this seed. I am currently mulling over a tattoo much like the one described here.

Warnings: Angst. Talk about failed marriage. Reader is an empty nester. Reader has grown children. Mentions of self harm scars. Blood. I have tattoos but it's been decades and I've done a bit of research to figure out the current state of it. Any inaccuracies are on me. And yes, Pedro's red devil Met Gala look was my inspiration for tattoo artist! Ez.

A bit of flirting. It is Ezra after all. But mostly gentle fluff.

A chain of bells on the door jingles as you push your way through, briefly glare-blind from the sudden dimness, green afterimages from the sizzling sidewalks, air-conditioned cold hits hard, and you stand, blinking and foolish as the girl behind the counter sizes you up, wild mullet of bleach-blonde hair, face set and disproving, black lacquered nails and ears spangled with golden studs and bars. “I’m sorry— I’m a bit early, I can come back—“ And she smiles, big and open and wide-- “Oh, heck! You’re the tardigrade lady! Ez did a bunch of sketches. Lemme go grab him-“ and she rattles her way through the beaded curtain behind the register and disappears “Ezra! Your three o’clock is here—“ A co-worker had recommended Needles & Pins when you’d admired her ink, a half-sleeve magpie with a skeleton key in its beak and constellations drawn behind it like an old map. It’s in Secret Springs. That’s kind of a haul. Yeah, but Ezra’s one of the best in the business. You’ve got plenty of PTO piled up. You’re just gonna lose it if you don’t use it. You could get out of here for a bit. Yeah, maybe. And Moira gives you a pitying look. You both know the chances of you using any of that PTO are slim. This last year and change has been a rollercoaster ride, your youngest graduating summa cum laude and fucking off halfway across the country, some job at an aerospace start up that you can’t even begin to understand, but she seems happy, and the vice-gripped, duct taped, cobbled together thing that your marriage had become finally shat out. I love you, he’d said, but not the way you need me to. And on that humid night, watching heat-lightning flicker through the clouds, you say nothing, just nod, because he’s not wrong, the two of you have been holding on for a long time, for the kids, for appearances, and it’s like unclenching a fist. Kept it civil, he let you keep the house rather than selling it and splitting the difference, moved back home with his brothers and his dad, still talk about once a week, mostly about Lilly and the boys. Married so young that you never learned to be alone. So you throw yourself into your job, because if there’s one thing you know how to do it’s press your shoulder to the wheel and shove.You and Moira laugh together, but when you get home you start researching Needles and Pins and Secret Springs, tiny state park with campsites and trails, bracketed with BNB’s and small shops, strange gerrymandered artifact, small strip of beach that hasn’t been subsumed by hotel chains and timeshares. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been on vacation, the last time you’ve done anything for you and no one else, and you’ve e-mailed Needles and Pins almost without thinking. Why not? Why the fuck not?

Appointments only. No walk ins. High end. Serious inquiries only. And part of you balked, new to this possibility, had your ears pierced at Claire’s when you were twelve or so, and you’d felt stupid when you sent the e-mail off with some images attached. Sorry to bother you. What a lovely idea. Water bears and fireweed together speak of resilience. The awakening of something new after a time of trial. There are species of pine that require the heat of wildfire to dry out their cones enough to spread their seeds. I would gladly meet with you to discuss this further. And that’s how you ended up here, in this air-conditioned cave, narrow space full of framed flash art and old maps and framed photos of Ezra and the girl behind the counter, C? Sea? You didn’t quite register her name, flustered by the cool dark in contrast to the blazing heat outside. “No need to yell, Birdie, I’m comin-“ Ezra rattles through the curtain. Broad is the first thing you notice, loud is the second. He is a confusion of color, heavily inked arms and a Hawaiian shirt bedecked with flamingos in sunglasses, spangled ears and a gold ring through his lip, bright shock of blonde hair amid his unruly curls. Smiling bright and wide, “Hi there,” he says, purred southern drawl, and offers his hand, “I’m Ezra.” “I figured,” you say and take his hand, warm fingers around yours and then he folds his other hand over yours, and you see that his right hand is an elaborate prosthetic, his whole arm up to his shoulder, gold on black, a fearsome dragon framed in blooming orchids. You barely have time to register this and Ezra is ushering you through the curtain. “I am guessing by your demeanor that this is your first tattoo,” and you smile, but can’t quite meet his eyes, his hand finds yours again and squeezes gently. “I’ve got several sketches based on our initial discussion, but i want you to know up front, if the art is not to your liking or if you change your mind about this entire venture I’ll not judge you for it. “But the deposit—“ “A formality. Tends to keep people who aren’t sure of themselves away. I will never ink someone who isn’t fully committed, if you decide this isn’t for you i will refund you. No harm no foul. No pressure, clear?” “Yeah. We’re clear.” Ezra smiles, dimples sinking into his scruffy cheeks, eyes crinkling into crescents. “Excellent,” he says, “Let me show you what me and Cee came up with.”

“That one.” A tardigrade drawn in the traditional style, brilliantly colored in blues and greens with bold outlines, with two crossed fireweed fronds in watercolor. “This is an approximation-“ says Ezra, “I will replicate the colors as best I can—“ “That one.” You say, “I like the hard and soft together.” “I do as well,” says Ezra, “I must admit that I was hoping you’d choose this design. Strength and softness are not mutually exclusive. I should warn you though. Watercolor tattoos tend to fade a bit faster than the more traditional styles-“ “Sunscreen and plenty of it” you say, and he smiles. “That’s right, and A&D ointment as you heal. There’s plenty of fancy tattoo healing ointments to be found but A&D has always got me through. Why fix what’s not broken? We’ll send you home with some instructions.” He takes the sketch you’ve picked out, “Hey, Cee! Can you finagle the scanner-“ Cee pops her head and arm through the beaded curtain. She grins, devilish and sharp like a crescent moon. “Old man, still can’t figure it out, huh?” Takes the sketch from his hand. “Oi! You are but a humble apprentice,” says Ezra, but he smiles, “An initiate! A novice even!” Cee smiles back. This seems like an exchange that happens at least three times a week, and you feel yourself smiling along with them. “Get her prepped. I’ll do the hard part.” “That girl,” he mutters, “You take a seat right there—“ He gestures towards a set up that looks uncomfortably like a dentist’s chair, “Cee has my station set up, I just need to glove up and we’ll talk placement.” “Left inner arm,” You frown. You’d said so over e-mail. Can’t help but watch the flex and bend of him as he pulls a shoulder length veterinary glove over his prosthetic, and then gloves his left hand, “It’s a bitch to take apart and sanitize. I can if needs be, but best to avoid all of that. I cannot exactly autoclave this thing. And I find the calving glove less unwieldy than Saran Wrap-“ “Wait a sec, Saran Wrap? Like on a plate of leftovers?” Ezra dimples at you. “Exactly like that. First time Cee witnessed it, she laughed so hard i thought she might drop dead right there on the spot. Next morning there was a case-pack of calving gloves on our front stoop like some sort of-“ “It’s Amazon, Ez, not witchcraft,” says Cee, popping back through the curtain with a sheaf of papers, shoots you a knowing can you believe this guy look, “You’d be lost without me. Just admit it.” Ezra takes the papers from her. “Go on now, don’t you have fanfic to read? What’s that Star Wars thing? Reylo?” Cee’s face scrunches in a cartoonish display of disgust. “Man, I never should’ve told you about AO3.” And with that she’s gone. “Your daughter’s really something.” “She ain’t mine,” says Ezra, leafing through the stack of prints Cee handed him, draws a pair of reading glasses from his front pocket and perches them on his nose, “I don’t have that honor. Her parents kicked her from the nest and she found her way here.” He holds two of the prints in front of his face. “Show me your arm.” And you offer him your left arm, hand turned palm up. He cradles your arm, runs his gloved fingers over the thin skin there, noting the network of silvered scars, like contrails in a hazy sky, because how can he not? Old enough to be flattened and flush with the rest of your skin, no one’s noticed in years, but you know he must and you tense, waiting for him to say something, but he doesn’t, just selects a printed sheet at holds it up to you arm. “This the orientation you want?” “Yeah, I want him standing on my hand. Um, Ezra, the scars-“ “won’t be a problem, darlin, they’re old and soft-“ “I’m not gonna screw up your handiwork,” you say, and he folds your hand in both of his, gentle pressure that grounds you and when you look up at him, his eyes are soft. “I know you won’t,” he says, “You wouldn’t be here otherwise. We can rewrite this part of your story. I trust you.”

Ezra preps your skin, alcohol wipes and mild soap and he shaves your inner arm with a disposable razor, rubs some gooey stuff on you that makes you think of putting on aloe after a burn. Gotta let this dry a beat, he says, we want the stencil to come out nice and clean, rests his hand over yours while the transfer solution dries, got to let it get tacky, he says. Not quite holding your hand but not letting go either. “I should warn you, the bit over your inner wrist will likely be the most painful,” swipes his hand over your skin, testing the resistance against his glove, “Skin’s thin there. Not a whole lot of meat between the skin and all the veins and little fiddly bits.” “Fiddly bits,” you echo, and feel yourself smile, “You mean the bones?” “And tendons,” says Ezra, clips out the stencil. “That looks like carbon paper,” you say, and Ezra grins, “It’s functionally the same, but Cee insists that the thermographic printer makes cleaner stencils than the old methods, so here we are.” He lays the sheet of paper over your arm, rubs at it with a balled up paper towel, “We want the transfer solution to soak into the paper. It’ll leave the stencil behind on your skin. There’s some tricks involving deodorant, but i find this method works the best-“ you can’t help but notice how pretty he is, face pinched in concentration, pout of his lips, those dark eyes focused on the strip of skin between your wrist and elbow like this bit of you is the only thing in the universe. “—hey! you still with me?” “Yeah, sorry. What did you say?” “You got a hotel room for tonight? It’s not by business, but i know you’re not local and getting tattooed blows a surprising amount of adrenaline-“ “I’ve got a room booked,” you say, “Up over Peli’s.” “Hope you brought earplugs,” says Ezra, “That place can get a bit rowdy on a Friday night.” “I’m counting on it,” you say, “It’s been forever since I’ve gone to a bar.” “Hmm,” he rubs at the transfer paper, “Do you feel your skin tightening a bit? We should be just about ready. I’m gonna click the gun on for a beat so you can hear it.” “I’m not scared.” “Didn’t say you were.” says Ezra, “I find this tends to go easier if people know what to expect. This buzz and my endless yap are going to be filling your ears for the next few hours-“ “It’s not bad. The tattoo machine, I mean.” And Ezra grins, slow curve that just hints at a dimple. “My Ma always said my tongue is hung in the middle and wags at both ends. If, at any point in this venture, you need me to shut the fuck up do not be shy in saying so,” his face falls, eyes flick away a little, “There’s one more thing before we peel this stencil and get on to our business. I will need to stretch your skin, to make sure the lines are nice and clean, and for that i must rely on this foolish thing.” Ezra catches you around your wrist with his prosthetic hand and squeezes slightly. “I do not have the sensitivity nor dexterity that i once had,” he says, “I have some haptic feedback, but it’s not the most reliable. If I grip or pinch too hard, you sing out and I will manually adjust the pressure.” So focused on your left inner wrist and the tracery of your skin that he startles, flinches when you reach for him and grip his upper arm, brief squeeze and then gone. “I trust you.” His eyes widen for a second, and flick away from yours. ‘I suppose you do. Else you wouldn’t be here. Let’s get a good look at these lines before we get to fencin’.” Ezra peels the transfer paper up and you feel the pull of it, dark purple lines printed on your inner arm. And that makes it feel real.

You’re going to walk out of here with something like a story in your skin forever. “The fireweed—“ “I know. The stencil lines are just there to keep me from going too loosey-goosey,” says Ezra, “That being said, how would you feel about some slight splatters? So the stems do not rise so harshly from the water bear’s back, perhaps a bit darker than the color of the fireweed. Something to really make this little fella pop.” “Dark. Like a dark purple fading up into the pinks.” “Yeah? What do you think?” “I like it,” you say, and you feel yourself grin wide, and Ezra’s smile mirrors your own, “This is gonna be so fucking cool.” “It will,” he says, those dark eyes bracketed in delighted crinkles, “I’ve got you, darlin. We’re gonna make some magic.”

It doesn’t hurt as much as you thought it would, and you tell Ezra so, and he smiles, bent over your arm. “Everyone’s pain threshold is a bit different,” he says, “You are squirming very little for your first ink.”’ “I was in labor with my oldest for twenty three hours. This doesn’t even register.” “The linework is usually worse in terms of sharp pain,” he says, “The color and shading tend to be more persistently annoying. Like a shirt collar rubbing on a sunburn.” He has a light on a swing arm like a dentist uses, framing him in a bright halo as he hunches over your arm, catches his curls in bright filaments, the scruff of his cheeks, slope of his neck, breadth of his shoulders. Sharper pain as he touches the crease between wrist and hand, bracelets of fortune, you think they’re called, draw your breath in a sharp hiss, little hooked curves of the tardigrade’s claws. “Breathe, sugar, you’re doing just fine. Worst part’s nearly done.” His eyes flick up to catch yours, warm soft and magnified by his glasses. “And I really must know. what’s your favorite dinosaur?” “Deinonychus,” you answer unthinking, “Dromeosaurs are pretty cool in general, but Deinonychus is my favorite.” And you smile. Knowing exactly what he’s doing and thankful for it. “The raptors in Jurassic Park were actually Deinonychuses. Modeled on them at least. Actual velociraptors are turkey-sized.” Ezra smiles up at you, perfect plump lower lip bisected by a gold ring, damn he’s pretty, and nothing hurts at all. “Huh,” he says, “And here I was thinkin you were a T-rex girl. S’pose that’s what i get for making assumptions.” “Well you know what they say about assuming—“ “Indeed I do. My mother was very fond of whipping out that particular turn of phrase.” He stretches your skin so he can get the tardigrade’s odd little mouthparts just so. “What’s your favorite?” “Favorite what?” The curved, segmented back takes shape. “Dinosaur. You can’t just ask someone that question and not answer it yourself.” Ezra stills for a beat, and then the needle starts up again, line sloping down to meet up with a hook-plated foot. “Ankylosaurus.” he says. “Really?” “Sure. Mother Nature took a cow, a snapping turtle and a panzer tank and stuck em in a blender and then tied a cinderblock to the end of it’s tail. What’s not to love? Hmmm,” he swabs at the beaded blood and oozing ink, “Hard part’s done. How about a little breather?” Ezra stands and stretches like a lazy cat, rolls his neck side to side, heads for the refrigerator, tucked in the corner and plastered in stickers, punk bands or microbreweries, you can’t really tell. “Stretch your legs,” he says, “This next phase will take some time.” You swing your legs over the side of the chair, stand up and then plop back down. “You okay, darlin?” “Stood up too fast.” “Apple or orange?” “Huh? Orange,” You feel your face going hot, “I followed your instructions—“ Ezra hands you a cold, sweating bottle of orange juice. “I know you did,” he says, “When you get tattooed, you are signing up for an injury. One that happens over the course of several hours, but an injury all the same. Everyone reacts a little different. Your sugar just dropped is all. You drink that juice and you’ll be right as rain in no time at all.” “I thought I’d be okay-“ “And you are,” says Ezra, “I’ve had three hundred pound bikers slither out of the chair at the first sight of blood. It happens sometimes. I’ve gotten woozy a time or two myself.”

He shoves up his shirtsleeve and shows you a dog in a space helmet, “That’s Laika,” you say. “Patron Saint of one way trips,” says Ezra, “You can see a bit of wobble in the curve of her helmet. It was far from my first ink and it still hurt like a sonofabitch. You didn’t do a thing wrong, okay?” He rests his hand on your shoulder briefly, warm weight of it grounds you, and he hunkers down so his eyes meet yours, no judgement there, just concern, and without thinking, you mirror him, rest a hand on his vibrantly inked bicep, Laika brave and doomed amid a swirl of watercolored nebulae, his skin warm beneath your palm and you feel the breath rush out of you, didn’t know how hard you were clenching your jaw, didn’t know you tight your chest was. “Thank you.” And for a beat those lovely, dark eyes hold yours, before they slide away, cheek curved up in a half-smile. “You are most welcome. Shall we proceed?”

The color inking goes much as he described, more annoying than painful, like a constant pressing of fingernails against your skin, different gun with more needles packed together, ink laid in, blood wiped away, back and forth over the same bits of skin, needles dipped and rinsed, tiny plastic cups of color that make you think of a child’s paint set, and the two of you settle into easy conversation, a flow back and forth like a gentle tide, mostly Ezra explaining all the hidden delights of Secret Springs, you simply must get breakfast at Cisco’s, it don’t look like much but they’ve got the best biscuits and gravy i’ve ever tasted, and Cee swears by their Hangover Helper, it’s like a layer dip of grease. Hash browns and corned beef hash and scrambled eggs with sausage gravy and cheese sprinkled over it. I keep tellin Frankie he should rename it the Heart Attack Platter, but he won’t hear it— Ezra’s voice and the buzz of the tattoo gun and the rhythm of him pressing into your skin and wiping away the blood and excess ink set you drifting, content to listen to him ramble, like the patter of falling rain. “So what got you here?” asks Ezra. “Moira. I saw her ink and asked—“ “No, darlin, what got you here?” And you find it hard to speak, to put into words, did everything right, married and had kids and a house and a good job and a husband who loved you until he didn’t, did everything right and still ended up with an empty house and no one to come home to except the cat. Lilly and Liam and Joey off on their own and settled and they all call you on Sunday like clockwork, as if you are an obligation and not someone who held them when they were small, talked them through the fears of monsters in the closet, talked them through the humiliation of first love, you know they love you, they tell you every time, at the end of every visit, hug you so tight and tell you they love you. Love you too, but you still come home to a dark house and an empty bed, you honestly can’t remember the last time you’ve been touched or kissed or held. Been so long since you did things for you without thinking of him and the kids that it feels wrong, shameful. “I wanted to do something just for me, I guess.” You frown. “I’m guessing you are not in the habit,” he says, “Of doing things just for the joy of it.” You laugh, a bright and brittle sound that pulls itself from your throat, even as your eyes burn, his eyes flick up from the brilliant pinks and oranges and purples, and you turn your head away. “I’ve prodded a raw nerve, I’m sorry. Cee rightly says I have no filter-“ “It’s okay. It’s just…you do everything right and you still end up all alone, you know? Lil and the boys are all doing fine. They call me every Sunday, and I know I should be happy, and I am happy. Happy for them-“ “But not for yourself,” says Ezra. And you think of how the intimacy slowly bled out of your marriage, held on so tight for so long, thought you could muscle through it like you do everything else in your life, but love wasn’t enough, determination wasn’t enough, gritted teeth and stubbornness weren’t enough. “No. Not for myself.” You frown. You haven’t put it in words before, too busy keeping it together, trying to gut through it like you do everything, keep your head down and push through, “You think your life is one thing and then it just isn’t anymore— this probably seems silly to you.” “Not at all. I often think of cicadas,” he says, and returns his attention to the fireweed blossoms. “Cicadas?” “Yes. They live the majority of their lives under the ground, feasting on roots content with living in the dark and then something calls them up above. They split themselves open, crawl out of their old skins and take flight.” “You’re saying I’m in the process of crawling out of my own skin,” you say. “I’m saying that your future doesn’t have to look like your past,” says Ezra.

“The past is another country,” you say, and you can’t remember where you’ve heard the phrase. “Just so,” says Ezra, “Just so. We’re redrawing the map right here. And it is a joy to redraw it with you.” “Are you—are you flirting with me?” Ezra scrunches his face in mock disdain, “I would never ever flirt with a client. That would be deeply unethical and Cee would undoubtedly yell at me. However, once I finish inking this last frond and we slather you in ointment and wrap you up you will no longer be my client-“ “And then?” He smiles at you, all dark eyes and dimples. “Well then we are just two folks enjoying the moonlight and wetting our toes in the surf. If you’d walk with me a spell. If you can further tolerate my rambling,” “I think I’d like to get my feet wet.”

#secretsprings #secret springs #tattoo artist!ezra x f!reader #tattoo artist!ezra x mature reader #ezra prospect x f!reader

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wannabehockeygf · 1 month

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Florida!!! - Clayton Keller

“My friends all smell like weed or little babies,

And this city reeks of driving myself crazy,

Little did you know, your home’s really only a town you’re just a guest in?

So you work your life away,

Just to pay for a timeshare down in Destin.”

Summary: On a family vacation with your boyfriend, you find him stoned with his brother, and when he gets you alone, things escalate…

Word Count: 5k

Pairing: Clayton Keller x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ NSFW! Use of drugs (marijuana), oral sex (f receiving), Clayton being an absolute munch.

Notes:

- been indulging recently (it’s perfectly legal where i live, don’t @ me…) so real life projection!

- munch Clayton is finally here for my girlies who enjoy him as much as I do!

- also I’m still not over ttpd. no skip album.

- not proof read <3

***

*EDIT 08/15/2024 @ 8:31pm PST : His brother’s name is Jake. Not Luke. Sorry if you read prior 😭 (hughes brother brainrot)

A vacation with your boyfriend’s family? Oh, this was uncharted territory. I mean, you’d survived Thanksgiving dinner at his parents’ house in St. Louis—barely. But that was just one night. One turkey. One slightly-too-long hug from his mom. You’d only been together five months, after all.

But now, here you are, basking in the relentless sunshine of Destin, Florida, sharing a timeshare with them. A timeshare. This is like Thanksgiving on steroids, with no escape hatch. The place is stupidly nice, though. Like, if Pottery Barn threw up on a beach house, this would be it. Sure, Clayton probably financed half of it, but you still feel like you’re tiptoeing through a very fragile house of cards. One wrong move and you’ll topple the whole “good impression” thing you’ve got going on. So yeah, “best behavior” mode is fully engaged, like a 24/7 surveillance camera on yourself.

But then, the moment of truth. After a blissful solo beach jaunt—because let’s be honest, sometimes you just need a break from all that “family bonding”—you wander into the garage, nose twitching at some weird smell. Is that...skunk? No, no. Please don’t be a skunk. You cautiously push open the door, and what do you find? Clayton and his brother, Jake, in full bro-mode sitting in flimsy lawn chairs, laughing like they’re at some frat party, sharing hits from a brightly colored bong.

Well, that’s definitely a new one.

Really, Clayton? You’re on a family vacation, not reliving your glory days as "Chad, the King of Sigma Nu." Is this his idea of “relaxing with the fam?” Plus, isn’t smoking bad for your lungs? Especially for a hockey player. You stand there for a second, frozen like you’ve just walked in on a murder mystery party and are trying to figure out if you’re the victim or the detective. Your mind is a hurricane of thoughts: Should I laugh? Should I be offended? Is this one of those “testing the girlfriend” moments? Because honestly, who packs a bong for a trip to a family-friendly beach destination?

You catch Clayton’s eye, and for a split second, you see the gears in his head screech to a halt. Jake, on the other hand, is blissfully unaware of your presence, too busy blowing a perfect smoke ring that floats lazily toward the ceiling. Clayton gives you this wide-eyed, deer-in-headlights look, which would be adorable if it weren’t so stupid. Oh, sweetheart, you are so busted.

“Heyyy,” Clayton says, dragging out the word like he’s trying to slow time. “You, uh, back already?”

You blink. “Yeah, funny thing, I actually live here too. With your family. On vacation. Remember?”

He shifts uncomfortably in his lawn chair—seriously, who uses lawn chairs indoors?—and suddenly, you’re struck by how much this scene looks like a low-budget college film. The only thing missing is a dorm fridge stocked with PBR and a poster of Bob Marley on the wall. Instead, it’s all beige walls and perfectly coordinated coastal decor that just screams, “Don’t touch anything.”

Jake finally notices you and breaks into a grin, lifting the bong like it’s a trophy. “Hey, you wanna join?”

Oh, great, you think, now I’m one of the bros.

But before you can respond, Clayton is already scrambling to fix this train wreck. “No, no, she doesn’t want to join! Right, babe?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Where did you guys even get that? I mean, isn’t smoking pot like… illegal in this state?”

Clayton, bless his clueless heart, is staring at you with wide, bloodshot eyes like a puppy that just realized it’s chewed up your favorite shoes. Meanwhile, Jake— who you’re now starting to think might actually be a golden retriever in human form—waves the bong around like he’s offering you a slice of pizza at a sleepover.

“Illegal? Pssh, not if you don’t get caught,” Jake says with a wink that’s meant to be charming but lands somewhere between “bad decision” and “future mugshot.”

Clayton clears his throat and finally sets the bong down on the cement floor, like he’s slowly disarming a bomb. “It’s just, you know, for relaxation. Family vacations can be...stressful.”

You tilt your head, considering this. Stressful? You’ve been trying to make sure his mom doesn’t hate you and his dad doesn’t think you’re a gold-digger. And he’s the one who’s stressed? You bite back a laugh, because now’s really not the time to remind him that you’ve been fake-smiling so much your cheeks are about to cramp.

“Oh, totally,” you say, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because nothing says ‘stress relief’ like hiding in the garage with your brother, getting high while the rest of your family is out there expecting you to be getting ready for dinner.”

Clayton scratches the back of his neck, his go-to move when he’s trying to avoid a conversation. It’s endearing, really. In a way that also makes you want to strangle him. “I wasn’t— I mean, we were just—” He stumbles over his words, and you can practically see the gears in his head struggling to find a logical explanation that isn’t “We’re idiots.”

You take a deep breath, rolling your eyes so hard you’re worried they might get stuck. But, honestly, are you even surprised? In the last five months, you’ve learned that Clayton’s the kind of guy who accidentally dips his fries in your ketchup while trying to impress you with some half-baked philosophical theory about life. Which, admittedly, is part of his charm—when he’s not pulling stunts like this.

“Alright,” you say, crossing your arms, “let’s get one thing straight. I’m not going to narc you out to your mom since you’re actual grown adults, but you’re coming inside with me right now, and I’m going to help you sober up before we have to go to dinner.”

Jake’s still grinning like an idiot, probably already mentally planning the next bong hit, but you’ve got your sights set on Clayton. He’s trying to look contrite, but the bloodshot eyes are sort of ruining the effect.

“Come on,” you say, reaching out to take his hand, which, by the way, is clammy. Lovely. “I don’t think anyone’s noticed you’ve gone missing yet, but let’s not push our luck.”

Clayton gives you a sheepish smile, the kind that’s got you melting just a little bit. He stands up, wobbling slightly, and you have to resist the urge to laugh. Instead, you squeeze his hand, pulling him toward the door that leads back into the house.

You’re halfway there when Jake chimes in, “You sure you don’t want a hit? It’s good stuff. I mean, if you want to see, like, colors you didn’t know existed...”

You raise an eyebrow. “Colors? Really? I thought you were more of a ‘munchies and conspiracy theories’ kind of guy.”

Jake blinks at you, clearly having to work too hard to process that sentence, and you’re actually kind of proud of yourself. Two points for you, zero for the stoner brothers.

Clayton’s trailing behind you, still holding your hand like it’s a lifeline, and you can feel him trying to gauge your mood. It’s not anger, really—more of a low simmering exasperation. You drag him through the door and into the immaculate kitchen, up the stairs, until you reach the bedroom you’d been sharing.

Clayton finally releases your hand, flopping down onto the bed like a ragdoll. “Babe, you’re the best, you know that?” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes like a kid who’s been up past his bedtime. “I mean, seriously, the absolute best.”

You raise an eyebrow, perching on the edge of the bed. “Oh, I know. But that’s not going to save you from having to drink a gallon of water and eating something before we go to dinner with your parents.”

He groans, throwing an arm over his face like he’s in a bad rom-com. “Do we have to? I was kind of hoping we could just... stay here. Forever. In this bed. With no responsibilities.”

You smirk, reaching over to poke his side. “As tempting as that sounds, I’m not sure your mom would appreciate us skipping out on dinner after she called multiple travel agents to find the best restaurant.”

He peeks out from under his arm, giving you a lopsided grin. “Come here,” He urges, obviously still trying to get out of his responsibilities. His voice is teasing, but there’s something genuine in his eyes that makes your heart do a weird little flip.

You take a deep breath, trying to muster the willpower to resist the magnetic pull of that stupidly adorable grin. Clayton’s got this way of looking at you, all soft eyes and boyish charm, like he’s just discovered the best thing in the world, and it happens to be you. It’s the kind of look that could melt the Polar ice caps, and honestly, it’s not fair.

But you’re here for a mission, and that mission is to get this man sober enough to face his family without blowing your cover as the perfect girlfriend who isn’t remotely flustered by her boyfriend’s impromptu stoner session in the garage.

"Nice try," you say, raising an eyebrow and trying to keep your resolve firm, "but you’re not weaseling your way out of this one with cuddles."

“Come on,” Clayton says again, patting the bed beside him. “We’ve got, what? An hour before dinner? We could… relax for a bit.” His voice drops at the word “relax,” and you catch the hint of mischief in his tone.

You narrow your eyes at him, feigning suspicion. “Relax? Are you sure that’s all you want to do?”

He grins, and it’s that boyish, slightly cocky smile that usually precedes him getting his way. “I mean, we could do other things. Fun things. Relaxing, fun things…”

You’re already shaking your head, but you can feel the resolve weakening. It doesn’t help that he’s giving you that look—the one that’s equal parts puppy-dog eyes and shameless seduction. How he manages to pull that off when he still smells like weed with a hint of Febreze is beyond you.

“Clay…” you start, trying to maintain a firm tone, but he’s already moving closer, his hand finding its way to your thigh. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver up your spine, and suddenly, you’re a lot less focused on the whole “responsible girlfriend” thing and more on the fact that, despite his current state, he’s still ridiculously attractive.

“Mm-hmm?” he murmurs, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your shoulder.

Oh no. You know where this is going, and while every logical part of you is screaming “this is a bad idea,” the rest of you is pretty much ready to throw logic out the window.

“Clayton,” you try again, but this time it’s softer, less of a protest and more of a gentle reminder that maybe—just maybe—you should both be thinking this through.

He nuzzles his way up your neck, planting kisses as he goes, and when his lips reach that spot just beneath your ear, the one that makes your breath hitch, you know you’re done for.

“Mm-hmm?” he repeats, but this time it’s muffled against your skin, and the way his voice vibrates sends a delightful thrill through your entire body.

“Dinner,” you say weakly, though even to your own ears, it sounds more like a suggestion than a requirement.

“Later,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your jaw.

You let out a breathy laugh, your hands instinctively finding their way to his hair, threading through the soft strands. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Mm-hmm,” he hums again, clearly not caring in the slightest. His hands are roaming now, one sliding up your back, the other tracing patterns on your thigh. You feel him gently push you back against the pillows, his body pressing against yours in a way that makes it very hard to remember why you were resisting in the first place.

For a brief moment, you consider pushing him away, reminding him of the inevitable dinner with his parents where, let’s be honest, you’re still trying to score all the points. But then his lips find yours, and all thoughts of social propriety melt away.

His hand slides up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin in that gentle, affectionate way that always makes your heart skip a beat. He pulls back just a fraction, his eyes half-lidded and glassy, but there’s a warmth there—a genuine sweetness that cuts through the haze of weed and turns your resolve to mush.

“You know I’m crazy about you, right?” he murmurs, his voice low and a little rough. It’s that tone that gets you every time, the one that makes it clear he’s not just messing around, even if he’s not entirely in his right mind at the moment.

Your heart does that weird flip again, and you find yourself smiling despite everything. “I know,” you whisper back, your fingers still tangled in his hair.

He grins, all boyish charm and mischief, and then his lips are on yours again, more insistent this time. The kiss is slow and languid, like he’s savoring every second, and you can’t help but melt into it. His hands are warm, tracing a path down your sides, and when he pulls you closer, pressing his body against yours, you let out a soft, involuntary sigh.

“Mm, I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he mumbles against your lips, his voice thick with desire. “Can’t stop thinking about you.”

You’re lying there, pinned under the warm, slightly too-heavy weight of Clayton’s body, and your mind is racing, trying to catch up with the situation. Clayton’s still high as a kite, and yet here he is, trying to seduce you with that damn lopsided grin of his. You’re supposed to be the responsible one right now, the one who keeps everything on track. The one who doesn’t let her boyfriend’s cannabis-induced haze derail a meticulously planned family dinner. But, as his lips work their way down your neck, you’re beginning to think maybe you’ve lost control of this situation altogether.

“Clayton,” you say, trying to sound firm, but it comes out more like a breathless sigh. His mouth is trailing hot, lazy kisses along your collarbone, and you can feel his fingers tugging at the hem of your shirt. It’s distracting, to say the least, and you’re struggling to hold on to any coherent thought that doesn’t involve how good his touch feels.

“Hm?” He hums against your skin, completely oblivious to the inner turmoil you’re experiencing. His hands slide under your shirt, the calloused pads of his fingers brushing against your bare stomach, sending shivers up your spine. He’s not making this easy, and you know that’s probably the point.

“Dinner,” you manage to say, though it’s a weak attempt at protest. “We’re supposed to be getting ready for dinner.”

“Mm, later,” he mumbles, his lips moving lower, kissing just above the waistband of your shorts. “This is more important.”

You can’t help the small, breathy laugh that escapes you. “Is it now?”

He lifts his head to look at you, and the sight of him—flushed, with slightly mussed hair and glassy eyes that are somehow both earnest and a little mischievous—makes your heart skip a beat. “Definitely,” he says, and there’s something in his voice, a kind of sweet, dopey sincerity, that almost makes you want to give in right then and there.

You chew on your lower lip, trying to stay focused, but it’s hard when his hands are skimming up your sides, pushing your shirt higher. “Clayton, you’re high,” you remind him gently, as if he needs the reminder. “We really should—”

“I know,” he interrupts, and there’s that lopsided grin again, the one that makes your stomach do funny little flips. “But I just... I really fucking want you. And I want to make you feel good.”

You let out a sigh, glancing at the bedroom door as if it’s the gateway to the world of “responsibility” that you’re desperately trying to cling to. But honestly, that door is looking less like an escape route and more like a blockade against the pure, unadulterated temptation that is Clayton, sprawled out on the bed, high as a kite and making it very clear what he wants.

You’re supposed to be the responsible one. The one who keeps her wits about her, who doesn’t let a family vacation turn into a complete disaster because her boyfriend decided to get high with his brother in the garage. And yet…here you are, feeling the weight of Clayton’s gaze on you, his hands warm and insistent as they trace the curve of your hips.

“Clayton,” you try again, but your voice is soft, more an invitation than a protest. You should be telling him to sober up, to get dressed for dinner, to think about the fact that his mom could come knocking on the door at any minute. But instead, you find yourself caught in the way his eyes—glassy as they are—still manage to look at you like you’re the only thing that matters.

He looks up at you with those dazed, love-struck eyes and gives you that adorable lopsided grin. “Again? Baby, you don’t understand. I’ve been dreaming about having you like this all day. I just want to make you feel good. I’m so fucking into you right now. Just let me take care of you. It’s all I want.”

Oh god, his eyes are making your heart race, and every rational thought you had is slipping through your fingers. Here you are, his fingers gently tugging at your shirt, his lips grazing your collarbone in a way that makes you question every life decision you’ve ever made.

He’s literally begging to go down on you. To make you feel good, not giving a shit about himself. You’d laugh if it didn’t sound like the absolute best idea in the world right now.

But still, you hesitate. “Clayton,” you start, and even you’re surprised by how steady your voice sounds. “We really, really shouldn’t…”

He doesn’t stop. In fact, he seems to take your half-hearted protest as encouragement because he’s already kissing a path down your stomach, his fingers expertly unbuttoning your shorts like he’s done it a thousand times before. “I don’t care,” he mutters against your skin, and there’s an edge of desperation in his tone that sends a shiver down your spine. “I just need to taste you. Please, baby, let me.”

You bite your lip, trying to keep a level head, but Clayton’s hands are roaming, his fingers curling under the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down with a slow, deliberate movement. You feel the cool air against your skin, and suddenly every nerve in your body is on high alert. He’s not stopping—he’s determined, and you know, deep down, that if you don’t stop him now, you’re going to lose this battle entirely.

But then he looks up at you, his eyes soft and pleading, his lips swollen from the kisses he’s trailed across your body, and you know you’re done for. He’s high, sure, but there’s something in his gaze that’s entirely genuine—a need to make you feel good, to lose himself in the act of worshiping your body.

You swallow hard, your breath catching in your throat as you nod, just once, and it’s all the permission he needs. He grins, and there’s that boyish charm again, the kind that makes your stomach flip in the most ridiculous way.

“Thank you,” he breathes out, and before you can even process what’s happening, he’s tugging your shorts fully down your legs, tossing them aside with zero care about where they land. His hands find your thighs, spreading them apart with a gentle insistence that makes your heart pound in your chest. He’s on a mission, and that mission is apparently you.

You try to brace yourself for what’s coming, but nothing—nothing—could have prepared you for the way Clayton dives in like a man starved. His mouth is hot, wet, and insistent, and the first swipe of his tongue against you has your back arching off the bed. He’s not wasting any time, his mouth moving with a kind of single-minded focus that makes your head spin.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your hands flying to his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands as you try to ground yourself. He hums against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your entire body, and you know you’re in trouble. Big, big trouble.

Clayton’s always been good at this—like, freakishly good—but tonight? Tonight, he’s on a whole other level. Maybe it’s the weed, maybe it’s the fact that he’s so damn into it, but whatever it is, it’s working, and you’re rapidly losing any semblance of control.

Your mind is a mess of sensations, each flick of his tongue, each gentle suck driving you closer to the edge. You’re not even sure how long he’s been at it—time has lost all meaning, and all you can focus on is the way he’s making you feel. The heat is building, a coil of pleasure tightening in your core, and you know it won’t be long now.

“Clay,” you pant, your voice shaky and breathless. “Oh god, Clayton, I—”

But he’s not stopping. In fact, he’s doubling down, his mouth working you with an intensity that has you trembling, your thighs quivering around his head as he pulls you closer to the brink. You can feel the pleasure building, a tidal wave that’s about to crash over you, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it—not that you’d want to.

And then, just when you think you can’t take it anymore, he moans against you, taking such obvious pleasure in it that the sound vibrates through your entire body, and that’s it. The coil snaps, and you’re free-falling into pure, unadulterated bliss. You cry out, your fingers tightening in his hair as your orgasm crashes over you, wave after wave of pleasure washing through you in a way that leaves you breathless, trembling, and utterly spent.

Clayton doesn’t let up, his mouth working you through your climax with a kind of reverence that makes your heart swell in your chest. He’s not just doing this because he’s high—he’s doing it because he loves it, loves you, and that thought alone is enough to send a fresh wave of warmth flooding through you.

When you finally come down from the high, your body relaxing back into the bed, you realize with a start that Clayton’s still there, still between your legs, nuzzled up to your thigh. He’s breathing hard, his cheeks flushed as if he’s drunk on you along with being stoned, and when he looks up at you, there’s a smug, satisfied grin on his face that makes you want to smack him and kiss him all at once.

You can practically see the gears turning in his head, and despite everything, you can’t help but roll your eyes. The man just gave you the kind of orgasm that makes you question your life choices, and now he’s looking at you like a puppy who’s proud of himself for learning a new trick.

“Clay,” you start, but your voice is weak, more of a croak than the firm reprimand you were aiming for. You should be getting up, throwing on some clothes, and dragging him to dinner with his parents. You should be the responsible one. But you’re not moving. In fact, your legs feel like they’ve turned to jelly, and all you can do is lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember how to function as a human being.

He hums, lazily kissing your inner thigh, clearly not in any hurry to move. You would take him a lot more serious if his lips weren’t glistening, with, well, you. “Yeah, babe?”

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. He’s still down there, between your legs, like it’s the most natural place in the world for him to be. And maybe it is, but right now, all you can think about is the fact that you have dinner with his parents in, what, forty-five minutes? An hour, if you’re lucky? And here you are, half-naked on the bed, with your high-as-a-kite boyfriend nuzzling your thigh like it’s the most comfortable pillow he’s ever found.

“We really need to get up,” you say, though even you can hear the lack of conviction in your voice.

“Mmm, don’t wanna,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your skin. “Wanna stay right here.”

You let out a groan, not entirely sure if it’s from frustration or the lingering pleasure still coursing through your veins. “Clayton, we have to go to dinner.”

He finally lifts his head, looking up at you with those hazy, love-drunk eyes that make your heart do a ridiculous little flip. “But I’m not done,” he says, as if that’s a perfectly valid excuse for skipping a family dinner.

You blink at him, trying to process what he just said. “Not… done?”

He grins, that boyish, slightly cocky smile that usually precedes him getting his way. “I mean, I could do this all night. I really, really like doing this for you. Makes me feel all… I dunno. Good. Happy.” He’s rambling now, his words tumbling out in a way that’s both endearing and a little infuriating. “You taste so fucking good, babe. Seriously. It’s like… fuck. I don’t even have words for it. I just wanna make you feel good. Again. And again. Until you can’t even think straight.”

Oh, you’re definitely not thinking straight. In fact, you’re pretty sure all coherent thought has flown out the window the moment he started talking about how much he likes going down on you. And the worst part? He’s completely sincere. This isn’t just the weed talking—this is Clayton being his ridiculously sweet, overly affectionate self, and it’s making it really, really hard to be the responsible one.

“Clayton,” you say again, trying to muster up some authority, but it comes out more like a plea than anything else. You should be getting up. You should be dragging him to the shower, dousing him with cold water, and forcing him into some semblance of sobriety before facing his parents. But instead, you’re lying there, letting him nuzzle your thigh, his breath warm against your skin, and all you can think about is how good it felt to have him between your legs, how good it would feel to let him do it again.

But you’re supposed to be the responsible one.

“Babe,” he murmurs, his voice low and a little rough, “please let me. Just one more time. I promise I’ll be good after. I just… I can’t stop thinking about it. You. How you taste. How you look when you come. God, it’s like… it’s the only thing I want right now.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you have to bite down on your lip to keep from moaning at the sheer desperation in his voice. He’s practically begging, and it’s doing things to you—things that are making it very, very difficult to stay focused on the whole “responsible girlfriend” thing.

You swallow hard, trying to gather your thoughts. “Clay,” you start, but before you can get another word out, he’s already leaning in, pressing his lips to the inside of your thigh in a way that makes your toes curl.

“I’m really good at it, right?” he mumbles against your skin, his voice muffled but still clear enough to make your heart race. “You like it when I do this?”

You want to say something—anything—to stop this before it spirals completely out of control, but all that comes out is a breathy whimper as he trails kisses higher, his tongue darting out to tease you in a way that makes you want to scream.

He grins against your skin, clearly pleased with himself. “Yeah, you like it. I knew it.”

“Clayton, we can’t…” You try again, but it’s a losing battle. Your body is betraying you, every nerve ending screaming for more even as your brain tries to remind you that there’s a dinner reservation looming over your head. But then he’s licking a slow, torturous line up your thigh, and any hope of rational thought flies out the window.

“Just one more time,” he murmurs, his voice soft and coaxing. “Please, babe. I just… I need it. I need you. Let me take care of you, yeah?”

And that’s it. Your resolve crumbles, and you find yourself nodding, even as your brain tries to scream at you that this is a terrible idea. But right now, with Clayton looking at you like you’re the most important thing in the world, you can’t bring yourself to care. This man is thorough, methodical, and once he sets his mind to something, he’s like a dog with a bone—or, in this case, like a stoned hockey player with a serious oral fixation.

“Okay,” you whisper, and the word is barely out of your mouth before he’s diving back in, his mouth hot and insistent as he picks up right where he left off. You’re gasping, your hands flying to his hair as you arch into him, all thoughts of dinner, responsibilities, and anything outside of this room fading into oblivion.

And as he works you over with a kind of focused intensity that leaves you breathless, you can’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—being the responsible one is overrated. At least, that’s what you’re telling yourself as he sends you spiraling into another earth-shattering climax, your mind going blissfully blank as you lose yourself in the overwhelming pleasure.

So much for being responsible. But honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

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