#i never said it was an easy monologue

[talentforlying]

one of these days i'm going to write up all that i've changed from azzarello's bullshit era and the one (1) piece i've kept from milligan (and also changed) and the only thing currently stopping me is that it is going to be so, so inside-baseball incomprehensible. and i almost never want to go reading/screencapping azzarello and milligan to add references but i Want to add references.

canon is goop, just know that we continue to ride the bus down "hellblazer ended at #250 and looks like swiss cheese before that" street.

[tonycries]

Hope They Catch Us - G.S.

Synopsis. When you’re on-screen, it’s always a rivalry to see who’s best - you just never thought that it would be the same struggle in bed.

Pairing. Actor! Gojo Satoru x Co-Star! Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, rivals-to-lovers, co-stars to lovers, unprotected, oral (fem receiving) slight exhíbitionism (stuff with cameras), marking, praise, Satoru is actually down BAD, cúmplay, tabloids, lowkey fluffy at the end, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.5k

A/N. YA GIRL IS BACKKKK ;D Also happy belated three months to this blog hehehe.

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---

You hated him. Oh, how you hated him. All because of a red-hot rivalry that had sparked ever since the two of you took the industry by storm. And everyone from Hollywood’s bigshots to your adoring fans knew that no matter where Gojo Satoru goes, you were sure to never be within a ten-mile radius. 

Well, usually. 

“I…shit- I’m in love with you.” 

Because avoiding Gojo like a plague really isn’t saying much when said plague was currently sitting right next to you. Eyes boring into yours, signature smirk plastered on his face while he rattles off a disgustingly sweet confession - all on the set of your latest movie. 

Somehow, in a cruel twist of fate, your co-star. 

And to add insult to injury, this wasn’t just any movie - it was only set to be the biggest romance film of the summer. So not only did you hate to tolerate Gojo, you had to pretend to be in love with him. 

Perfect. Great. Wonderful. If only the check wasn’t as tempting as it was, you think he would’ve successfully driven you to an aneurysm already. Especially considering that the scene tomorrow was-

“CUT!” 

That snaps you out of your little reverie, bringing you back to the still very ongoing film shooting. You risk a glance at the disgruntled director, cheeks aching from the sappy fake smile you had to hold for this scene.

“Something wrong?” you bat your lashes deceivingly innocently. You knew exactly what was wrong. And one look at Gojo - dressed to the nines and huffing sulkily at being interrupted in the middle of his monologue - told you that he did as well.

“It just doesn’t feel real.” The director shuffles his script, voice dropping to a sigh at your confused gazes. “The spark, it doesn't feel real.”

“What?” you silently thank your years of acting for keeping your voice steady. You squirm in your seat the longer the silence stretches. This cozy little café they rented out too tight, Gojo’s fingers intertwined with yours too hot. Too soft. 

“C’mon. You are in the perfect romantic set-up.” the other man gestures wearily at the café, at the dim-lighting and the proximity of your seats. “So why do you two look like you want to just- strangle each other?”

“Ooo kinky~”

It’s the first time Gojo’s spoken up since the scene was ended early and honestly that was enough to have you fulfilling the director’s suspicions. 

“That.” you give him a pointed stare. “That is probably why.”

And that just draws out such an infuriatingly light chuckle from Gojo, as he sprawls all over his chair with the audacity of someone that owned this entire set. “Lighten up. You’ve told us, n’ in the next take I’ll fix it. Easy peasy.”

If only it was that “easy peasy”. The director was anything but satisfied, running a hand through his hair frustratedly. “It’s not just me, even the public is worried whether your ‘feud’ will get in the way of such intimate scenes. You-” he jabs a finger your way. “-better pretend like you want to kiss him senseless and you-” whirling now to Gojo. “-better act like you’ve wanted nothing more for years- Not to mention tomorrow’s sex scene-”

Ah, right. The sex scene. 

How could you forget? It might not be a walk in the park to giggle and make heart-eyes at Gojo, but to actually pretend to have sex with him? All on camera? Curse whoever wrote this damn script. You could’ve almost laughed at the universe’s absolutely awful sense of humor if it hadn’t been for your paycheck - and the next words that tumble out of Gojo’s pretty mouth. 

“We’ll ace it, you just watch.” 

You hurriedly snap your eyes to meet Gojo’s, sending him a look that says “behave”, in a way that very much makes him not want to. Twinkling with such dangerous mischief that makes your stomach flip as he hums, “Or- I’ll ace it.”

God, was it a battle to remain professional. The only thing stopping you from snapping back being the way he squeezes your hand mockingly reassuringly - to which you send him a death grip back, of course. 

“Oh? Care to elaborate, Mr. Gojo?” the director asks, eyes flitting between the two of you. And you can’t even laugh at the rest of the staff for almost toppling out of their seats in an attempt to hear his answer - because you are, too. Mind whirling as you lean closer, wondering just what nonsense would come out of Gojo’s mouth. 

“Well, you could say…” he trails off suspensefully, like the smug bastard he is. Looking right in your eyes as he flashes an unfairly pretty smile your way. “I’m irresistible like that.”

Exactly the type of nonsense that would come out of Gojo Satoru, of course. And one glance at the director told you he was thinking the same thing. He was going to be the death of you. You can’t help but breathe out shrilly, “You fucking-”

“My apologies, director, but our leads have a scheduled interview soon. Rest assured, we will be early on set for filming tomorrow.”

You were definitely giving Nanami a raise after this. 

Because if looks could kill then Gojo would be six feet under and you’d be dancing on his grace already - and you let him know. A little over twenty times, actually, as the both of you are hastily escorted away from the set for an “emergency interview”. 

It was a flimsy excuse, you both knew, but Nanami hadn’t exactly felt like cleaning up a crime scene today. Instead, settling for a swift escape, the director calling out after you two to “Look like you’re gonna rip the clothes off each other tomorrow.”

Rip the clothes off each other, huh?

With the way things were going, you couldn’t be surprised if you ripped him a new-

“C’mon, sweetheart~” Gojo gets out through giggles, that familiar cackle echoing in the narrow hallway leading to your trailer. “Y’know I was just having a little fun with that ol’ man.”

He saunters unhurriedly behind your brisk pace, easily blocking the way you swing the door shut in his face. Letting it shut with such infuriatingly smooth nonchalance. 

“Fun?” you scoff, jabbing an accusing finger right in the middle of his sculpted chest.“Do you even realize the mess you could’ve made?”

“Easy there, m’not insured for these pecs just yet.” Gojo clasps your hands together. Some strange little part of your skin burning at the touch in- anger? Something else? But you don’t think too hard about it, because he’s plowing on, “Besides, a little teasing never hurt anyone.”

Such a shame he was so pretty with the stupidest mouth.

“A little teasing? You practically declared to everyone in that room that we’re gonna fuck this up.” you move to pull him down by the collar instead, clearly unimpressed.

But oh you shouldn’t have done that - because he’s so close now. Too close. Hot breath fanning your face, looking so smug as he murmurs unrepentantly, “Do you?” Chuckling lightly at your little head tilt, “Do you think we’ll fuck it up?”

You clench your jaw, trying to keep it all together. “...No.”

“Exactly. We’re good then.” he winks. 

“No. We’re not fucking ‘good’.” you grit out. Wondering exactly how difficult it might be to bother the director into completely recasting the male lead for the movie. Looking up at that million dollar smile and- yeah, it would be very difficult. “You’re so insufferable. I don’t know why they cast you.” 

“My good looks? My charisma? The way I’m the-” he trails off with a sigh at your glare. “Well, you’re not exactly a ray of sunshine, sweetheart.”

“At least I can act and-.”

He whines dramatically, cutting off your rant. “Me too!” 

This conversation was so ridiculous - but, hey, the great Gojo Satoru always did bring out the worst parts of you. 

“Nuh uh.” 

“Yuh uh.” 

“Then why are you so stiff when acting like you’re in love with me?”

Somehow, that makes Gojo shut up. Mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water - gasping out a strangled little, “B-because- well-” And if you didn’t know any better you’d say that was a light blush dusting his ears.

Only for a split-second, though, because he’s grabbing you gently by your shoulders, more seriously than you’d ever seen him. “Fine. Listen, we both want the same thing right? To have pretend-sex and ace this film to win like five Oscars?”

And maybe at the heat of his newfound proximity, maybe at the way he was looking at you so goddamn intensely - you feel something hot and prickly pooling in your stomach. Swallowing thickly, you manage to get out, “I’ll be the one winning the Oscars...but yes.”

Gojo’s gaze roams all over you - from the quirk of your eyebrow to the dress hugging you so sinfully tight. “Then we’ll do it. Ace the scene.”

Traitorously, a shiver runs down your spine. And because the universe loves to play jokes on you, Gojo notices - of course, he does. Eyes lighting up with amusement and something you really didn’t want to decipher as you blink up questioningly, “How?”

“Method acting, silly.” he rolls his eyes, as if he wasn’t implying something that wasn’t seen in even the cheesiest of romcoms. “Think of it as running lines.”

If there was ever a moment where your life flashed behind your eyes then this just might be it. 

“You-” you gulp, so hot all over. “You better shut the fuck up and pray your face is insured because-”

At this, Gojo throws his head back and laughs - loud and boisterous. And usually you’d have a thing or two to say about keeping his voice down so as not to let anyone outside hear, but shit you were mesmerized. Damn, a weird little part of you kind of understood why directors loved him onscreen. 

“Feisty,” he muses. “But how can I shut the fuck up when they’re second-guessing the two best actors in the game?” 

“The best? Me, maybe.” you lean in closer, mouth as bitchy as ever - even when you’re so obviously crumbling bit by bit under his gaze. And he knew that. “But not you.”

“Well, only way to find out is with tomorrow’s scene, right, sweetheart?” 

He drove you mad - everything from his heady cologne, to the way that overpriced button-up clung to him like second skin. But, don’t pull away - how could you? Not when he inches closer ever-so-slightly. Not when he lets those overpriced glasses slide down his nose, eyes locked so heavily on you.

Fighting to keep your words steady, “There’s nothing special about that scene, just fake moan in front of the camera, right? We don’t need any…‘method acting’.”

Gojo only raises a brow in amusement, lips curling into a grin that really makes you too aware of his little dimple by the corner. “Then why…” His eyes flicker down from his hands, searing on your shoulders, to yours - still grabbing his collar, just grazing the soft skin of his neck. Not pulling away. “...can’t you let go of me, sweetheart?”

And then you’re kissing him - or maybe he’s kissing you, you really don’t give a fuck. The only thing running through your mind being that shit this was Gojo bane-of-your-existence Satoru, and he tasted so…sweet. Like those cheap lollipops he often snuck on-set. Strawberry, you think.

But you don’t get to confirm, because suddenly he’s pulling away mere millimeters. Whispering hotly, absolutely dripping with something dangerous, “Sooo, is that a ‘yes’ to running lines?”

“Ugh, shut up.” your lips ghost his. “And just fucking kiss me.”

And, well, Gojo doesn’t have to be asked twice. Because it only takes a split second for his lips to find yours again. 

Yeah, definitely strawberry lollipops.

You hadn’t filmed any of the kissing scenes just yet, but damn you didn’t expect him to be so hot and messy - like he was drunk off of you. Licking at the seam of your candied lips, groaning softly like he wanted more more more-

“Sh-shit, Goj-” 

“Call me ‘Satoru’ when we’re fucking.” he cuts you off. “Or, my bad. When we’re ‘running lines’.” 

Shameless. Though, you guess you weren’t any better - not as you press yourself closer running your hands all over his sinfully thin shirt, feeling every bump and curve of his abs. “You talk too much, Toru.” you hiss, muffled against his lips. 

Oh that cute lil’ nickname had all the blood rushing to Satoru’s cock, you were so unfair. 

“You little minx.” Like a little punishment, he’s biting down on your bottom lip, tugging lightly at your surprised squeal. “You’re gonna regret that.”

“Hmm, I doubt it.”

And then your back is hitting the couch before you can react, bouncing lightly at the sheer force. And you’re so swept up in him - the way he hovers over you, arms looping around your waist, his knee wedging between your legs - that it almost hurts for you to pull away.

“Patience.” you huff out a laugh at Satoru’s disappointed whine, eyeing those pretty pink lips mere inches away from you. You just wanted them on yours. So badly. But no, there was something more important you had to do right now. “Jus’ thought we should record our little rehearsal, whaddaya think?”

“Record it?”

“Record it.”

“Record it, hmmm?” he’s whispering, more to himself than you. Fumbling with the zipper of your dress. “So you’re sayin’ we tape it, let the camera see how pretty you look all fallin’ apart f’me.” Kissing down your neck, letting the flimsy fabric fall down, “N’ then we improve for the pretend sex. Shut all those snobby directors up by giving them the best fucking sex scene they’ve ever seen.”

“Y-yes?” you mutter, as he starts tweaking your hardened nipples through your bra, clearly having way too much fun with this. “Unless-”

“Fine by me.”

The fabric hits the floor before you even realize what’s happening. Head spinning too much from the idea of being fucked on camera - by Satoru of all people, it takes you a second to realize that this bastard fucking ripped your dress off. 

“You probably broke-” 

“I’ll buy you a new one.” muffled, as he kisses down your navel, blindly fumbling with his phone. 

“It was expensive.”

With an impatient sigh, Satoru sets the camera up on the coffee table beside the couch. “Five new ones.” Angling it just right to perfectly capture you - in all your disheveled, horny glory, and Satoru, smugly seating himself between your thighs. 

“Ready?” he asks, finger hovering over that damn red button.

Well, it’s just for rehearsal, right? Right? 

“Do it.” you manage to get out, voice getting stuck in your throat at the faint ding! that rings throughout the heady room. “For my Oscars?”

“For my Oscars. N’the camera’s gonna know.”

And whatever retort on the tip of your tongue dies when he rocks his hip against yours, grinding his cock against your soaked panties. Rock-hard and so damp with precum already - so big that any and all rational thinking flies out the window.

Which is probably why you’re letting out such a pretty gasp, ‘S-Satoru, I want-“

“What?” And Satoru only flashes you a devilish grin, hands spreading your legs as far as they’d go on the couch. “This?”

He licks a long, long stripe up your inner thigh, all the way till he just meets the hem of your drenched panties. Teasing. So hot and depraved in the way he breathes in your scent. 

“Oh fuck, sweetheart.” Satoru grunts, looking down in awe at the damp fabric, so flimsy and see-through with your sweet juices. You slick beading through so sloppily, just a hint of the state you were in. “You don’t know how you drive me mad.”

Rip! 

He’s so fucking starved that he’s just tearing your poor panties clean off. Throwing them behind him to God-knows-where before spreading your swollen folds with his thumb, showing off just how wet you were for him. 

“You’re a tease.”

“And you’re fucking addictive. Look how fuckin’ wet you are. For who, huh?” he slurs, breath hot against your cunt. Circling your entrance just barely with his fingertip, teasing you like he was addicted to those frustrated moans coming out of your pretty lips. 

“S’for you-” you whine, “All for you, Satoru.”

“Exactly what I wanted to hear.”

And that’s all that needs to be said before he’s burying himself nose-deep. Drunk off your pussy as he licks long, languid movements. And it wasn’t enough - never might be, actually, because only one taste and Satoru was like a man possessed. 

Bullying his tongue between your folds, just dipping into your sloppy hole in a way that had your slick smearing all over his pretty face. Letting out such deep groans that had you clenching around his hot tongue. 

Shit, if you knew that this was the way to shut up the great Gojo Satoru then you would’ve done it a lot sooner. Because for one in his life, Satoru’s too entranced with something else to run his mouth, so fucking satisfied between your thighs. 

“Fuck- hah- think I like you better w-when hngh- you’re like this, Toru.” you purr, breath hitching as he bullies his tongue between your folds. 

Maybe you were an idiot - maybe you were a genius, because that only sets him off more. 

And suddenly Satoru’s pulling your body closer onto his hot mouth, like you were weighless. Pushing himself so impossibly closer while he makes out deeper with your wet cunt. 

“Ah! Hngh- Satoru-” you keen, tugging at his soft locks. As delirious as Satoru was pussydrunk. Drinking in all your cute lil’ whines of his name, angling your hips to lick all over like he couldn’t decide between fucking your sloppy hole or toying with your poor, ravaged clit. 

“Mhm?” he murmurs, the vibrations making you squeal.  Eyes rolling to the back of his head as lets your sweet juices slide down his throat. “Ya like this?” Stretching you out on his tongue, thrusting in and out of your sloppy hole. Over and over- “Like when I tonguefuck your pretty pussy?”

“Ngh- love it- s’good. Ah fillin’ me up s’good.” you squeal, bucking your hips desperately into his pretty face, broken little whimpers leaving you at each rough push of Satoru’s tongue. 

And oh Satoru thinks he wouldn’t mind being on his knees every day if it meant he got to taste you like this. “Tell the camera too, sweetheart. Practice how you’ll come around my tongue.”

Those words send a jolt up your spine - or maybe it was the way Satoru was sucking harshly on your clit. “F-fuck off.”

“Mhmmm, n’ this is why I’m the better actor..”

Ugh, this fucker. And with that you fight to turn your head - looking right in the camera. Feeling so fucking lewd as you let out such pornographic moans.

“Yeah- feel s’good.” you whimper, “Wanted this for so long, ever since I first saw- ngh- you-”

And shit were you so fucking evil - at least warn a guy! Because that has Satoru’s heart lurching, almost jumping up from between your legs before it hits him with a pang - ah, right, you were just quoting your character’s lines. Of course.

Well, two can play that game.

“Yeah?” he mutters into your folds. Two fingers plunging knuckle-deep in your pussy, massaging your plushy walls. Roaming around for that one spot he knows will have you falling apart so deliciously. “Can’t believe I waited s’fucking long. Y’know how hard it was to hold back? With you wearing all those slutty skirts f’me?”

Your body is jerking violently, both at his - practiced - words, and the way he was devouring you like you were his favorite meal. His favorite taste.

So eager and in-character with the way he was setting such a dizzying pace on your poor cunt. Slick trailing down from his fingers, all the way to his wrist. So sloppy and- Pressing down. Hard. “Found it.”

And you can only sit there and take it, such cute little whines of Satoru’s name leaving you as he leaves no mercy. Jaw grinding deeper and deeper, maddening. Aching as he rolls and swirls his tongue against your clit over and over. And you were so-

“Close?” Satoru’s grunting and smacking his lips against your own. Truthfully, he didn’t even have to ask - if the way you were trembling and squeezing so fucking tightly around him was anything to go by. “Go on darling. scream my name. Show off f’the camera like you do best.”

“Sh-shit. Toru- fuck yes-” you’ve got an iron-tight grip on his hair now, pulling and angling him as you pleased for more. Barely able to let out those strained lil’ moans, definitely not with the way he’s dragging your sloppy pussy all over his face. Fingers cramping up from how rough he was going - but still not stopping. 

“Go on. Cum f’me.”

And then you are. Letting out such a teary, strangled moan of Satoru’s name as you cum all over his face. 

And it’s not just for the camera either - because this orgasm is probably the best one you’ve had in a while. So hard that you don’t even realize you’re arching and rocking your hips into Satoru, white-hot pleasure behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. Using him. 

And he doesn’t stop you. Why would he? You were so pretty falling apart all because of him. He wishes he could see this more often…

“S-Satoru.” you mewl, overstimulated. Jolting with each flick of his tongue, trying to close your legs but you can’t - he won’t let you. Greedily lapping up all your sweet juices, everything that you give him. 

“Nope.” he drawls, finally pulling away, delicate strings of your slick snapping as he does. Looking so fucking drunk off of you that it makes your cunt quiver exhaustedly. “C’mon now, sweetheart, you were s’pposed to say my character’s name. S’how the scene goes.”

Oh. Shit, you got too caught up. But one look at Satoru - eyes half-lidded, hair disheveled, your juices glistening all over the bottom half of his face so prettily - tells you he was much the same. 

“Well…” you huff, voice shot. “According to the script you were supposed to stuff that-” pointedly eyeing the achingly hard cock straining his pants, “-in my mouth first before eating me out. So here we are.”

With a chuckle, he rises slowly. “Touché.” Looking you straight in the eyes - and probably into your very soul - as he pops his fingers into his mouth. One by one. Groaning at the taste of your sweet sweet juices while he sucks them clean. “But I don’t think I’d last one second with those pretty lips wrapped around my cock.”

And it almost makes you want to tease him for it - one of Hollywood’s biggest It Boys but you can’t handle a lil’ blowjob? But all of that gets stuck in your throat as Satoru starts peeling off his shirt ever-so-slowly. 

Shit, you think. All mouthwatering curves and dips, all the way from his toned, milky shoulders down, down, down to those neat tufts of white peeking out from the hem of his underwear. Sculpted like he was handcrafted so meticulously - a fucking masterpiece, you had to admit. 

One that made you wish you took a longer look at all those shirtless magazine covers instead of throwing them out. One that had your thighs squeezing in such anticipation.

And Satoru seemed to be admiring you just the same, eyes locked on your pussy, the way it glistens and clenches around nothing - so ready for him. Distinctly aware of how pathetically needy you were being in front of the blinking camera, you crane your head to glance at it. Was it really capturing-

“Now now, first rule is to never look at the camera during this scene.” Only for Satoru to squish your cheeks together, forcing you into an embarrassing little pout as he turns you back to face him. “Look at me.”

And oh you can’t not look at him. 

Especially when he tugs his pants down, just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, so fucking long and pretty. Smearing glossy precum all over his abs, flushed your favorite shade of pink, rock-hard and so so angry. Shit, he was so hard it looked like it hurt. 

“Satoru…” you breathe, legs wrapping around his slutty waist to pull him closer. Only needier despite that little nagging voice wondering how the fuck you’d take his sheer size.

“Sweetheart?”

“I remember he didn’t do a lot of waiting in the script.”

And God were you right - but Satoru doesn’t think he could’ve kept this act of restraint up any longer even if you weren’t. Too impatient, too starved, his sanity dancing away from him with each second his fat cock wasn’t stuffed inside your pretty cunt. 

“Mhm.” he purrs, one hand reaching down to drag his fat head up and down your slit. Heavy balls squeezing painfully at the way your lip wobbles in frustration. Up and down up and up and- “You’re right.”

And then it’s like something snaps.

Because it only takes a split-second for Satoru to start splitting you apart on his massive cock. Big fat tears pricking at your eyes at the feeling that he was pushing all the way into your lungs. 

“Sh-shit, s’fuckin’ tight-” he lets out a low grunt at the slight resistance, taking everything in him to not just fuck into your snug pussy and use you like his little plaything. “You gotta hah- relax, pretty girl.”

You needed to relax more - to breathe maybe, just something. You weren’t even in the right state to wonder whether that little nickname was in the script - and God was Satoru thankful for that. Because all you can think of is how you never imagined what the bane of your existence would look with his cock stuffed in your dripping cunt - but now that you’ve seen it, you think you’ll imagine it for many lonely nights to come. 

“Hey, now. Don’t get camera-shy just yet.” Satoru gives your ass a playful smack. “After all, this is only the best- part-”

Each word is punctuated with shallow, mindless little thrust to fit himself inside your dripping pussy. Such cute lil’ whines leaving your swollen lips that he really can’t help but tease you a bit. Leering down at your fucked-out face with a smirk, “Or- my bad. Forgot such a scene would be hard for a rookie.”

Oh, did he know how to press your buttons just right. 

Because immediately, you’re blinking away the delirious haze in your eyes, voice so adorably shaky - but determined - as you grit out, “Bring it on, you B-list wonder.”

That’s all that has to be said before he’s finally bottoming out inside you, mercilessly. Inch by fucking inch. You gasp as his twitching balls smack your ass so lewdly, feeling his veins beat in such a slutty lil’ thump! thump! thump! against your heavenly walls. 

“T-Toru- big- ngh- too fuckin’ big. M’gonna break mpf-” his lips claim yours. Partially because it’s been way too long since he’s kissed your pretty lips, and partially because Satoru might just cum right then and there if he let you run your mouth. 

So he lets his hips do the talking instead. 

Cooing into your mouth at each little ah! ah! ah! every time he stuffed you full of his dick, quick, experimental thrusts to try and find that one spot he knows will have you falling apart so prettily.

“Sounds so beautiful, sweetheart.” rocking his hips faster into yours. So hard you were sure he’d leave marks. “No camera in the world can pick up how fuckin’ perfect ya are. Can’t ngh- pick up those cockdrunk lil’ heart eyes.” Angling your chin just so that your sinful expression is caught on camera, “Shit do ya even know you’re doing those? Might just make me lose it for real tomorrow. Might just make me sneak you off to the dressing rooms n’-” Manicured fingers digging into your hips while he fucks you in jagged, purposeful strokes. Hitting that one spot. Hard. “Fuck you all over again.”

You flinch as he uses you like some object. Dangerously liking it more and more as he smugly hits that magical spot over and over- 

And it was so sloppy - so filthy with the way Satoru still had remnants of your slick all over his lips, matching the way you were soaking his cock. Fingers moving down to draw erratic little patterns on your clit, making it even messier. 

Close - too close. 

So, so desperate and debauched.

“C’mon. Show the camera. Tell the camera how much you love it.” 

“Ngh- f-fuck you.”

“Oh? Who’s fucking who now?” he’s laughing at your absolutely wrecked state. You can feel Satoru twitch inside you as you mumble out such delirious little praises to the camera - were they coherent sentences? You’ll never know, because the next words that fall from his lips have your mind reeling. 

“God, m’addicted to you, my girl.”

“That’s not- ah- in the script, Toru.” you hiss. Close. 

“I know. And neither is that.” he leaves such uncharacteristically gentle kisses down your neck. Miles away from the relentless place on your poor, abused pussy, fucking you deeper and rougher every time despite already bottoming out. “Does it have to be?”

“Th-that doesn’t ngh- make sense.” you gasp into his open mouth. 

“Doesn’t have to.”

Maybe it’s the way Satoru’s panting those words against your lips. Or maybe it’s the way he’s looking right in your eyes while he says them - like it would kill him to pull away. Maybe even that fleeting little kiss he leaves against your lips. 

Because before you know it, you’re cumming and cumming so hard that you wonder whether you’d make it out alive. The only thing you can do is throw your head back and take it, thighs quivering, Satoru’s names spilling from your lips in such broken little whines while he thrusts so sloppy. Once. Twice. 

“Ah- this is gonna have me fallin’, huh?” And then he’s letting out such a low, muffled moan of your name, filling you up with rope after rope of his cum. 

What? 

It’s so messy - his cum overfilling your poor pussy, spilling out and coating his twitching balls. Shit, you can’t even worry about whether it would stain that overpriced couch below you. Not when Satoru’s whispering out sweet- lines from the script?

“Fuckin’ beautiful underneath me. Always was.” Hips still fucking into you - not even thinking at this point. “Always will be. Such a vision onscreen, sweetheart.” So thick and hot, and dribbling all the way down your legs with every movement.

And then Satoru’s lips are finding yours again, tasting so unfairly sweet while he drinks in all your cute breathless gasps. “Such a vision f’me.”

Those weren’t from the script either.

Something soft. Something scary. Something that has you looping your legs tighter around his waist, letting him collapse onto you. Pulling him closer, in fact, because now that you know the weight of his body on yours, it just felt so right.

It takes a moment of silence for you two to catch your breaths, the still rolling camera being the last thing on your minds. Neither willing to speak first, because shit Satoru might’ve gone to countless red carpets and film sets but this - you are what strips him away from all the glamor and fame. Until he was just, well, embarrassingly Satoru.

The Satoru that was now shifting shyly in your arms, trying to get up. “Uh- Hell of a way to run lines, huh? Better check the camera n’ see where to impro-”

He might be one of the biggest actors in modern Hollywood, but Satoru didn’t fool you - not one bit. So without a word, you’re tugging him back to rest against you. Heart lurching just a little bit as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. Like a little hideaway - from the camera, from the world, hell, maybe even from you.

“Y’know,” he flinches ever-so-slightly at your teasing tone, giving you a playful bite. “I have one area of suggestion and it might just be that you’re too good at ‘running lines’.”

“...Good enough to win those five Oscars?”

“No.”

“Then guess I better prove it to ya, huh? Is the camera still on, sweetheart?”

Just then, some weird little part of you thinks that, hell, maybe you don’t hate Gojo Satoru after all.

Not anymore, at least. 

---

The Enemies-To-Lovers Trope of The Century?! Hollywood’s Biggest Rivals Sport Matching Hickeys (And Smiles) On-Set of Upcoming Film.

Oops! Gojo Satoru's Phone Wallpaper Accidentally Exposed: Surprise, Surprise It’s His Leading Lady! More on Page 6.

“No Comment. Though, I Have Moved Trailers. Twice.” Anonymous Manager Speaks on Latest Movie Rumors.

Director Is All Smiles As He Raves About Upcoming Romance Movie. “Hell, If I Didn’t Know Any Better I’d Say They Were Really-”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part 3: Bubble Tea

“Hey.” Kyle murmurs, hand lightly grazing over your shoulders to rest on the back of your neck. His palm feels warm on your skin and you unconsciously lean back into it.

“Hm?” You look up from where you were hunched over your phone - definitely not shopping for a new purse on company time.

“Gonna go pick up lunch f’the shop. Want t’ come with? I don’t think I can carry it all myself.” He asks. His eyes are always so soft when he looks at you. Relaxed and bright with that constant slight quirk in the corners of his lips.

“Oh! Yeah, sounds good.” You grin, standing quickly and grabbing your wallet out of your purse to shove into your back pocket. Might as well get something for yourself if you’re going out. “Where are we heading?”

“That poke place a couple blocks up.” Kyle nods in the intended direction.

You follow him out of the shop. The weather has begun to warm more. Still cool enough for long sleeves but the sun feels nice on your face as you trot up the street, speed walking to keep up with Kyle and his accursed long legs.

“Switch with me.” Kyle murmurs, hand flattening on your lower back as he steps to the road side of the sidewalk.

You snort, cheeks warming when his hand remains a few beats longer than necessary. “How chivalrous.”

He chuckles. “My grandad always said t’never let a lady walk by the street. Guess it stuck with me.”

As much as you want to tease him about playing into gender roles, you can’t lie and say you don’t like it. That it doesn’t make your heart patter and your stomach flutter. Growing up fat, you never really got the chance to be treated delicately. Femininely. Always expected to be tougher, louder, more masculine. It feels good. Healing, in a way, as stupid as it is.

God, your inner monologue is embarrassing.

The shop is smaller than you expected. Tucked away like many buildings in this downtown with a short, blue awning shading the teal colored door. It’s surprisingly crowded too, people packed in like sardines and filing in and out quickly. The inside is nicely decorated - a few tables off to the side that no one seems to stay at. They more so seem to act as a waiting spot until people get their food and head out. The menu board is shaped like a bright blue, wall-length fish.

“Ladies first.” Kyle grins, opening the door for you. You roll your eyes at him, earning a pinch to your side in return. It’s almost strange how easy things are with him - with all of them. You don’t think you’ve ever been this comfortable around a group of men before. That would probably make you sad if you thought about it for long enough.

Kyle passes you a little clipboard with a stack of papers to customize your poke bowl and a small pen. He begins filling out three for the others, seemingly from memory. You wonder how often they come down here - if it’s their favorite local spot or just convenient. You look over his shoulder, snooping for the others preferences. Apparent Simon likes a lot of spice. Johnny, not so much.

Your eyes widen as you reach the bottom of your menu. “They have boba!”

“You want some?” Kyle grins.

You nod excitedly. Like a kid discovering a new candy. It’s been so long since you got your hands on some bubble tea - if you’d known they had it sooner you would’ve been in here nearly everyday. Then again, maybe it’s good that you didn’t know.

Kyle holds out his hand. You look between it and his face dumbly for a few moments, clutching your order in your hands before putting the pieces together.

“I can get my own!” You insist. “I don’t-“

“Price’s treat, love.” He snags the paper from your hands. “He always pays when we come here.”

“Oh. Okay.” You chew your lip. “I can at least pay for my drink, since it’s extra-“

He just waves you off and marches up to the register. You don’t miss the fact that he pulls out a very shiny credit card. So it’s not Price’s treat. It’s a company treat, eh?

Not that you’re going to complain. Free poke and boba is a dream come true.

Kyle takes your little plastic number, ducking to snag a now freed up table to wait at. They’re tall, causing you to scramble unceremoniously to get up in the heightened chair. You think you see him laughing out of the corner of your eye, but as soon as you face him he’s just sitting with that usual, casual smile of his.

One of the workers brings over your drinks in a little carrier, saying the food will take a minute longer. You’ve never been patient, greedily grabbing your tea and aggressively stabbing through the cover.

“When do you think John’s gonna let you do your first real tattoo?” You ask, kicking your feet under the tall chair.

Kyle shrugs. “He said soon. I think he’s waitin’ for me to’ be less nervous about it. Plus I need to find someone to do it on-“

“You can do it on me.” You blurt without thinking.

He eyes you. “Really?”

You nod excitedly. “I really like your work - at least what I’ve seen of it. It doesn’t have to be anything big. I’m perfectly happy with one your black-only flashes. That way you can start small.”

“I don’t know…”

“Plus, John says I sit real good. I’m not gonna wriggle and fuck you up.” You chew your straw absentmindedly.

“And what do you get out of this?” Kyle cocks and eyebrow, that slight, constant smirk only growing across his face.

You tap your chin. “Bragging rights when you get famous someday. I got the first official Garrick tattoo ever!”

A surprised laugh forces it’s way out of him, sending him into a coughing fit around the drink he was sipping. “Don’t think I’m gonna be that good, love.”

You reach out, resting your hand over his as a strange wave of seriousness overtakes you. “I don’t think John would take you on as an apprentice if he didn’t think so. Plus, you should hear how much he brags about you. It’s almost insufferable.”

There’s something in his eyes as he gives you another once over. It’s slower this time, dragging up your arm and across your features and back down your other arm, coming to an end where your hand lays over his. Kyle turns his hand upward, brushing his two middle fingers over your pulse point. It steals your breath, strangely enough. He hold your hand so gently, barely cupping it in his.

You wish you could tell what he’s thinking. For all Kyle’s honest and kind nature, he’s hard to read. That perma-smirk hides a lot more than you think you or anyone else realizes.

“Alright. I’ll talk t’John about it.” He murmurs, withdrawing his hand.

“Yah. You better.” You grin, leaning back in your seat just as the food comes out.

[happy74827]

One Call Away

[Wade Wilson x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: During one of his "jobs," Deadpool gets a call from his favorite gal [GIF Creds: jdsheart]

WC: 1970

Category: Fluff, Major Comedy {TW: Deadpool’s Humor/Nonfiltered Personality}

This man is so hard to write. I’m always stressing the noggin when it comes to planning and plotting 😔

『••✎••』

"And away we go..."

One neck crack and a couple of hip twists later, he was off like Aladdin and his fucktoy carpet, scaling the building similarly to a chameleon on LSD.

The only thing that was missing was some epic music.

He'd been chasing this baddie around the city for almost two days now. Some big-shot mob boss with ties to Hydra, or the Mafia, or the Yakuza, or some other three-letter-acronym organization. It was hard to keep track of them all at this point. They were all the same, except for the name.

They all had their own agenda.

Kill him, keep him prisoner, pay him off...

Wade never cared enough to listen because it was always the same. He just got hired to do the dirty work, and the pay was good.

The killing was better.

This one, however, was particularly good at eluding him. He'd been trying to get his hands on this man for a few days now. It wasn't as though he was trying to be stealthy or anything, either. He'd walked right up to his front door, knocked, and was greeted with a spray of machine gun bullets.

So, the usual.

But then the guy ran and didn't stop. It was like the fucking Roadrunner met Sonic the Hedgehog, and they decided to fuck around and find out.

Wade was getting real sick and tired of being a Roadrunner, too. He had a reputation to uphold. He wasn't known as the Merc with the Mouth for nothing. He was supposed to be the one doing the running and the killing.

Not the other way around.

Finally, finally, he managed to reach the roof where the guy was currently taking cover behind a small brick shack. The sun was rising, but it was still dark, and there were a couple of floodlights shining on the rooftop. It made him think of the night he'd had that heart-to-heart with Blind Al, even though all she really wanted was for him to bring her some of that special brownie mix.

What a night that had been.

But anyway, this monologue is starting to get too long, and we should probably move things along, eh?

Right.

So, the baddie.

His name was something long and non-English.

Salvatore, or Santino, or Salvation... Whatever the fuck it was, it didn't really matter. What mattered was that it was time to make him dead.

He stepped around the corner and was met with a spray of bullets, all of which lodged themselves into his Kevlar vest.

"Oh, come on!" he yelled over the sound of the gunfire. "This is real leather, you know. I'm tired of all the offscreen sewing and shit."

When the spray finally ended, he took a moment to catch his breath.

"…ow," he whispered to himself.

"You shouldn't have followed me here," the man said.

"Yeah, whatever," Deadpool replied. "Look, I'll make this easy for you. You drop down and give me fifty, and I'll let you keep that hideous mustache you're sporting."

The man's eyes widened in surprise.

"It's not that bad, is it?"

"Yes, yes it is," Deadpool assured him. "You got a squirrel living in it or something?"

"It's just a little bit of gray, you dick," the man argued. "What about you? What's with the mask? Are you hiding a mustache under there, too, or something? Maybe some acne scars?"

Deadpool shook his head and stepped forward, his guns drawn.

"Don't come any closer!"

"You know, this would be much more intimidating if you didn't look like a cartoon mouse."

"Stop it with the mustache!"

"Alright, alright," Deadpool said. "Enough with the mustache. But what is it about your hairline? I can't put my finger on it."

The man sighed in exasperation and pulled out his pistol, aiming it right at Deadpool's face.

"Hey now, don't point that at me," Deadpool scolded him. "That's not a very nice thing to do."

He ignored him and pulled the trigger, a loud boom ringing out as the bullet fired. It whizzed by him but missed its mark.

"You really are a dick," He grumbled before aiming his gun right between the man's eyes. And he was going to shoot, honest.

He really was.

But then his phone rang, and he was well-reminded of the current song playing through his head.

I'm a buff baby that can dance like a man. I can shake-ah my fanny, I can shake-ah my can!

Needless to say, he was distracted.

He lowered his gun and looked down at his pocket, where his phone was still ringing and still vibrating against his leg.

"Shit, hold that thought," He said to the guy, and he holstered his gun.

"Wh-what the hell are you doing?!"

Deadpool put his finger up to shush him before pulling his phone out of his pocket to answer it.

If you're an evil witch, I’ll punch you for fu—

"Heyyyy," he said in a sing-songy voice, "you've reached the phone sex hotline. For kinks and fetishes, press one. For booty calls, press two. For your favorite mercenary, press three."

"Ey, pendejo—" His opponent started, but he cut him off by snapping and raising his finger.

"Cut it, Tuco Salamanca. Breaking Bad called and wants its meth-cooking mustache back."

"Wha-I-you-"

"Anyways, this is your favorite merc speaking. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?"

"Is this a bad time?"

Wade's eyes widened in shock, and his jaw dropped open when he heard her voice on the other end of the line.

"Baby girl! Is that you? Oh, how I've missed your voice. It's like hearing an angel, or an angelic chorus, or a whole bunch of angels, but you're the most important one. Like, the lead singer or something."

"I literally saw you last night." Your voice was always drenched with the most amazing kind of sarcasm, and he'd missed it.

"And?"

"It's only been a few hours."

"And?"

"That's a short amount of time."

"And?"

You sighed, but he knew you weren't really annoyed.

"Anyways, you sounded busy," you continued, "so I'll just let you go."

"What?! No! Don't hang up!" He shouted into the receiver. "I've only fiddled with my pistols! Nothing interesting is happening right now!"

"Your pistols, huh?" You asked a hint of mischief in your voice.

"Well, yeah. They're the most important part of the mission, you know."

In the corner of his eye, he could see his target making his way towards the edge of the building. Quickly and efficiently, without dropping his attention from his conversation with you, he lifted his gun and fired a shot at the man's knee.

"Ah, fuck!" the man screamed in pain. "My knee!"

"Hey! Language!" Deadpool scolded him. "The lady of the house is listening!"

"Lady of the- what the fuck?!"

"I said language, you mustachioed rat!"

"Mustachioed rat?" You asked.

"Sorry, babe," he replied. "You know how excited I get when Downtown Abbey is on."

“There’s gunshots in Downtown Abbey?"

"Gunshots? Oh, no, no. That was… uh, a car alarm. Yeah, the neighbor's car alarm was going off."

"Uh-huh," you said, not sounding very convinced. And, of course, that was right around the time the guy's gun went off again, this time hitting him square in the shoulder. It made the phone fall out of his hand and clatter onto the ground, but the call was still connected.

"Dammit!" He yelled, looking at the fresh blood dripping down his arm. "That's gonna take forever to heal!"

"Who are you talking to?" The man demanded, his gun still aimed at Deadpool's face. "You're working with someone?"

"Hey, now, I don't remember giving you permission to talk," Deadpool told him, holding his bloody arm up to his face. "Look, I've gotta call you back, babe. I know it's been so heartbreakingly long—"

"Again, only a few hours," you said.

"—but duty calls. Love you, bye."

"Love you, bye."

With that, the line disconnected.

"Ugh," he groaned, his heart aching for the loss of your sweet voice. "I miss her already."

"Ey," his opponent growled, drawing his attention. He started speaking in rapid-fire Spanish, which Deadpool didn't really understand, but he didn't have to. The guy was just ranting and raving.

"Alright, alright, chill," Deadpool said. "Just calm down. It’ll all be over soon, little buddy."

"I am not little! I am a giant!" The guy protested, and Wade could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. "And I will not chill!"

"Well, can't argue with that, I guess," Deadpool said with a shrug, and he took aim. But before he could pull the trigger, the guy was running again.

"Hey, what did I tell you about running?!" He yelled, but his voice fell on deaf ears as the guy reached the ledge.

"I am a giant!"

"No, you're a giant asshat!"

"I will not be bested by some masked buffoon!"

"Buff? Me? Why, I never!"

"You're the biggest asshole I've ever met!"

"You know what? I am a big ass! A big, round, bubbly ass." He paused for a second. "Hey, what's your favorite flavor?"

"Fuck you, you red-clad imbecile!"

"You know, I'd ask you out to dinner first, but we're kinda past that now."

"Argh!"

"Alright, enough stalling," Deadpool said. "It's time to end this."

"Yes," the guy said, turning his gun back on Deadpool. "It is."

Of course, Deadpool being the smart-ass he was, he'd already taken a step to the side. As the bullet whizzed past him, he reached for his gun.

"Now, where did I put that thing? Oh, there it is."

He aimed the gun and fired, and the man fell back onto the ground. The bullet hit him right in the middle of his forehead, his blood splattering all over the concrete.

"Ha ha! Fatality. Deadpool wins!" He said, his voice taking on the deep, grounded tone of the narrator from Mortal Kombat. "Flawless Victory."

He stood over the body for a few seconds, reveling in his victory, before he felt the presence of another.

The gun on his right side got ripped from its holster, and the barrel was aimed back into his face, as it always seems to be.

But, he already sensed it was coming, so his fingers wrapped around his other and aimed that right in the golden spot… and let’s just say, The Golden Girls was a little less golden and a lot more crimson.

"Wow, this has got to be a record," He said as he bent down to stare at the new one’s anguish. "Two dead ugly mustaches in the same day. You can call me Sweeney Todd because shit… I just shaved you the fuck up."

He didn’t give the poor bastard a chance to even whimper before he fired another two shots into the man's head. All in all, this had been the easiest payday he'd had in a while.

He picked up his cell phone and slipped it back into its pocket before bending down and scooping up the mustache man's pistol.

"Ooh, lookie here, a nice, shiny new pistol," he said to himself. "Just what I've always wanted. Well, I don't actually need it. It's not like I have any other holes in my body, but you know what they say. The more the merrier."

He stuffed the gun in his holster and turned around, heading back the way he'd come.

"Time to get back to the good stuff," he said. "I have a date with my favorite girl."

He hopped up onto the ledge and looked down, his eyes locking on the window to his apartment.

And when he arrived, bloody and battered, you could only smile while holding up little ole Mary Puppins in all her drooling glory.

God, how he missed his girls.

[hairmetal666]

Steve parks at Eddie's, a plastic wrapped bouquet of roses so purple they're almost black carefully buckled into the passenger seat, and a nervous twist to his stomach. He didn't plan to do this. It's just, he was agonizing about his crush to Robin and she goaded him until it seemed like a great fucking idea to ask Eddie out on Valentine's Day, of all days.

The flowers were an accident. He saw them in the front window of the little flower shop in town, and it felt like fate, like they were practically made for Eddie Munson.

With a deep breath and a gritted teeth, he swings out of the car, flowers in hand. He's doing this, he's got this, he can ask Eddie out.

Music rocks from the trailer, drowning out Steve's knock. They didn't exactly have plans tonight, only they hangout every night since Vecna, so he figured...well, Eddie never said they weren't getting together.

He's a little miffed when his knock isn't answered. Even when the music is up, the walls of the trailer vibrating, Eddie always comes to the door. But the minutes tick by with no response until the annoyance turns to anxiety.

He stretches over, up on tiptoe, craning through the window to see if he can spot Eddie, probably distracted by planning for dnd or working on a song.

The kitchen is deserted, pots steaming on the stove. The two-seater table is covered in one of those paper tablecloths they have at Melvald's for a buck, patterned with bright red hearts. The table is set, two plates, two beers, a candle burning in the center of it all.

God, he's stupid. So stupid, with his nearly black flowers and his silly crush. Of course Eddie already had someone to spend Valentine's Day with.

He stumbles down the stairs, stomach fighting up his throat. The loud music makes so much sense now. He has to leave. He can't stand the thought of Eddie finding him here, letting him down easy; can stand even less seeing him with the date he has over.

Steve almost makes it back to the car before he hears the screen door slam, Eddie's voice calling his name. For a second, he considers ignoring him; for a second, he thinks about jumping in the car and driving off and forgetting this ever happened. But he could never do that to Eddie, not even when the consequence is his own heart.

"Oh, uh. Hey, man," Steve says. He runs his fingers through his hair, swallows. "Didn't mean to interrupt, thought we had plans but I guess they weren't set in stone." He's rambling and he knows it, but can't stop. "I didn't realize you--I'll get out of your hair."

Eddie's eyes flicker from Steve to the flowers clutched in his fist, the wrapping now sweaty and rumpled. "Are those for me?" Eddie asks.

Steve's mouth open and closes a few times, thrown off the track of his monologue and trying to think of a plausible lie. "I--they're--it's--"

There's nothing for it. He has to tell the truth and eat the humiliation. "I saw them today and--They're perfect for you. So, I wanted--" he shakes his head, shoves the bouquet into Eddie's arms. "Happy Valentine's Day. I'll let you get back to your date."

Eddie's face scrunches and it would be cute except for all the way Steve's heart is breaking. "Aren't you my date?"

"What?"

"Steve. We hang out every night. I thought--"

"But. For me--" He splutters. "The table?"

"Harrington, it's Valentine's Day! You bought me flowers!"

"Yeah, cause I was going to ask you out!"

This is what breaks Eddie, and he bursts out into helpless giggles.

"Don't laugh at me, Munson." But he's starting to laugh too.

"I'm sorry! I just--you," and Eddie isn't laughing anymore, he's looking at Steve with clear, shining eyes. "You brought me flowers."

Steve sobers too, hands over the bouquet. "I brought you flowers. You made me dinner."

"Yeah." He glances up at Steve from under his eyelashes. "I made you dinner."

"Sorry for--" He gestures broadly around himself.

Eddie shakes his head, soft smile on his lips. "You're something else, Stevie." The words are so fond they make Steve's heart flip. "Now, come inside before the food gets cold."

Steve walks to do the door, pausing before he climbs the stairs.

"What is it?" Eddie's eyebrows lift.

"Nothing. Just--" Steve licks his lips, notices the way Eddie tracks the movement. "I'm really falling for you, is all."

"No duh," Eddie says with a broad, smitten grin. "You bought me flowers."

[vampiefemme]

𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭 | 𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

description: you’ve been getting closer to ellie lately and, unbeknownst to you, your blossoming crush is entirely reciprocated. cue your first smoke sesh together… and a little something more, too. [modern au, ellie and reader are both over 18]

warnings: weed use, oral sex, fingering. this fic is 18+, minors do not interact.

author’s note: my first ellie fic and my first fic on this blog! pls be nice :) let me know what you think <3

The first few times you hung out with Ellie, she’d offered you a joint. It’s no secret that Ellie’s the town’s top dealer, a welcome sight at rowdy house parties, her backpack stuffed with ziplock bags of the best bud around. You’d tried weed before, had taken a puff or two from poorly-rolled blunts here and there, but you’d never particularly enjoyed it. Mostly, you’d just coughed up a lung and felt nothing but a vague lightheadedness. So when Ellie rolled up a joint the first time you’d come over to her place, offering you a drag after she’d sparked up, you’d politely declined.

Ellie had arched a brow. “You mind if I smoke? Shit - I can put it out.”

Before you’d had the chance to respond, she was already reaching for the ashtray on her nightstand, ceramic and painted to resemble an eight-ball.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you interjected, reaching out and touching her wrist almost involuntarily. You pushed down the flurry of butterflies that erupted in your stomach at the contact. God, you had to be touch-starved or something. Since when did touching someone’s arm make your heart skip a beat?

Ellie looked at you with a guarded kind of suspicion, like she didn’t believe that you were fine with her smoking. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” you said, lips curling into an encouraging smile. “I don’t mind weed, it just doesn’t do anything for me.”

“Huh.” Ellie nodded. She lifted the joint to her lips again and you glanced away, chest tightening from the sight of her lips pursing.

“If you ever wanna try again,” she paused to exhale a plume of smoke, intentionally avoiding your direction, “let me know. Not to, like, toot my own horn or anything, but I’ve never had someone try my weed and not like it.”

You let out an easy laugh. “Okay, we’ll have to see about that.”

Ellie was smiling at you, those green eyes twinkling like so many stars. “No pressure.”

That was months ago, when the summer heat still blazed from sunrise to sunset. It’s mid-winter now, the chill nipping at your cheeks and the end of your nose. To your agony, it hasn’t gotten any easier to breathe when you touch Ellie - when she greets you with a hug and a smile at her front door, you feel like you’re paralyzed with want. And Ellie’s probably none the wiser, of course. You wonder if she’s ever noticed the way your breath hitches when she stretches out on the couch beside you, leaning her head on your shoulder while some tacky eighties film lights up the television screen. You figure she’s oblivious - she’s just being friendly. She probably doesn’t even know you like girls, anyway. Plus, she doesn’t shy away from talking about the girls she’s been with before. You’ve spent more than a few nights seething with jealousy as she recounted her latest hookup, schooling your expression into one of disinterest or even mild enthusiasm.

It’s been a while since she’s talked like that, luckily. You’re grateful you don’t have to feign excitement about Ellie’s latest conquests anymore.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Ellie interrupts your internal monologue, hands still working at the joint in her lap. She’s got a pile of ground-up weed on a rolling tray, sprinkling it into the perfectly-rolled cone like it’s muscle memory. It probably is.

“Nothing,” you blurt, cheeks warming. “Sorry, just zoned out for a second.”

“Oh, bullshit,” Ellie quips, rolling her eyes despite the smile playing at her lips. “What, you can’t tell me? I thought we were friends, cherry.”

You flush anew at the nickname. She’d picked it out for you after you’d scarfed down an entire jar of maraschino cherries one night, after Ellie had bought them for ice cream sundaes. You’d never live that down… But you’re not sure you want to, because every time the nickname leaves Ellie’s lips, you feel like you’re glowing bright red with admiration.

“We are friends!” You nudge Ellie’s shoulder with yours, rolling your eyes with that same playfulness she’d expressed. “Sorry, it’s just - it’s embarrassing.”

Ellie narrows her eyes. It’s like you can see the cogs turning in her head. “Embarrassing? What, you got a crush on some guy or something?”

You open your mouth to respond, but before you can, she’s prattling on again. “Y’know, just ‘cause I’m gay doesn’t mean you can’t talk to me about your crushes. Swear I won’t be weird about it.”

Oh god.

“It’s not - I’m not…” You sigh, gaze lowering to your lap, where you’re fiddling with your hands. Should you tell her? You should probably tell her.

“I like girls, you know.”

It’s quiet for so long that you need to look up at Ellie to make sure she’s still there, still listening. And she is; her eyes are glued to you, wide in disbelief.

“What?” You feel like a bug under a microscope with her looking at you like that. “Is it that hard to believe?”

Ellie shakes her head emphatically. “No, no - it’s not. I just didn’t expect that.”

She turns away to finish rolling the joint, twisting the very end of the paper until it forms a little point. “Guess you’re just full of surprises, huh, cherry?”

You bite your lip to stifle a smile, but Ellie sees it anyway.

“So who’s the lucky girl?” She asks, rummaging through her pocket until she finds her lighter. You watch Ellie spark the joint, the twisted end catching fire until the cherry starts to glow. Ellie takes a few puffs and the scent of smoke tickles your nose.

“I’d prefer not to say,” you tell her, chewing on the inside of your lip. Your nerves are off the wall; you’re so anxious that the joint in Ellie’s slender fingers is suddenly tempting.

Ellie scoffs. “Boring.”

She looks up at you as she flicks ash off the end of the joint, and when she notices you eyeing it, her brows lift.

“Want some? Will that make you spill?”

You huff a nervous laugh, toying with the ends of your hair. “No… I don’t know. Maybe?”

Ellie whoops, her free hand curling into a fist of victory. “Fuck yeah. Here, take it.”

She offers you the joint and you take it, but not without a moment or two of hesitation. You will the anxiety away with the thought that you probably won’t feel anything. Ellie watches as you bring the joint to your lips and inhale, praying you won’t cough and make a fool of yourself. Especially not with Ellie watching so intently.

By the grace of some kind of divine being, you don’t cough. Your throat tickles, and you feel emboldened to take one more hit, letting the smoke fill your lungs. You imagine your body relaxing, the knot in your stomach unwinding. You hand the joint back to Ellie and she takes a puff of her own, her lips curled into the faintest little smirk.

“So…” Ellie trails off expectantly.

“God, you’re persistent,” you groan. She just peers at you knowingly from behind a veil of smoke.

“There’s not much to tell,” you say. “I’ve had a crush on this girl for a while now, but I don’t think she feels the same.”

“Have you asked her?” Ellie prompts, flicking ash off the joint.

You shake your head. “No way.”

“Then,” Ellie pauses to take another hit, “how do you know she doesn’t feel the same?”

You should be feeling anxious with her drilling you like this - you know you should. Usually, you’d be retreating into yourself with every prodding question Ellie asks. But all you feel now is yearning; there’s an ache in your chest that only she can remedy. And, clearly, Ellie’s clueless about it.

You don’t want her to be clueless, you realize.

The words leave your lips before you can think better of them. “Do you, Ellie?”

Her brows knit together, forming a crease that you’ve memorized by now - like every other freckle and wrinkle on her face. “Huh? Do I what?”

You reach for the joint and she yields it without question.

“Do you feel the same about me?”

The weed has certainly helped with your nerves, you think, watching Ellie’s expression shift from confusion to realization. Her plush lips part, but all that comes out is a series of stammers and false sentence starts: “I—you—what?”

Fuck it, you think. You stretch out to reach the nightstand beside Ellie’s bed, leaving the joint in one of the ashtray’s notches. A steady stream of smoke ribbons upward from the fading cherry.

“Ellie,” you start, settling back into your place on the rug. You look at her to find her already staring at you, blinking. “It’s you. I have a crush on you. It’s been—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ellie interjects, voice softer than you’d expected.

You blink. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, I guess. And you always talked about other girls, so I thought you just… Weren’t interested.”

“Cherry.” Ellie sits up on her knees so she can get closer to you, the sleeves of her oversized flannel slipping down to her forearms as she reaches out and grabs your face. Her touch is gentle but firm, insistent. You can feel the callouses on her fingers against your skin, her thumbs brushing up against your cheekbones, and the air is suddenly so thin you can hardly inhale.

“I have… I’ve had feelings for you for so long. So fucking long, cherry.” Ellie’s gaze is intense, eyes boring into you. You feel exposed, raw, alive with something electric.

You stare right back at her, frozen in her grasp.

“But you were always talking about other girls,” you say. Doubt lingers in the back of your head; this is too good to be true. Right?

“I know, fuck, I’m sorry,” Ellie sighs. “I thought you weren’t interested in me. Thought it was hopeless, y’know? My perfect best friend having feelings for me? Unreal.”

One of Ellie’s hands smooths over your hair; it’s something she’s done plenty of times before, but it feels different now. More intimate, with your shared confessions between you.

“Wanna know something?” Ellie asks then plows on, not really waiting for an answer, “I stopped hooking up with other girls a while ago. I just… Couldn’t.”

You nod in understanding. Your eyelids feel heavy all of the sudden, each blink heavier than the last.

“They weren’t you,” Ellie adds.

They weren’t you, her words echo in your mind.

“Ellie,” you breathe. Her face is impossibly close; you can pick out every detail of her face. Each pore, each freckle, each fleck of brown in her green eyes. You can smell the weed smoke on her breath.

“Cherry,” she responds, voice hushed just as low as yours. “Cherry. Can I kiss you?”

“God, yes,” you practically whine.

When Ellie kisses you for the first time, she tastes like relief.

Her lips are soft and insistent against yours, the pad of her thumb warm against your cheek as you lean in closer to kiss her back. It’s like time has gone still; the hum of the speaker on Ellie’s dresser fades away, as does the sound of the winter winds hissing and whooshing against the window. All you know is Ellie: her hand slipping down the length of your back to grab your hip, her mouth hot and needy against yours. It’s a desperate sort of kiss, one that you’d both been yearning for, and months of pining drain from your mouth to hers, then back again.

You’re not sure if you’d been kissing for seconds or hours when Ellie finally breaks away, gasping.

“Fuck,” she whispers. The tip of her nose brushes against your cheek, then your nose. “We should stop, before I…”

She trails off but you know exactly what she’d left unsaid. And your stomach flips in response; the mere thought of what else Ellie might do with her mouth has your cunt throbbing.

Ellie’s hand leaves your hip and it’s like she’s left a burn there - one shaped like her touch, a scathing outline on your skin.

“I don’t want to stop,” you find the courage to admit.

You’re not sure who makes the first move this time - only that you’re kissing again, swallowing Ellie’s pleased moans as your tongue prods between her lips. You gasp and pant into each other’s mouths, hands roaming on newly discovered skin; Ellie’s hands slip beneath your tee, her palms hot against your abdomen, your hips, your lower back. When her fingers find the clasp of your bra and unfasten it, you practically shiver with anticipation, back arching into her touch.

“Whoa there,” Ellie laughs, nudging her nose against yours. You go in for another kiss, annoyed that she’d stopped, but she pulls back. “You’re sure you want this, cherry?”

“Please,” you say, taking advantage of the moment to pull your shirt over your head and set it aside. You toss your bra into the growing pile, turning back to Ellie to find her gaping at you.

“Christ,” she says, licking her lips, “you’re fucking perfect.”

She gives you one last heated kiss before her mouth moves to your jawline, then the column of your neck, where she leaves a trail of wet kisses. She sucks on a spot right on the crook of your neck, just shy of leaving a hickey, and your toes fucking curl.

Ellie only gives a low hum of approval at your reaction before she’s moving lower, lower. Her kisses cover your breasts, every inch of skin worshipped by her lips until she finally takes a peaked nipple into her mouth. You feel her tongue swirl against the sensitive bud and you nearly cry from the pleasure, one hand flying up to knot into her hair and tug.

Her gaze moves up to meet yours, and your cunt tightens again at the look of unbridled desire in her eyes - her lids are heavy, too, but you can’t tell if it’s from the weed or sheer lust. Maybe both, you’re not sure, but you don’t have much time to consider it before Ellie’s moving to your other nipple, tongue laving against the taut flesh before she closes her mouth around it and sucks. A ragged moan tears from your throat and you tense, tugging again at the locks of Ellie’s hair in your fist.

She leaves your nipples flushed and sensitive, shining with saliva, and you’re suddenly very aware of the layers of clothes separating you from her. Separating the wetness of your cunt from hers, the bony curve of her hips from your needy mouth. You need those layers gone.

“Ellie,” you whine, pulling at the collar of her flannel.

“Shh, I know,” she coos, voice dripping with syrupy sweet lust. “Why don’t you get on the bed for me, hm?”

You nod and oblige, but not without stopping to slip out of your jeans. You leave your panties on because, well, they’re cute. A white lace thong with a tiny, silky pink bow just below your navel - Ellie’s eyes linger there as she stands at the edge of the bed, unbuckling her belt and stepping out of her cargos. You can feel the wet patch on your panties as you press your thighs together and watch her undress. She’s always been on the thinner side, but as she slides off her flannel and pulls her sports bra over her head, you realize that she’s much more toned than you’d imagined. Her arms flex with each movement and her abdomen is clearly taut with muscle; every inch of new skin she reveals only adds to the agonizing desire churning in your stomach.

Luckily, she seems just as eager as you are. She’s still in a pair of oversized plaid boxers when she grabs hold of your hips and yanks you toward the edge of the bed, pulling your knees apart so she can see what’s between them.

“Look at you,” she says, eyes wide at the sight of your soaked panties. “I didn’t realize you were so needy, cherry. Should’ve let me take care of you sooner.”

Her words send another gush of arousal flooding from your cunt, your stomach twisting. “‘M sorry, Ellie.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she says, lowering herself onto her knees before you. Her fingers hook beneath the lace of your panties to pull them down, leaving them in a crumpled heap on the rug.

Her face sinks between your legs, and the first stroke of her tongue against your folds makes you shiver with relief.

“Oh my god,” you gasp. Ellie moans against your pussy, tongue splitting through your folds, spreading your wetness with every swipe and lick. Your back arches involuntarily, your toes curling in sheer pleasure.

She laps at your cunt like a woman starving, hot tongue drawing circles around your puffy clit. It’s maddening, the way she knows exactly what you need, speeding up and slowing down in accordance with your moans and sighs and whimpers. You’ve never felt so close so quickly, but you don’t want it to stop - her mouth is magic between your legs, and as you hurtle towards your orgasm, she slips a finger into your clenching hole. You nearly scream.

“Ellie,” you moan shakily, your thighs tightening on both sides of her head. “Ellie, I’m gonna…”

She just moans again, mouth working at your clit while her finger sinks in and out of your cunt. She adds another not long after and it’s hardly a stretch with how wet you are. You’re trembling with every stroke of her tongue against your clit, and soon enough, you feel yourself slipping off the edge into oblivion. Your orgasm tears through you like never before, hot and electric, every muscle tensing as Ellie finger-fucks you through every wave of pleasure. Eventually, you push the heel of your hand against her forehead, too overstimulated for her to keep sucking at your too-sensitive clit. She pulls back and sits on her heels, fingers leaving the tight grip of your cunt as she wipes her mouth with her other hand. Your slick covers her from the nose down, the shining evidence of how good she’d made you feel.

“So fucking pretty when you come,” Ellie tells you, standing up and lifting a knee onto the bed beside you. Her hair is a mess, you’d made sure of it, but she doesn’t seem to notice or care.

“Think you’ve got a few more for me?” She smiles at you, wolfish and wicked, and her hand moves to grope at one of your tits.

“Mm,” you hum, reaching out for her. “Only if you have a few for me.”

When she’s close enough, you slip your hand between Ellie’s legs, your fingers brushing through sparse curls to find the heat of her folds. She’s soaked, you realize with self-satisfaction, your tongue swiping over your lower lip.

This will be fun.

[madaqueue]

18+, MDNI - f!reader

sukuna wasn’t a jealous man per se, but he absolutely was possessive - what’s his was his alone - especially when it comes to you. but that just made it all the more fun to taunt him, seeing how much you could get away with. sometimes, sure, maybe you get a little too touchy with random guys at bars just to get a rise out of him, to see what he’ll do to put you back in your place, remind you that you’re his.

“sukuna, what’s the big deal?” you whine as the bathroom door slams shut behind you.

finally releasing his grip on your wrist, he looks at you with nothing short of rage flowing behind his crimson eyes. “the ‘big deal’ is you practically begging that wanna-be frat boy piece of shit to fuck you right in front of me,” he spits.

rolling your eyes, you rest your back against the wooden doorframe. “he’s just a friend.”

“oh, so you get touchy with all your friends like that, hm? put your arms around ‘em, tell ‘em how nice they look in their ugly ass knock-off gucci shirts?”

crossing your arms, you feel the heat of excitement building in your chest - now, it was all too easy to fan the flames. “he was just offering to buy me a drink.”

“oh!” he practically yells, voice echoing off the faux tiles of the bar’s restroom. “well then by all means, go back out there and get your free drink! while you’re at it, why don’t you see if his daddy’s money can get you a new car, or a yacht or something - maybe he can be the one to shell out the cash for you to get your nails done every week, and your hair, and your lashes ‘n shit, because clearly i’m not providing for you enough if you feel like you have to whore yourself out for a fucking $10 vodka cran!”

uh oh. whenever he starts monologuing like this, it’s never a good sign. maybe you pushed him a bit too far this time.

shifting uncomfortably, you soften your tone. “‘kuna,” you sigh, “you’re right, i’m sorry.”

“‘sorry?’” he mocks. “you didn’t look very sorry when your hands were all up in his hair or on his chest, hm?” they should only be on me, he thinks, but manages to hold himself back. “were you ‘sorry’ when you told him he’s the funniest person here for making some lame ass joke about how ‘working class’ i look?”

“look, that’s not-“

“no, no! why don’t you go fuck the trust fund baby and see if his three-inch house-in-the-hamptons dick can satisfy you! i bet they’ve got housekeepers and personal chefs and shit, maybe they can teach you some goddamn manners about how to treat people!”

oh, this is bad. yeah, you went too far.

slowly, you raise your hands to his chest, locking eyes with him as you steady your breathing. “‘kuna, you’re right. i fucked up. i shouldn’t have said that shit, i didn’t mean it and i’m sorry.”

the flames of anger crackle under his skin as he looks at you - god, he wishes you didn’t look so beautiful under the flickering lights in this shitty bathroom, maybe then it would be easier to stay mad at you. “yeah, yeah, alright. whatever.”

but you aren’t done - he’s clearly still mad, so your work isn’t finished just yet. “how can i prove that i’m sorry?” you murmur, batting your eyelashes up at him.

the corner of his lip twitches ever so slightly into a smirk. “‘prove it,’ eh?”

you nod, plastering as innocent of a look on your face as possible, wide doe eyes and glossed lips smiling softly.

“well, i have an idea of how you could make it up to me.”

“anything,” you hum. you just want him to forgive you.

almost instantly, the cool tile floor hits your knees as the sound of a zipper being undone fills the silence. looking up, you’re suddenly face to face with his fully erect cock, a small drop of precum beading at the tip.

“well?” he smirks, “better get to apologizing.”

this smug bastard.

rolling your eyes, you figure it's easier to just accept your fate and apologize in whatever way he happens to see fit - in this case, with his cock in your mouth. parting your lips, you slowly roll your tongue over his flushed tip as he lets out a low groan that echoes through the space. after a few moments of working him into your mouth, a calloused hand reaches behind your head, guiding you further down his length.

“juuuust like that, good fuckin' girl” he mumbles, mostly to himself as he tugs you up and down his cock.

the salty taste of his pre on your tongue has heat building in your core, your thighs beginning to rub together. trailing your fingers between your legs, you nearly make it to your cunt before he roughly kicks your hand away.

“acht - no touching. you're supposed to be makin' me forgive you, remember?” your lips attempt to curl into a frown around him as he chuckles above you. “aw, don’t pout,” he coos sarcastically. “if you wanted to get fucked, you should’ve just asked me instead of acting like some fuckin’ slut out there.”

fair point.

taking in a breath through your nose, you continue working him in and out of your mouth. sukuna was big, and you always struggled to take all of him. sometimes he would be nice and let you take your time opening your throat for him.

but not today.

with one harsh thrust, he pushes himself all the way past your lips until his tip knocks at the back of your throat. a menacing giggle overpowers the sound of your gags as he pulls you off him.

“c’mon baby, not doin’ a very good job saying sorry, now are ya? i thought i taught you to be more grateful.”

with that, his hips jut up again, all the way into you. tears begin spilling over your lashes as you struggle to breathe, but each time it threatens to become too much he pulls back, letting you desperately suck in air.

drool spills down your chin as he fucks your mouth, ravenous and greedy. the lack of oxygen has you lightheaded as thick tears cascade down your cheeks.

but if this is what it takes for him to forgive you, so be it.

the hand at the back of your head tightens in your hair as he drags you up and down, his chuckles becoming more and more breathy.

“fuck baby, m’close, y’gonna take it all for me, yeah?” he asks, mostly rhetorically as you couldn’t answer with the way his cock fills your mouth. all you can let out is a weak whine in affirmation.

with one final thrust, thick ropes of cum shoot down your throat, the salty taste lingering as he pulls out. tucking himself back into his boxers and zipping his jeans, he takes in the sight of you on your knees, black trails of mascara streaming from your eyes, drool spilling down your chin. your chest rapidly rises and falls as you attempt to steady your breath.

reaching a hand down, he strokes your cheek, wiping away a trail of spit before helping you to your feet.

there’s a glimmer of mischief behind his ruby eyes as he leads you from the bathroom, purposely leaving you in this disheveled state. “c’mon baby, let’s go - wouldn’t want to keep your ‘friend’ waiting.”

[emptyjunior]

It looks like with the movies taking off, everyone is on the Dune train now!! Which is very exciting, I’m glad a bunch of new people are discovering this media and reading the books, but can I recommend you the David Lynch, Dune (1984) movie.

First of all, if you are invested in the lore of the books and the deeper messaging of the story, you’re going to need to turn that part of your brain Off. If you love kick ass shit and are willing to be slightly tipsy while you watch and have a great goddamn afternoon, this is the flick for you.

Now first fun fact I’m going to share with you. David Lynch (twin peaks, eraserhead director, celebrated surrealist) turned down the opportunity to direct Return of the Jedi for this film. A film that was devastatingly slow to make, changed hands multiple times, had a pricy VFX budget of $40 million and then made barely $31 million, David Lynch turned down Star Wars to work on it. And he did this when he had never read the novel, and did not even like or engage with sci fi media. THAT’S how you know we’re really in for something.

Now this film has some big names in it! We’ve got a young Kyle MacLachlan who is rocking some Devastating outfits:

We’ve got Sir Patrick Stewert as our Gurney and Sting, lead singer of the police, playing the 15 year old Feyd Rautha! If you wanted to see a grown man, sprayed orange, basically naked playing a free wheeling maniac you are in for a treat! And another fun fact, David Lynch also did not know who these actors were, he made a mistake and thought Patrick Stewert was someone else and when Sting said he was in the police he assumed he was in an organization of lawmen.

Now these characters are familiar to you, but let me get into the unfamiliar. Lynch made some directorial executive decisions throughout this film, for I suppose the ease of the viewer? I mean an adaptation is supposed to adapt so he went let me change some stuff up👏👏👏.

Those who paid attention to Jessica’s backstory may know about the Weirding Way. This is a martial arts style created by the Bene Gesserit, and practiced by Paul. It is more than just a fighting style but also an important philosophical concept, like Aikido or how Kung Fu has foundations in Buddhism.

You may also be familiar with the quote “My name is a killing word.” This inner monologue of Paul’s refers to how his title Muad’dub will be used to spur a holy war. A simple name is what people will die and bleed for, it will be what they scream as they cut down enemies.

Dark! Intense! That’s Dune, anyways in the novel it’s easy to take your time exploring these concepts. Introducing the audience to the religious ramifications of a simple name and fighting practice and how these things can have rippling repercussions upon a society like the Freman.

Now David Lynch didn’t have time for that! He had the belief (that may be right🤷‍♂️!) That watching a bunch of people kick each other on top of a sand dune would be Lame😭😭

So he made the choice for his film that “My name is a killing word” was to be taken Absolutely Literally and invented a device where if the freman said the name Muad-dib, shit would explode.

If they said Paul’s name, they could Explode Stuff. Let it sink in how rad that is. Hell yeah man, hell yeah. Imagine me interpreting religious text that way, imagine if I made a bible movie and the moral I took from a parable is that when Jesus asked for food and everyone donated fish, I concluded that Jesus was a mutant who had fish powers and could immediately conjure fish with magic and gave him fish death rays that shot out of his hands.

So that’s what you can expect from this interpretation, the weirding way now means everyone has Lasers its rad as hell.

Some other incredible choices made! This is a spoiler, but in the novels and the new films you can see the Freman collecting every scrap of water they can. Dr Liet-Kynes, the planetologist, reveals to us it’s because they have a long, multiple generation spanding plan to fix the planet. By introducing this water back they hope to reset the ecosystem over centuries of work. The reason they have been unable to do this is because a green planet would obviously not have worms and sand who produce spice, the most coveted drug in the empire, so imperial and harkonnen forces have been stopping this from ever happening. They want to be free from oppression so that they can start to work on slowly fixing their world, a project that plays out in Paul’s adult life and has its own dramas and complexities.

In Dune 1984??? The moment, the Moment Paul lays out his cousin and throws the final punch, it begins to rain in Arrakis. As if they were all under a magical curse and were just waiting for a teenager to come fight another teenager and then the water will come back. It’s so good, it’s so funny.

Also Pugs! House Atreides official Pugs! Paul has pugs in his lap!!

This is honestly an adaptation choice that I really really like! Paul is the result of centuries of selective breeding, this practice is an artform to the Bene Gesserit and a skill that they monitor closely. It produces bizarre and sometimes terrifying results and is the reason for Paul’s existence.

I think having an animal that was also created through selective breeding, was engineered from a wolf into an animal that can hardly breathe is an incredible metaphor! A smart and identifiable symbol for the audience, I think it’s a slam dunk and the new movies should have done it to.

Anyways can not recommend this film enough.

-The body suits the bad guys wear are made out of real body bags, that actually had been used.

-David Lynch to this day hates it.

-The original cut was four hours.

-The cast and crew were sick the Entire shoot with something they called Montezuma's Revenge, which was probably just food poisoning, side effects from the constant smog because they shot the whole thing on backup generators, illness from the cockroach infestation and terrible morale.

-Frank Herbert saw it multiple times and said he absolutely loved it.

-When they ride the worms, sick rock jams play.

If you love electric guitar, lasers, worms and will forgive me for not including all the trigger warnings cause Yes this film will gross you out, then go watch this movie.

[love-byers]

DM-GATE (a st/byler theory)

if you saw this last night, strap in. because this post is about that

so me and @reo-bylerwagon were talking about how weird mike's dialogue is in s4, specifically in his monologue. it's so....corny. his monologue just doesn't sound like stranger things. mike just doesn't talk like that ever. characters who are overly dramatic and corny are made fun of by other characters. the show just doesn't train you to accept something as corny as mike's monologue, especially from MIKE. mike just isn't that kind of character.

we also pointed this dramatic dialogue between mike and will in the van. will's monologue to mike is very sweet but the dialogue is kind of corny too. will compares mike to a knight in shining armor, leading and inspiring as the heart of the party.

and i, in a moment of completely oblivious genius, said "honestly in the monologue he uses the same voice he does when he's dm"

if you don't know what dm is, it means dungeon master. the dungeon master is the one in dnd who leads the adventure, the organizer.

this is the role mike has in season 1 when they're playing dnd. will is also dm in s3 when they briefly play, right before the byler rain fight. eddie is the only other character we see be dm.

dms have to be eccentric, they have to act. they have to be convincing. they have to lead and guide.

in the painting will gives mike, the party are depicted as their dnd characters. so no one can even say this isn't connected to dnd.

"See how you're leading us? You're guiding the whole party, inspiring us. That's what you do.

See your coat of arms here? It's a heart. I know it's sort of on the nose, but that's what holds this whole party together. Heart. Because, I mean, without heart, we'd all fall apart."

in the monologue when will calls back to their conversation in the van, this is symbolic of mike reverting back to his role as dungeon master, as leader. if mike has to lie in the monologue, of course he would pull from a role he's played where he makes things up and sounds convincing.

@reo-bylerwagon gave the best line ever, "he's being the mike in the painting"

and the craziest part is that's CANON. mike is inspired by what will says, he takes it to heart. he feels more confident. he tries to be the mike in the painting. it should be easy, to speak from his heart to el, but it's not, because he's not in love with her. in the monologue, mike is doing the same thing he does when he's dm. he's performing. he's trying to be convincing. he's trying to guide, to inspire.

also, @reo-bylerwagon said that will pushing mike to giving the monologue is giving "MIKE YOUR ACTION!!" WHICH IS SO FUCKING TRUE😭😭

after this realization i went back and watched the scenes where mike is dming. the VERY FIRST LINE OF DIALOGUE we hear in the show is mike dming. "Something is coming, something hungry for blood." and the second line?

i could never put a finger on why mikes language in the monologue seemed so weird. it's because he's talking like a dm. he's using the dramatic language dms use during a dnd session.

@reo-bylerwagon also pointed out that mike and will are piggybacking off of dnd to save el. everyone in the final fight was piggybacking.

will set the stage, mike executed. 

also, i mentioned the only other character see be dm besides mike and will is eddie.

and what is eddie's big moment in s4?

Master of Puppets.

MASTER. OF PUPPETS. DUNGEON MASTER. DUDE.

and another thing

we've all seen this, but it's not only that mike and will's characters are on the book.

it's a dungeon masters guide.

with mike and will's characters on it.

mike and will. the only party members we've seen be dungeon masters.

COME THE FUCK ON.

AND ANOTHER THING

"Dude, that's the donation box."

"I know, I'll just use yours when I come back. I mean...if we still wanna play."

"Well yeah but...what if you want to join another party?"

"Not possible."

this is a dm i got like 2 years ago that changed my brain chemistry:

this is NOT a reach. everything in st is compared to dnd. the duffers are massive dnd nerds. it is not unbelievable that they'd connect this to dnd as well.

[yourlocaljonghoe]

A Smile From Me To You. || Choi San.

Summary: sometimes, even a man like choi san gets jealous and insecure over the most trivial things. and sometimes, all it takes are your words to help him through it.

Pairing: choi san x fem. reader

Genre: fluff

Wordcount: 1.1k

Warnings: slightly suggestive at the end

A/N: happy (belated) birthday to one of the kindest people ever aka my yessabunnyboo aka @skteezcursed <33 i genuinely love you so much, the way you always listen to my ramblings and whining without ever complaining and the way you're so kind and sweet to everyone just shows what an amazing person you are and im so glad to have you as a friend. this fic here is super short and nothing special unfortunately, but i promise you a better one next year, just you wait!! as always divider credits to @firefly-graphics!

Taglist: @ghstzzn, @kyukyustar, @hwapetals, @foxinnie8, @preciouswoozi, @aussiekpopginger, @kitten4sannie, @hanjisungs-bigtittyg0thgf

Available here on AO3.

“San,” you called out softly, leaning slightly toward him, “are you okay?”

Beside you, your lover was staring intensely at the TV, his lips pressed into a thin line. You’d noticed it about fifteen minutes ago, the way he suddenly went quiet, his comments getting less and less until he remained silent completely. At first, you thought he was just tired after a long day at work, but then you caught the way his eyes narrowed every time the lead actor came on screen.

It had started as a casual movie night, the two of you curled up on the couch under a warm blanket, enjoying each other's company like almost everyday. You had picked a romantic kdrama you'd been eyeing for awhile, something light and easy to watch, and San had agreed, though you knew it wasn’t exactly his favourite genre. He didn’t mind, though; he loved spending time with you no matter what you were watching. But now, after just two episodes, he was practically glaring at the TV, his arms crossed over his chest in silent protest.

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze still fixed on the screen where the actor was delivering a heartwarming monologue in front of the female lead. It was only when you nudged him gently with your elbow that he finally tore his eyes away, setting his eyes on you instead.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, genuinely curious now.

San shifted uncomfortably, his brow furrowing as he searched for the right words. “It’s nothing,” he mumbled, though his tone suggested that there was, indeed, something.

You raised an eyebrow. “San, come on. You really suck at lying, and you know it. Just tell me what’s bothering you.”

He sighed, running his hand through his hair. Finally, he muttered under his breath, “...You're smiling too much at him.

You blinked, unsure if you’d heard him correctly. “Huh?”

“That actor,” he replied, getting more and more frustrated. “You’re smiling at him like way too much!”

It took you a full moment to process what he was saying, but when you finally did, you couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped your lips. “Sannie, my baby, he’s an actor. On TV. He… he doesn’t even know I exist.”

San’s pout deepened, and he glanced back at the screen as if to verify if the actor was still on screen. Fortunately for him, he wasn’t, instead the female lead was seen with the other male lead you deemed as ‘annoying’. “But you were smiling,” he insisted, sounding almost hurt. “I saw it.”

Your gaze softened. This wasn’t just about that damn actor - it was about San’s insecurities, which he rarely showed. For all his confidence and charm, there were moments when he needed reassurance, when he worried that maybe he wasn’t enough, even though that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Instead, it was you who would never be good enough for him. Choi San was the closest thing to perfection humanity could ever achieve; he was kind, funny, gentle, pretty, sexy and so, so much more

“San,” you said gently, reaching out to take his hand in yours, “It seems I haven't shown you how much you make me smile, hm? Have I made you feel neglected recently?”

“No, I… Well, what if you like him more than me? He’s good-looking, and-”

You cut him off, shaking your head firmly. “Stop right there. San, no one on a stupid screen or anywhere else could ever replace you. I mean, I was smiling at him, but no one will genuinely ever make me smile or laugh like you do.

San finally met your gaze, his expression softening just a bit, though he still seemed a little unconvinced. “But what if one day you smile for everyone else, even a stupid actor like him, except… me?”

In a way, this whole situation was weirdly endearing, really. No man would ever take it as seriously as him. You could truly see how much he wanted to be the one and only who made you smile, and it made your heart swell. San was always so passionate, so intense in his emotions, and that was one of the things you loved most about him. 

You scooted closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your head on his shoulder. “San, I promise you, no one else can make me feel the way you do. You’re the one I love, the one I want to spend my time with. I’m sorry if I seemed a bit too distant lately.”

He didn’t respond right away, his eyes now focused on the way your fingers traced small circles on his side. After a few moments, he finally spoke, his voice quieter than before. “I just… I sometimes get too scared you're not enjoying our time together as much as I do. What if one day you decide that I'm just… too boring?”

You pulled back slightly to look him directly in the eyes. “You’re not going to lose me, San. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere. If anything, I’m the one who's enjoying your company more than anything. Hell, I want to be with you 24/7 and it scares the shit out of me, because I've never felt this way before.”

He looked at you, really looked at you, searching your eyes for any sign of doubt. When he found none, he let out a breath he’d been holding, his posture relaxing a bit. “God, this was so lame,” he admitted, a small, self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips. “I'm sorry for getting jealous over something so stupid.”

You smiled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “It’s not that stupid. It’s actually kind of… cute?”

San chuckled, though the slight blush on his cheeks betrayed how flustered he really was. “Cute, huh?”

“Very,” you confirmed, moving closer until your lips were just a breath away from his. “And since you’re just so cute, I think you deserve some extra attention.”

Before he could respond, you closed the distance between you, capturing his lips in a kiss that was soft yet passionate. San responded immediately, his arms wrapping around you to pull you closer. The kiss deepened, and you could feel the tension in his body melt away as you continued to pour all your affection into that single moment.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were slightly out of breath, but the smile on San’s face was worth everything. 

“Still jealous?” you teased, your lips brushing against his as you spoke.

San shook his head, a lazy smile spreading across his face. “Hmm.. maybe a little? I definitely wouldn’t mind a few more kisses though, just to be sure of course.”

You laughed softly, leaning in to give him exactly what he wanted. “I can also give you way more than just a kiss, just to really reassure you, hm? Would you like that?”

His dick immediately twitched at your words. “Of fucking course I'd like that.”

[hyperfixatinator]

Where is the line?

In the comics, Tim Drake's moral code is an enigma to me, particularly his stance on the Batclan's no-kill rule. For all the fans who say he's always one step away from full blown villainy, there are even more saying he's a strict goody two-shoes who could never stoop that low.

Then there's the different takes on where Tim draws the line between these two extremes. Personally, I find that line hard to pinpoint. Digging for canon demonstrations of his morals has lead me to more questions than answers. My biggest question right now is:

What counts as breaking the no-kill rule in Tim's eyes?

Luckily, the Robins 2021 comics shed some light on this. In issue #3, "Tim", or rather an imposter of him, said that choosing not to save someone isn't the same as killing them, and that letting a villain die can be a way to get justice. Normally, this point would be moot since it's not Tim himself who said it. However, at the end of issue #6, the real Tim clarified that what the imposter said WAS his real opinion on the matter.

Not only that, but Tim has shown this belief through his thoughts and actions before. Twice.

The first time goes all the way back to Robin 1991 #5. During the fight against King Snake, Tim kicked him through a nearby window, fifty stories above the ground. As King Snake's life hung in the balance, Shiva appeared and commanded Tim to kill him.

Tim refused. He walked away, leaving King Snake entirely at Shiva's mercy.

What gets me is that Tim made no move to save King Snake from falling. And he made no effort to stop Shiva from committing the murder, either. His only thought as he heard the man's scream was "Fifty stories is a long way to fall."

The second time was in Red Robin 2009 #26. Tim orchestrated a whole plan to manipulate Captain Boomerang into getting killed by Mr. Freeze. The whole time, Tim blamed Captain Boomerang for making all those bad choices, despite Tim being the one raising the chances of them being made. Tim believed he was innocent because he wasn't directly participating.

Tim then stopped that plan, but not for any noble reason. He decided that he couldn't let anyone else kill Captain Boomerang but himself.

Tim couldn't bring himself to do that, either. So he had to spare his father's killer in the end.

This seems pretty cut and dry so far, right? Tim believing that letting villains die is alright as long he doesn't do the deed himself? I'd think so too, if there weren't other moments contradicting this.

In Robin #35, Steph insisted on leaving an enemy who got buried under the snow to die. Tim chastised her for it.

Neither of them were responsible for the snow, or for the enemy getting trapped in it. Plus, that guy tried to kill them with a chainsaw moments prior, so he's not exactly an innocent damsel in distress.

Maybe it was because this enemy wasn't a big enough fish to fry. We didn't really get confirmation that this guy has actually killed before, and he's around goon status at best.

But then in Robin #46, Tim chose to save another enemy who got himself into a deadly situation. That enemy was a murderer known as Young El. This time, Tim wasn't telling anyone else why they should save a murderer's life out loud. These were his private thoughts.

Notice how Tim's inner monologue sounded kind of on-the-fence. He contemplated justice finally catching up with Young El as the floorboards gave way, bringing a support beam down on him in the process.

However, Tim immediately switched gears to rescue Young El from under that beam before the water rose too high.

But Tim, as he told Young El the reasons he's saving him, asked himself "Do I even believe what I'm saying?" He could be asking this about two different things he said here. A) "Maybe it's not too late for you to learn something, Young El.", or B) "Death's easier for you when it's the other guy. Death's never been easy for me."

For Tim to doubt his belief in either of these statements is very interesting. He could be questioning if Young El is already too far gone for redemption, or he could be questioning if seeing someone die has never been easy for himself. For all we know, it could be both.

Unfortunately, Tim never got to see if his choice to save him would pay off. Tim wasn't strong enough to lift that beam, and Young El drowned.

There's a question on my mind as I read these pages. What makes this murderer's death different from when Tim let King Snake fall to his "death"? Sure, King Snake didn't actually die, but Tim didn't know that until later when the man came looking for revenge in Gotham.

Tim was once able to simply walk away from what he was certain would be a killer's demise. But then he's consumed by guilt over not being able to prevent a different killer's death down the line, to the point of hallucinating.

On top of that, what changed Tim's mind later? Red Robin #26 and Robins 2021 #3-6 still happened in the future. The only significant difference I can tell is that these two comics involved the killer's of Tim's parents, making it personal. But if the Imposter from Robins 2021 got his beliefs from his profile before his mother's killer got involved, then does that still hold up?

Maybe we should put a pin on it for now. There are other things Tim's done that brings the details of his no-kill rule into question.

Such as that one time Tim actually killed someone with his bare hands.

In Robin issues #51-52, Tim accidentally killed Lady Shiva while drugged on amarilla, a plant that enhances the user's speed beyond human limitations.

It may be argued if the amarilla altered Tim's mind enough to excuse him of fault or not. However, I want to focus on what happened after Shiva was revived. Here's another question to go with the first one:

Does Tim believe the kill still counts if the victim was revived afterwards?

From what I've gathered, yes and no. It's kind of complicated.

After Tim killed Shiva, he was understandably distressed about it, about how he can never take it back.

But after Shiva came back to life? Nothing. He didn't dwell on the fact he broke the vow to never kill. For something that devastating to happen in his life, it's odd that Tim didn't bring it up ever again, privately or otherwise. Especially considering what happened later in Robin #123, when Tim thought he killed Johnny Warlock.

Tim was utterly inconsolable. He lost all faith in his abilities as Robin, and in himself as a whole. It also contributed to his decision to quit being Robin after his dad found out. In general, he seriously dwelled on that "kill" for a much longer time than he had after killing Shiva. The difference being that he knew Shiva was resuscitated immediately afterwards, while Tim didn't know Johnny survived until issue #141.

But there's the fact that Shiva really did die. Her heart and breathing both stopped. So are we to believe Tim moved on from that so easily because she's alive now? What happened to never getting that back?

Come to think of it, not long after Tim killed and revived Shiva, there was someone else who landed in that same boat. Dick.

In Joker: The Last Laugh #6, Dick brutally attacked the Joker after believing he killed Tim. Dick ended up accidentally killing Joker instead, before the clown was resuscitated.

Here's the thing. While Tim was trying to comfort Dick, saying that it's ok because Joker's alive now, Dick didn't believe so. He was still distraught that he killed someone. The fact Joker came back to life afterwards didn't matter to him. To Dick, it still counted. So what does that say about Tim?

Before we move on, there's another person Tim knows who also died and came back from the grave. Jason.

Tim openly acknowledged Jason was killed before coming back, too. Multiple times. For example, when they met up in Red Hood and the Outlaws 2011 #8.

Tim hadn't shown any signs that he thinks Jason's murder doesn't count anywhere, except for maybe once.

In Knight Terrors: Robin #2, Tim and Jason had a heart-to-heart, and Tim said something strange.

"You survived."

Except Jason didn't survive. He died. To say Jason survived that night would've meant he never died to begin with. Him being alive now doesn't change that. Was this Tim telling a white lie to make Jason feel better? Or does Tim see being revived after death as "surviving"?

Ok, now we can move onto the next question. Or rather, bear with me as we go back to the first question. It's a broad topic with plenty more to talk about.

What does Tim count as breaking the no-kill rule?

We already asked how Tim feels about bringing villains back from the dead after killing them. And we asked how Tim feels about leaving a villain to die without getting directly involved. However, we still don't know how much involvement Tim needs to have in an enemy's death before he'll take responsibility for it.

We can confirm he won't mercy kill in Red Robin #21, even if it means giving someone a fate worse than death. No exceptions.

Tim also doesn't allow anyone he's actively teaming up with to kill, especially if he's the one in command. He's been amicable with known killers before (Huntress and Pru, for example), but only when they remain non-lethal while working alongside him.

Apart from that, though, it becomes less clear. However, I think this is a good place to expand on when Tim blew up a lot of League of Assassins bases in Red Robin #8.

I'm not going into whether or not those explosions actually killed anyone. I've seen evidence supporting both sides of this debate, so I'm just going to say it's up to interpretation. What I AM talking about is whether or not Tim would've felt responsible if they had killed someone.

Before overloading every generator in the LOA database, Tim gave a warning to the Wanderer. He told her that he couldn't be held responsible for what would happen to her if she didn't leave.

After initiating the explosions, Tim warned the White Ghost that they had fifteen seconds to leave before it was too late.

Fifteen seconds. That explanation on the mistake of letting him in might've taken roughly another fifteen to twenty seconds. Did the other bases even get a full minute head start? The way some of the people were already running away could imply they at least got a warning, but it's possible they might not have.

Even if everyone in every base received a warning, would that be enough for Tim to avoid holding himself accountable if they didn't make it out in time? Tim's the one who rigged the bases to explode, but I guess giving someone a warning means it's now their fault for not heeding it?

We can't be sure he even considered the possibility of those explosions killing anyone. Tim knew they were dangerous enough to bring the whole Cradle down, and the other ones we saw looked pretty powerful (except the ones in Ra's hideout). But Tim also called Ra's a murderer right after that happened, which would've been very hypocritical if Tim himself thought he committed murder.

So, my guess is either A) Tim relied on sheer luck for those explosions not causing any casualties and chose to believe they hadn't, or B) Tim didn't believe the deaths of anyone caught in them would be his fault.

Again, this isn't about whether or not blowing up the LOA bases killed anyone. It's about how willing Tim was to take that risk, and if he would've blamed himself for anyone getting killed from it.

Either way, it's canon that Tim had no guilt for the explosions he caused, or for anything he did before Red Robin #22. Just ask the Sword of Sin.

This is an exerpt I got from the Fandom DC Database on the Sword of Sin:

"The Sword of Sin can be ignited with the mind of the wielder, if the person is powerful enough. The sword has the ability to conjure in the mind its victims all of the sins for which they are guilty or have not atoned for."

When Tim was stabbed with this sword, he was immune. The Sword of Sin decided he was innocent. Although, I have to ask how reliable this sword was in making that judgement. If the sword is judging others based on its own set principles, then something's not right here.

The Sword of Sin was also used on Dick, and he wasn't immune. It dug into Dicks subconscious and unearthed memories he'd long since repressed. Memories of himself watching a boy get beaten to near death, and then doing nothing. He just walked away.

Now, tell me why the sword brought this to light, but not the time Tim left King Snake to die!

It wasn't an accident. Tim deliberately chose to leave instead of trying to save this man from the murderous Lady Shiva. Sure, Tim was no match for Shiva and he might've not been able to stop her, but the same could be said for an eight year old Dick not stopping a group of much older kids. Neither of them tried to stop the attackers.

Tim didn't atone for it, either. When King Snake returned in Batman #469, Bruce told King Snake that it wasn't Tim who left him to die. We know that's a lie, but Tim never corrected this. He let Shiva take all the blame.

We have two instances of a boy choosing not to prevent someone from having a near death experience. One guilty, and one innocent.

Did the Sword of Sin think Tim was justified because King Snake was corrupt? That doesn't sound holy to me.

Was it because Tim didn't feel any guilt over it, while Dick did? Can the sword's judgement be thrown off by the victim not feeling any shred of guilt over their actions, even subconsciously?

That could make sense given what we know Tim did in the past: King Snake falling, the vandalism (explosions), and ALL the lying over the years (Tim reviving Shiva might count as atonement, so I'm not including that). If the sword based its judgement on God's will alone, then odds are high it would've picked up on one of these.

Even so, I'm not going to sit here and say this is definitely the case. I'm not familiar enough with how the sword effects other characters to make that call.

If this is indeed false, then did the DC universe's version of God decide to pardon Tim of his sins when he prayed earlier that same issue, despite him not believing he had any? I mean, who knows, right?

You can probably see why there's more questions than answers. The point is Tim didn't have any guilt for the things he did before Red Robin #22. Tim was canonically convinced he had nothing to atone for.

So then why did he say the opposite later in Knight Terrors: Robin #2?!

In the heart-to-heart between Tim and Jason, Tim tells him this:

"You have a lot to atone for...We all do..."

Tim knows that the words "we all" include him, right? By saying this, Tim admitted to also having things he needs to atone for, right?

Is this another white lie to make Jason feel better? Is it one of those slight changes the New 52 made to the canon? If not, then why did he change his mind? Did his no-kill rule change and make him feel guilty for some past actions? Is it not the no-kill rule, but something else?

What changed?!

Where does Tim draw the line?

I don't know. We've narrowed it down to a general area, but it's kinda hard to see a line when it's so blurred it could be a gradient.

Tim baffles me. He acts as a steady moral compass for others when he can't even seem to stay consistent with his own. You're free to call it poor writing (and honestly, fair), but I find his hypocrisy fascinating.

That's what it is, isn't it? Tim's a hypocrite who's completely oblivious to being one. And it's not like this was never mentioned in the comics before. Damian called him out on it!

In Batman & Robin 2011 #10, Damian confronted Tim about his near-murderous reaction when Fist Point killed Artemis (Teen Titans Vol 4 annual #1). Damian then accused Tim of constantly rejecting him because they have more in common than Tim's willing to admit.

It's debatable how accurate that accusation was, but Tim had a pretty volatile reaction to it.

"I believe in every choice I make!"

Does he? I don't think someone who's so sure of what he believes in would contradict himself to this extent. Especially if he wasn't doing it on purpose.

He wouldn't vehemently push Bruce's no-kill rule onto others and berate them for bending that rule, only to go and bend that same rule himself when the Batclan isn't around. He also wouldn't exploit what he thinks are loopholes, decide later that those loopholes broke the no-kill rule, and then earnestly claim he never broke it.

Why is he like this?! He's had arguably the most normal childhood out of the whole Batclan before becoming Robin! What could've made him so fickle about this?!

Where does he draw the line? And how will he know when he's crossed it?

[minus-plus-zer0]

Stuck Inside From the Rain

♡ Genre: Fluff ♡ Pairing: Bakugou x Reader ♡ Tags: Aged up (This was supposed to be short u-u)

You couldn't go home, not in this weather.

You had only planned to drop off a video game you borrowed from Bakugou, but the rain had hit so suddenly that there was no way you were going anywhere now.

What's worse, it was getting pretty dark out. At least Bakugou had a nice couch to sleep on...

"Oi!" Bakugou called out from the kitchen. "Dinner's ready!"

Bakugou had fetched some extra ingredients so he could make food for the both of you. You both sat down at his dinner table, with your grilled chicken and peppers in front of you.

"Thank you so, so much for doing this, bestie!" you said. "I think this is the first time we've eaten together in your new home."

"That's not my fault. I invited you over last week. But you were busy with Kirishima..."

You scoffed at how he chewed his food angrily. "He's just a friend, Bakugou. I actually totally forgot about that until now. Are you jealous?"

"Why would I be jealous of some guy with shitty hair?! He's got nothing on me!"

"Then don't bring him up?"

"Don't go blowing me off for Kirishima and then I won't bring him up! How about that?"

"I'll be sure to give you all the attention you want this time, okay?"

Bakugou looked frustrated, but a bit pleased. "You better."

True to your words, you ranted and raved to Bakugou about the food, as always. Bakugou knew that if there was one way to get you to focus on him, it was through his cooking. He looked cocky as you basically monologued to him about your 5-star Yelp review of his food. He offered you the rest to take home as leftovers, because unlike that traitorous rat Kirishima, he found himself to be a considerate and compassionate soul who would never let you starve.

You wanted to help with the dishes, but Bakugou wouldn't let you lift a finger to do chores. The guy was treating you like a guest he personally invited, but you felt a little bit like a burden who invaded his evening out of nowhere (even though you knew he wanted you here).

The night grew colder as it went on, and you could tell even Bakugou was starting to get affected. You attached yourself to his side to warm him up, holding onto him because you knew he hated the cold. He let himself get a little lost in that moment, which was easy to do since nobody was here except for you.

"You're such a koala," he said. "How long are you gonna steal my arm for?"

"Bakugou, if you keep complaining I'm gonna let go."

"Fine, fine! Just walk a little faster with me, I need to get something from the living room."

Bakugou wanted to watch a movie with you, but first he fetched an extra blanket, hoping to drape it over the two of you while you sat on the couch.

"You didn't get your own blanket?" you asked.

"This was all I had! Don't hog the stuff, alright?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be a burden. I'm just cold..."

"You're not a burden. Just get over here so we can share it. Properly."

He drags the blanket around both of your shoulders, bringing you two hip-to-hip.

"It's like we're kids again, huh?" you laughed. "If you had extra pillows, I would've made us a pillow fort."

"I'm too big for that and you know it. It'd just fall over."

"You're no fun. Did anyone ever tell you that you act like such a grandpa?"

"You've probably told me that at least 5 times now, yeah."

You two watched a movie together, some old action flick from long ago. You rested your head on Bakugou's shoulder, and over time he ended up curling one of his arms around you. You're engrossed in the movie, you thought it wouldn't be your style but the movements are mesmerizing! However, Bakugou's glancing over at you repeatedly, gauging your reaction.

As the movie continued, the night grows even colder, and you're retreating into Bakugou's chest for any semblance of warmth. It's easy to do since his Quirk keeps his body working like an oven. Bakugou's tensing up now, stiff and janky in his movements.

You yawned for the 15th time this hour. "Bakugou... I'm sleeeeepy..."

Your heart rate slowed and your eyes felt heavy, and you almost dozed off to sleep with the sound of the rain rushing down outside. Bakugou looked distressed, knowing that you two might fall asleep together for the first time. But you didn't want him distressed, you wanted him happy, because he was your Bakugou, even if it wasn't official yet...

In your sleepy state, you gave him a tiny kiss him on the cheek and then curled up to sleep against him. You heard him swearing up a storm under his breath, and he really went through the entire curse word dictionary as if you couldn't hear him at all.

Then, he kissed you on the forehead right back.

"Night, dummy," he said, his voice very quiet.

[reidmotif]

Regret on the Rocks

Summary: Spencer finds himself at a bar being served by the girl who once broke his heart. Turns out she feels a lot more than just regret for letting him go.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Light Angst/Smut

Content Warning: drinking, Spencer is a little depressed, mentions of heavy bullying (specifically 3x16), car sex, female masturbation, Spencer POV, heavy kissing, unprotected penetrative sex

Word Count: 4.3k

Masterlist

Regret is an emotion I’m well accustomed to. It’s not to mean that I’m unhappy with my life by any means, but I’m aware of the space between my current situation and the ‘beyond’ that could’ve been if things had just been different. 

If I’d never joined the BAU.

If I’d had a more conventional life in the first place.

If connection came to me as easy as it seemed to other people my age. 

But none of those things seemed to ring true, so I carried regret in me like a bruise of honor. Despite the regret, I faced it every day and lived to do it all over again in the morning. It didn’t mean it was easy, and today proved that. Today, it was hard going to sleep knowing I’d wake up to do it all over again. 

In light of this, I’d found myself in a bar, alone. The case we’d been working on saw little to no fruition despite our efforts, and it’d resulted in another body we couldn’t save. Another person I was responsible for. It weighed down on me more than I cared to admit. 

I found myself continually lost in my thoughts, navigating through the carefully weaved web of guilt and self-doubt, spiraling, until a much softer, surprised voice pulled me out. 

���Spencer Reid? Is that you?” She asks. I hear her voice before I see her, and I know that it’s the bartender stood behind the bar, and there’s confusion as I wonder who could’ve possibly recognized me in a rundown small-town bar.

I look up and meet her eyes, and it’s as if a flood of memories ensues. A flash of recognition crosses my face, and seeing the images playing in my head, almost akin to a film reel, slowly walking me through one of my earliest regrets. 

I was 15, navigating my senior year while being the youngest one there. Despite the oddness of my situation, it never crossed my mind that I shouldn’t have tried so hard to participate in the same social events as my peers. With the hindsight of adulthood, I now imagine that if I had withdrawn, spent more of my time alone than trying to not be,  the hurt of never being accepted would sting less, because I’d never had tried in the first place.

But I had tried, and she was the only one who got me. She was older, yes, and beautiful and popular,  but those didn’t matter half as much as the conversations we’d manage to have. She never seemed to take offense to any ramble of mine, and I’d feel my heart soar when she’d ask questions after my monologues, sending me the clearest signals of interest in what I had to say.

And as a lonely 15 year old? It meant the absolute world to have that. To have her as my friend.

And so, when it came time for senior prom, in the interest of at least trying to fit in, I asked her to go with me. As friends of course, but even then she shook her head, and ruefully told me someone else had asked her. I vaguely recalled the name she’d given me off of a football roster I’d once read while attending the school, and nodded. I understood. I was prepared for the rejection, in fact I’d already taken it the moment she said no. I was prepared to live with it.

Then came the week before prom. Being lured away from the safety of the campus, and onto a football field. Being tied to a flagpole, while everyone watched- and laughed. I remember seeing a face, his face, knowing he was the one who was taking her. Taking (Y/N) to the prom. 

I rarely dwell on the events of that day, but I do remember the regret. I remember wondering that if I’d just never spoken to her, I’d maybe have been less of a target. I wondered if maybe I’d never asked her in the first place, maybe our friendship could’ve survived the whole ordeal, but it hadn’t. She never spoke to me after that, her head hanging low as she continued to hang off of his arm, never sparing me another glance again. 

But here she was, glancing- no, staring at me, her eyes wide. 

“What are you doing here? Are you.. Did you always live here all along?” She asks, her voice uncharacteristically soft and mellow. She was loud back in high school, I remember. She had the best laugh I’d ever known. 

It takes me a second, but I give her a flat smile, setting my glass down. “I’m here for a case, actually.” 

“A case..?” She says, her head tilting a bit in confusion. 

Clearing my throat, I nod. “Yeah, a case. I’m an FBI agent. I’m here for a recent string of murders being committed in the area.” 

“Wow, FBI, huh? I never thought of you as law enforcement.” She says, her eyebrows raising. “Always thought you were going to change the world with that brain of yours.” She adds, a small smile on her face. My eyes narrow in distrust at the sudden compliment, unsure of her intentions. 

“I’d say I’m changing the world.” I respond, a little defensively. “I like my job. I like that I change lives by not letting them end.”

She immediately retracts her statement, vehemently shaking her head. “No, no! That’s not what I meant at all. I mean, of course you’re changing the world- I just thought you’d be doing more. Okay- not more. I just- Gah. I swear, don’t take it the wrong way.” She pauses, before gesturing to herself.  “I mean, I have no room to talk.” She says, the words a little rushed and frantic. 

“What do you mean, no room to talk?” I ask, squinting in genuine confusion. 

“I mean, I work as a bartender. I don’t know what I want from life, but it’s certainly not this.” She says, motioning to the shelves of drinks behind her, a little defeated. 

She’s so different from when I knew her. Self-assured. Confident. She seemed almost meek in this environment, and the only recognition of the girl I knew came from the small, embarrassed smile she gave me.

“Well. We’re a lot more alike than you think, then. Titles mean nothing.” I say, voice a bit quieter. “I don’t think it’s anything to be ashamed of, though. We’re just getting through life the best we can, right?” 

She nods a little, seeming to take comfort in my statement. “Look at you. You’ve still got the same sweetness in you from high school.” 

Stiffening at the mention of high school, I just nod and taking another sip from the glass in front of me, which was starting to empty out. “Not trying to be sweet, I think. Just honest.” I say, bluntly.

It’s mean, I’m aware. I can feel her trying, but I don’t want to offer her the same. I want her to feel awkward. I want her to know what she did was wrong. 

There’s a silence that passes through the two of us, before she breaks it with a continued gesture of kindness, turning around to fill another glass with my drink of choice and setting it down in front of me, a small smile playing on her lips. 

“For being honest then. Thank you.” She says, and her eyes meet with mine. I almost hear the unspoken apology in her voice, in the way her fingers slowly push the chilled glass towards my empty hand, in the way she bites her lip softly, waiting to see what I’d say.

“To being honest.” I say, raising the glass slightly and downing the drink a little faster than I intended, not wanting to think too much about the implications of the gesture. To know that she possibly had regrets too. That she might still have the goodness I once knew in her. 

“I have about half an hour left in my shift, but if it’s alright, I’d love to catch up properly.” She says, keeping her gaze trained on mine. “I’ve.. missed you.” She says, her voice soft. 

I don’t respond to her last statement, but I can’t deny the magnetic pull begging me to say yes to her request, to at least see where our lives had gone after our separation. So I nod, silently.

“I’ll be here.” 

I try to lay off the drinks for the next thirty minutes, opting to sip some water instead to clear my mind in preparation for the time I’d be spending with her. Part of me wondered if I shouldn’t have accepted the invite at all. It wasn’t that I forgave her per say,  but the curiosity to know her all over again was overwhelming, regardless of the pain she’d caused me. I’m once again reminded why “curiosity killed the cat” is such an overused aphorism.

She comes up to me thirty-six minutes later, and I hate myself for keeping track. She flashes me a small smile. 

“You waited.” She says, softly. 

“I said I would, right?” I respond, unsure why that would mean anything to her. I agreed to this. I wanted this, even if I could physically feel the inner turmoil brewing throughout my body. I suppose it didn’t show though, because she continued on, smiling. 

“There’s an ice cream place I like around here. Would you like to go?” She asks, and I see her teeth catch onto her bottom lip, the plumpness of the feature being exacerbated by the action, causing me to momentarily lose my train of thought. 

“Uh. Yeah, ice cream. Sounds good.” I say, placing my hands in my pockets. 

“Did you drive here? I mean- I hope not. You drank quite a bit.” She says, starting to walk to the exit of the bar. 

“No, no. My hotel is actually right here. I walked. Needed to get my mind off some things and I ended up here since it was convenient.” I say, and I feel myself falling back into that comfortable rhythm of just being able to speak freely around her. 

It’s like no time has passed at all, and yet I’m acutely aware that nothing is the same. That we’re avoiding a bigger issue at hand. 

“Yeah.” She murmurs. “The murders around here have been grisly, haven’t they?” She says, starting to lead me to her car. “I get nervous when I hear about that stuff, so I find myself looking away from the news more often than not.” She continues, quirking her mouth to the other side, as if she’s aware this isn’t the best course of action, but does it anyway.

“It’s cute.” I think.

I push the thought away. 

“Understandable.” I reply, nodding. “I don’t watch the news either. I mean- I do read the news. But I don’t watch it.” 

She starts the car, and I observe a hint of a grin on her face, her eyes crinkling at the edges in a way that makes my heart jump. “So you still like to read then?” She says, seeming genuinely happy I’d kept up the habit even after my youth. 

“Oh yeah. I mean, reading isn’t something I really ever let go of. It’s a good activity when you’re out on the road so much.” I say, feeling solace in talking about something I truly loved. “Sometimes I feel like books provide me with better stimuli than social interaction.” I continue, unaware of the implications of my words, and I only realize once I’ve seen her raise an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, but I mean. Friends are good too, right?” She says, a hint of concern making her way into her voice. 

I chuckle a little bitterly. “Probably. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I have my team, and I’m grateful but-” I pause, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know. It doesn’t come to me like that, you know? And I’m not bothered by it, but I don’t like to think about it.” I say. There’s a faint feeling of heat on my face from the honesty, but I continue to stare straight ahead, not wanting to see her reaction to my words. 

“You were a good friend to me, Spencer. Better than a lot of the friends I had in high school, and I’m not just saying that.” She says, softly. 

I respond without thinking, shaking my head with an embittered motion and a click of my tongue.

“Yeah, and look where that got me.” 

She’s a little silent then, and I refuse to say anything else. She’s the one who invited me here. I don’t know what she wanted out of this, but I wasn’t going to forego my own feelings just to spare hers. I was here. That was enough. I was allowed to say that. 

We pull into an empty parking lot, where I see the neon lights advertising an ice cream parlor, but we don’t get out. She turns off the headlights and blows a bit of air between her lips, placing her hands in her lap and turning towards me. 

“Spencer.” She murmurs, swallowing a bit. “I am so, so sorry for what I did in high school. I know I wasn’t there when.. You know when. And I know I didn’t speak to you afterwards, and I am so sorry.” She repeats. “I hope you believe me when I say I really did miss you. I was such an idiot back in high school, and nothing can repair that, but I missed you so much.” She says. 

I turn to her and can see the tears welling up in her eyes and feel my heart soften. It’s insane, the effect she can have on me, even years later. 

“Hey, don’t cry.” I say, immediately reaching over to wipe a tear from her cheek, my thumb swiping over the expanse of her smooth skin. “It’s just high school. It’s a long time ago.” 

“No.” She says, emphatically, shaking her head. “Don’t lie to me. What I did was awful. It doesn’t matter if it was long ago. You can call me a bitch. You can- scream or hell! I don’t know. You can be angry at me. You should be angry at me. I could never say sorry enough.” She says. 

I shake my head, all the previous resentment and bitterness dissipating instantly. It was a bit odd, feeling the emotions I’d long held onto even years after our fracture go away so quickly, but she was my friend. For what it had been worth, she had been good to me.  And right now, she was my friend, crying in a car, and the guilt and shame couldn’t be more obvious. 

I move to hold her hand, wanting to comfort her, rubbing small circles into the skin near her thumb, her fingers grasping over mine, almost afraid to let me go now.

“You’re right, in a way. What you did confused me and left me feeling really.. lonely. But now that I’m older I think I better understand it, but it doesn’t change the fact you hurt me.” I reply, and I see her jaw tighten, nodding and taking my words to heart. 

“But I don’t think I resent you anymore for what happened.” I continue, the words tumbling out. “Seeing you guilty and ashamed so many years later is just making me wish we’d talked earlier, so we wouldn’t have had to feel this way for so long. Maybe we could’ve.. I don’t know. Picked up where we left off.” 

She gives me a flat smile, tears still in her eyes. “Yeah? I’d have liked that.” She murmurs. 

“I mean it.” I say, flashing her a soft smile. I decided to lighten the conversation for her comfort. 

“Doesn’t mean I won’t call you an idiot for dating that prick though.” I respond, a little teasingly, hoping to get a bigger smile out of her. 

“Oh god.” She says, leaning back, laughing a bit. “Please do. God, he was so .. awful.” She says. “He wasn’t half as funny as you. Just.. boring honestly.” 

I smirk a little at the words, feeling a bit of pride but brushing it off with a shrug. “I mean, it's a cliche right? Beautiful, smart girl with the boring jock?” I say. “You and like, 6 out of 10 high school girls probably fall directly into that category.” 

She gives me a laugh at that one, a real one, and my heart soars upon the sound alone. I hadn’t realized just how much I’d missed her.

 “6 out of 10? Where’s that statistic from? High School Girls Anonymous?” She responds, matching my energy and continuing the banter.

“Just trust me. I know these things very well.” I say, trying my best to sound as faux academic as possible, hoping to make her feel at ease, to fully let go of the tension from before.

“Well, then.” She says, softly, turning the conversation to be a bit more sincere. “I’m glad I don’t fall into that cliche anymore. I’m glad my taste changed.” 

I nod, surprisingly relaxing into the vulnerability of the words. “Yeah, it happens. Tastes do change throughout life, especially post-adolescence. One could denote it to the development of the prefrontal cortex, but I like to say it’s out of knowing what you want out of life.” 

“Have yours? I mean, your tastes. Have they changed?” She asks, her eyes boring into mine, and I realize that my hand is still holding hers.

I lick my lips and shrug. “Here and there. For the most part, yes, but I find myself clinging to certain aspects of my teenage self.” I respond, vaguely. 

She continues to look at me, nodding. “Mine have. For sure.” “How so?” I ask, my heart speedingbup. 

“I think I learned to like sweeter guys.” She says, softly. “Ones that don’t bore me entirely, and ones I actually want to spend time with. Maybe that’s a cliche in itself but..” She shrugs, ending off her sentence there. 

I nod, wondering where this was leading. Her eyes were trained on mine and I could feel my pulse quickening. Was she going to kiss me? Was I going to kiss her? Was I crazy for thinking that at all? What was happening here? 

“You said you still have certain aspects of your teenage self in your tastes.” She says suddenly, her face moving a bit closer to mine. “What did you mean by that?” 

I sigh, taking in the features of her face, and how they seem to be illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the windows of her car. She was so stunning, even now. Even after all these years, I couldn’t deny she’d only grown to be more beautiful.

 I lick my lips and nod. “I guess I just meant.. I still find you just as beautiful as I did back when I first knew you. Even moreso now, honestly.” I say, quietly. 

I can feel her breath hitch, and her own tongue darting out to wet her lips, mirroring my actions. Her gaze shifts from my eyes to my lips, and back to my lips again, and I’m extremely aware of what I want at this moment. 

“Can I kiss you?” I ask, my hand still in hers, studying her with a careful gaze. 

She nods almost immediately, and at the same time, we surge forward to meet the other’s lips, her hands immediately cupping my cheek and my hands moving to her waist. I hear the click of her seatbelt being unfastened, and suddenly she’s in the passenger seat with me, straddling my waist and continuing to keep her lips locked firmly on mine. 

It’s like I can’t get enough of her, my hands exploring her back, eventually lowering them to squeeze her ass, which elicits a low moan from her. I pull back a little, panting and see her eyes blown out with lust, causing me to groan from just how deep my desire for her ran in this moment. I let one of my hands to run over her bottom lip, pulling it down and letting it bounce back up, enamored by just how close she was. 

“Fuck.” I murmur, unable to contain my awe at her and without wasting a moment, she’s grabbing my hair roughly to pull me back in again to meet her mouth with mine. When given the opportunity from another soft moan from her, I immediately slip my tongue into her mouth, relishing in the way she grabs my collar and presses her body against mine, matching my enthusiasm one for one. 

It felt so good to be wanted by her.

She starts to whimper at the intensity of our prolonged contact, and the sound activates something primal in me. It was almost as if once I heard it, I couldn’t go back. Pulling myself back from the kiss, I start to trail my lips up and down her neck, leaving hot, wet kisses in my wake while she writhed in my lap, her fingers tugging on my hair in desperation. I played with the motion for a bit, testing out certain points on her, before finding that she’d moan loudest at a pulse point at the junction in which her jawline met her neck. I sucked on the spot, being sure to leave a large, dark mark.

I didn’t care what would happen after this night, but for right now, she was mine, and I intended to treat her as such. 

“You said your hotel room was nearby, right?” She pants, starting to move her thighs off mine. “We can go and-” 

I immediately wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her back against me with a force that surprised even me, before gripping her hair and placing my mouth near the shell of her ear. I can hear her squeak at the motion, but her legs relax back into straddling mine. 

“I want you now.” I whisper, my voice hoarse and low. “We can go, if you’d like but- I need you now. I can’t stress that enough.” 

She melts in my arms as I say that, and a grin comes upon my face from the desire she was displaying as well. She nods quickly, before moving her fingers to my belt, and just upon hearing the sounds of the hardware moving, my head involuntarily falls back because- holy fuck. Feeling her so close to where my pants were now currently constricted nearly had me finishing right there. I could barely look at her without feeling overwhelmed. I feel my cock being pulled from my briefs, and I let out a moan. 

I look at her again, and she’s the picture of lust. Her pupils are dilated and her hair is messy, and her mouth slightly agape. She’s everything I want right now. All I want. 

“You’re so big.” She mumbles, leaning back, her hand wrapped around me, beginning to stroke me in a gentle, rhythmic motion. 

“Yeah?” I murmur back, breathing in sharply when her thumb runs over my slit, feeling the precum already dripping down my shaft. Even her hand is making me question if I’ll finish right here before ever getting to be inside her.

“Yeah.” She whispers, almost breathlessly. 

“You can take it.” I say, looking at her, and the girl looks like she’s about to moan off of my words alone. She licks her lips before responding, her voice a bit higher than before. 

“I don’t have a condom- but I’m clean and-” 

“Yes.” I respond immediately and she moves quickly. My fingers, as if possessed, move to unbutton her dress a bit, letting her breasts spill out (to my delight). The urge to strip her bare for me crosses my mind, but then I’m acutely aware that we were in her car, and the risk of being caught was far too high for the pleasantries I wished to indulge her and myself in, and I find myself slightly wishing we had gone to the hotel room. Next time.

Before I get too caught up in the fantasy of possibly ever fucking her again, I see her reach under her dress, presumably to move her panties aside and groan at the thought. My hands roam over her body to find her hips, slowly guiding her onto my cock, her walls squeezing around me tightly as her hips met mine. 

Her moans were sweet, but I found my hand covering her mouth quickly, watching as her eyes shone with pleasure with just the slightest movement from either of us. 

“Need you to stay quiet, pretty girl.” I murmur. “You can do that for me, right?”

She nods, eager to please, and I keep my hand on her mouth for a moment too long as I watch her eyes flutter shut, then open, her hands wrapping around my neck to stabilize herself. She starts moving then, lifting off until my tip is the only thing inside of her, before slamming against me, creating the best type of friction for both of us, causing there to be desperation for more. My hands rush down to grip her waist, and I can barely stifle my own noises from how fucking good she feels.

It’s a frenzy after that, and I match her movements with thrusts from below. I know it’s enjoyable for her, based on how hard she’s trying to not make a single sound, but still lets out the tiniest little whimpers and gasps when my cock grinds against her spot, and from the way her thighs shake every single time I disappear deep into her, a small bulge forming in her lower stomach every time I pushed into her. Every clench and squeeze of her cunt drives me insane, and I can’t help the low groan slipping out of me. 

Her movements get erratic, signaling her end, and I grin at how quickly I managed to get her there. My fingers move to stroke her clit in circular motions, savoring the way I could hear her whisper my name, grinding down on my dick and chasing the feeling of my fingers on her. 

“Close?” I mumble, biting down on her shoulder lightly, which causes a louder moan to slip out of her. 

“Yes. Yes.” She whispers, breathlessly. “Please, Spencer. Oh god. Please.” 

I jut into her more rapidly, continuing the motions against her, before her walls tighten and squeeze around me, and her cunt flooding the base of my cock. I continue to move like a man possessed, swallowing the moans of her orgasm with a messy kiss, before finally, I reach my release as well, coating her walls from the inside out. 

She pants for a second, collapsing against my shoulder as she tries to catch her breath, and I stroke her hair, attempting to do the same. She moans softly, her hands wrapped around me as her eyes flutter open and shut. 

“I was wrong.” She mumbles, nuzzling into my shoulder, kissing it softly. I’m unsure about the meaning of the words, so I quietly ask her. 

“What about?” 

“You’re incredibly different from when we were in high school.” She says, softly. 

“Good or bad different? I ask, a little self consciously, which is amusing considering I’m still inside her. 

“Good. Really, really fucking good.” She clarifies, quickly, with a dazed smile. I lean in, kissing her a bit more softly now, letting my lips languidly trace over hers. 

“You too.” I murmur, and I can feel her smile against my lips.

No regrets about this one. 

WOAHHH. oh em gee. a fic! so so so deeply sorry i didn't live upto posting more fics this december and january, but i swear i'm gonna keep trying to at least get two out a month. valentines day is coming up, so you already know i'm gonna try and write something fluffy and cute for that, so look out for that. as usual, thank you so so much for any and all continued support. it seriously means the world to me and i cannot say that enough <3 i hope this fic was enjoyable. like, reblog, comment, whatever <3 just ty for reading!! <3

[forzaferraris]

NOTHING MATTERS — op81

pairing: oscar piastri x fem! engineering intern! reader

summary: the best way to get over someone who broke your heart is to get under someone else and (unintentionally) break theirs. / inspired by nothing matters by the last dinner party, listen on spotify here !

style: primarily written with a single smau element at the end.

warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, smut, unprotected sex ((p in v) please wrap it before you tap it)), oral (m! receiving) finger sucking, sub/don undertones but nothing serious, i swear on my life oscar piastri is a grunt and groaner but simultaneously considerably vocal during sex (i will die on that rock), afab! reader, readers kinda uncaring about who she hurts because she’s hurt, reader is referred to as she/her, miscommunication trope, oscar piastri has been in love with reader since the beginning of the season and just assumed one-sided pining. authors refusal to write with capitals, you can pry them out of her cold dead hands.

faceclaim: sofia dirado, although feel free to imagine reader as anyone else.

word count: 4.1k +

YOU WERE NO STRANGER TO HEARTACHE.

you fear it followed you around more often than not, like a dark cloud that covered your entire existence in this bubble of heartbreak that nothing ever felt good to you, nothing was ever worth it. from your parents divorcing after years of suffering in a loveless marriage to every single relationship you’d ever been in never making past the first time you sleep together — you’ve genuinely felt about giving up on life, going so far as to consider a life as a celibate nun or maybe not, perhaps just the life of a girl who burns through multiple packs of AA batteries using her rose toy.

however, when you’d met levi, your first year of finally being allowed to leave the mclaren technology centre to shadow tom stalland during the 2023 f1 season. you genuinely thought this man had reshaped your entire perspective of love, he made love easy, made loving him feel less like a sport and more like a hobby you could never get sick of, being with hom felt like you’d been going through all the “firsts” all over again, like a cheesy romance movie monologue.

and yet, here you are, sat in your hotel room after the japan gp, suzuka has always been your favourite gp to watch and unfortunately for some reason, instead of standing in the mclaren garage doing your job, you’re sat clad in your team clothes (a stark contrast to the white bed linen) and sobbing over a text message paragraph explicitly telling you that levi has decided to break up with you after he fell in love with someone else during the summer break, someone who “rewired his brain chemistry in a ways you could never do.” you want to get angry, you wish you were an angry person, instead when you got angry you cried, when you got too happy or even just laughed too hard you cried, you were a crier.

your heart is heavy, as you scroll through the other woman’s posts, she’s gorgeous, and that’s where you begin your myriad of self deprecating comparisons of you to her. you doom scroll for what feels like forever until you spiral even further down the heartbreak rabbit hole, your attention drawn to the fact that levi had both unfollowed and removed you as a follower at some point between when he said goodnight and then broke up with you the next day. you watch as stories of their summer break spent together is shared and your jealousy sends you into a blind rage that you block the both of them; because ultimately you knew that he will hold her life he used to hold you — for levi was boring, a one trick pony you’re only just now coming to terms with.

your disheveled appearance and self imposed seclusion from the events of the day were not left unnoticed, you’d resigned yourself to just stand on the outskirts, occasionally moving to sit down and watch the screens as the friday practice begun, you’re uninterested, unmotivated and trying your dandiest to not cry, for the sole reason of simultaneously not wanting to draw unwanted attention to yourself and the fact that the mascara you’re bought at the duty free at the airport was most definitely not waterproof.

the good thing was that you’d be in japan for the rest of the weekend, the worse thing was you knew not s language lick of the language — sure you could probably call someone an idiot in japanese thanks to the sheer amount of one piece you’d watched eith levi during days he didn’t want to do anything you had planned or suggested; however, the single knowledge of know the word idiot in japanese will not get her very far. you’re almost too zoned out to notice the first free practice had finished, oscar’s team engineer tom standall dismisses you, tells you that whatever happened before you came to track is to be sorted out before it potentially jeopardises a race and without a word or argument against hai decision you shuffle out of the garage and into the paddock.

“name, hey wait — wait up” a voice you’ve only heard considerable muffled by a racing helmet and through large oversized noise cancelling team gear headphones when you got to play pretend engineer whenever it was during his practice laps and his qualifying laps, it sends a shiver up your spine, always has and you’re unknowing if it always will.

“oscar? hey! you did so good today, from what i say, p3 is so awesome how are you not more elated about that!” you’d found yourself smiling, wide across your face and sinking into the gentle rhythm of the conversation with oscar. the smile he returns is equally as wide as if his whole face were smiling, you want to punch him — the cuteness aggression playing devil on your shoulder.

“oh nah, i am actually it just hasn’t like kicked in gully yet, i’m waiting for the full body visceral reaction i’m about to have,” he pauses for a brief moment, hands itchy to fiddling with something snd find solitude in dragging one hand after the other through his tangled and sweaty hair. “like just, honestly, jesus christ and in japan of all places fuckin’ hell” he seems both simultaneously out of breath and ready to compete in a marathon.

had it not been a considerably formal setting you swore you can picture him jumping up and down on the spot whilst trying to contain all of his excitement, you allow him to be excited not wanting your own mood and misery to overshadow his complete and utter elation at his podium win. it’s the first time in the few days you’d been moping about that the smile you give off reaches your eyes and oscar’s always paying attention to these things, unbeknownst to you of course.

“your excitement is infectious, surely the team have planned something celebratory for you! you’ve gotta celebrate this i’m sure lando is!” you can’t help but practically beam, you’re mesmerised by the excitement the unashamed amount of happiness this boy is oozing and the bitter feeling in your stomach over it all is just barely going by unnoticed.

oscar shakes his head, overs a tiny shrugs and barely gets another word into the conversation you teo ate having before he’s whisked away by the team to be dragged off towards the podium, you watch as he shakes the bottle of champagne onto lando and max. any and all brief untouched moments of happiness are immediately replaced when your phones buzzes, a notification alert from your ring door bell and the video supplied of your now ex boyfriend grabbing whatever stuff he’d left at your apartment. the situation just breaks your heart even further than when with the whole of the mclaren team being called upon for s group shot with both the boys and their podium wins you ignore it and decided you’d had enough of it all.

the hotel’s quiet as you tap your keycard against the inside of your hand waiting for the elevator to come back down, the traffic from the track back to the designated hotel meant you’d wound up leaving just as all the other drivers had and whilst you weren’t in the mood to face anymore interactions you were lucky to bypass the small group of fans loitering in the hotel lobby. the elevator itself is slow, like most and the way your stomach drops at the incline is almost akin to how you felt when you’d first received that break up text at the start of the week.

if there was one thing you were thankful for, it was the fact the hotel had a bar just off the lobby, which is where you’d found yourself, skirt a little too short, shoes a little too high and too the perfect amount of booby that you won’t get in too much trouble but also attract someone willing to take away the ache in your chest for the night.

you’d been sat at the bar for just under an hour, occasionally chatting to some of the other patrons but mostly the bartender herself; the paper straw mushy and impossible to drink out of sits on a napkin as you sip on the glass uncaring or the lipstick mark on the rim or the smudging it does to your own lipstick — in fact you’re hoping something else smudges the lipstick further if the night doesn’t continue to progress as slowly as it is.

“can i get a beer, whatever you’ve got in the bottle and another one of what she’s drinking” there it is again, the chill on your spine and the heightened sense of the hand that brushes past your ear to give the bartender a bank card. every single nerve ending in your body is on fire when the stool beside you in moved and a body now begins to occupy it, perhaps you’re a bit drunk, you’d already had two of these and what if the different alcohol consumption laws you’re unsure how much alcohol is actually in the fruity little cocktail you’d ordered.

“oscar piastri, i thought i told you to go celebrate your podium with lando, why are you still at the hotel?” there is is, a tone you’d never thought you’d use with someone who wass essentially your bosses boss, which therefore makes him your boss, and yet here you are — sultry tone and lips loosened by the alcohol in your system, shamelessly flirting with him.

“well, you see, i’m more of a pub person than i am someone who prefers nightclubs and being touched and bumped into by random strangers, i fear that’s more of a lando thing than my own” oscar laughs, the way he’s relaxed and carefree shows signs he did however, get roped into pregaming with lando beforehand, the neck of the beer bottle sits between his index and middle fingers, a comfortable position one you're sure would feel weird if you so much as tried to mimic.

you fear you're done for when it comes to watching the way his throat bobs as he takes a swig of the larger, it's a japanese brand one you've never heard of nor tried and you can tell oscar hasn't by the way his nose scrunches at the taste, he still continues to drink it though. time seems to float by, growing continually more comfortable with one another to the point you'd sauntered away from the bar stools and are sat perhaps not even an inch apart in a booth in the corner.

"favourite race destination, so far?" "monaco. most definitely, melbournes a close second, but that's just because of a personal bias" "personal bias?" "yeah. . . you."

you'd never thought to combine the flavours of japanese beer and strawberry liqueur, and yet here you were, back-pressed and arched up against the wall beside a hotel room that not yours, the elevator ride was one stop too long to have it be that you'd gone back to your hotel room, hands, not your own, are roaming places never thought to be touched, the bluntness of their nails digging into the soft flesh of your thighs has your separating from the kiss to lean your head back and full indulge in the simple pleasures received in this moment. arousal builds when soft lips find the pulse point in your neck, your choice signature scent perfume the most aromatic in that area brings a subconscious reaction from oscar, the thigh between your legs juts up and you also convulse right then and there, your own hands ove from holding the back of his neck to drag through his soft, product-free hair, tugging on the last few strands that slip through your fingers.

the beep of the room door unlocking pulls you to your senses, and a hand tight around your waist drags you inside, you cling onto him in the worst way possible, you can see the smudges of lipstick on the corners of his mouth and god, does he look beautiful. you're unsure for a moment, even if the alcohol had loosened you up a little, you still didn't know how to react around oscar, he's looking at you in a way you can't describe, it makes your stomach flip and you're eager, thighs clenching to distribute the friction of your building arousal. you want his lips on yours again, there's zero space between you, you're simply sharing each other's breath.

his hand finds the back of your neck, tangled in your darkened locks and pulls you back in for a kis, is soft, he must moisturise your brain supplies before it fizzes out, the kiss is messy, all teeth, tongues and spit. you whimper into the kiss, knees buckling, your own hands are on a mission sliding under the hem of his shirt to perfectly feel the warmth that radiates off his skin against your cold hands, you can feel the exact moment your cold touch makes him hiss into the kiss and it finally ignites the fire in your stomach. this is what you want.

you two remain lip-locked until your chest hurts and you've traded the same breath back and forth that it's completely died, when you pull away, you finally take notice of the blown-out pupils staring down at you. his a look entirely of lust, desire, arousal and it shows, especially with the bulge in his pants. your bottom lip finds sanctuary in between your teeth when you raise an eyebrow and one of your hands slips out from under his shirt to palm him through the cargo shorts he'd donned to wear.

if oscar's voice sent a shiver down your spine, the way he groaned at your touch against his bulge chilled you from the inside out, the noise rough and gravelly like he'd not uttered a word in weeks, it's deep and low in his chest that you wouldn't have heard it if you weren't practically flush against him. your hand continues to palm him, making riskier moves as your other hand moves to dip your fingers into the waistband of his pants, you don't wait, you don't even need to ask for permission when his own hands are practically shucking off his own clothes for you.

he looks so gorgeous standing right in front of you, the wet patch you can only assume of precum on the front of his boxers has you licking your lips involuntarily, you try to ignore the voices, fight the urgers but you're but a simple girl, eager to please, that you're flicking your gaze up at him as your sink to your knees, the carpet is soft enough against you but you know better and are already seeing the red marks you'll have the next morning.

oscar looks confused for you in the briefest of moments, your nails dragging along his thighs, soft blonde hairs tickle your finger tips and you bite back the sweet giggle you want to let out as you're finally tugging his underwear down. a moment of shock halts your movement, eyes flicking up and down between oscar's gaze and his cock, tip pink, throbbing and leaking — it's a sight to be seen and you're the one who gets to gaze upon it.

your hand wraps around him, fingers barely meeting at the girth and you moan, can feel the saliva pooling in your mouth, your oral fixation working into overdrive, a single flick of your wrist has a louder groan rolling out of oscar's mouth, a quick "fuck" followed after it that as you once again clenching your thighs. your hand sets an easy rhythm, tried and true, one that allows for long strokes at a steady pace and your thumb to swipe between the slit on his tip that has his stomach clenching. his own hand grabs at your hair, both for something to hold onto and to keep it out of our face when you inch closer and allow your tongue to tease his tip with small kitten licks.

"fuck, fuck, name, fuck suck my cock"

the verbalised plea is all you need to finally wrap your lips around the swollen head, the saltiness of his precum mixing with your spit as you moan around him, your tongue swirls around his tip every time you pull back, only to resume bobbing your head and matching the movement of your hand to the pace you set as you take more of him in your mouth, your mouth feels so full and you can practically feel his dick pulse against your tongue when your other hand moves to squeeze his balls.

"holy shit — where did you learn that, fucking hell"

you smile when you pull away, uncaring of the drool that rolls down your chin, oscar seems not to mind either when he's pulling you back up to kiss him, your hand still stroking him slowly. he can taste his pre cum still on your tongue and as someone who'd assumed he wouldn't be fond of the idea, seems more or less enjoying it solely because it's coming from your mouth. his tongue overpowers your own and he's licking in your mouth with such severity that you can feel your own wetness pooling in your panties, had you been horny before you were now basically unbearably horny at this point.

your clothes feel bothersome, and your top and bra come off rather quick once your legs meet the edge of the bed you'd been pushed back against. the cool air of the hotel room meets your nipples and you gasp out once oscar's hot mouth chooses to settle on one and his hand favours the other. it's magic, that's what you can choose to blame it on, with the way oscar's fingers tug and twist one nipple all whilst his mouth and suck away on the other, your back arches up against him when his teeth graze the sensitive bud and you swear you could achieve your first orgasm of the night just from that alone.

his mouth switches to give the same treatment to the other nipple and yours that tug and pull on his hair only urge him on more, whining and desperate and what you want to happen is not happening. you need him, you crave him, you desire him.

"please oscar, fuck me"

there is it, the words oscar had been waiting to hear since you'd kissed him, and who would oscar be if not someone who listened when he was asked to do something. he sits up on his knees, jerks himself a couple of times as he watches you, skirt rugged up to your hips, a perfect picture, a sight for sore eyes, so beautiful, all for him to bare witness too. you back arches, your eager and needy and positively soaked you don't even need to touch yourself to know, your panties are finally pulled off and you hiss at the air that hits your center. you're clenching around nothing, sticky and sweet, eager, he looks up as your and you nods a final confirmation before you supply a weak "please" before his tip is aligning with your entrance and he's sliding in.

the stretch is everything to you, he is perfect, your hand stretching splayed out against the pillow as the tiniest whine falls from your lips, oscar grunts, face and chest flushed, you can hear exactly how we you are just from the squelch when he finally bottoms out and you moan loud enough that if anyone had been walking past the room they would have heard. oscar doesn't move, allowing for your pussy to stretch and get comfortable around him before you nod, rolling your hips to signal him to move and move he does.

"you're so tight, holy shit."

his hips rock back and forth into you, it's slow and sensual something you hadn't expected, your legs shift and wrap around his hips and your body rocks back against his thrusts willing him to move faster. unlike past partners, oscar seems to get the hint almost instantly as he pulls out and shifts slightly, hand holding onto your hips before he's sheathed himself back into you entirely in a singular thrust.

you moan out, toes curling and your legs wrapping around him so tight as if you'd practically become some sex-fueled boa constrictor. you swear his muscles are working overtime as his abdomen flexes with every deep thrust inside you, your body abuzz with electricity, the fire in your stomach scorching as a particular thrust has him hitting your g-spot and your back arching receptively.

in a world where you'd thought this was ever possible, all imaginations and scenarios have proven wrong already as oscar's thumb finds solace on drawing circles on your clit, causing your pussy to clench around him and a hiss to drag itself from his lips. to oscar you feel amazing and the flush on your face perfect evidence of his inability to be shy about telling you so and all you can do is ooh and ahh in return. something pulls in your stomach when he bottoms out in you again, your leg twitches and you're hyperaware that you'd just orgasmed around him, vocalising how it feels and your back arching however, his hips remain relentless only to come to a halt as he pulls out; your words are stopped as you're flipped over with a gentle tap against your thigh.

arms stretched out in front of you and your back arched, give oscar the perfect view to just take a moment to stare at your fluttering pussy, clenching around nothing as you suffer through a partially stunted orgasm. fingers drag through your folds and your body jerks at the sensitivity, the dip between them, pumping in and out similar to the rhythm he kept previous, his middle finger hooks and your face is thrown forward into the pillow as it hits the spongey feel of your g-spot, you gasp out hand white-knuckling the pillow as he focusses his fingers on that one particular spot

"fuck osc – fuck want you back inside me"

you don't bother with caring much about how whiney and desperate you'd begun to sound, throat dry from the gasping and the continuous noises he pulls from you, your tempting him, ass swaying as he chuckles, pulling his fingers out, he coo's at you as you whine to mourn the loss of the feeling, teases you as he slips the tip of his dick through your flushed red folds and bottom out with a quick hard thrust. you scream out, the pleasure perfectly combining with the sudden stretch to make the sweetest mixture of pain and pleasure you'd ever felt and to silence you, the fingers he'd just fucked you with had found the way into your mouth and if there was one thing you were, it was a good girl.

the sounds reverberating around the walls of the hotel room are borderline pornographic, the new pace oscar has set, deep and hard, skin slapping against skin as he practically bounces off you, his free holding your hip steady as your own knees buckle and you can feel the way his dick pulses inside you, the way his movements become sloppy yet still hitting your pleasure spot every time. the fingers in your mouth licked clean of your own arousal now replaced to be covered in your own drool. oscar grunts, his hips snapping against you in a final thurst as he slumps forward to press the most delicate of kisses to the nape of your neck as he feels you up and you cum around him for a second time.

it's messy, whatever hadn't spilt inside you now jerked off onto your back as your knees give out and you slump against the bed. worn out and woozy you're hardly paying attention to oscar cleaning up, the warm washcloth drags along your hot, sticky and sweaty skin in a way that twists your brain and brings out the regret that seeps into your stomach, had your legs not been feeling like they weren't attached to your body you would have scrambled to get dressed and done the walk of shame back to your own hotel room; however, you stay, regretfully.

you don't cuddle, oscar tries not to act hurt about it as you roll over and away from him when he finally climbs in himself. to you this didn't matter, you fucked him, like nothing matters. come the morning you'll be gone before he wakes. because this didn't mean a thing. to you as least.

yourusername just posted . . . ♫ nothing matters . the last dinner party

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oscarpiastri oh.

authors note: please excuse my smut skills, i'm rusty a lil ngl. i love a bittersweet ambiguous ending. if this gets enough recognition and asks, i'll definitely more than likely make a part two or even multiple parts. reminder, if you weren't tagged it means i couldn't find your account.

add yourself to the taglist here !

taglist: @iluminaya @therealcap @marshmummy @@im-an-overthinker @a1leexxa @chasing-liberosis @marauderssworld @nesssywrites @valntynebaby @larastark3107 @justtprachisblog

[fuckyeahizzyhands]

Info compilation from the How To Fuck Off With Con O'Neill workshop :) ❤

The online workshop took place June 29 2024 for LGBTQA+ charities :) ❤ you can see the more public part of it on youtube :).

Izzy and OFMD:

Con's start with Izzy: 'Izzy wasn't in the pilot episode of Our Flag. So when David approached me Izzy was just a thought, a husk yet to be formed. David said to me he saw him as a Salieri type character - the character from Amadeus, or Iago, a man in the shadows. And I agreed absolutely but also, I saw him as a man desperately, painfully in love, so his passion and his anger and his fear and his love all erupted in his expletives. I loved him from the off, I loved his directness, I loved his fearlessness, his pain, of course his fabulous use of profanities.'

Izzy swallows: At one time Con has a sip of water and then points at the glass of water and says, 'Izzy swallows. Still makes me laugh every time I hear that.' (There is a Izzy swallows t-shirt Con did for this charity :)))

Twat (doing the part of the workshop on 'fuck, shit and twat':) 'Now, 'twat' belongs to Izzy. Sometimes with an actor, you find a costume that fits you like a glove or something a line of dialogue opens the door to your character. For me, with Izzy, it was 'twat'. The first time I said it as Izzy it exploded in my fucking head. Because fundamentally Izzy is a twat man. [Con smiles widely] Also an ass man but that's a whole different workshop.'

Con improvised the rancid, syphilitic cunt: 'In Season One I was terrified about ad-libbing and improv which I've said many times. We had great writers and everything I needed was on the page. Except for the day 'daddy' came to visit. I have no idea where that line came from, no idea which part of my dark perverted psyche it interrupted from but as soon as it was out, it was out. In Season Two, again, everything I needed was on the page. Our writers are... were... are... will always be... spectacular. They gave Izzy such beautiful stuff and I will be forever grateful to them, to David Jenkins and the whole cast and crew, and to you lot for your continued support. But then towards the end of the shoot, we were filming the tavern scene with me and Erroll AKA Ricky. And it was the 'belonging to something' monologue, which was so beautifully writte it took my breath away. And we shot many, many takes and I was tired and emotional. And I knew we had it... nearly. There was something missing. There was a beat. A moment to end what was really Izzy's epitaph. And then our brilliant director Fernando came up to me and whispered in my ear, 'We'll do one more take. Let him go.', and we started the take and I could feel myself getting emotional. This was Izzy's big moment. It had to be right. It had to be right. And then as we reach this final line, instead of what was written, I heard Izzy say, 'And you are a rancid, syphilitic cunt.' And to my dying day I'll never understand how we got that on the Telly, but we did. Because sometimes in life, only a rancid, syphilitic cunt will suffice.'

What Con suprised the most in the OFMD fandom: 'The art. The art has blown my fucking mind. It blows my mind every day. What is nice... when you've been around as long as I have and you... you know, I love what I do and I am blessed to be able to do what I do and I have done it for a long time. And every now and then you get casted or you have the opportunity to play somebody who you fall in love with and that is not always the case by any means. But it's so gratifying when you fall in love with somebody who is complicated and difficult and flawed, when an audience also finds him and loves him. What was beautiful for me with Izzy is... Izzy is not easy to love and you all had to fight hard to love him. But it's worth it. Fundamentally what he is is an ally. Fundamentally what he is is what we have all been at one point in our lives. In love with somebody who doesn't love him back. And it's those flaws in his character that make him compelling and interesting. And the art is all about him, not about me. Very few people are drawing me which is fine but it's lovely to see the love for him, because I fell in love with him really quickly and I'm so delighted that people have fallen too. And some people hate him, but fuck it, what can you do? You know, the only way to get people to always love everyone you play is to play Santa Claus. And unless the Santa Claus is a big queer, fucking, leather-wearing fucking fucker then I am not interested in playing him.'

Con got hate on social media for playing Izzy - sb said that ppl loved Izzy earlier than Con thinks and Con said: 'I know that people did but I was getting quite a lot of hate on social media. But you know, fuck it. I am a big boy. I can take it.' (honestly, fuck those people, what person goes off spewing hate to an actor for playing a role, wtf?!)

Izzy is a great First Mate + how his meeting with Calico Jack went + why the whole thing with Stede and Blackbeard takes Izzy so much by surprise: 'Izzy is mathematically good at his job. He's a great first mate. And when he is asking anyone for help it's simplistic and straight to the point. There is no emotion. It's not: [subserviently] 'Can you do me a favour?' It's all straight down the line. It is unemotional. And that how he is with Jack, that is how he is with everyone. He's just... he's really fucking good at his job. You know, that's how he operates within the boundaries of his work. He is very unemotional. So he was very specific and very: ' This is what I need you to do. This is why I need you to do it. And you owe me.' Because everybody owes Izzy, because he's so good at is job. So... you know... it's... David and I spoke about that early on that he's just... the reason the whole thing takes izzy by surprise with Stede and Blackbeard is because he can't work out why Blackbeard would fall in love with THAT guy. Because that guy doesn't compute. He's crap at his job, he's a crap parent and he's bit of a... you know [waves hands] - it doesn't compute. So that's why he has such trouble with it. Because it just doesn't make sense. It does later. In Season 2. In Season 1: no, can't work it out. So yeah. Sorry there is no great reveal though, but yeah it's pretty much: 'This is what I want you to do and this is why I want you to do it.''

Con's personal thoughts how Ed and Izzy came to meet: 'They've known each other since the start. And I think they were young men together. And I think they were always kind of soulmates on that level. And that they've grown together as pirates. And the great understanding is Izzy is the best first mate ever. But he's not as good a captain as Blackbeard would be and he knows that. And Blackbeard knows that without Izzy he's not as good a pirate. So they've had that mutual respect. And everything else that happened... which is up for discussion as in the intimacy or the sex or whatever or the love or not love or the no sex or the whatever, that's all secondary to that relationship, the relationship is a work relationship. But they're pirates and everybody fucks on a pirate ship. Allegedly.'

Con's favourite scene to film in OFMD: 'Everything with Taika was just lovely. Because he's such a great scene partner. And his work is very similar to how I like to work so it was always joyful and easy, easy to work with. I really got to enjoy working with Rhys more and more and more, and the more our relationship became clearer, I really enjoyed working with him, and you know, and anything with the gang. Because they are such good actors those guys and girls and they thems. They're just... And I loved watching them, as well, I loved... because Izzy is a watcher. So I used to sit back in all those big group scenes be able to watch these truly gifted actors do their thing. And those of them that were brilliant at improvising were genuinely brilliant at improvising. That's not something I do very well so it was really inspiring to watch somebody deliver on levels of that brilliance. But my very favorite scene would be... would be the death scene. Because it felt... as a scene it felt perfect. On the level of Blackbeard and Izzy it just felt perfect to play. And I also enjoyed the 'Oh, daddy' scene because that was unexpected. To myself in that scene. And everyone else on the set it has to be said but the look of horror when that first came out of my mouth was kind of fun.'

This is Con's first experience with a fandom: 'I have never experienced a fandom before. Not by choice but I tend not to do the sort of shows that would l end themselves to fandoms. Above maybe Uncle? But Uncle kind of... people gravitated towards Uncle a long time after we finished it. And they only gravitated towards Uncle through Our Flag. It's not a choice that I don't do things that have the possibility of fandoms, it's just I've never considered it and then this came along.'

Izzy said he loves sb twice in his life: 'I think he said I love you twice in his life. Once to Blackbeard - and then he doesn't say, he says 'I have love for you'. And once to the other person who we will not talk about at this stage.'

Izzy + Stede in S2? - Question: 'Did you intentionally act maybe as if Izzy was kind of falling in love with Stede? Because we just get that vibe. It's like all this... there are so many pictures and little looks and it's fantastic.' --- Con: 'No. I think a lot of it is about a) Izzy seeing Stede becoming a better pirate. And also, I think my... I always loved working with Rhys but I thought Rhys exploded in Season 2. So I think possibly a lot of that is me not being able to hide my admiration of how Rhys grabbed it by its horns and smashed the fuck out of it in Season 2. Stede isn't Izzy's type, let's just leave it at that. I don't think. Now I'm sure people who ships Izzy and Stede together are going to hate that and I'm not saying that they don't, I'm just saying on the surface Stede is not Izzy's type. But he could have been... in the right circumstances.'

The most suprising inspirational thing that has happened to Con through his OFMD journey: 'The most inspirational thing was just working with a group of actors who was so comedically adept. And so supportive of those of us who weren't. And realizing that in comedy, it takes all different approaches. And you can be funny without being comedic. And that revelation was huge to me. It's something I've taken away. It's something I will absolutely endevour to include in my work from now on. Is that you don't have to be... you just have to be truthful. And if the moment is comedic then it is comedic. And that's what I've learned from Samson and... I think Samson is one of the best actors I've ever worked with. I think he's so deeply authentic. Nathan. Vico. Samba. Just really wonderfully talented organically funny people. And yeah that's what I learned, that you don't have to put on red nose and flippers to be funny.'

If he could spend a day with 1 member of the OFMD crew: 'Obviously Blackbeard is the obvious answer. But, I think, this might be a little provocative, but I think Izzy had a very soft spot for Nathan - Lucius. That grew and grew and grew. So if we're talking Season Two I would say Lucius. And Season One I would say thank Fang, beacause is his little buddy. But, yeah, I really like what developed between Lucius and Izzy.'

Con and Vico's hike: 'Come for a walk, they said. It will be lovely, they said. It's an hour, they said. Four fucking hours later, having climbed mountains and being attacked by eagles and sharks, we eventually ended up back in the place we started because Vico said they knew where we were going and they didn't. Also, Vico wanted me to take... I don't know if Vico ever said this but I'm gonna say it, once wwanted me to take film of them climbing down in rockface and they got so fucking freaked out halfway down, that they lost their cool. And now for Vico to lose cool it's pretty huge. I was laughing so much that the camera was shaking and they never posted that. There's a piece of footage of Vico rockclimbing, losing their cool and me just howling with laughter at the other side of the camera but the never printed it. But yeah, also it was... because I hadn't seen them for a while and Vico is one of my favourite people on the Earth. And it was lovely to spend that time with him even though I hated them because it was four hours.' (actually footage is here and photo here :D)

Izzy ship that Con would like to see more art of: 'I was always surprised it wasn't more of Izzy and Jim. For me, that is the kind of yin and yang of the same person I was very surprised that didn't make the top 10, really.' /fan comments on Izzy and Lucius and being closeted/ Con: 'I don't know if Izzy is so much closeted sexually, he's closeted emotionally. I think his leaning, sexual leaning as in attracts is towards the Blackbeards, the Jims, that kind of... [Con raises hands in fists]... kind of macho kind of thing... but we all have our softer moments so maybe Lucius is in there. I don't know. But the instinct would be... I would think more Jim and Izzy.'

If they had more time what scene he would like to have filmed: 'I would have liked more swordplay in Season Two as I enjoy doing it. And I like the idea of Jim and Izzy having a duel.'

Response from disabled fans about S2: 'Vastly positive. You know, it's always difficult to play somebody who becomes disabled because obviously, you're acting. And all I could do to qualify it was read up as much as I could on amputations at that time. And we... like for instance, there is a scene where I am putting out candles with the sword, and the original routine was much more fluid. And I had to sort of say my piece which was the leg would not have healed sufficiently for him to put enough weight on it to do these movements. And, so that's just one instance where you had to honour the situation rather than just be gung ho about it. But, yeah, I can't say I think we did well because that is not my call, but I never wanted to be blasé about it. So I did as much due diligence as I could do, within the confines of when I found out and the filming schedule.'

Izzy's motivation in the S1 Izzy provokes Ed scene: 'Do you know what? It's been a while. He wants to provoke Blackbeard into becoming Blackbeard again. That's what he wants to do and he succeeds because Ed grabs him by the throat, it's a violent act. And that's what Izzy's trying to achieve because he feels like Blackbeard has gone soft. And he achieves it. He achieves what he wants to achieve. And, it's the catalyst that brings Blackbeard into his other self. Shakes him out of Stede. So. Yeah. I mean, it's a really interesting question. I can't unpick it in the time we've got. As I always said about Izzy is complex as he's flawed. He's not always emotionally connected by any means. The only thing Izzy is absolutely clear about is his job. And this question is not just about his job, it's about his emotional connections. So that would take me more time and I'd have to rewatch the episodes because I've done a few things since, so it is not as clear to me, the motivation.'

Izzy's hair in Season 3: 'It was always work that decided about my hair. I've never been particularly interested in my hair. I've had my head shaved, I've had a perm, I've had it long, I've had extensions put in, it has been blonde, it's been red, it's been black, it's been gray, it's been peroxide, it's been a blah, but never from my choice. I would like to go white-gray though for something. I would like to try that. Because I'm going grey. That would have been Izzy's hair in Season Three. There's a little snippet.'

How much input Con had on Izzy's outfit: 'Overall, very little input into the outfit the costume. I'm very much a practical actor so if there's anything on the costume that if the character like Izzy is - he's a practical man - if there's anything on the costume that he wouldn't use, he wouldn't have it. So that was a little bit back-and-forth. But both designers of Season One and Season Two were brilliantly collaborative. And I think it's the best costume I've ever had and I am the only actor in the entire show whose costume never changed, apart from the last episode with the british army uniform. So yeah I feel that costume spoke volumes.'

Other:

5 fucks and 1 cunt: Con says that when he filmed Dancin' Thru the Dark (1990) one of the BBC execs said, 'As this is a BBC film, we're only allowed five 'fucks' and one 'cunt'.'

Con's tattoos: 'I do not have any tattoos but I'm gonna get one this year.'

How many doggos would Con have tf he had adequate space and resources: 'This one [Con's doggo Cooper] won't accept any other dogs. Because Cooper's a rescue dog from Hungary. And he was a feral dog for some time. And he's okay with dogs outside of the house but when any dog that comes into the house it's war. So I think once he goes to doggy heaven - which isn't gonna be for at least 50 years - we will... I've always liked the idea and I want - now that we got a house with a big garden - I want dogs. Ideally two. But probably ideally eight.'

Con's favourite movies: 'I'm a big shark movie nerd.' + 'I'm a horror guy.'

[claraswritings]

Can I Be The One?

Summary: Luca is your childhood friend who has fallen in love with you. Carmy meets you through him and falls for you too Vignettes throughout the years knowing them.

Pairing: Chef Luca x female!Reader / Carmen Berzatto x female!Reader- I have never done this before. There’s TWO ENDINGS so you can pick whichever hot chef boyfriend you want.

Warnings: angst with a happy ending, negative inner monologue, allusions to a panic attack, language, slow burn (sort of…it’s a fic which spans years), Google translate used, short smut in both endings, friends to lovers.

Notes:

1. In 2.04 in Luca’s kitchen there’s a handwritten sign that says “Jeg elsker dig” which is I love you according to Google translate 😭. So I wrote that into the Luca ending because who wrote that to him. WHO?who?WHO?WHO?… It was you if you want it to be.

2. I am so up for expanding both of these CHOOSE timelines. If anyone has any ideas for blurbs or just wants to chat pop up.

———————————————————————————

LUCA

PARIS

After some years of Luca working in London restaurants and climbing the ladder, he’d built his skills up at a rapid pace impressing just about everyone, including himself with how good he was. You’d been there for him like you promised through it all, his first successful promotion where he was tasked with coming up with a new dessert. You’d brainstorm with him and hold plates steady whilst he practiced assembly. You were there his countless attempts at spun sugar that you wound up having to pick out of his hair. The day he’d perfected his technique on that had been a relief, both for Luca and you but a sad day for the fine tooth comb industry. Seeing him flourish and be successful made you so happy. People were finally seeing Luca as you saw him. Talented, patient, dedicated and hardworking. Finally, he had something he loved that he could put all of his pent up energy into.

Every time he was offered the chance to a new place, he’d asked you to come with him and every time it had been an easy decision.

Given that you’d studied languages and spoke several, you’d agree with a joke that you’d be his unofficial translator in exchange for being his taste tester. It was easy for you to get freelance work wherever you went so it became you and Luca, travelling the world together.

Only a few weeks ago he’d asked you to come to Paris with him so he could learn new pastry techniques over there and stage at a restaurant, you’d once again agreed knowing you’d be able to pick up some translation work online.

“He speaks French and English by the way.” You said as you made your way back to the Paris Air BnB you’d been staying in over the past month. “He was fucking with the staff.” You continued, referring to the government official who allegedly spoke no English or French.

“I don’t think government officials ‘mess with’ people.” Luca looked down at you and pulled a face, “He was pretty old”

On this particular night he’d called you saying there was a restaurant emergency, a government official had requested off-menu, however when said official arrived, he stared blankly at any attempts to communicate in French or English.

“Don’t they?” You said, “I hate to break it to you but I think that is pretty much the byline of their job description.”

“I think…I think he was just being a dickhead.”

“Also in their job description, darling.” you whistled lowly, laughing as you looked up at him.

The way you called him that. It felt sweet, personable and rolled off the tongue and he suddenly felt it heavy in the Paris summer. Did it feel as loaded to him as it did to you? Probably not. You were so friendly and personable to everyone. Luca shook his head and tried not to make it obvious.

Of course he’d thought about you like that. It had started in fleeting moments.

The first day of his first kitchen job, or several years ago when he went to your university graduation and you’d held his arm as you walked across the grass to have photos taken, or last year you’d stopped in to see him, KFC bucket in hand after your relationship ended (Luca hated the guy anyway), or last month you’d tried 20 different variations of the same caramelized banana dessert he’d made even if you never were overly keen on banana because he’d really, really wanted to impress this celebrity chef that was coming into where he was working as sous chef.

It had become more frequent over the years with a hundred other times in between until he couldn’t remember when it had become harder and harder to put it down to a fleeting thought and closer to ‘I think I might be in love with my best friend’

“You’re messing with me aren’t you?” Luca asked, cocking his head to the side.

“He seemed to understand when I dropped it towards the end of the meal and thanked him sounding like this.” You gestured at yourself “So I’m going to go with…no, he understood…”

“Fucking hell” Luca let out low exhale and then laughed. “Hey…thanks again for helping, the CDC has offered you a free meal.”

“Why do you think I came down.” You joked. “Well that and I like hearing about what you’re making” you added on sincerely.

“You like me being a nerd about desserts?” Luca cocked his head, a slightly teasing tone in his voice

“Yeah but I like it. It’s actually really interesting you talking about your technique” You replied back “it’s like vocal food porn or something”

“Nah,” He laughed loudly at your description and elbowed you jokingly in the sides. “You just have a sweet tooth. I can promise you most people are not that interested.”

“Pfft their loss.…” You looped your arm through his and continued “You know I’m so proud of you, Luca, how much energy and love you put into this. It’s so cool. You’ve improved so much since your first dish and you just keep getting better.”

You were there in the restaurant for the first time a dish he’d fully made himself was served in the London restaurant he’d started at. Thai green curried pineapple. It had gone out first to the table next to you and you’d watched the woman keenly, waiting for her reaction. She’d loved it , of course she had, it was made by Luca. It was an open kitchen so you’d shot him a subtle thumbs up when you caught him staring through, fingers drumming over his mouth, nervous, hoping to alleviate his nerves. You’d proceeded to rave about the dish and her reaction, in detail, to him, all the way home, so excitedly, that you were sure half of the tube heard you. Your pride in him calmed his nerves, put him at ease, not just because you were his supportive best friend, but because it would be impossible to fake your enthusiasm.

Luca turned his head, not wanting to meet your eye for fear he’d run his mouth off ‘Couldn’t do it without you, thank you for always being there for me through it all, by the way I think I might have fallen in love with you’

“Thanks… not just for that, I mean for everything…” he stopped and mentally chastised himself for acting so awkward “How are you finding it?” He asked instead “I ask a lot of you, I know”

“Luca. I get to travel the world with my best friend, working from beautiful locations, whilst he lives his dream. It’s incredible.”

You were looking up at him, smiling, clearly ecstatically happy . And why wouldn’t you be. In a beautiful city with your best friend.

He knew he was your best friend but hearing you call him that felt weird. ‘You ARE her best friend, you’re not her boyfriend. Did you forget? Can master passionfruit macarons in a day but can’t understand that?

“Oh…by the way…I got you something.”

Your voice pulled him from his thoughts as you paused on the middle of the path and opened your bag with your free hand and passed him a napkin and written on it was a phrase in French.

“Still keeping up with that tradition?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah I might be.” You teased back. “Don’t pretend I don’t know you love them!”

Luca of course loved the little tradition you’d started and had to fight back the grin that was threatening to break out on his face but he couldn’t.

You’d leave him a message written in the language of wherever he was working at the time. ‘Good luck’ on a napkin for his first role in London, There was one from a trip of Venice (‘You’re the best <3’- sei il migliore), and another from Seville (‘You’ve got this <3’ - tienes esto) and one from Rotterdam (‘I believe in you <3’ - ik geloof in jou). They’d made their way into books, notes from each place he’d visited, pressed between pages as memories.

The newest one in French was ‘I am so proud of you’ - je suis si fier de toi <3

He would keep it with him tucked into a pocket until you left Paris for Chicago and he’d move it into a notebook alongside a step by step for Canelés, a photo of the first time he’d made a Paris-Brest and tickets from your first visit to the Louvre and one of you he’d taken, candid, looking up at the sparkling Eiffel Tower.

———————————————————————————

BOTH

CHICAGO

All you had heard about since Luca had started working at Ever, a 3 star Chicago restaurant, was this other chef.

Every day. All day.

He’d come home to you sounding off. ‘Carmen did this better than me, Carmen is quicker than me, Carmen pitted two bags of peas when everyone else had only pitted half of one,’

You knew Luca wasn’t used to being second best and you knew it was getting to him. He’d been the best everywhere he’d been, except now.

Luca would stay up later and later in an attempt to get better, sometimes only sleeping for an hour. It was as if he felt like all his hard work would be for nothing and he’d be back as the guy who barely passed his exams and got in trouble all the time. You’d wake up, go to the kitchen for breakfast and find Luca had been up for three hours practicing folding dough or picking seeds out of strawberries or whatever the head chef had them doing the day before.

You were growing concerned, you knew why it was bothering him and had voiced to him several times to varying results that there was nothing wrong with being second best sous chef at a Michelin star restaurant. This other guys ability didn’t make him less.

After listening to Luca explain that Carmen managed to get the layering of butter and dough just perfect for croissants and had made two dozen whilst everyone else was still on their first and how he could brown a baked alaska in 15 seconds without the ice cream melting, you’d suggested that maybe he should become friends with him.

“Why don’t you ask him how he does it?” You asked him “Maybe he’d be happy to share?”

“What?”

Luca looked in thought for a moment, as if he was only just clicking this was an option, considering it before you continued.

“I’m worried about how hard you’re pushing yourself, bit of competition is fine but you’ll wear yourself out at this rate…Plus maybe there’s something you can show him that he might need to know”

He knew you were right. You usually were. Typical of you to be able to rationalise his thoughts within minutes. Of course you’d suggest he becomes friends with Carmen, why wouldn’t you... ‘You know me too well, you’re good at knowing what I need to hear.’

***

You hadn’t expected Luca to literally show up with Carmen the next day.

And the next, and the next and the next.

If you were honest, you didn’t know what you were expecting from this guy Luca had ranted about for weeks but you’d gotten on with him far more than you expected. Carmen had been shy at first but as you spent more time with him, you’d grown to liked his quiet humour and how remarkably observant he was. He instantly noticed your jeans as vintage Levi 501s, the only type of jean you’d worn since you could remember and eventually he’d become friends with both of you.

Carmen had taken a liking to you, surprising even himself. You were warm, friendly, and outgoing. You had this incredible ability to make absolutely anyone feel like the only person in the room.

Like when he or Luca broke down the process of making the dish they’d made, you’d be looking like it was describing the most interesting story you’d heard.

Questions like ‘so how do you curl the red pepper tuiles? Is that with a knife or am I a total idiot?’ and ‘is it always a green apple in the sugar dome?’ and ‘how do you know when the yuzu jelly is done?’ Even the things you’d say like ‘Can you make Le Tendance with white chocolate or does it have to be dark’

Carmy knew you probably didn’t know the difference between the different types of pans he mentioned or why it mattered. There was no stake in the debate he and Luca had been having over compressed watermelon sorbet for you. But you cared. You always cared.

It was endearing and made him feel appreciated, kept him passionate about cooking even after a long day so he warmed to you, like you’d inadvertently got a part of him, given him a quiet understanding and support, he desperately craved but thought he’d never get.

He was achingly jealous of Luca and your unwavering love and support. It was evident from how you’d gush supportively over Luca perfecting edible flowers or lychee creme or whatever. Carmy desperately craved more of the warmth and love you gave so freely.

****

“Here.”

Carmy pushed a plate of spaghetti gratin towards you. “uh, try it, lemme know what you think. Something I’ve…erm, been..working on.”

“For me?” You grinned excitedly, not even waiting for him to nod before picked up your fork and helped yourself to some, slipping it past your lips.

“Holy fuck” you moaned as the taste hit you. “That’s amazing, Carmy, so good…”

“Better than that one in Mayfair?” Luca asked, from beside you, with a small smile. Your eyes met his and you nodded causing him to smirk. “Told you it was good, man” he said to Carmy patting him on the shoulder “this guys good at everything!”

“Oh god yeah” you took another bite “Fuck me this is…wow.”

“See…” Luca nodded encouragly “And thats high praise from her. She loves that place!”

“Wha’ one in Mayfair?” Carmy turned to you, curious. He hadn’t been but he knew there was a large list of fine dining places there and was keen to know what, or rather, who you had to compare his against.

“Murano. My family used to have dinner there once a week” you explained “…it’s an incredible restaurant. It does the best spaghetti gratin I’ve ever had…” you dug your fork in again and helped yourself to more, pausing as you did “Well… until this one. Have you been to London? We should all go.”

You were effortlessly likeable, funny. Colourful flowers and feathers snaking their way up your arm, a little silver nose ring, vintage jeans and leather jackets. ‘Of course handsome Luca would have a cool girlfriend like you.’

“You two married long or…” Carmy had asked before he could stop himself and immediately winced at how he’d just blurted it out, kicking himself internally.

Beside him, Luca attempted to cover up his surprised expression as quickly as possible and wondered if it was noticeable how he tensed. Did Carmy have a thing for you? What would you say? Obviously she’s going to say you’re not together because guess what? You’re not. Just because you’ve deluded yourself into thinking she’s your girl doesn’t mean she is. Don’t fuck up the one consistent relationship you’ve had in your life.

“Oh…we’re not, we’re not married, he’s my best friend.” You said off hand as you pulled the fork from your mouth, slowly.

“Oh…I tho…” Carmy stopped himself as he caught Luca’s eye. Did he know?

The pair of them held the silence for a few seconds, each wondering if the other was as into you as they were. Luca moved first, dropping his hand from where it was resting over his lips, as if he meant to speak but you beat him to it

“Can I eat all of this?” You pointed at the dish with your fork.

And like that the moment was gone. You’d changed the subject, completely unaware of the tension in the air.

Carmy nodded. He liked that you always wanted another taste. In the kitchen, taste tests were usually quick, a bite to give some feedback and then on to the next. Here in the kitchen of a rental you’d got a short lease on was different.

The need you had for more of what he served gave him more confidence, reassured him. It somehow felt more rewarding than a colleague having a test only to say ‘Perfect, chef. Thanks’.

And Against all odds and all expectations, he’d found himself also wanting more.

———————————————————————————

CARMY

LONDON

You’d left Chicago with Luca after a few months to move to Copenhagen but had promised to keep in touch. From when you arrived, you’d been raving about it to him. How beautiful it was, how relaxed you felt there, so when he’d been offered the chance to go over to Noma and work, he’d been all too happy to go.

Truth be told, he also missed you. Calls and texts a were not cutting it.

Carmy was never one for answering the phone. Maybe it was a defense mechanism with Mikey never answering and not wanting to get his hopes up that it was his brother finally reaching out. Until you. If anything he found himself calling or texting you even when he was tired.

Talking to you helped switch off the static in his head, it was like you were his reminder to stay grounded, stay in the moment.

Carmy had scheduled his flights so he’d have a few days in London before his flight to Copenhagen, mostly to try the places you’d recommended. He’d reached out to ask for the details and it had just so happened you’d been in town for a friends wedding. You’d offered to come meet you the day after, he’d agreed in a second, happy for the opportunity to spend time with you.

****

Markets sprawled across different corners of the city, each with their own individual personality and you seemed to know them like the back of your hand. He’d let you lead, and it was the fourth one you’d been to with him today and at each one you’d insisted on buying from numerous stalls and making him try a variety of things of varying quality as well as buying yourself a pin that went straight onto the denim jacket you had slung loosely over your shoulders.

“Sometimes it’s good, sometimes less so, you know” you hooked your legs over the bench you’d managed to get to before a large group of school kids. “I know it’s not fancy but I just love the markets. All of ‘em”

“I can get not fancy,” Carmen laughed, something he noticed he did more often around you. It had become almost alien to smile or enjoy himself but with you it came naturally “I don’t really cook for myself all tha’ much” He helped himself to some of your bang-bang noodles and twisted them around with his chopsticks “it’s comfort food. I get it,”

“Yeah I bet…Come home after cooking all day, you probably just want something you can put in the microwave.”

“Sometimes not even that So a week ago? Had leftover pizza and I’m talkin’ anymore leftover and I think it woulda just been gone off pizza. Didn’t even re-heat it”

“I don’t know if that’s gross or impressive!” You laughed and it made Carmy smile, he loved it that he could draw that reaction from you and loved that he smiled, really smiled, with you. He couldn’t remember the last time he could be like that around someone.

You paused for a minute, taking a drink from your can of Diet Coke before you spoke again.

“Reservations at eight by the way. I don’t know if it’ll compare but I wanted you to try it.”

“Reservation?” Carmy tilted his head, wondering if he’d forgotten something.

“Yeah.” You nodded giving him a wide grin “it’s a great restaurant in the Shard. You don’t think I’d take a chef to London and not try somewhere did you?”

****

That evening he found himself in a navy dress shirt he’d bought that same day sitting across from you. You’d changed into a little black dress, a small cardigan that was over your shoulders, sliding slightly down and he could see a pink peony on your shoulder.

If he was honest, he half been expecting Luca to show up but when you’d approached the maitre d, he’d greeted you by name and said ‘table for two’ and Carmy had silently breathed a sigh of relief and then instantly felt guilty over it.

Luca was a nice guy. Carmy sometimes wished he was a raging asshole so it would be easier to put his jealousy of him down to that and not his proximity and closeness to you.

****

“You look really good in navy.” You complimented, cutting through his thoughts. The waiter just had cleared away one of the other countless courses, a sous vide duck, that was as expected; delicious, even if he’d have opted for a different garnish.

Carmy felt his heart pick up. Had you just been sitting there thinking he looked good? He felt himself smile a little but was quick to downplay it, blinking back a response “you… you think?”

“Yeah, Navy really suits you, Carmy. You should wear it more often...”

‘Done’ he thought to himself.

“Thanks, I mean you, uh, you look nice too,”

You smiled at him but before you could respond, the waiter was at your table again, with a further course. Steamed chocolate sponge, baked white chocolate and sugar snap salad, the first of a few desserts.

“Wow” you muttered and you pointed at the plate “this looks so good…” you watched him take a bite and nod approvingly before you asked “Is it weird being on this side of the wall? Doing the eating and not the cooking?”

“A little…uh, I guess it’s not often that m’not worrying about everything being perfect,” Carmy grimaced and ran a hand through his hair “I feel tuned into their kitchen even though I’ve never been in it. Is that weird?” His hand rested over his chin waiting for you to respond.

You shook your head “No… No I don’t think so…” you dropped your voice and leant in closer. He could smell your perfume, your shampoo and soap from your skin. “if so, it’s also weird that I can’t switch off the translating and have been evasdropping on that German couple,” you looked to your right with your eyes

Taking your joke as a distraction from how much he’d like to bury his lips in your neck and kiss you, he laughed and took a bite of his dish. You’d made a good decision, this restaurant was excellent as you’d promised it would be.

Is this what you did with Luca? Go travel and visit places with him and try new foods and laugh?

A mix between jealousy and confusion crossed his mind as the thought occurred and he found himself wondering how Luca could not make a fucking move.

Is he crazy or does he have the willpower of a fucking saint. The question rang in Carmens mind before ‘You’re not making a move either,’ he told himself internally ‘being jealous of her friend, being jealous of a guy she’s known since she was a kid. She’s not into you. She does not want you, fucko. She could do better than you. You can’t compete, she’s not going to want you. You just wish you’d had her all this time like Luca has don’t you, would you have been as fucked in the head if you’d had her supporting you all this time?

“Carmy?” You asked with a raised eyebrow. “You kinda went somewhere there? You good”

“Uh, yeah, imma just go for a quick smoke..” he began to stand up and excused himself as he did

“There’s no terrace, you’ll have to go to ground, you want me to come with?” You made a move to put down your fork, to go with him. You looked a little concerned like you weren’t 100% buying that it was a nicotine craving driving the need for air.

“No no, you stay here, jus’ need to…” he waved and headed out pressing the button to take him to the ground level.

Once Carmy was outside, he ignored the request for smokers not to loiter too close to the building and lit up, taking a drag and letting the nicotine hit, leaning back against one of the pillars.

‘I am so fucked’

———————————————————————————

BOTH

COPENHAGEN

“So the cat…?” Carmy started to ask

He’d been in the city a week, deciding he’d work in Copenhagen for a while before heading to New York, and had been staying on a houseboat that apparently had a cat. Despite the note asking him to leave water out for the cat. The water never moved and there was no cat ever there.

You and Luca shared a look and started laughing.

“We lived on this boat until recently. Six months and I never saw that cat once. Bowl never moved.” you said “My theory is that the cat died and they still leave water out for it, Luca’s convinced it was a stray. He still changed the water every day, which was pretty sweet of him…”

Luca tilted his head a little. You’d thought it was sweet? Him looking after some imaginary cat? Maybe he should get a real one and wondered if he should mention it to you. ‘Bit coupley isn’t it, getting a cat? Get a cat so she thinks it’s cute and sees you with the cat and…you still won’t tell her you’re in love with her will you’ Luca told himself internally. He couldn’t stop picturing it though and noted it down as a maybe for the future idea.

****

“Tell Carmy about that Home Economics class you had!” Luca took a sip of his drink as the three of you sat at the table of the houseboat, sharing a few drinks one evening.

“Oh!” You perked up putting down your own as you sat up on your seat “this is so funny! We had this teacher, who set us task to bring in a a lunch you made at home, now I totally forgot because I had my French mock exam that morning…so of course I had to think fast so I didn’t get detention!”

You paused for dramatic effect. Luca biting back a laugh knowing what was coming. “Still can’t believe you got away with that.” He shook his head.

“I went to KFC on my lunch and got the strips and two sides, the corn and the salad, I spent the rest of my lunch, deconstructing it… if you will..” you gestured dramatically “so cutting up the chicken, peeling the skin off, eating some of it, shelling the corn with a blunt compass,” you emphasised, thinking your skill was impressive, “and mixing it into the salad and pretended I’d made a chicken salad.”

“She got a fucking A as well,” Luca commented as Carmy laughed at your ridiculous improvisation. “Don’t know how, but apparently Mrs Kennedy had never had a KFC before!”

“You might have if you weren’t skiving.” You raised your eyebrows. “Forever bunking this one” you pointed at him but you were smiling fondly as you did.

“Hey, You skived sometimes too. I remember you skived off PE to go to that game with me!” Luca joked back, playfully poking you in the side

“Yeah went all that way, sat with your fans and we lost”

Your pout drew a smile from Luca who knew you supported his teams rival, before you continued “and that goal was still not offside!” you emphasised.

Luca began to insist that it was, with a playful grin, knowing he was winding you up at how aggrieved you were over a game that was well over decade old.

Carmy forced a smile at the back and forth between you and Luca, taking another sip of his own drink, hoping the coolness would quell the feeling inside.

He hated it that it bothered him that you and Luca had all these shared memories, that the only time you ever bickered was over your rival teams and even then it was teasing, that Luca had known all these different versions of you, that he probably would always have that shared bond with you.

You and Luca were now bantering back and forth in a playful way that made his chest hurt so he stood up and made his way to the kitchen and began shuffling through the drawers until he found something wedged between two of them.

“What the hell is this ?” Carmy couldn’t help himself as he pulled out the cheese knife. There is no way this was one of Luca’s that he’d left when he’d lived on the boat, meaning it had to be…

“Oh my god my knife!” You perked up, abandoning your spot at the table “I’d wondered that was!”

Your cheese knife.

Your old, falling apart, slightly…okay very, blunt cheese knife.

Luca had tried on multiple occasions to persuade you to get a new one but you’d insisted you liked your old one and trusted it. Until it disappeared when you moved off the houseboat and you assumed you’d accidentally knocked it into the water or something.

“Not that knife” Luca groaned as his eyes shot over to the black handled knife Carmy held. “I was hoping you’d lost that for good” he grinned half jokingly “but it just keeps coming back”

“It’s a knife, Luca, not a haunted doll!” You laughed “I must have just left it here before we moved!”

“Wouldn’t be surprised if it was haunted.” It was his turn to pull a face, first at you then at Carmy.

“Hey I got this knife my first year of University and…” you attempted to protest

“Yeah I can tell..” Carmy spoke, giving you a pointed look. “It’s falling apart!”

“It never failed me.” You continued ignoring both of them at this point “when I wanted a late night block of cheese it was there…”

“You coulda got a professional one or anythin’ that’s not some cheap whole sale crap”

“Actually, it was from Ikea.”

The shared expression of horror between the two men was enough for you to crack up and concede, knowing you could not defend your knife to one chef, let alone two.

“Okay” you threw your hands up “Fine… but how about we leave it here, on this boat…to…”

“Fuckin’ mentally scar any chef that might be put up here in the future?” Carmy added with a laugh and was only met with a swift side eye from you, followed by a sly smirk suggesting you knew he and Luca had convinced you.

****

“What’s the note say?” Carmy asked nodding at a piece of paper glued to the front of Luca’s first Copenhagen notebook. He’d taken it out to read over some notes, prepare himself and prep.

He knew it was likely in Danish but it didn’t look like one of the common phrases he’d tried, to little avail, to practice. It looked a bit like your writing, but he couldn’t be sure.

Luca felt a flood of warmth at the chance to talk about it.

“So it’s this little tradition we do, she writes me these sentences in whatever language of the country we’re staying in. They’re usually like, ‘Well done’ or ‘you’re the best’ or something.” he enthused

“Oh.” Was all Carmy could manage at first. The jealousy sat in his stomach in a way he wasn’t entirely comfortable with. Carmy hated that he was jealous but he wanted you to write him cute notes, phrases he’d only half understand “Sounds…erm, sounds nice.” was all he managed before his throat went dry.

“What are you drawing anyway?” Luca nodded at the half open notebook. As his eyes flickered down to the paper, Carmy felt his stomach drop, the breeze had blown the pages past the passionfruite posset, past the wagu beef, past the shaded menu options and right to…

You

Carmy couldn’t cover it quickly enough.

Luca just looked from the paper, back to Carmy, back to you and could feel his heartbeat in his ears.

Course Carmy likes her too. And he’s better than you at everything. She’d pick him you know. Probably already has. Why did you introduce them? That would be tragic. Introducing the one woman you’re desperately in love with to her future man and never making the move yourself. Had her as your best friend, your roommate and still couldn’t tell her you wanted her. You’re a fucking idiot.

He said your name.

“You like her?” Loud enough for Carmy but not for you. Carmy didn’t answer but he didn’t close over his book. “You into her?”

After a moment, Luca sighed, and scratched his cheek and sat beside him, accepting Carmy’s silence as confirmation.

“Yeah, me too mate.” He said quietly before passing his friend a drink.

———————————————————————————

LUCA

COPENHAGEN

With Luca securing his dream job and you able to work remotely, you’d found a bigger place together in Copenhagen. The temporary houseboat to a small place to this bigger apartment now, with a large open plan kitchen and a walk in pantry for Luca to store whatever he might need when he brought work home with him. You didn’t mind as long as he let you taste it.

You’d won the coin toss and scored the room that overlooked the water. Luca hadn’t complained, you worked mostly from home so it made sense for you to have the room with a view and also he’d have conceded anyway, knowing it would make you happy.

****

As Luca entered the room, he saw you from behind, a pair of mid thigh cycle shorts on and a large oversized black t-shirt, getting something out of the fridge. It slowly dawned on him that you were wearing his t-shirt.

The t-shirt on him was tight over his broad shoulders, stopping on his hips but on you, it hung loose and ended about at the end of your thigh, owing to the big height difference between the two of you. Making it look like it was all you were wearing. He’d seen you in shorts before, of course he had but this felt different. It was his t-shirt over the shorts making his brain go haywire.

“Hey!” You turned and greeted him, smiling. “How was work? Did that 70th birthday go well?”

“You’re…you’re wearing my shirt.” was all he could manage before he felt his throat dry up. “Are you?”

‘Get a grip man what are you a fucking teenager’ he chastised himself internally. You’ve drawn attention to it, you could have just enjoyed the view a little while longer…’

“Oh shit sorry, yeah, I just, I got stuff down mine and the doorbell was ringing and yours was at the top of the clean laundry. I didn’t think it was appropriate to open the door in just my bra.” You put what you needed on the counter and moved back beginning to prepare whatever you were making. “Not the best first impression. He might have got the wrong idea…”

Luca just hummed a laugh and didn’t say anything as he tried to stop his brain wandering to you wearing his shirt in other scenarios and he had to shut his eyes. He brought his hand to his temple, and massaged, hoping he could conceal his brain betraying him as tiredness.

“It was the landlord.” You carried on “He said rents due on the 2nd, the utility room is on the 5th floor and he’d like you to get him a reservation, he likes rhubarb and pistachio sorbet” you began relaying the translation of the landlords message.

It was around a minute later he realised he hadn’t actually replied being too busy thinking about, walking over to you, lifting you onto the counter and kissing you hard, sliding down those shorts and having you just in his shirt.

“Luca? Luca, are you okay?” He snapped back to Earth realising you were looking at him “you kinda zoned out”

“Uh yeah, rent by the 5th, utilities on the 2nd” he repeats, waving his hand.

“Other way round, you dope” you laughed. “Come here and help me anyway” You wave him over to the kitchen. “I’m making something. Sorry to take work home with you but I need your expertise!”

“Branching out from the air fryer?” he raises an eyebrow and you laugh

“What! it’s quick!” You protested in defence.

He smiled in agreement “You got a point. Come on now what do you need help with?”

You nodded towards some peaches “Can you dice those whilst I fix this dough out?”

Luca agreed and began dicing but he couldn’t help his eyes, drift back you for a few moments every so often. He watched as you attempted to knead the dough but couldn’t quite get the pressure right and struggled to push down owing to the angles.

“No, like this. The angles better if you…” Luca put down the knife, peaches sliced and diced to perfection. “Here I’ll show you”

He moved around the counter and put an arm either side of you, his hands on top of yours, pressing yours moulding the dough, as you let him lead, relaxing. He began holding your hands with his so he could knead whilst showing you. He tried to resist the urge to press into you, to hold you tight against him.

“Like this, see” he said quietly and you nodded, watching his hands and yours under them as he moved effortlessly.

“Yes, chef” you jokingly quipped and Luca had to bite his lip to stop him dropping to your neck.

It wasn’t quite what he’d like to be doing right now but it settled something else for him. So much so that maybe it was even preferable. This almost quietly domestic, almost coupley activity.

When the dough was done, he reluctantly stepped back instantly missing the contact with you, as he watched you line the dish with the dough and peaches and slide it into the oven.

“Thanks Luca” you grinned at him.

“Anytime.” Was about all he could manage and he meant it, that two minutes set his stomach alight more than anything he could remember.

You ate it together on the small balcony later that evening and as you’d asked him how it felt to finally get everything he wanted; job as head pastry chef at a Michelin restaurant and beautiful place to call home in a gorgeous city. He had to hold himself back from saying

How can I have everything I want but I don’t have you. Not in the way I want you.

———————————————————————————

CARMY

NEW YORK

“How’s Eleven Madison Park.” You asked him. He’d started a few months ago and told you to come visit when you were next in New York. Of course you’d accepted.

The head chef hates me. And not just from a cooking point of view. He actively hates me. I throw up every day before work and usually have a panic attack in the walk-in at least twice a week, he gets weirdly personal, he thinks I’m shit, told me to die yesterday. Carmy thought but hesitated, reluctant to dump his stresses out there in the open incase you thought he was overreacting.

“It’s good, but erm, I mean it’s…a lot, the head chef he’s…”

“A dick?” You suggested recognising the ‘I hate my boss’ look on his face.

Carmy looked a little startled and then he let out a breathy laugh. “He’s one of the best chefs in the world…but yeah…he’s an ass…” he stopped

“What does he say to you?” You asked, carefully.

Carmy didn’t want to say it out loud, saying it out loud felt like it would give more weight to the words and some deep paranoid part of him worried you’d agree or even worse that you’d realise and think ‘he’s got a point, you are worthless and insecure and too slow and pathetic’

“Yknow…just always on me…” his voice was quiet.

He felt the twitch in his leg and ran a hand over his mouth biting on his knuckle for a few seconds, trying to distract himself but all he could hear was his voice in his head.

“Carmy?” You noticed the furrow in his brow and his leg bouncing and his hands against his mouth “You ‘kay?”

When he didn’t respond, you continued, concerned but careful. “Carmy, babe, can you look at me? That’s all I need you to do,”

It was a struggle as he rose his head, forced his eyes open and locked his wide eyed stare onto yours. You smiled gently and exhaled, gesturing for him to follow.

He did and you did this a few more times, talking him through breathing a few more times.

‘Well done fucko, she definitely thinks you’re crazy now’

But your expression didn’t suggest that at all. The opposite. Your look was one of understanding, of compassion and kindness.

“I find this helps.” You lifted your fingers to your own neck where it joined with your shoulder, the clavicle just below, you pressed down in a massaging motion.

“Can I touch you?” You ask and Carmen swore he short circuited but instead he just nodded and hoped it wasn’t too needy, too quick that he responded to you asking to touch him.

With his permission, you put your hand on him, a copy of your own. “Like this.” your hand was on his chest right over his clavicle, circling my gently “Focus on my voice”

You continued to talk to him until he held his heart rate calm and whispered out a ‘thank you’

“Glad I can help” Before you removed your hand from his chest, your fingers brushed the gold chain he always wore, you looped it out from under his shirt. “I like this.”

“Thank you.” He said again, trying to focus on the words and not the soft touch “had it since I can remember.”

“There’s another pressure point…” you said, and took his hand and gently pressed between his thumb and finger, “Just here….”

Your hand paused as the other side skirted his palm and you froze, turning it over and seeing a partially healed burn, still red and sore. “Ouch.”

“Occupational hazard” he said with a wry smile. “It’s fine now, was worse a few days ago” he hummed

“Lemme clean it properly for you. I see plenty of utensil related injuries. My best friend is a chef too, remember. Dont want you to make it worse…”

Of course, fucking Luca. Handsome and a nice guy. What a prick.

He was pretty silent as he you cleaned it for him then you’d insisted on a cream, tracing the cut gently once you’d done “There we go, good as new”

“I like you being here.” He squeezed your hand in a moment of bravery “it’s quieter”

A laugh escaped your lips “No ones ever thought of me as quiet but I’m glad I can help.” You gave him such a lovely, soft smile that he couldn’t help but fall in love with you again.

“I mean in my head.” He said with a laugh “you, uh, y’make it quiet in my head”

Its like you turn down the volume in my head and up the warm brightness, I love you. No one has ever been like this with me. I think I’d fall apart without you. I love you.

You squeezed his hand gently “I’m glad I can do that for you” and he could have sworn he felt it in his chest.

———————————————————————————

LUCA

COPENHAGEN

Luca was barely able to keep the grin off his face. He’d been working on a special dessert just for you, going in early, finishing late, all to perfect this.

The thinnest wafer with a soft caramel creme scooped over centre, topped with a milk chocolate dome. It was a fine dining version of a long since discontinued chocolate bar that you’d loved and he could hear you approach the restaurant kitchen in perfect time.

“Hey! You ready to take off? Film starts in half an hour?”

“Here…I…” He carefully lifted the lid from the plate. “I made something for you!”

“Oh my god this looks amazing!” You stared putting down your bag, as Luca prodded the pouring chocolate towards you. You picked it up and he watched your face completely light up as you poured to reveal the concoction under it.

“Wow…this is so cool!…wait…Is this…” Your eyes lit up when you clocked what had inspired the assembled plate in front of you. “No way! Luca, how did you do this?”

His hands ran through his waves a few times and he crossed muscular arms over his large chest.

“I made it.” He said as if it was a love confession “for you.”

“Oh my god. Okay, I’m going to need you to walk me through it!? This has to be my favourite thing you’ve ever made and I haven’t even tried it yet! What even made you think of this? this is so cool”

Luca grinned and it was the same wicked smile he used to give you when you were younger and he was up to something.

‘Because I love you and you miss it and you look for it in every food store in every country we go to. You think I don’t see you looking but I do. If they won’t bring it back and make you happy, I’ll bring it back for you. Sorry it took so long. I wanted it to be perfect because you’re perfect. I love you’

“You wanna know how I made it?”

Luca gave you that look. He loved it when you asked about his process, you always did but this, the chance to gush about how he created something for you? He could do this all day.

“Course I do!” You spooned a large amount into your mouth and couldn’t stop the sound that escaped your mouth. “Fuck, this is insane. It’s perfect, Luca, oh my god”

“So to get the wafers right, you have to make sure it’s smooth wheat flour, see.” he used a fork to point at the rippled wafer in the dessert, pointing out the waves he’d folded the wafer into. “And I had to match the water at exactly the right about, increase or decrease based on the soaking characteristics of the flour. Took me a couple of gos…to get it exactly like it used to be…first couple it was too dense, the consistency was all off, after that it wasn’t thick enough and would break when I tried to roll it.”

You were looking at him like you were interested as you helped yourself to more.

“And you’re going off memory? For the consistency?” It was impressive being that the bar had been discontinued for about ten years.

Luca nodded, spurred on by how impressed you sounded “yeah I remember them. Super soft, so thin, folded over but with space between each wave…have to do it perfectly or it breaks when you roll it. It’s got to be feather soft.”

“You are such a nerd.” You said, but your eyes were soft and you were smiling at him softly “Go on…” you prompted

He shot a glance up to see you watching as if you couldn’t take your eyes off him, hanging on every word, he often worried he was being a geek or boring when he did this but you looked so engaged.

Luca was grateful you followed that with “how did you make the rest” because if you hadn’t the ‘it’s no problem, I’d give you anything. I love you so much I created this because you miss it.’ was sitting at the back of his throat.’

“The creme caramel was a little bit trickier than your standard, see it’s not got the regular consistency, it’s more dense and it’s closer to a creme than actual caramel.” He took a small scoop with a teaspoon and smeared it across an edge of a plate so you could see it spread thinly, smooth and creamy. “It’s all in the texture. The chocolate is all about the tempering… I wanted the dome to reveal it perfectly no matter where you started your pour, so I made twenty batches and practised so the chocolate would melt and reveal like a curtain pull back rather than just caving in… hold on,”

He got up, left the table and came back with two batches of domes and demonstrated for you, showing you on how the remaining earlier batches, it caved in but on the newer batches the melt was almost like a gravity defying curtain pull up.

Engrossed you watched like it was a magic trick.

“Luca this is…one of the sweetest things anyone has ever done for me.” You said softly “Thank you so much.”

“Does it taste like it did?” He asked the important question.

“You know.” You tapped the fork off the plate “Usually whenever they bring something back, it’s never as good. This…” you ate some more “is so incredible. It’s better. You are a genius! Who else can make desserts based on discontinued chocolate bars from memory alone! You’re so talented Luca, no one deserves this more than you.”

“I wouldn’t be where I am without you, you believed in me even when I didn’t believe in myself”

“It’s easy to believe in you when you’re so clearly talented. Is this going on the menu?”

Luca nodded his head “It was meant to be just for you but I think I might…but I’ll still make it for you anytime you ever want it, maybe I’ll call it ‘The [Name]’,”

The smile you gave him was one he’d have given anything to see forever.

———————————————————————————

CARMY

NEW YORK

“Are you fucking kidding me? You think by the time the flight takes off and lands it’d be defrosted.”

You were staring at the departure board at JFK airport, your oversized luggage beside you as you drummed your fingers off the handle- DELAYED- AWAIT FURTHER ANNOUNCEMENT written next to your flight.

Carmy was all too aware of what the snow storm on both sides of the Atlantic meant as he stood beside you wondering if he thought it was wrong of him for hoping the snowstorm engulfing the airport was long lasting enough to ground your flight. He knew his own flight would be delayed too.

‘You’re a selfish mother fucker, wanting her flight grounded, She’ll easily go off and check into some fancy hotel and you’ll be alone and it’ll be what you deserve’

‘Attention all passengers- We regret to inform you flight DAT150846 to Copenhagen is cancelled. Please see our customer relations desk for further communications.’

“Fuck” you whistled and you started typing on your phone, no doubt sourcing alternatives.

“I mean I can get to Esbjerg from Newark but my flight won’t leave until tomorrow and there’s always the risk of the trains being cancelled so that’s one of a hell of an Uber. Which means I’ll get in…” you trailed off, as you attempted to work out the time difference.

‘Don’t go’ he wanted to say. He opened his mouth to say…something, anything but was cut off by the tannoy.

“Further announcement to all passengers travelling on the flight AA113717 to Chicago. This flight has now been cancelled. Please see our customer relations desk for more information.

“Shit that’s your flight, Carmy, they’re both cancelled” the second announcement interrupted your counting. You locked your phone as if it was his announcement and not yours that made your mind up and looked at him.

‘Good’ he thinks back to the Christmases of past, screaming, tension, arguments and yelling, hanging anxiety waiting for all of the above. The mental image of Donna, his mother, locked in her own car, which she’d plowed through the front of the family home a few years back, he thought of the Christmas he worked, where his executive chef chewed him out for…fuck knows, sitting there taking personal jibes after personal jibes, and thought ‘I’d rather spend it with you’

Subconsciously he straightens up, realising he probably should say something.

“It’s okay…I uh, don’t mind, Christmases my way can be…a lot” he shrugged and you understood.

Carmy had, in enough words for you to understand explained that his family, especially around Christmas, were in the most tactful wording; difficult. He didn’t mention them often, you knew he didn’t like taking about them but you knew enough to know it wasn’t usually a fun Christmas for him.

“This might be so weird, I know you’ve got your cousin in the city who you’re probably having dinner with but do you… maybe want to come to the air BnB I’m renting for Christmas. Not expecting you to cook off the clock, we can order in?”

“Michelle left a few days ago.” He said, referring to his cousin leaving for Chicago before the storm blew in, instead of ‘Yes, I’d love that. I’d rather be with you anyway’. Kicking himself internally, he took a breath “I mean…not that changes…” he brought his hand through his wavy hair before he took a breaths

“I’d like that. That sounds…great.”

****

You’d done the best you could, spending the dying hours of Christmas Eve decorating the Air BnB. Carmy had arrived early with a take out breakfast from a deli you loved and you’d spent the morning eating.

Wanting Carmy to open his present first, you passed it over and watched him unwrap it and the realisation slowly settle

“Is this?”

You nodded “Uh-huh.”

Carmy unpacked it from the wrapping and held it against himself. ‘We stopped for less than ten seconds’ he thought to himself as he unfolded the jacket.

“How did you know?” His blue eyes met yours, a curious expression on his face.

“I saw you looking. Remember a few months ago?” The way you said it is was as if it was obvious.

He’d never felt important enough for his sideways glances, one off comments and quick observations to be picked up on. For you to pick up on it…it made him feel special, loved even.

She does not love you, motherfucker. You’re delusional.

It was on one occasion when you’d wandered through the city together in fall. It was in the window of a vintage shop. He’d commented on it, off-hand, that he’d always liked a jacket like that. You’d tried to talk him in to going in and trying it on. It looked like it would be his size but he’d brushed it off in a ‘don’t matter’ type way.

“Yeah I went back that afternoon. Try it on! We can go for a Christmas walk later. Maybe in the park? I had it dry cleaned too”

Carmy didn’t say much for fear you’d think he was crazy or overreacting “Thank you”

You nodded “And I’ve ordered you a bookshelf, it’s only an Ikea one but your cook books are on the floor. Trust me, you’ll thank me.” you noted and suddenly Carmy felt himself relax again and laugh as he passed you over your present for fear he might actually cry from how lovely you were if things didn’t move on.

“Is this the soundtrack?”

You asked as you immediately unwrapped the vinyl, slid it out, squealing when you saw the limited run pressing. It was from one of your favourite 80s movies. “This is amazing, the pressing is beautiful! Thank you.”

“Yeah I watched it….Good movie. I, um, found it in a second hand store. figured you’d…like it.” He averted his eyes from yours, shyly. He left out that it was an online store and he’d spent four hours in an auction before just emailing the seller privately and telling him he’d double whatever the other guy was offering.

“You watched something else other than the cooking channel?” You joked in return, sensing he felt a little awkward about it and wanting to lighten the mood.

“Yeah well…” he looked down and back up, hands through his hair again. “I…wanted to do something nice cause…you’re always…you’re good to me”

Your eyes didn’t leave him for a second.

She’s just grateful. She’s just your friend.

“Nothing less than what you deserve…but thank you. Merry Christmas, Carmy” You leant in and kissed his cheek, only an inch or so from where he wished you’d kiss him.

After you finished your deli breakfast, you’d go for the promised walk in the park, and Carmy wondered if in some other universe, you were doing the same thing but hand in hand rather than side by side. You walked longer than you’d planned and he found himself talking more about that Christmas. Of course you were understanding, non-judgemental and Carmy opened up to you more than he’d ever opened up to anyone; about how he chased a culinary career after Mikey refused to let him work in the family restaurant, the constant panic attacks he had over the current restaurant he worked at and the retaining of three stars that the Head Chef had still found fault with him over and about how sometimes he missed Copenhagen and longed for those days on the houseboat with an imaginary cat and as he usually did with you, he felt lighter.

When you returned back, you collapsed onto the sofa, warm despite the cold air and gestured for him to sit with you

“Put it on one of those cooking shows and tell me how you’d make it better”

You tossed him the remote.

Without saying anything, he turned it on, sat beside you and listened to the sounds of the contestants completing a Christmas Dinner challenge filled the air.

To himself, Carmy wondered if this was the best Christmas he’d had in years, maybe in his adult life.

He knew the answer already.

———————————————————————————

BOTH

It had been several weeks since you’d seen either of them. Luca, he was now back in Copenhagen and Carmen had left for Chicago, having inherited his brothers restaurant, following his suicide.

God, Mikey.

You’d spent four days with Carmy in the immediate aftermath, mostly in silence, making sure he took care of himself. Occasionally he’d share something about Mikey which surprised him more than it surprised you. When it had come to it, you’d asked him if he wanted you to go to the funeral with him as support but he’d refused.

‘Don’t wanna put you through my fucking family’ he’d said. You knew it was an excuse but now was not the time to push.

He’d left for Chicago but told you three days later, he didn’t go in, expecting you to tell him he was pathetic, cruel even, but you’d asked why and then, as you always did, just listened.

****

You’d been in touch with them both over FaceTimes and texts like any other time but this felt different.

Carmy, you’d call when he was on random lunch breaks scattered through the day whenever he had the chance. By the time, his shift was over, he’d be too tired and collapse so you scheduled them as you could. You knew he was trying to work on his late brothers restaurant but knew it was shaping up to be a huge task. He’d been going to the Al-Anon meetings and had been trying but it was you who helped most even when you weren’t there.

He thought about you, when he was anxious about the restaurant, stressed about everything and when he couldn’t cope with thinking about how fucked it was that Mikey, who wouldn’t let him work in his restaurant, had fucking left it to him.

Carmy knew he had to tell you how he felt, maybe he could ask you to come out and tell you how he felt. He opened his phone, typed out a message to you and hit send and then promptly locked his phone in his locker and unsuccessfully tried not to think about it.

****

Luca you’d call at night. It reminded you of when you were both kids and you’d stay up late talking on the phone, whispering and giggling until your parents would tell you to get off the phone. You still made him laugh now as you’d relay some horrible mistranslation at work and try to make him guess what it said and what was meant.

God he missed you, every little thing about you. All he could think, despite having his dream job and living in a beautiful city was how he wanted you.

You were the one consistent relationship he had. Other people had come and gone but you’d been there since the beginning, seen him at his best, his worst and everything inbetween and he didn’t think he could have done it without you. He couldn’t lose you.

Luca unlocked his phone, wrote a message to you and clicked it shut before the read receipt could come up.

———————————————————————————

DECISION TIME

Messages (2)

Luca - “Please come back to Copenhagen, I’m going crazy. It’s not the same without you”

Carmy - “Hey, do you maybe wanna come out to Chicago again? Wanna see you soon?”

“That the two guys that are in love with you?” Your friend said “Right on time.”

You’d just been discussing your relationship with both of them and she’d been so insistent they were both in love with you. A part of you knew but didn’t want to acknowledge it.

“Let’s see your boyfriends.” Your friend pushed

“They’re not my boyfriends” You protested.

“Okay fine. Please let me see the two men competing for you.”

“Fucking hell, they’re not competing for me” Your eyes rolled, as you chucked your unlocked phone at her. “You make it sound like I’m… Bridget Jones or Bella Swan or something”

“I mean… you kinda are, honey.” she flicked through your phone finding a picture of Luca. “Wait. THATS Luca, your school friend Luca? When did that happen?“ She zoomed in “When did he get hot? -And tall! What is he now like…6’3”?”

“Of course it’s the same Luca.” You muttered. “You think I’ve been travelling about with some other Luca?”

“Show me the other guy!” She said excitedly and you rolled your eyes playfully, she was like a teenager sometimes.

“Three photos down”

“Holy shit, he’s got gorgeous eyes.” She noted looking at a photo you’d taken with Carmy “imagine those big baby blues being hard to say no to…and nice biceps too… I bet he could bench press you.” She comments casually and nudges you. “Okay so they’re both hot, so my plan of go for the hot one is out of the question.” She cocked her head.

“That’s not helpful. I don’t know what to do, they’re both great, amazing guys.”

“Which one do you want to bang…” she looked at you “most. Like if you could only sleep with one of them, which one.”

“Really, again, not helpful.”you rolled your eyes and shoved her.

“Okay in all seriousness, put everything out of your mind,” she shushed you before you could protest. “You know who you want, its obvious, just admit it to yourself and go be with him”

You nodded. She was right. She always was

“I need you to drive me the airport.”

———————————————————————————

Choose: LUCA

Your friend grinned at you, as you tapped your card on the machine having bought a ticket on the next flight out and watched as the airport worker wrapped a luggage tag around yours, sending your suitcase off.

“I knew it.” She shook her head “I mean I’m one for a slow burn romance you know me. “But years?”

One of her eyebrows raised “I would say text me when you land but you’ll probably be too busy…” she sighed and gave you a loaded look “God, you’re so lucky…”

“Fuck off” you gave her a shove and then pulling her back for a hug you nodded. “I’ll text you in a few days.”

You sent a text to Luca- “I know, I miss you… you’ll see me soon.” and then a picture of your passport.

****

There he was waiting for you as you arrived. You hadn’t expected it but of course he had.

You couldn’t stop yourself from running over to him and he, without care that you were at the arrivals gate, in an international airport, wrapped his arms around you, leant down, tilted your head up and gave you a long, lingering kiss that was years of ‘I love yous’, years of kisses, years of yearning, years of shared jokes and memories and years of being just you and Luca wrapped up in one kiss.

He could feel his heart beating like it might explode at any minute. He’d resolved himself to just fucking kiss you the next time he saw you. Your response to his message plus how you’d ran to him had confirmed in that very moment that he had to. And here you were, kissing him back.

“I love you.” He said against your mouth, instead of a hello, words whispered so only you could hear them. “I love you. I should have told you sooner. I love you.”

You let go of your case, moving your hand to toy with the hair at the back of his neck, standing on tip-toes to close the gap in height.

“Hi…I love you” you whispered, laughing as he placed his forehead on yours “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

“Years, give or take,” Luca gave you an honest look that made you jokingly roll your eyes.

“I meant at the airport.”

He laughed. “Went it quick when I was trying to convince myself that I’d gotten the right idea from your text”

An eyebrow raise from you told him all he needed to know and he kissed you once again

“Definitely no wrong idea. Why do you think I got on the first flight out”

You said breathlessly against his lips before pulling him down for another kiss. His hair was ever so slightly longer, pushed back with a black hairband. He’d worn it like that the first time you’d gone to Chicago with him, he’d left the hairband in after a shift once and you’d commented on how much it suited him.

“I love you so much.” You said to him againz

Realising a large group of tourists had now begun to stare, you separated. Awkwardly he held up a hand and muttered something to them with a wave causing you to burst into laughter.

“Did you just say ‘Welcome to Copenhagen I hope you enjoy your stay’ to the nice group of tourists?”

“How did you know which flight I’d be on?” You said linking your fingers with Luca’s as he picked up your suitcase in the other arm and began walking. It felt so natural to be holding his hand after all this time.

“You always like the mid-morning flight. Remember I booked us on the six am to Venice and I thought you were going to push me out the plane”

You laughed so loudly the large group looked back around causing it to be your turn to hold your hand up in apology.

“Yeah I might have done if you weren’t carrying the passports. Now I think I’m ready for you to take me home” you leant into his side.

****

“Fucking hell.” You whispered half to him, half to yourself. “Luca, that was…”

Any worry about crossing that line was gone, it had been gone when he’d picked you up with one arm, as you entered the place you’d shared in Nyhavn. Mouths mashing together, his teeth pulling on your lip, a whisper ask of ‘are you sure’ as he slid his hand under your shirt, you answering him by sucking on his neck as he held you against him, your legs around his waist

The sudden romantic moment became funny when he’d paused in the hallway and asked “My room or yours?” but you’d never have it any other way.

Luca had been gentle at first, careful. Took his time with you. Laid you down and finished you off with his hands and his mouth, and you were back flat against the mattress, aching for him to fill you. So had reached up and cupped his face, locking your ankles at the base of his back and told him you needed him desperately, that you wouldn’t break. Luca had moaned into you at your encouragement which had only made you ache more. And after he’d let the years of want lead and take over, taking you hard and fast, giving you the best night you’d ever had and drawing another climax from you until you dropped back down on the bed back splayed and hips arched for him to finish deep inside you.

**

“I know. Been thinking about us doing that for a while now…You okay?” He linked your hand with his, without looking. He was still over you, caging you against him.

“You thought about that?” You gently played with his hair.

“All the time” he said casually. “Both that and this”

He was resting on your chest now, planting small kisses across your collarbone, gentle and loving. You felt yourself flush both at the casual sexiness of his statement followed by how sweetly he checked in.

“Luca, talking like that makes me want you again.”

Luca grinned with a sly look on his face “You can have me whenever you like.” He rubbed your hip and squeezed, a silent push to answer the ‘you okay?’

“I’m better than okay.” You ran a hand through his hair playing with the soft waves “are you?”

“Just got all I wanted.” Another kiss to your lips, slowly and sweetly. “I’m on cloud fucking nine”

“It was killing me.” He said quietly after a few moments, drawing patterns over your skin making goosebumps break out “…I know I had no right to be jealous, we weren’t together, I think to me, it felt like we were,”

A small sigh escaped his lips, the breath fluttering against your skin. He’d had a point. Looking back, it had sometimes felt like you were together.

“I saved the time difference in my phone and drove myself crazy when it was night over there…I convinced myself you two were…” he stopped.

“Luca, I promise you nothing ever happened, baby, he’s my friend…but you’re everything to me.”

He lifted his head up to look at you “Good” he said before kissing you on the lips, spare hand coming up to cup your cheek. “You’re the love of my life, you know,” he kissed you again “all this…wouldn’t be the same without you,”

“You’d still have made it…” you kissed him

“Maybe.” Luca kissed you again “but it wouldn’t be the same without you. You’ve seen me at my worst, at my best…and yet you’re still here” he whispered into your neck.

“Always gonna be here babe, it’s you and me,” you traced hands down over his chest.

“You’re the love of my life, darling. You always have been” Luca looked at you with a gaze so full of love it made your heart ache.

“And you mine” you pushed your hands into his hair and placed open mouth kisses against his mouth. “You’re so perfect Luca. So, so perfect”

*

The next morning toys wrote him a new message ‘Jeg elsker dig’ the day after which he stuck just above his work station. One you wish you’d written for him all those years ago. “I love you”

A part of you always knew you did. From when you were teenage best friends, to now, you loved him. Being with Luca now after all this time, was like finally seeing clearly.

You’d make up for all the lost time.

———————————————————————————

Choose: CARMY

You tapped to send a heart over the message Carmy had sent you, knowing he’d be eating himself up if you didn’t reply

“Miss you, Carm…I’ll see you soon I promise” You texted back, hoping he was working and it would be enough to stop him going crazy until you landed.

Your friend walked you to security and squeezed your hand. “I knew you liked him…every time you spoke about him, you got all…” she jokes “I’ve never seen you like that.” She said as she hugged you goodbye “Go get your man!”

****

You hadn’t told him you were coming, wanting to surprise him. He’d given you the address of the restaurant and now as you stood outside the door, you exhaled, taking a breath before you entered.

A pretty blonde woman smiled at you as you did

“Hi! I’m looking for Carmen Berzatto.” You said returning her polite smile

“Are you [Name?] I’m Natalie. I’m Carmy’s sister”

That surprised you “He mentioned me?”

“I got it out of him eventually. You know what he’s like” She then walked to the door leading to the kitchen and stuck her head through “Carmy. You’ve got a visitor”

“If it’s the butter delivery, jus’ sign for it, Sugar, ok?” He sounded frazzled despite it being only the morning.

“It’s not the butter delivery! It’s your girl.” She said clearly not in the mood for messing around.

There was all of a sudden a flurry of voices.

“A girl? For Carmy?” You heard a mans surprise.

“Is it the girl on his phone.” A woman asked

“Jeff’s got a girl?” another woman spoke.

“Let me see.” There was shuffling around and then another man spoke “How the fucks he done that?”

“Cousin, gimme the fuckin’ phone.” You couldn’t help but smile as you heard him, hearing him in person made your heart swell. “How’d you get my password”

“Your passwords 1111, Carmen.”

“I’d say it’s not always this chaotic…” Natalie started turning back to you “but it is.”

Before you could respond you were cut off him, your Carmy, emerging from the doorway. He looked so gorgeous.

Wavy hair that he’d clearly been running his hands through, big blue eyes, strong arms under one of those white shirts and little gold chain peeking out.

“Sugar- what is the…” Carmy stopped seeing you.

“Hi.” His face softened within a second of seeing you although the fear of rejection still lingered in his mind. Why were you here?

He turned back to shout into the kitchen “Alright…gimme, gimme like five minutes okay?” Carmy ushered his sister into the kitchen so you could speak freely

“Why didnt you call me? I’d have picked you up at the airport.” he ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry…I wanted to surprise you” you gave him a small smile “Carmy” you spoke as if you know exactly what’s on his mind “I want this…I wanna be with you, like properly be with you.” You paused “And I think you want that too”

Carmy could barely believe it, you in his restaurant, in his home city, surprising him and telling him you wanted to be with him? “Course I do.” He answered quickly “Fuck was I obvious?”

“Being that it took me this long to realise it, I don’t think so.”

“S’alright, I just feel like I’ve gone crazy” Carmen choked out a laugh, still overcome with emotion that you were here. “I thought…”

‘I thought by ‘see you soon’ you meant that in weeks or months from now, you’d visit. I thought you’d go to Luca, your gorgeous, tall, charming childhood friend in one of the most beautiful cities in the world who has it all together. Not me, the fucking colossal fuck up. Surely he’d be your first choice’

His hand ran through his hair again and came to rest over his lips, expecting you to say what was I thinking I’ve changed my mind, see ya.

You took his hand and let him link his fingers with yours, knowing he had a habit of fidgeting with his hands when he was nervous.

“Carmy, I’m serious, this is me choosing you. Over anything, anyone else”

“How the fuck do you do that.” He blinked “Sometimes I feel like…like you’re in my head, or somethin’”

He liked it, he didn’t feel like his heart was going beat out of his chest around you. He could actually breathe and think with you around. Seeing you, here, in his home city, with him…he felt at ease for once, all the worries, all the stress he carried around, felt lighter. It was like you, just by being you, could turn down the sound in his head.

“Cause I know you.” You smiled softly “And I wanna make you happy. You gonna let me make you happy babe?”

He didn’t know how to finish the sentence but with the reassurance, the knowing that you’d wanted him, that you’d chosen him, he felt a surge of confidence and he cupped your face with both hands before he dropped one to your waist holding you against him and the other moved back through your hair pulling your lips to his, connecting the two of you in a passionate, messy kiss. You could feel his taut muscles, toned and firm under his shirt and holding you tight to him easily.

He’d make his excuses and finish early. Richie absolutely revelled in making fun of him for leaving to go get some, telling him maybe it’ll make him less pissy and Sugar was just happy to see Carmy happy again, she’d worried about him but the moment he’d laid eyes on you was the first time she’d seen him smile in weeks.

****

“So fuckin’ amazing.” He said breathlessly, whispering kisses against your neck later that evening “didn’t hurt you did I?” He met your eyes instantly concerned.

“No baby, I loved it” you laughed a little, you were still straddling him, legs either side of him, catching your breath as you played with his wavy hair and planted little kisses on him. “You’re the amazing one, so good baby”

Carmy had barely been able to keep his hands off you since you arrived back at his.

He’d been straight over to you, kissing you, sliding his hands up under your shirt, like he thought you’d disappear or like he wanted to touch you as much as he could incase you changed your mind.

You’d returned his kisses with equal intensity, until you’d ended up in a tangle on the couch. both your shirts discarded and jeans half unbuttoned, with your hands half down each others, touching each other, taking turns drawing moans from the other.

“Just want you” you whispered against his ear. “Only you, Carmy”

You shifted up so had your legs either side of him straddling his waist, when you could feel him under your own heat, hard against you and ground your hips into him, telling him how much you needed him.

He couldn’t wait any longer and shuffled off his jeans and yours, pulling you down to straddle him. After a few more, rotations of your hips, you slid down on to him, biting his shoulder as he stretched you. You went slow at first, teasing him and savouring the sounds he made, with every rotation of your hips. After a few blissful moments, Carmy’s hands found your hips and after a careful look for approval from him, he began moving you up and down at a fast pace, drawing cries of pleasure from you until he came deep inside you after you’d reached your high.

****

“Don’t move yet.” He whispered quietly as if admitting the need for closeness with you would make you disappear, as his hands went to your hips, holding them flush against his own. Despite the firmness of the words, there was still some vulnerability there.

“I’m not going anywhere, you wanna stay like this we can stay like this,” you rubbed your hands over his broad shoulders, still unable to get over how toned his body is.

He rested his head on your shoulder, kissing at your collarbone. “I’m so fuckin’…” he paused and wondered if it was inappropriate to tell someone youre in love them in the immediate aftermath of sex. He wouldn’t know, you’re the first person he’s said it to but he couldn’t stop himself. “I’m fuckin’ in love with you.” He said into your neck.

“Carmen.” You said, the use of his full name making his gaze shoot up to your eyes. For a second he wondered if he’d done something wrong. He was staring at you, those big blue eyes you loved so much, looking at you with pure love.

“Hey…it’s okay…” you kissed him softly, slowly, touching his face in the most tender way, thumb gracing over his cheekbone “I love you too.”

As he exhaled, dropping his forehead to yours, he was for the first time in a long time, not just content but happy.