#the feeling that you’re doing everything wrong | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

alisonsfics · 3 days

Text

wrong name

pairing: tyler owens x best friend!reader

summary: you were doing a great job suppressing your feelings for your best friend until you hooked up with a guy and called out tyler’s name in bed. but it’s fine, tyler would never find out, right? right?

word count: 3.4k

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, car sex, fingering, praise kink, dirty talk, minors DNI (18+ only)

It had been one week since the most mortifying moment of your life.

You’d gone on a first date with a guy named Finn because that’s what you do when you’re trying to get over your crush on your best friend. You hope that maybe you’ll meet a guy that you’ll fall harder for and stop crushing on the guy who would never see you like that.

So, you went back to his place after dinner, and the sex was mediocre at best.

At first, Tyler only popped into your head for second. You imagined how much better it would feel if it was his hands running over your body. Then, you had more intrusive thoughts. Like the thought of Tyler bending you over and fucking you.

It’s only because you were desperate. There was nothing worse than trying to pretend you were having a good time when you were just bored out of your mind.

So, you suggested to Finn that he should blindfold you.

From there, your imagination really soared, and you allowed yourself to believe you were with Tyler.

It was a fun little secret, just for you.

Until you both came, and you called out Tyler’s name and not his.

You were praying you’d spontaneously combust because you couldn’t face him after that. You quickly scrambled back into your clothes and went home.

You were doing okay at pretending it never happened. When you were lying in bed at night, the memory liked to sneak up on you and mortify you all over again.

So, you were boycotting dates for the moment because you couldn’t risk doing it again.

You had a boring night of wine and a movie planned for yourself when Tyler called you. “Hey, Tyler? What’s up?” You asked him, cheerily.

“You got any plans tonight? I was thinking about going out to a bar.” He suggested.

Even over the phone, his voice ran right through you. Goosebumps ran down your arms as you tried to hide your excitement. “That sounds great. Pick me up at 8?” You suggested.

“Sounds perfect, see you soon.” He replied.

You hung up the phone and flopped backwards onto your bed. The heat rushed to your cheeks. You had to fight the urge to giggle and kick your feet.

You’d been friends with Tyler for years, which didn’t mean you stopped getting butterflies around him. You just got better at hiding it.

You both had been through a lot together, and you didn’t want to jeopardize it by letting he find out you were harboring feelings for him.

So, you picked out a cute black dress to wear. One that Tyler’s eyes would linger over, but he’d never admit it. Just like every time the two of you went out to a bar.

You’d just finished getting ready whenTyler’s red truck pulled up outside your apartment. You quickly ran down the stairs to greet him.

“There she is,” he said, his eyes running down your body as he got out of the truck. That look of awe was enough to make you feel dizzy.

You could feel the butterflies start to swarm as he walked closer to you. “You look gorgeous as always.” He said, taking your hand and spinning you in a circle.

You thanked him as he pulled you in for a quick hug.

“Your chariot awaits.” He joked, opening the passenger door for you.

The drive there went by in a flash. You and Tyler knew each other like the back of your hands, so you could easily spend hours talking about nothing and everything.

“So, any particular reason you wanted to go out tonight?” You asked, looking over at Tyler as you both took a seat at the bar. You knew Tyler’s favorite solution for problems at work was going out drinking with you. No one could calm Tyler down the way you could.

“Can’t it just be because I wanted to hang out with my best friend?” He asked, cocking his head to the side. You rolled your eyes at him, swatting his arm. “While I am a delight, I know that’s not it.” You encouraged him, letting your hand linger on his forearm.

His eyes darted down. The way your small hand was gripping onto his muscular arm was enough to distract him. You quickly pulled your hand away, feeling slightly embarrassed after seeing his reaction.

“Just tornado stuff. We had this big opportunity to get a bunch of data, but some of the equipment malfunctioned. We lost almost everything.” He explained. He was eager to move the conversation past how he had almost malfunctioned because you grabbed his arm.

You gave him a small sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry, Tyler. That’s frustrating. You’ll figure it out. I mean, you’re the tornado wrangler after all.” You said, cheesily trying to cheer him up. Tyler chuckled and looked down at his hands.

Ever since Tyler had been branded the “Tornado Wrangler,” you loved to tease him about it.

“Oh, c’mon, you know I hate when you call me that.” He groaned, smiling at you. You cheekily shrugged your shoulders.

“I gotta go to the bathroom real quick. Can you watch my drink?” You asked him. Tyler quickly nodded, sliding your drink over in front of him. You rushed towards the bathroom, where you assumed there’d be a line.

“Two shots of tequila please,” Tyler heard a man come up to the bar and order beside him.

He didn’t pay a lot of attention to it, until he saw the man down both shots back to back, out of the corner of his eye. “Rough day?” Tyler joked, looking over at the man.

“Rough week,” the man corrected him, with a grim expression. Tyler looked at the man’s face, not being able to shake the feeling that he knew him from somewhere.

“Wait, do we know each other? You look familiar.” Tyler said, furrowing his eyebrows as he thought. The man gave him an awkward smile and shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think so, man.” He said, knowing he’d never seen Tyler before.

That’s when he saw Tyler’s eyes light up in recognition. “Oh, wait. You’re Finn, right?” He asked him.

Finn’s expression only became more anxious and worried. “Yeah, umm. I am, but how do you know my name? I don’t think we’ve ever met.” He asked.

Tyler quickly shook his head, trying to assure the man who was growing more nervous. “No, we haven’t met. You went on a date with my friend Y/N last weekend. She showed me your picture before you guys had your date.” Tyler said.

Finn nodded in recognition. All the memories of that night came rushing back to him. “Oh, yeah. That explains it.” Finn said, sheepishly. It was clear to Finn that this man he was speaking to didn’t know anything about how that date went.

“Sorry, don’t want to be rude. I’m Tyler, by the way.” Tyler said, quickly shaking Finn’s hand. Finn stared blankly back at him. “Tyler?” He asked, feeling his blood run cold. Tyler nodded, giving Finn a friendly smile.

Meanwhile, you were on your way back to the bar.

“Hey, Tyler. I’m back.” You said, reaching to grab your drink back from Tyler. Your gaze drifted past Tyler to the man that was standing beside him.

“Hey, Y/N. Good to see you.” Finn said, with a fake smile. You felt yourself freeze. You wanted to run away, but you couldn’t convince your feet to move.

“Oh—uh, Finn. Yeah, good to see you.” You nervously lied. Your eyes darted between Tyler and Finn. You were praying Finn hadn’t found out Tyler’s name. You were also praying he hadn’t told Tyler what happened.

“I guess you haven’t told your friend, Tyler, here that our date was kind of a bust.” He said, coldly.

You wrapped your hand around Tyler’s bicep, trying to tug him towards you. You wanted Tyler to get the hint that you really wanted to leave.

Tyler turned to face you. He saw the pure panic in your eyes. “You okay?” He asked you, quietly.

You tried to form the word “no,” but no sound would come out of your mouth. All you could imagine was Finn telling Tyler what happened. You could practically see the way that Tyler’s face would change.

“I think the guy deserves to know.” Finn said, noticing the way you were tensed up. You weren’t hard to read in this moment, but Finn had been humiliated when you said the wrong name. So, he wanted revenge.

“That’s none of his business.” You said firmly. You refused to look Tyler in the eye. You were worried that if you did, he’d somehow see into your soul and know what happened.

“Let’s go.” Tyler said, standing up and wrapping his hand tightly in yours. Tyler knew how uncomfortable Finn was making you and wanted to get you out of there as quick as possible.

Tyler turned to leave, pulling you with him when Finn yelled after you both.

“We hooked up, but she called out your name, not mine.” Finn said.

You felt the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Your stomach sank. You felt like the floor was going to open it up and pull you under.

You tugged your hand away and ran out of the bar and into the parking lot. Tyler was trying to process what he’d just heard.

He turned around to face Finn, who had a grin on his face. “The lady told you to shut up.” Tyler practically growled, shoving Finn against the bar.

Tyler turned on his heel to follow you towards the car.

When he got outside, he saw you standing by the passenger side of the truck. Your arms were crossed, and your eyes were focused on the ground.

“Sweetheart—” Tyler started to say before you cut him off.

“I want to go home.” You snapped. Your tone came out harsher than you meant to.

Tyler slowly nodded. He didn’t want to push you to talk about something you didn’t want to talk about. You both got into the car in complete silence.

Tyler hesitated before putting the keys in the ignition. He glanced over at you. He could see your eyes starting to water as you still refused to look at him.

He cautiously reached over to let his fingers interlace with yours. “Will you please look at me, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere. You’re not scaring me away. I promise.” He said, softly.

You hesitantly looked over at him. He gave you a soft smile, trying to calm you down. “Finn was a douchebag for telling me, but I’m not going anywhere.” He assured you. You softly squeezed his hand.

He used his other hand to brush a piece of hair behind your ear. “So…you were calling out my name, huh?” Tyler asked you, with a cocky smirk.

Your eyes went wide. You tugged your hand away from his and covered your face with your hands. “Tyler,” you complained, dragging out his name.

He chuckled to himself. “I wasn’t trying to tease you.” He said, holding his hands up in surrender.

You peeked at him through your fingers. “That’s exactly what you’re doing, Owens.” You said, groaning to yourself.

He shook his head. Then, you felt him grab both your hands. His rough calloused skin scratching against your soft hands. He moved your hands away, looking you in the eye.

“I was just offering to make your little fantasies a reality.” He said in a low voice.

You leaped across the car, grabbing the collar of his shirt and kissing him. His hand flew to the back of your neck as he kissed you back.

You could taste the liquor on his lips. The kiss was sloppy and hungry. You’d both wanted this for too long to be patient. His fingers weaved through your hair, holding on tightly.

His other hand grabbed your waist. His fingers caressed the silky material of your dress. His mind could only think about how much softer your skin would be under his touch.

You seemingly read his mind. “Go ahead,” you mumbled against his lips. You could feel his lips curve up into a smirk. He slipped his fingers under your short dress, caressing your upper thigh.

He noticed the goosebumps that were covering your legs. It only encouraged him more. His hand slowly moved higher up your thigh.

You whimpered against the kiss. You felt the familiar aching between your legs. You needed his touch like you needed air. “So needy for me, baby,” he said, cockily.

The pet name sent a shiver rolling down your back. You bucked your hips up against nothing. “Please,” you begged him.

He rubbed his thumb across your clothed heat. A small wet patch had formed in your panties. Another whine came out of you.

He quickly pushed your panties to the side and plunged a finger into your folds. You gasped, pulling out of the kiss. Your eyelids softly fluttered closed.

“Oh, fuck,” you mumbled softly. Tyler peppered kisses to your shoulder as you leaned your head back. Your senses were overwhelmed. There wasn’t a single coherent thought in your head. He curled his finger inside of you, making you buck your hips against his hand.

“You want another, sweetheart? Can you handle that?” Tyler asked you. You furiously nodded your head. He could feel his jeans becoming strained as he watched you writhe under his touch.

He added another finger, stretching you out. Your mouth hung open as you adjusted. Your wetness only allowed Tyler to move his fingers quicker. He quickly moved them in and out, watching as your breath quickened.

Your stomach started to tighten. You reached for anything to sink your nails into. Your hand landed on Tyler’s bicep.

He pressed his thumb into your clit. “Tyler,” his name fell effortlessly from his lips. He quickened his pace. Every breath and moan from you made him go faster.

“Cum for me, baby,” he praised you.

He started rubbing circles around your clit. You whined, helplessly grinding your hips down against his hand. You swore you were seeing stars. “Oh fuck, Tyler, I’m gonna—” you swore, biting down your lip.

“Go ahead. Cum on my fingers.” He instructed. Your orgasm hit you. You clenched around his fingers, riding the high. “Tyler, so good,” you mumbled. Your legs were shaking, and you threw your head back against the headrest. He continued pumping his fingers into you.

“That’s it. There you go.” He softly praised you. Tyler’s fingers slowed down, helping you down from your peak. He brushed your hair out of your face and kissed your lips softly.

He wiped his soaked fingers on his jeans. You softly nipped at his bottom lip. His smirk grew again. “What do you think you’re doing, sweetheart?” He asked you.

Instead of answering him, you climbed across the console into his lap. Tyler pulled out of the kiss to watch you, in shock. His eyes were wide at the sight in front of him.

You were straddling his lap. Your skirt was hiked up to your hips while your cum was running down your thigh. Your makeup was smudged. Your lips were swollen. And you looked tired out from your orgasm.

“Hold on, just a second, baby,” he said, quickly sliding his seat all the way back and leaning the chair as far back as it would go.

As soon as you both had more room, you were back all over each other. Tyler’s hands were possessively holding on your hips. You unbuttoned Tyler’s shirt as you kissed him. Feeling the last button come undone, you raked your nails over his bare chest. Tyler groaned into the kiss. Your touch was magic on him.

“Need you,” he mumbled against your lips. You tugged his shirt off his shoulders and threw it in the back seat.

Tyler leaned back as you reached for the hem of your dress. He watched with a cocky smile as you pulled the dress over your head. He’d just been fingers deep in you, but the sight of you in your bra and panties was enough to make him crazy.

“So fuckin’ beautiful, darling,” he practically moaned. He grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you down to kiss him again. Your hands struggled to undo his belt while he unclasped your bra.

Having Tyler’s hands on you had your skin burning. You felt like your skin was on fire, in the best way. You could sense his desperation. His hands explored your body, not wanting to leave any part untouched.

His hands covered you, helping you undo his belt and unzip his jeans. He quickly tugged his jeans down to his knees.

You pulled out of the kiss to take a breath. Tyler buried his face in between your breasts, leaving sloppy kisses and a trail of saliva. He leaned forward, taking one of your nipples into his mouth.

Your eyes rolled back, grasping onto Tyler’s arms. “Need you, Tyler,” you mumbled.

“All you had to do was ask, baby.” He said, tugging down his boxers. His cock spring out, slapping against his stomach. He watched as you practically drooled over him. He brought you back into the moment as he pulled off your panties.

“You want to do this right here? Or you wanna move into the backseat?” He asked you, smirking at your eager expression.

“Right here,” you said. The words came out rushed as you captured his lips in a kiss. He smirked against your lips. “Hang on, sweetheart. If you’re gonna ride me, you’re gonna need this.” He said, grabbing his cowboy hat from the backseat and plopping it on your head. A bashful smile appeared on your face.

You shifted your weight, holding onto Tyler’s shoulders. “Go ahead, cowgirl.” He encouraged you with a wicked smile.

You slowly sunk yourself down onto his length. A low groan escaped Tyler’s lips at the feeling of you wrapped around him. “Fuck, darling,” he moaned, grabbing at your hips. He helped lift you up and let you plunge back down on his cock.

“Oh, Ty— so good,” you mumbled, rolling your hips back into his.

Tyler took a mental picture of you riding him while wearing his hat. He wanted to remember it forever.

With his assistance, you sped up the pace. You were ramming your hips down against his. With each thrust, you could feel Tyler reaching deeper inside you.

“This what you were thinking about with that other guy? Thinking about wrapping your sweet pussy around my cock. You fit perfect. It’s like you were made for me.” Tyler praised you. His comments went straight to your core. Your legs started to shake.

His name fell from your lips. He bucked his hips up to meet yours halfway. “Need to…f-f-faster,” you stuttered, feeling your muscles begin to tighten.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help ya,” he assured you, grabbing a tight hold on your hips. He slammed you down on his cock.

You could feel him brush up against your g-spot. You clenched your eyes shut, a whimper escaping your lips. “That the spot, sweetheart? Don’t worry. I’ll give it the attention it needs.” He said, flipping your body over so he was on top.

“You did so good, honey. But just let me do the work. You focus on cumming for me.” He instructed you.

He braced his leg against the console and started pounding into you. Your legs began to shake. You wrapped your hands around the headrest, your knuckles turning white.

“I’m almost—” you said, breathlessly. The noises bouncing off the truck walls were almost pornographic. You could hear every thrust. From Tyler’s low groans every time you squeezed around his cock to the sound his cock made as it slipped through your wetness.

His hand flew down to your clit, rubbing small tight circles. “Can’t last much longer, darling,” Tyler moaned. You could tell from his erratic thrusts that he was telling the truth. You vision was starting to go white as the muscles in your abdomen contracted.

“Oh, shit. I’m gonna— oh, fuck, Tyler.” You called out as you came around him. Your walls clenched down around his cock, pushing him over the edge. “Oh, fuck,” he groaned, bucking his hips into yours and he came inside you.

He collapsed against you, slowing his pace and bringing you both down from your highs. His sweaty body pressed against yours.

“So, how’s that compare to what you were imagining?” Tyler asked you, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

You gasped for breath. “S-so much better,” you mumbled, breathlessly.

taglist: @laurakirsten0502 @miraclesoflove @nathaliabakes @millipop18 @lillyssh-tposts @shyinadarkplace @vanteguccir @missroro @guacam011y @sw33t-cupid @ice-dtae @leyannrae @sia2raw @nyx2021 @just-a-littlebit-of-everything @shyconversationalbookworm @shadowhuntyi @visenyaverse @ruzannetheseahorse @superdeath @wandaswifeyforlifey @spookyqueen @mcuswhore @princess-evans-addict @n3ssm0nique @peakascum @cjand10 @namsey1987 @supernaturalstilinski @stephv213 @warriormirkwood @one-sweet-gubler @narliesstuff @bibissparkles @stupiidfrogs @navs-bhat @marvelcasey05 @alipap3 @djs8891 @love2write2626 @khaleesibeach @ateliersss @xbox5angelx @kneelforloki @ipromiseidk @ilovefictionalcharacters26 @lovelyleanie @avengersgirllorianna @nerdgirljen @ellesmythe @harrysgothicbitch @mikoxvelez @emma8895eb @xoxabs88xox @velyssaraptor

Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist for all my imagines or for a specific character/fandom!!

#tyler owens #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens oneshot #tyler owens fic #tyler owens twisters #tyler owens imagine #twisters movie #twisters #glen powell #glen powell x reader

574 notes · View notes

fastandcarlos · 1 day

Text

Drunken Kisses : ̗̀➛ Lewis Hamilton

summary: there are all kinds of drunks, but you're definitely the type to pour your heart out, as lewis quickly realises

Lewis’ eyes rolled the moment he heard you groaning through the house, swinging his legs round and standing up from the sofa. Despite your promises not to get yourself drunk on your night out with your colleagues, he knew straight away that you hadn’t kept to that promise.

His smile turned up though when he saw how giggly you were walking through the house, heading straight in Lewis’ direction on your unsteady feet. His arm came around your frame to support you, carefully guiding you to the sofa and safely sitting you down.

“I missed you,” you whispered, resting your body against Lewis’, pressing several kisses against his cheek. “You should’ve come out with us tonight, we had such a great time.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” Lewis mused, barely able to get his words out between the feeling of your lips pressing against him.

Lewis didn’t quite know what to do as you scattered several kisses over him, your hands cupping his head to keep him still. The smell of liquor lingered on your breath as you smothered Lewis with as much love as you possibly could.

When you moved for a moment, Lewis spoke up. “Do you think you might want to let me breathe?”

“You’re already breathing,” you sighed, tapping against his arm. “You wouldn’t be talking to me right now if you weren’t breathing silly,” you scoffed, hearing a chuckle come from Lewis.

“Do you think it’s time for bed?” Lewis suggested, but your head immediately shook in reply to him.

You finally moved back from Lewis, but your eyes remained firmly on him, studying him closely. Lewis didn’t quite know how to react until he watched a tear roll down your cheek, reaching out and wiping it away for you before asking you what was wrong.

“Are they happy tears?” He nervously asked, bringing his hands to hold either side of your face instead. “Did something happen whilst you were out that you’re not telling me?”

Your head shook quickly, not wanting Lewis to worry with his eyes still on you. As you continued to remain quiet, Lewis couldn’t help but fret though. Your heart was racing as you toyed with the idea of opening up to Lewis what the reason for your tears was.

“You have to promise that you’re not going to laugh at me.”

Lewis hummed as his hand brushed gently through your hair, tucking you into his side. He held onto you tightly, biting down on his lip to make sure that his laughter was stifled as he waited for you to tell him what was going on.

It was one of the things you hated about when you got drunk, how you suddenly found yourself overcome with emotion. As you arrived home to Lewis, that emotion hit you in a wave, feeling your heart swell with happiness when you were greeted by his figure walking through the front door.

“It scares me sometimes how much I love you,” you whispered, brushing your hand against Lewis’ cheek. “Have I ever told you how much I’m actually in love with you?”

“Love,” Lewis whispered, fighting back his urge to chuckle in surprise as to the reason for your tears. “You don’t need to do this.”

“But I do, because you make me so unbelievably happy Lewis.”

Before Lewis could speak, you leaned forwards and trailed several sloppy kisses along Lewis’ jaw, feeling the stubble on his face tickle against your slightly chapped lips.

Your conversation went on for quite some time as Lewis sat back and let you get everything off of your chest. Although he always knew how you felt about him, he hadn’t heard you be quite so honest before. But that was what they always said about drunk people, the truth finds a way to spill.

You had no recollection of heading to bed that night, confident however that Lewis would’ve taken good care of you and made sure that you got to bed in one piece.

When you woke up the following morning, you found yourself with Lewis’ frame wrapped around you to keep you warm. He was already awake behind you, smiling away as he heard you groan and quickly shut your eyes again.

“I’ve got so many regrets about last night.”

“Good morning to you too,” Lewis teased, leaning forwards to press a kiss against your cheek. “I would ask how you’re feeling, but after the state you were in last night, I bet that I could have a pretty good guess about how you are.”

Your eyes slowly peeled open again, this time a lot more prepared for the light in your bedroom, shuffling slightly in Lewis’ grip. “I don’t even want to know about anything that happened last night, just keep me safe from how embarrassing I was.”

“You weren’t embarrassing, just a little lovesick.”

“Oh no,” you whispered, hearing Lewis giggle jokingly, full of satisfaction knowing that he remembered exactly what you had to say to him last night.

Lewis let you have your huff for a second before twirling you around in his hold so that you were facing him, clearing his throat to allow himself to fill you in.

“At least I certainly know that you’re happy in this relationship, you made that quite clear.”

“I don’t think I want to know.”

“It was cute,” Lewis tried his best to assure you, “you certainly wanted to make sure that I was listening as well.”

“Shut up,” you murmured, “can we just pretend that it didn’t happen?”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed about,” Lewis whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I actually quite liked it, aside from the part when you didn’t let me move for your urge to kiss me repeatedly again and again.”

Your head tilted back in disbelief, “I swear I don’t recognise the person that I become when I’m drunk, did I really do that to you? What must I have been thinking?”

“Clearly you must’ve been thinking about just how much you love your amazing boyfriend.”

“You’re enjoying this far too much for my liking,” you scolded.

Lewis couldn’t help himself; it wasn’t that day to day you didn’t tell him how much you loved him, but when you were drunk that little extra came out that Lewis adored.

As you fell silent, Lewis captured your attention again. “You know, for all you said last night, I want you to know that everything you said I feel the exact same way about you too.”

“You don’t have to say that to make me feel better,” you assured him.

“I’m not saying it for that, I’m saying it because I mean it.”

“Thank you,” you chuckled, “and sorry that I was such a mess last night, I don’t even know what happened to me.”

“Don’t worry love, I could get used to receiving all those kisses anyway.”

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

515 notes · View notes

l4ndonorizz · 2 days

Text

cooking stream gone wrong / lando norris x reader

pairing: lando norris x reader

song: disclosure - latch

summary: cooking stream is not something lando does often, but when he does it's worth it. and gossip is his middle name.

wc: 1.3k

“Alright, we’re live!” Lando grinned at the camera, adjusting his headset as you stood beside him in the kitchen, waving to his thousands of Twitch followers tuning in for what was supposed to be a simple, fun cooking stream.

“Say hi!” he nudged you with his elbow, a cheeky smile playing on his lips.

“Hi, everyone!” you laughed, feeling a little awkward but excited at the same time. Cooking was not your strong suit, but Lando had convinced you it would be fun—how hard could making pasta be?

“So, here’s the plan,” Lando started, turning back to the camera. “We’re going to make...well, attempt to make some pasta. Easy, right? We’ve got everything set up, and—”

“And by ‘set up,’ you mean we threw everything onto the counter and hoped for the best,” you interrupted, earning a laugh from Lando as the chat started flooding with comments.

"Lando can’t even boil water."

"This is going to be a disaster, isn’t it?"

"Who’s the better cook?"

Lando squinted at the screen, reading the comments. “Who’s the better cook? Honestly, neither of us, but I think I’ve got this. Easy win,” he said, confidently reaching for the flour to start mixing the dough.

“Sure, sure,” you teased, rolling your eyes. “Let’s see how that confidence holds up when we burn your kitchen.”

As you both got to work, the chaos started almost immediately. Lando spilled flour all over the counter while trying to measure it, and you couldn’t stop laughing as he attempted to save it by brushing the mess into a pile.

“Mate, I’m a racing driver, not a chef!” he exclaimed, looking at the camera as if that excused the growing disaster in front of him. The chat was already spamming laughing emojis.

“And yet, here we are,” you said, reaching for the eggs. “Okay, let’s at least try to make the dough...not a total failure.”

A few minutes later, you both had something that vaguely resembled dough, though it was sticking to your hands and the countertop. You exchanged glances, trying not to burst out laughing.

“This...doesn’t feel right,” you said, holding up your sticky hands.

Lando shook his head, grinning as he swiped some flour from the counter and smeared it across your cheek. “You’re doing great.”

You laughed, pushing him away playfully. “Seriously? You’re just making it worse!”

The chat exploded with more comments.

"What’s happening here?"

"This stream is pure chaos."

"They are so bad at this!"

“Alright, alright, let’s focus. We’re gonna make this work,” Lando said, trying to regain control of the situation. “We just need to roll it out, right?”

You nodded, grabbing the rolling pin. But, in true chaotic fashion, you accidentally knocked over the bag of flour, sending a cloud of white powder into the air. Both of you froze for a moment, staring at the mess before bursting into uncontrollable laughter.

��Okay, this is an absolute disaster,” you managed to say between laughs, wiping the flour from your face.

“Disaster? Nah, this is quality content,” Lando grinned, gesturing to the camera as he brushed the flour off his shirt. “Everyone loves a bit of chaos.”

The chat seemed to agree, with viewers sending donations and spamming messages about how this was the funniest stream they’d seen in a while.

With the dough finally rolled out (though not exactly perfectly), you both moved on to boiling the water. Lando confidently set the pot on the stove, turning up the heat.

“See? Easy,” he said, wiping his hands on a towel. “We’ve totally got this.”

“Don’t jinx it,” you warned, but the damage was already done.

Just a few minutes later, the water started boiling over, steam rising from the pot. Lando scrambled to turn down the heat while you frantically grabbed a towel to clean up the mess.

“I said don’t jinx it!” you laughed, trying to keep the chaos under control.

“Okay, okay, I might’ve messed that one up,” Lando admitted, wiping his forehead dramatically for the camera. “But we’re still going strong!”

As the chaos in the kitchen continued, you both got more and more caught up in the moment. Between the flour, the boiling water, and the laughter, it was easy to forget about the camera still rolling. The playful banter between you and Lando became more flirtatious as the minutes passed, and you couldn’t help but notice how close you were standing to each other now.

Lando leaned in, a grin on his face as he pretended to offer you a bite of the pasta that had somehow ended up slightly burnt. “Care for a taste, chef?”

You laughed, leaning back against the counter. “Oh, I’ll pass. Looks like you’re trying to poison me.”

But instead of pulling away, Lando stayed close, his hand resting gently on your waist. The playful energy shifted, and suddenly, the laughter faded, replaced by an unfamiliar tension. His eyes stayed on yours, the teasing glint in them softening as the air between you thickened.

You felt your pulse quicken, your heart racing in your chest. "Lando..." you started, unsure if you should break the moment or let it take its course.

He didn’t answer. Instead, his gaze dropped to your lips, and before you could even process it, his hand slid up your side, pulling you closer. His lips found yours, softly at first, as if testing the waters, but then something shifted, and the kiss deepened with an urgency neither of you had anticipated.

Your hands moved instinctively to his chest, your fingers curling into his shirt as you kissed him back, completely caught up in the moment. Everything else faded away—the kitchen, the mess, the stream. It was just you and Lando, lost in a kiss that felt far more intense than anything you’d ever shared before.

His hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him as the kiss grew hungrier, more desperate. You could feel the counter digging into your back, but you didn’t care. All that mattered was the warmth of his body against yours, the way his lips moved over yours, the way your heart raced uncontrollably in your chest.

Then suddenly, the shrill sound of a phone ringing pierced through the haze.

You both froze, your lips still inches apart, breathing heavily as reality crashed back into the room. Lando’s phone continued ringing, and you blinked in confusion, your mind scrambling to catch up with what had just happened.

Lando reached for his phone, glancing at the screen with wide eyes. “It’s Max,” he muttered, his voice hoarse.

Lando answered the call with trembling fingers. “Uh...hey, Max.”

“Bro,” Max’s voice came through the speaker, half-amused, half-panicked. “Are you guys seriously still streaming? Because, uh...you’re about two seconds away from getting banned for...whatever the hell you were just doing on that counter.”

Lando’s eyes widened in horror as he glanced at the camera, finally realizing that the chat was still going crazy. His hand shot out to shut off the stream, but it was too late. The damage was done.

You stood there in stunned silence, your face burning with embarrassment as you covered your mouth with your hand. How could you have forgotten about the stream?

“Well,” Lando finally said, breaking the silence after what felt like an eternity. “That...happened.”

You let out a nervous laugh, still feeling the lingering heat from the kiss. “Yeah. That definitely happened.”

Lando ran a hand through his hair, clearly still trying to process everything. He looked at you, his expression a mix of embarrassment and something else—something unspoken.

Before either of you could say anything more, he reached for your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I guess...we’re going to have some explaining to do, huh?”

You nodded, still breathless from the chaos of the last few minutes. “Yeah. But...I don’t regret it.”

Lando grinned, a hint of that familiar mischievous spark returning. “Neither do I.”

#f1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 one shot #formula 1 #lando imagine #lando norris #lando norris one shot #lando x reader #Spotify

474 notes · View notes

jesuistrestriste · 3 days

Note

Sage hear me out...

Divorced dilf art who calls his younger gf mommy

art stays cooped up in the house all day—everyday—when you’re out at your hot new job.

he thinks about all the guys your age who probably ogle you and try to make passes at you, not knowing that you’ve got a man pushing 40 waiting at home for you with dinner and a pair of warm, strong open arms.

sigh.

when you do get home, he’s there to greet you (as always). he walks over and holds you close; kissing your cheek, and then your lips and your neck. each one soft and sweet and attempting to wipe your mind of any flirtation from younger men that you may or may not have endured throughout the afternoon.

“hi,” he whispers, and you slide your fingertips down his lower back, making him tremble like a wet kitten.

“hey, baby,” you hum in return. you’re shorter than him, and so when he leans his weight into you his forehead naturally falls into your shoulder. he smells like warmth and outdated cologne and need.

he mouths at your neck in the next moment, his hands sliding to lovingly cup your waist, “i missed you so much.. can i have you now?” he breathes out, his voice shaking and pleading. you feel something thick and warm press into your hip from inside his sweatpants.

and you chuckle and shake your head. he bites his bottom lip to stifle a petulant whimper.

“i missed you too,” you nip at his ear, “but i need you to use your manners if you want something from me.”

he stiffens for a moment before he stumbles forward a bit, taking you with him and gently pushing your back up against the door. “i’m sorry.”

the apology spills from his lips with an earnest desire to make his obedience known. he’d never want to disappoint you. you’re all he has these days.

“can i… can i please have you now?”

a breath. a shake of your head. a rock of his hips against your body followed by a sorrowful, begging moan.

“no?” he shifts against you, his body aching for yours.

“you’re forgetting something, Art.”

it only takes a moment for him to process your words before he’s mumbling a slurry of “i’m so sorry”s into your neck. but apologies only go so far, don’t they? he needs to correct his behavior. he needs to show you that he knows what you want from him.

“please…” he whispers, “please, mommy..”

the honorific rolls off his tongue like honey, heavy and sweet. it hangs in the air between you two and then you let out a low chuckle, “much better.”

“mommy,” he breathes out again, his erection involuntarily pulsing against your body through his clothes, “mommy, mommy, mommy—ngh“

his tone grows more desperate with each mumbling of the word; higher in pitch and more urgent. your hands move up to stroke his short blonde hair, and then you whisper into his ear.

“what do you want?”

god, what doesn’t he want? he wants your hand down his pants, your perfect cunt wrapped around his unworthy cock, your mouth, your lips, your tits. everything.

but he knows you. he knows that this is a trick question. you’re phrasing it like you’re going to give him something, a treat—a reward, but it’s a bit of a trap.

there’s a right and a wrong answer here. pick the wrong one, and he’s in for a night of painful orgasm denial (coupled with a ruined one to end the evening).

but luckily, art is smart. he knows what you want to hear.

“i.. i wanna eat mommy out.”

you pull back gently from him; and judging by the look that spreads over your face when he says that, he picked the right response.

you smile, and then your hands slide from his hair to his shoulders. in an instant, art finds himself being pushed down to the floor in front of you. he can’t help but scoot forward and shove his boner against your ankle, rutting himself into your soft skin as he dribbles precome in his briefs.

you lean back against the door, hiking up your skirt, before you’re looking down to him expectantly.

“don’t make me do all the work, baby,” you practically purr.

art’s hands scramble up your thighs to your panties, which he peels off of your sticky core with wide eyes, letting the thin fabric garment fall to pool at your heels. you giggle.

you kick them off to the side, feeling your boyfriend’s hands clutched around your legs. you sling a leg over his left shoulder, spreading your folds for him to see, and he wastes no time in parting his lips and engulfing your heat with his mouth.

you groan, letting your head loll back, and you move your fingers wander to the back of his hair once more to push his face further against you. you grind on his eager tongue, feeling him flick it over your clit as he whimpers and suckles. what a slut.

his baby blues look up to you with weighted lids, lapping at your cunt like it’s something he’s been starved of for years. his pupils dilate intensely as he stares up at you like you’re a god; something holy and unreal. and when you shake over his mouth’s ministrations, getting close, he lets out a long, drawn-out whine into your core.

he’s murmuring something that sends vibrations up your spine from the coil deep in your gut. it’s hard to make anything out when he’s drowning in you and loving it, but you can decipher bits and pieces.

“please, mommy”

“come in my mouth, mommy”

“give it all to me, mommy”

“i can take it, mommy”

you’re everything he’s ever dreamt about. you bend his perception of time and space and reason and logic. how could a sweet, beautiful, young thing like you ever want a washed-up, older athlete like him?

he prays that you don’t only like him for his money, and then he closes his eyes and mouths at your sensitive bud. he drools all over it like a sick dog, his brows pinching up as he moans out incoherent pleas for you to finish.

and holy fuck, you come hard.

a strangled cry jolts out of you as your back arches, mixing with a helpless sob from art, and then you absolutely soak his tongue with your juices. it gushes all over his face and he swallows as fast as he can; hell, he nearly chokes on it.

“ffffuck! art! oh my god, good boy, good boy, such a good boy!”

you rock over him until your orgasm recedes, and you pull his head back from you shakily by your tender hold on his hair. strings of your slick cling to the lower half of his face and the tip of his nose; a lewd squelch echoing out as he’s forcefully disconnected from your body. a dazed smile graces your lips and you peer down to watch as art’s hips shake against the hardwood floor and a dark stain appears at the front of his sweats. it’s a pathetic sight, really.

but you watch him moan softly and keep his gaze trained on you as he wipes his chin messily with the back of his hand.

“was i good?” he whispers, like he’ll cry if you say no.

he needs to hear you say it when he’s not lost in the throes of your climax.

your chest is still heaving while you try to slow your labored breaths, but you lean down anyways and meet his lips with yours. you taste yourself on his tongue. he shudders and winces.

you pull back, your bottom lip brushing his.

“so good, baby..”

art kisses the corner of your mouth softly, just once. he’s melting into you.

he loves you. but he swallows that down for now. he opts to murmur out something that’ll sum up everything he feels in a more palatable manner. something that makes him seem less desperate to keep you all to himself for as long as you can tolerate him.

something that he’s earnestly dying to say.

something that he knows you deserve to hear.

“thank you.”

#🌸 - ask prompts #💌 - mutuals #WHOOAA i wrote too much #but angelll ???#ooh my god i’m srry this is late by a couple days but good god i’m eating it up #i love the concept of domming older men #like yea fuck u i own u old man ! now open ur wallet and gimme 20 bucks !#(and then the old man in question is like only 40)#art donaldson smut #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson fic

411 notes · View notes

eleganzadellarosa · 3 days

Text

Forgive and Forget

pairing: mingyu x fem!reader

genre: smut (fluff if you pat your head and rub your stomach)

warnings: MDNI!!! (size kink (sorry I can’t help it, he’s just so big 😍), oral (f receiving), slight manhandling, breeding, lots of cum)

word count: 1.69K

A/N: it’s about that time yall, he always slithers into my brain at some point in time 🙄💕it took everything in me to not throw in some dacryphilia, the parasites in me really wanted to. Honestly I have nothing else to say except enjoy and thanks for reading :)

You’re far too in it to remember what the argument was about, but you knew you were right. It wasn’t often that you and Mingyu had disagreements of this caliber, most of the time they were “friendly”. Right now you’re angry, very angry actually, over something that you still don’t remember but you’re making sense and he’s clearly in the wrong. He raised his voice at you and vice versa, the argument was pretty heated but that was as far as it would ever go.

“You’re not even acknowledging that you’re wrong right now Gyu and you know you are!” Your finger was pointed but you were more so pointing at the space around him than at the actual person.

“Baby it doesn’t even matter, I know I’m wrong I just don’t like what you said!

He knew he upset you but the things you were blaming him for weren’t true and that’s kind of how the argument started; he just wanted to clear his name. You were so infuriating at times like these, standing your ground and not taking no for an answer.

“Fine whatever! I’m over this!” You threw your hands up and went to walk away but he grabbed you by the arm, pulling you back toward him.

He first caught you by the waist then held your face in his hands. You looked so pretty all the time, even when you were angry. He hated fighting with you, it made his heart ache and he always subconsciously thought you hated him a bit every time it was over. He knew that was a stupid idea and way to feel because you obviously loved him but he couldn’t help but be nervous. You couldn’t hate him, it would tear him up from the inside.

“Baby I’m sorry, you know I didn’t mean to make you upset right?” He rubbed your cheeks with his thumbs.

Your heart softened seeing the slight pout on his face. You didn’t like it either; raising your voice at each other as if you had no love in your hearts. “Mm” a small whimper of agreement leaving your throat because if you spoke, maybe your eyes would start to water.

“You forgive me? Hmm?” He kissed the top of your nose and touched his forehead to yours. When you nodded and he saw the early glimmers of tears in your eyes, he got down on his knees. “You sure? I won’t know unless you say it.” He ran the edge of his nails up the back of your thighs; you forgot you wore this little skirt.

Your cheeks were burning and no thoughts ran through your head as you watched this man who was obviously bigger than you, beg for your forgiveness on his knees as if you were the keeper of his soul. You were always weak to those puppy eyes he would give you so unintentionally but that only signified just how desperate he was to hear what he needed in order to feel better. He was kissing at your stomach now, one hand still on your thigh and the other under your shirt.

“Of course I forgive you Gyu.”

“Really baby? You don’t hate me?”

Hate him? You could never hate him; he never gave you reason to. “Why would hate you Gyu? I love you so much.” You gently caressed his face with your hand.

That put a smile on his face and he wrapped his big arms around your waist and rested his chin where his lips previously laid. “You gonna let me make it up to you?”

That sparkle in his eyes; going from desperate to happiness, now to a mixture of lust and excitement. “You don’t have to do that Gyu, it’s okay.”

“Pleeeease? I’ll make you feel so good baby, I promise.”

Your heart beat thumped in your entire body; your neck, your fingertips, your chest, you were suddenly aware how fast it was going. “Okay, but only if you want t-“

He was already pushing you against the nearest wall, still on his knees. He slid that tiny little skirt he loved so much down your legs along with your panties and draped a leg over his shoulder. He tapped on the other one to get you to let him do the same. He was sturdy, a big wide frame for you to comfortably rest your jelly like legs as he settled his tongue right between your juicy folds. He was so good at getting you wet, or maybe you just couldn’t help it.

He was right, you did feel good. Your hands tangled in his fluffy hair, back arched and head leaned back against the wall. You weren’t going anywhere but he had a tight grip over your thighs to keep you still while he got to work. Flat tongue exploring every inch of your dripping pussy. He made rough circles over your clit, stopping to suck on it every now and again. He was enjoying himself; grunting, moaning, whimpering at the taste of you flooding his tastebuds. Nothing was sweeter than you, nothing made his body feel like it was on fire like you did.

Toes curled and thighs shaking, you were close to what was to obviously come. “G-Gyu, gonna cum.”

There he was again, looking up at you with those same eyes that crumbled you into a bunch of tiny pieces. He grabbed higher on your thighs, bringing your pussy closer to him, sticking his tongue as deep as it could go. His fingertips dug into the flesh of your ass, your hands tugging on his hair slightly. His nose pressed against your clit and that along with everything else pushed you over the edge.

He loved being the one to get you like this. To be the only one tasting you in your most vulnerable form. He was twitching in the pants he wore; you were absolutely lethal. When you came down from your high, he gently let your legs down and stood up; chin and lips glistening. He smiled at you when you stood on your still wobbly legs. You wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him down for a sloppy kiss. His hands rested on your ass until he lifted you so that your legs wrapped around his waist.

He carried you to the bed, still kissing you and placed you on your stomach. You were left in nothing but your top, your bottom half on full display. You looked over your shoulder and watched as he removed everything until he was left in nothing but his skin. He was behind you now, propping you up on your knees so that his fat head could rub against your entrance. He grabbed your hips and slid in; hissing as he reached the hilt. Breathing heavily, he slowly built up a momentum, rocking his hips faster and faster.

“Mmm Gyu, feels so good…”

“Hmm? Feels good baby? Want more?”

He didn’t have to see you nod, your hips bucked back to meet his thrusts; just a way to tell him you needed more. Your walls sucked him in, inviting him to have no boundaries and to fuck you to his heart’s desire.

“Love you so much, don’t wanna fight no more.” His thrusts were quick now, fat dick stretching you out so deliciously.

No words could accurately describe how amazing it felt to be under him. So big and so heavy in all the right amounts. To have your face in the mattress while he grabbed at you as if you would slip away. He leaned forward, hands sliding under your shirt to fondle your breasts. His hands were soft, big but rough and mean all at the same time.

“Love you Gyu…love youuuu” you were moaning and whimpering; it all felt too good and your body felt tingly.

Your voice so pretty too, letting him hear how good he made you feel. He was no match for you, he couldn’t go on much longer before he wanted to fill you up just so he could hear you some more. He was addicted.

“Love you baby, love this warm pussy too, love everything. Wanna give you more. Wanna give you it all.” He wrapped his arms around you, trapping yours at your chest while he rut into you like a dog in heat.

Absolutely perfect, all of it. You loved how even though he could easily crush you, he made sure to use his size to protect your smaller body. He was getting so deep at the angle, a huge creamy mess forming at the base of his dick. His knees were between yours to keep you nice and spread for him.

“P-please Gyu…want it” your voice slightly higher pitched than it was earlier or better described as: the way your voice would change when you couldn’t take it anymore and needed to cum.

He sped up, thrusts so deep and fast, tip bullying your cervix. He squeezed you a bit tighter, prepping you and him for the massive load he was going to release. He was panting in your ear, breath warm and tickly. This only caused your pussy to flutter, walls clenching down on him. It was turning his pants into moans; gosh he was so close but so were you. You kissed at his bicep closest to you and it drove him crazy; you drove him crazy.

“Fuck, baby can’t hold it…gonna fill you up.”

And fill you up he did. A few more thrusts and his warm cum flooded your walls, slipping out and dripping down your thighs. You were both still moaning as you came down from your highs. He freed you from his trap and laid down next to you. Neither of you had the energy to move, panting heavily as the effects wore off. He built up the strength to pull you close to him because he couldn’t deal with you being so far.

“I’m sorry Gyu, I didn’t mean to yell at you and accuse you of all those things.”

He stroked your hair and kissed your forehead, “It’s okay baby I know, we don’t have to talk about that. Just lay here with me okay?”

Soon the silence engulfed you both and slipped you into a peaceful slumber.

Would y’all forgive him? 👀

#mingyu #mingyu smut #mingyu x reader #seventeen #seventeen mingyu #seventeen x reader #seventeen smut #kim mingyu #not proofread 👀

389 notes · View notes

peachesofteal · 6 hours

Text

Simple Math / Part Seventeen

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader - AO3 - 4K words Tags: 18+ mdni. nurse!reader. PTSD, references and descriptions of domestic violence , grooming, manipulation, pregnancy. Simon's back story. Trauma. Bun opens up a bit more. Domesticity, feelings of anxiety, self doubt. Simon is a nervous dad. Emotional confessions.

“It’s Beth.” Simon wipes the countertop, chasing little dirty fingerprints with a wet cloth, before fixing a hesitant set of eyes on yours.

“That’s pretty… I like it.” There’s something odd about his expression, something haunted almost, a deep, dark well filled to the brim with rancid, stagnant water. You sense it immediately. “What’s wrong?”

He motions to the chair and slides your mug into your waiting hands. “Sit.”

“Simon?”

“It was my sister in law’s name. My brother’s wife.” Was. Your throat goes dry, muscles tensing.

“Was?” He pulls your fingers into his, cradled in the palm of his hand, thumb rubbing circles into your skin, over and over on a loop. A mechanism of comfort, connection. A thread stitch into the fabric between your heart and his.

“They died, sweetheart. My family… I lost them.” Grief, a shared experience you know now, froths in the pit of your heart. You tremble, he holds you steady, though it should be the other way around.

“What… what happened?” He sighs, dragging your palm to his lips.

“Let’s sit down on the couch.”

He holds you as he talks, diaphragm rumbling against your ear. You’re laid on his chest, unable to see his face, watch his expressions, but for this, you don’t feel the urge to dissect each one.

You’re content against him. Listening. Mourning.

There’s a swath of silence afterwards, and then he clears his throat. “So, I was dead. Dead until I met Johnny, I think. And then everything changed.” Johnny’s words from weeks and weeks ago make more sense, Simon’s actions and reactions rapidly gaining clarity. “When we found you, I saw it, the look in your eyes. It was the same one that used to haunt my mother’s.”

“You saved her.” He burrows his face in your neck and shakes his head.

“I did what I could to piece them back together. Helped get Tommy clean and on his feet, got rid of the old man for good, but the damage… the way she suffered, it was irreversible. The best I could do was be there as much as often as possible.” You comb through his hair, short strands of silk like Penny’s, and hold him close. “I promised myself, when I met Johnny, when we fell in love, I’d do better by my own family. For him, and then by Penny. And now you. Promised I wouldn’t become him.” Your heart clenches, squeezing in on itself. “Violence may have been a part of my job, but it wasn’t a part of me.” His fingers dance along your spine until they reach your chin, tilting you back to meet his gaze. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.” You whisper, leaning into his touch. He doesn’t need to ask for your trust, he already has it.

“Johnny thinks I’ve got a bit of a savior complex now, but I want you to know… that’s not what this is, bunny.”

“I know,” you clear your throat, fighting through the thick of emotion building there, accumulating in heaps, “I know that.”

“But we do need to talk about him, you know that?” Darkness creeps along the wispy, dream-like cocoon the two of you built on the couch, and you push it away, try to banish it, basking in the comfort of his arms instead.

“I can’t, I… right now it feels like I’m in a dream where nothing hurts and nothing can scare me or hurt me, and I don’t-“

“You’re not in a dream, bunny. That’s your reality. This is real. Nothing can, or will, hurt you, scare you. No one will ever touch you again.”

“I need more time. Please.” Simon sighs, but doesn’t push, and the two of you lay there, together, suspended in comforting silence. For another moment, your world is a dream. A safe, beautiful dream, where happy endings are real, where love stretches on for eternity, unconditional, limitless, unbreakable.

You’re so different now, stark changes shocking to the girl you once knew, the one who doubled back on her routes to and from work, the one that walked everywhere with her hackles up. Little pieces of black rot now turned a blinding white, a brilliant beam seeking to shine on the whole of your life.

It’s a dream.

One you won’t easily surrender.

“I was really young.” It comes during a lapse in conversation, practically a blurt, an interruption pushing heat to your cheeks. Expelled from your mind, your body without choice, cracks appearing in the preservation that you’ve so defiantly clung to. You have to tell them, eventually. You have to break it all apart, let them see. Johnny’s mouth opens, and Simon’s hand darts to his wrist faster than a snake could strike, a clear signal. Don’t speak. “Obviously now, looking back on it, I realize I was groomed, or I guess, easily influenced. He was older, and I graduated early, started college early. I was in my second year when I turned eighteen. My mom,” the lump in your throat nearly chokes you until you swallow it down, “my mom busted her ass for me. I went to college on scholarships and her hard work.” Metal clanks against ceramic, forks settling on the edges of plates. “Anyway, everyone always thought I was a know-it-all and pretty awkward. We weren’t officially like, together right away but it was pretty serious from the day I met him. Eventually… he started to change me. Change my goals. He even manipulated my career path.”

“What did you go to school for?” Simon asks casually, head tilted.

“Bioscience. I wanted to be a doctor, so I thought it would transition well for med school. Thought I could become a surgeon.” You were a girl then; you know that now. Naïve, misguided by a hand that sought to control you, not love you as you hoped. It’s embarrassing, baring this, showing these broken bits and pieces to them, shattered shards of a mirror never glued back together.

“What happened?”

“He did.” Johnny squeezes your hand. “Made it to pre-med but ended up leaving and starting a nursing program instead. It’s what he wanted, and by then, I couldn’t say no.”

“But ye didnae want it, to be a nurse.”

“No. I didn’t. I love my job now, of course, and I’m happy in it, but originally, I wanted something else. He tricked me, in all honesty. Showed me something that wasn’t real, reeled me in, and then revealed his true colors.” You shudder. “The first time… the first time it happened, I shook it off, forgave him. I-“ the memory is still so strong, it stuns you. The blood from your busted lip is fresh on your tongue, sting on the side of your face turning to a blooming ache.

“Bunny?” Johnny’s grip moves to your elbow, strong, but not too tight. An anchor. You shake your head.

“Sorry.”

“Ye’re alright, ye can stop if-“

“No, I… I want to share these things with you. It feels like I’m supposed to, like you should know me… like this.”

“We already know you, sweetheart. Don’t push yourself.” Simon’s tone is serious, and you nod.

“It’s embarrassing, looking back on it and realizing how bad it was, how bad I let it get. How I let him cut me off from everyone, change my career, squash me like a bug.” You laugh, but it’s empty.

“Ye did nothin’ wrong,” Johnny’s lips press together, muscles in his jaw straining, “was never yer fault.” You don’t answer, just trace the woodgrain of the table, texture moving beneath your fingers. The conversation is draining you, leeching light away like a horizon swallowing the last of the sun.

“He’s rich. Like, fuck you money rich. Rich like make problems go away rich, and his job…” your head shakes again. It’s the most you’ve ever said, heavy buried secrets finally dug up, resurrected, the truth trembles through your bones. “He has resources. Has chased me across the globe more than once. My only saving grace is that when he has to work, he has to work, and it’s usually for long chunks of time.”

“I know you’ve said you’re not really sure, but did he ever tell you what his job entails?”

“He’s in the military. Some sort of security work, department of defense, or something. He never really talked about it.” Johnny shifts in his seat, antsy, and you shrug. “He kept that part of his life very, very private. There was even a room in the house that was always locked.” Your head is heavy, lead upon your shoulders, and Johnny tucks his arm around you, pulling you into his chest.

“I know this is hard bun, but ye’re so brave for us. Lettin’ us know ye this way. I’m proud of ye.” He murmurs, lips to your forehead, and you fully relax, wrapping around his middle.

“I’m tired.” You whisper, eyes closing, and he rubs your back.

“Let’s get ye to bed then.”

“Your child is too big for me to carry!” You announce, hand on your hip, little backpack straps looped around your arm. Simon closes the door behind you, chuckling, and Penny plops onto the floor. She goes to a nursery day program now a few days a week, something that was a contentious subject in the house for far too long, opinions and arguments ping ponging over your head until the decision was finally made.

“It’s not safe.”

“Ye cannae keep ‘er locked up here forever, love.”

“Why not?” Simon bounced Penny against his chest, unimpressed look on both their faces, so alike you almost busted out laughing.

“Because she’s a child. She needs to be w’other children, not just us.” Johnny brings his free hand to his lips, squeezing Simon’s wrist. “I know ye’re scared.” Simon’s not the only one who’s scared, you thought. Phillip lurked at the edge of your mind, worry that he might find Penny plagued you, even though they both assured that wasn’t their main concern.

“She’s too little.”

“Simon. We agreed on this,” Johnny gives him a sharp look, “do yer research, find the best one. Ye know this needs to happen, for her. She needs to make friends, learn how to interact with kids her own age. Ye know this.”

“Fine.”

“She cannae be, not m’wee lamb.”

“She is.” You rub your shoulder. “Sheesh.” Penny’s stomach gurgles at your feet, and Simon grimaces.

“There’s a bug goin’ around the kids, teacher told me today.”

“Not surprising. Nurseries are little petri dishes.” You straighten your back, rolling your shoulder, and wince.

“Hurts?” Simon’s thumb digs into the soft spot there, and your lashes flutter.

“Maybe ye need a hot bath,” Johnny suggests, and Simon ushers the two of you up the stairs.

“I’ve got Pen. Go relax.”

“This is nice.” Johnny soaps your back, lavender and vanilla steam swirling around in the bathroom as you lean against him, his chest to your back.

“Aye.” The cloth drags across your chest, teasing your nipples, and you revel in his touch, soaking in every second he gives you, the brush of his cheek against yours, his lips on your neck. “Like havin’ ye all to myself sometimes.” You blink.

“Does it bother you? When we’re not all together?”

“No. Ye have a relationship wit’ me, and wit’ Simon, and we have a relationship all together. No one is the same. I like it.”

“Me too.” You settle again, loose and tender in the bath, soaped hands running up and down your back, kneading your shoulders, releasing the tension coiled in your bones. You groan.

“Feel good then?”

“Yeah.” He presses a hand over your heart with a deep breath, before he takes another.

And then one more.

“What’s wro-“

“I love ye bun. Wholly. Think ‘ve loved ye since the day I opened my eyes to ye leaning over the bed in hospital.” You turn, twisting to face him, and he dabs your nose with his thumb. “I dinnae have any expectations of ye, or yer feelings, but I had to be honest. I had to tell ye.” The confession fights its way forward, begging to be let out, to be freed.

Tell him. Tell him the truth. Tell him you love them, that they’re your light, that they’ve chased the darkness away and replaced it with the sun.

You can’t.

Instead, you rest your forehead against his, syncing your breathing, sharing the moment, holding onto him so tight in case he slips away.

“I can’t say it.” You whisper, and he nods. “But that doesn’t mean… it doesn’t mean it’s not there. I’m just… I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“An’ that’s okay. I’ll wait, I’ll wait for ye as long as ye need.” There’s no pressure, no demands, just Johnny and his arms, his understanding and patience, his love.

You blink back tears and crash your lips to his. “Thank you.”

Your stomach is what wakes you.

Something it in is burning, tossing bile around, the sensation strong enough your lips curl, and you try to draw a deep breath through your nose.

You wriggle, trying to pull free from where you’re tangled up in Simon and Johnny, carefully and slow, hoping to avoid waking them though you know even in their dreams, they sleep with one eye open.

Still, you manage to make it to the bathroom before feet are padding across the carpet on your heels.

You sink to your knees in front of the toilet, stomach bubbling, sending the scorching remnants of dinner up your throat.

The door clicks open. “No, get out. I don’t want you to see-“ you gag again, tap turning on at the sink, a cold washcloth folding over your neck.

“Shhh,” Simon murmurs, rubbing your back, “get it all out.”

“Oh god,” another wave swells, and your muscles tense, body expelling bits of bile and not much else.

“That’s the way, good girl.”

“This is gross.” You gasp. “You should go back to bed.”

“I’ve seen way worse than you puking, sweetheart.”

“She alright?” Johnny half yells from the bedroom and you groan. The guilt of him having to maneuver himself out of bed, still not one hundred percent healthy, still not back to full strength, draws a shiver from your spine.

“I’m fine, don’t come in here!” Your stomach pitches, fingers tightening against your thighs, but nothing comes up, again and again, until everything settles and you’re breathing deeply, steady, back straight.

“Let’s get you some water.” There’s no point in arguing with him. He’s going to do what he wants to do when it comes to taking care of you, you know that now. It’s painfully clear as he tries to help you drink from the glass, and then puts toothpaste on your toothbrush.

“I’m fine.” You assure weakly, but he only watches you, concerned.

“Think it’s the nursery bug?”

“Probably.” You sag, energy drained completely, and he steadies you, cupping your cheek. His touch is cool, and you lean into it, savoring the reprieve it brings against your throbbing temples.

“Want to go back to bed?”

“What if I throw up again?” He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll jus’ clean it up.”

“Can I ask you a question?” You glance up at the timid mouse of a nurse, brand new, fingers clutched around a tablet like she’s drowning and it’s her life vest.

“What’s up?”

“Can you… can you look at these orders for me?” She looks terrified, and it tells you everything you need to know. She’s probably caught a mistake.

Baby nurses begin their careers in a delicate position. They’re overwhelmed, fresh off a whirlwind of orientation, overloaded with policy and procedure, and depending on their preceptor, either somewhat prepared or completely lost. Pitting a baby nurse against a provider, even a first-year resident, is like sending a lamb in to confront a lion. The result is usually tears.

She hands you the tablet and you spot it immediately. Incorrect dosage.

“Good catch.” You reassure, coaxing a small smile, and she nods.

“What do I do?”

“We go find the provider and clarify the dosage.” You’re not going to leave it up to her, alone, hang her out to dry and probably get run over by whatever moron ordered it in the first place, who happens to be-

Marshall.

Your eyes couldn’t roll any harder. “The pharmacy is also very on top of seeing errors like this, but it’s good you’ve noticed too, for the patient and yourself. Liability for things like this can be very tricky.” She nods again, trailing behind you, brand new squeaky sneakers echoing your own steps.

You can’t stop the sigh that escapes you when you find him, leaned up against a wall, arms crossed, smirking, cocking his head at your companion. “What’s up?”

“Can you take a look at this for me?” You purposefully zoom in on the meds tab, practically painting a bullseye around his error. He scoffs, defensive immediately, dismissive, before he takes a closer look, jaw clenched.

“That’s my mistake.” You blink. Marshall rarely ever takes responsibility so gracefully. Your eyebrow lifts.

“Care to fix it?”

“Of course.” His agreement is punctuated with a smile, though it’s off kilter.

“You can go,” you nod to the nurse, “good job.” Her eyes dart between you and Marshall, and without another word, scampers off.

“She’s new?” His usual interest in new nurses is less enthusiastic than ever.

You hate Marshall. He’s a scumbag. But he’s also been your coworker since day one, and you can’t help yourself. “What’s up with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve never owned up to a mistake that quickly, and you didn’t even make some smart-ass remark. Or berate her. Or give me an attitude.” He winces.

“It’s nothing.” But it doesn’t seem like nothing. It seems like something is wrong, like he’s sad, or depressed, and try as you might, your bleeding heart can’t walk away.

“What’s wrong.” You phrase a statement, a demand, instead of a question, and he blows a frustrated breath.

“It’s… I’m seeing someone.” Your eyes go wide.

“Who?” Please don’t say a nurse, please don’t say a nurse, please-

“Anna. From radiology.”

“Oh my god. The cupcake girl?” Anna was a fan favorite. Not only was she kind, but she was also quick with her reads, and baked cupcakes for the entire floor almost once a month. As far as radiologists go, she was better than most.

“Yeah.”

“Okay…”

“I really like her but… she’s always been aware of my reputation and is trying to take it slow. Too slow.” You could lecture him with a million reasons why she’s in the right, but it doesn’t seem like he’s got the resolve to handle it.

“What do you mean?”

“She’s dragging her feet. Doesn’t want to hang out more than once a week, rarely stays the night. I’ve been to her place a handful of times, but that’s it.”

“How long has it been?”

“Two months.” You laugh.

“That’s it?”

“It’s a long time for me!” You hold your hands up in surrender.

“Okay, okay, but seriously. Two months is no time at all. Have you discussed the… reluctance with her?” He seems uneasy, and for the first time, you’re not sure if you enjoy watching him squirm.

“Yeah. She says she’s happy, but isn’t trying to jump into anything,” his air quotes carry a whiff of the condescending asshole you know too well. This conversation couldn’t be timelier, and you think back to what you told Johnny the other night.

“Just because she’s taking it slow doesn’t mean her feelings for you aren’t there. You have to respect that. If she’s still putting up with you after two months, I’d bet she’s just being cautious. Getting hurt sucks.” He nods thoughtfully. “Give her the time she’s asking for, and don’t give up.”

Don’t give up.

The sentiment twists a knife lodged deep in your heart. Is that what will happen to you? Will they give up? Get tired of waiting for you to spill all your secrets, get tired of waiting for you to take the final step? To tell them you love them?

Get tired of waiting for you to let them use your real name?

“I didn’t expect her, didn’t expect to feel this way.” The mask comes down, revealing a hopelessly lovesick heart, the depth of it shining in his eyes.

“I don’t think anyone ever does expect it. That’s the surprising thing about love, I guess.” You sway, a palm pressed to the wall as your hand flattens over your stomach.

“You alright?” Marshall’s voice is far away as you breathe through your nose, trying to fend off the nausea tightening your throat.

“Sorry, I’ve been a bit under the weather. Think I’ve got a bug or something.” Your stomach roils in warning, and you barely grit out an apology before dashing away.

Just in time to toss your breakfast up in the toilet.

“I’m fine.”

“I heard you in the toilet. You didn’t sound fine, and you shouldn’t be working if you’re sick.” Your manager shakes her head like she’s disappointed, and you glare. You both know if you had called this morning talking about a stomach bug, she would have told you to suck it up unless you were actively vomiting.

“Look around. Do you see an excess of nurses on the floor?”

“We’ll manage. Or call someone in.” You shake your head.

“We’re already way past policy ratios.” You bite your tongue when safe nearly slips out, not wanting to piss her off. That’s the union’s job.

“At least go sit down or something. Take a break. Come back in twenty minutes and let me know how you feel.”

Your closet is cozy, and for once during the day, unoccupied. The nausea has subsided, for now, and you shoot a text to the guys, asking about Penny. If you feel like this, you can’t imagine how she feels.

You curl up and imagine you’re home instead, maybe in bed with a sleeve of crackers and some soda, warm chest at your back, a hand stroking over your hip. Maybe you’d have some soup, maybe the three of you would watch a movie after Pen went down for bed. You start to drift in the domestic fantasy, sleeping curling itself like a blanket over your shoulders, until you’re startled by the vibration of your phone, foot kicking forward in a jolt against a shelf.

A box falls to the floor.

HCG strips.

You stare at it for a long time, numbers and dates and weeks mashing together, calculations getting lost in the fray.

You’re not…

No.

Ridiculous. Not even possible. You’re on the pill. Religiously.

You have the nursery bug that Pen brought home. Get a grip.

Still…

You use the fifth-floor bathroom, one of the only single occupant toilets in the whole damn hospital, nausea now coming from a completely different source.

The timer on your phone is incredibly slow, or maybe it’s just time itself, the world turning in slow motion, every second elongated into turbulent silence, too many thoughts, too many feelings, too much of everything to tell where one ends and the other begins.

Fear.

Anxiety.

Panic.

Sadness.

Grief.

It’s grief that is the strongest. Grief for something that Phillip stole, mourning for something that was once so close, so real, and then gone in an instant.

If you close your eyes, you can still feel his boot in your stomach. The press of a steel toe, jammed beneath your ribs, wild, deranged eyes staring down at you in a rage.

But-

Buried so, so far beneath the crushing weight of it all, there is a bright little pocket of sunshine. A small little sliver of light, beams of hope stretching for the sky, warmth spilling over until your hands tremble with the conflict warring inside you.

Nothing has changed, but everything could.

The timer goes off with a shrill chime, and you lean over the sink to where the small strip sits on top of a cup.

A bold pink line.

And then another, more faint, but certainly there. A simple equation, one plus one equals two. Simple math.

Tangible. Present.

Pregnant.

#simple math #peaches writes #ghoap x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x soap x reader #buckle up

307 notes · View notes

carmenized-onions · 3 days

Text

Loosen Your Grip. | R & D

logline; even when it seems counter-intuitive.

[!!!] series history; so many parts, so many words.

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. 8 hour mark officially! Lets go!

portion; 15k knowing the next chapters, this trend isn't going to change. they have started to line up with the chapter number, to my chagrin.

possible allergies; i think this one is relatively harmless? Stress though. Everyone's stressed. Idk what to tell you man, it's the bear. oh but more things were yoinked from Season 3!! Think that's just gonna be ongoing tbh. also if this is bad don't tell me. tell me it's really good, actually. i've never doubted a chapter more than I do this one.

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader it's so fem. it's so she/her'd it's so girl'd i'm so sorry

kofi; if you’ve enjoyed the series, perhaps you wanna tip!

i'm so sorry for the delays beloveds, can you say 'most high stress but high reward month and a half of my life'? i can!!!

The Monday morning after New York— The first morning waking up in your own bed in a day or two— Comes rudely. Well, not immediately. First you have to roll over and grab aimlessly at your nightstand, searching for your phone to turn off your alarm. Through blurred vision you slide it to snooze, and as you debate going back to bed, your eyes glaze over some texts you’ve received in your sleep, from numbers you never bothered to put in your contacts. It takes a minute to absorb the information and register it as real, but once you do—

“...Are you fucking kidding me?!”

—You’re definitely not gonna be heading back to bed anymore. You’re wide-eyed and wired— You can probably skip coffee this morning. Maybe every morning forever.

“Oh— I fucking hate this fucking city, I fucking hate Chicago— Fuck this!”

In lieu of coming to terms with your world shattering news, perhaps this is an important moment to express gratitude, for the things that have gone well in the past few days.

The rest of the weekend in New York was as lovely as a last-minute trip in a cramped car full of kitchen equipment and four neurotics can be.

Gratitude. Highlight reel?

There’s a bag M and Ms monogrammed with Syd’s, Richie’s, Carmy’s, and your faces in your pantry now. Eva shouldn’t be the only one allowed to have fun. Though snacking on all your cute little faces does make you feel like a slight monster.

Managed to get a good gift for Richie. Thank you Tiffanys. It was certainly an interesting moment when everyone tried to come up with lame excuses as to why they had to split up from the group to definitely totally not go get Christmas presents.

Carmen’s knife guy wasn’t able to do engravings on such short notice, and you’re not the type to settle for less, especially not with Syd, so that’ll be a next year gift, it seems. You came up with a serviceable back-up while strolling through the MET— Which was a mostly fun field trip, it was very inspiring. You all could've done without Richie's pretentious prattling about postmodern absurdist dadaism. Mostly because you're pretty sure half of it was wrong; but still a good trip, all told.

Still lost on what to get Carmen… You’ve got a week, it’s fine. You’ve done more with less before. How do you subtly ask a guy, ‘hey, what the hell else do you like besides your job?’ You’ll figure it out. Figure it out like you figure out everything else, like you always do. Hopefully.

It's Monday. You've got a week. It's fine. Stop looking at your phone. This is such bad timing. This is awful fucking timing. You’ll figure it out. Stop looking at your phone, stop looking at the texts. Do the Connections, send it to Carmy, he already sent his, be normal… Just such bad timing—

At the very least if you can't bear to look away from the life ruining texts, just shut your phone off. You’ve got to stop ruminating or you’ll rot in bed forever. And you really have to get out on time, today.

“God wants me to kill myself—” Gratitude. Express gratitude.

The drive back went ‘well’. Everyone had their licenses so the squad took shifts either driving or sitting on the uncomfortable console. Or, in your case specifically, sitting half on Carmen’s lap in shotgun on occasion despite the many complaints from Syd and Richie. You had a good excuse! Neither of you slept for the entire trip just to work on the cocktail and coffee menu. It was practically a sacrifice! It was just easier to sit up front together, okay!? You had to be close, you were scribbling ratios and drawings of glasses into a stolen notepad from the Holiday Inn with pencil crayons bought from FAO Schwarz—

Oh, hey, put that on the gratitude scoreboard, that was another thing that went well. Pretty cool to go to the oldest toy store in America. Might not have gotten the chef in your life anything yet, but the kids in your life are covered— You’re winning best Aunt for sure.

Oh, huge highlight— Didn’t say love you, like some idiot. Got away with that by the skin of your teeth, honestly. Hard to stare up at the Rockefeller Christmas Tree next to the guy and not blurt out something fucking stupid. Thank God for Syd, who stomped on your foot when you seemed a little too doe eyed.

With great pain and bemoaning, you finish expressing gratitude, which hasn’t helped much. You slam your phone screen down on your nightstand and roll out of bed.

Today’s Monday. Today’s your first day at The Bear. Today that is the priority and there is nothing else to worry about.

You signed your contract last night. Talked to Syd for hours about it, planning next steps and goals and classes and budgets and a million other things. You’re both a little easily excitable, when it comes to lists and plans. Watching you sign yours gave her the ‘confidence’ to sign hers, if you can call it that. Not like you knew she needed the help, though.

“I love my life, I love my life, I love my life…” If you keep saying it while washing your face in the bathroom, it’ll become true, right? …Where’s Sara’s card again?

The Bear doesn’t run service on Mondays, so it’s a good day to do onboarding— Good day to do R and D. …What does one wear to R and D? Don’t need the serving uniform. Don’t need to dress up. Don’t need the jumpsuit… This is the first time you don’t need a uniform and that is bizarre.

You’ll wear your dad’s flannel, at least. Feels illegal to not wear the patch worked flannel. But besides that, you’re just a normal… restaurateur… part of the team…

Your hand hovers over where your necklace sits, in the small jewellery box on your vanity. “Mikey, if you want me to keep wearing it, make my ceiling cave in or some shit.”

You give it ten seconds and nothing falls. With a curt nod to no one, you pick up your book bag filled with loose tools and the menu filled notepad. Leave your bedroom, put your shoes on, grab your keys out of your clay dish tray on the way out.

It’s snowing.

That’s a lot of stuff falling, so to speak.

That’s basically a sign. That’s basically what you asked for.

You head back in, grab the necklace, hook it over your neck, and tuck it under your shirt. Baby steps. You head back out.

…And then soon after, head back in— Forgetting one of the most important things you need today. “The fucking glass, goddamn it!”

There’s a chance that today might be a little bit of an off day for you. No one’s gonna notice that, though.

“Mikey, why didn’t you tell me? You want me to look stupid on my start day, don't you? Fucker.”

You’re good. You’re you. You figure shit out. You’re compartmentalising perfectly and no one’s gonna be able to tell that you’re internally scrambling to figure out where you're gonna live once your lease gets terminated.

“ ‘Sup with you?” Okay, so Tina did immediately notice upon opening the back door for you. She tries to help you with the huge sheet of plexiglass you’re carrying, but you wave her off, stumbling further inside The Bear. Thankfully it’s a slow start to the morning, so the walk way is clear for your fumbled steps.

“I got it, T, just spot me—”

“Woahwoahwoah—” But alas, immediately Carmen is rushing over, making a big deal over nothing, “Fuck are you doin?” And grabs the thick sheet of glass from you. “Wait by your car next time, why do I gotta keep tellin’ you?”

“I am very capable—” You grunt, but you’re relieved when he takes the weight off you. You nod to the table in front of expo. “Put it on the island.”

“What’s it for?” Carmy asks but he follows direction without hesitation.

“Syd’s idea.” You walk with him, sidling up to Syd who’s already stationed up on the island with what looks like way too much paperwork for Chefs. You bump her shoulder as a greeting, she bumps you back. She lifts up the stack of papers and you pick up her deli container of Coke and ice, letting Carmen slide the glass onto the table.

“Unless it’s bad—” You correct, putting the cup down and digging through the tool bag on your shoulder for the right parts. “If you hate it, then it’s my idea.”

Syd snorts next to you, putting the papers back down on top of the glass. “Nice save.”

“What’s your idea, Chef?” Carmen taps his fingers against the glass, bemused.

You finally fish out two lock hinges from your bag, gesturing to them with a little flair like you’re Vanna White as Sydney explains. “For R and D. Thought since we’re like— Constantly changing shit and needing to review, it’d be like, useful to have a whiteboard— But those are huge and inconvenient for a restaurant— Duh— So—”

“Glass!” You come in with the assist as she rambles on. “On hinges— These one’s lock so you can have the glass sort of tilted up like an easel, or on the station— And then when you start service you can just flip it down off the counter for the night. Easy!”

“And—And—” Like a TV ad, Syd points out, “We can put paper under it and still be able to see— So it’ll make editing clearer— I-I think.”

Carmen always takes a nerve-wracking amount of time to think through other’s ideas, but once he nods, you both breathe easy. “Smart idea. Thank you, Chefs.”

You just smile, and this seems to bother Carm. Or at the very least, something is bothering him, as he frowns. “You got a second?”

Your brows furrow, for a moment, worried. You nod, putting your tools down. Glass can wait. “Always.”

Carmen comes around the counter, before he pulls you aside, Syd whispers over your shoulder, “Trouble in paradise.” Making you snort. When has it ever been paradise?

The two of you lean across from each other in the doorway of Carmen’s office, not quite in, not quite out. He looks worried, and his worrying is making you worry. He’s first to say something, concerned hand on your shoulder.

“Are you good?”

Fuck, he caught you too? “Hmm? Yeah, I’m good, do I not—”

You’re halfway through your response when he interrupts, he seems even more panicked by your words. His hand abandons your shoulder. “Right— Stupid, stupid fucking question— I just— Sorry—”

“Woah—” You grip both his shoulders, rubbing down his sleeves lightly. “Are you good, Carmy? You’re right, sweets. You caught me. I’m a lil’ off today. What gave me away?”

“Right, yes— You’re nice.” He’s saying it more to himself than you, like he needs to remind himself. Even so, it still hitches your heartbeat. “I— I’m good, I was just—You didn’t text me back this morning.”

“Oh.” You say it so breathlessly, with relief. It’s cute that that’s what’s got him freaking. “Sorry, yeah, I’ve been trying to not look at my phone, I just got some…” You shake your hand in the air for effect. “Bleh news. Put a wrench in some things for me, that’s all.”

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“Ah—” You shake your head, waving it off, “Too much to get into. Later, though?”

“Yeah, yeah. Whenever you want.” He nods. “Ah, I wanna get into uhm—” Carmen snaps his fingers a few times, finding the words. “Get into drinks, today. I made all the concentrates and syrups ahead of time—But Uncles gonna come in first with The Computer to go over some numbers shit— Should be here in thirty?”

You nod, squinting. “Is it like… A special computer or something?”

“Computer is a guy.” Carmen says, while Syd yells the same in tandem with him, “Why wouldn’t he be!?” Walking past you both as she carries produce out of the walk-in.

“Why wouldn’t he be?” You grin, reiterating. Your smile soon sobers though, as you finally notice a giant silver blob of machinery behind Carmen. “Baby, what the fuck is that?”

You’re already walking past him, quickly winding up all over again. It’s a gorgeous espresso machine— “It’s an Ascaso.” Explains Carmen. “It’s the best.” And it’s sitting exactly where your beautiful beat up mistake of a heavily-stained coffee machine used to be.

“Baby, baby, baby—” you’re looking above and below the station for your rusted companion, hushed and panicked. “Don’t tell me you threw away the old one—”

“You want the old one?”

Richie’s timing is perfect, as he walks in from front of house, and even from just hearing the last sentence, “Fuckin’ told you, Carm.” He knows the context. He keeps walking— On a mission, seemingly.

“I’m grateful— I- I am.” You kneel down and shove some mixing bowls aside to see if it was tucked in the back of some shelf— It’s not here. She’s not here. “New is good— New is nice— I’ll learn how to use the new one— I will— But— I— I need the old one— You didn’t throw it away, did you?”

When he stays silent, you turn and look up to Carmen from where you’re crouched on the ground, pleading. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“I— I—” The Chef is nearly sweating from this line of questioning alone. “It— It barely worked—”

“I know it didn’t! That’s the point!”

He blinks. You just seem to be saying all his trigger phrases, today, huh? “That’s the point?”

“I knew how she worked.” You push yourself back up onto your feet. “It’s got an espresso function that doesn’t work, if you tamp the basket the basket literally breaks off so you have to hold it and burn your hand a little— You have to hold the hot water button at the same time as the grind button for some reason or it won’t dispense— It’s literally a fucking nightmare— I covered it in like ten sticky notes of instructions at one point and they became pointless because no one but me was willing to use it. And— And I’ve got it memorized.”

“...And you want that?”

“No one’s gonna know how to take care of her, she’s my baby!” You gesture, albeit a bit too dramatically, speaking with your hands. “If you throw her away or donate her, no one’s gonna take the time to figure it out— They’re just gonna think she’s broken but she’s not, she works! She just needs the right hand!”

A dull silence falls between you, as Carmen purses his lips, squinting. There’s an ever slight chance your ‘I’m totally fine’ facade is cracking. “...Are you sure you don’t want to talk about your thing right—”

“I’m good!” “...Okay.” “Did you get rid of her?”

“Relax, Handy!” Carmen does not say this.

You grimace, looking behind Carmen to see Chi-Chi yelling from around the bend, in The Beef’s corner territory. Looking over him with the blue apron calling you your least favourite nickname by far— Well, second least favourite, only to— “She’s over here, Jack-Off. More our speed than rich boy’s ack - queso bullshit…” It’s nostalgic. Bad nostalgic but nostalgic.

He slaps the top of the machine, you and Carmen both wince as a random spigot falls off it. Chi-Chi clicks his tongue, staring at it in silence. “...Refresher would be good, though.”

You’re already walking back to your damaged darling, patting Carmen on the shoulder as a form of goodbye, he pats your hand back. You don’t get to see him smile, as he watches you get to work. “Don’t fuckin’ call me Jack-Off and don’t touch her, I’ll show you, I’ll break your hand Cheech, I swear—”

The man in question shrugs, a devilish and terrible smirk on his stupid face. “Ey, love a woman in charge. Show me the ways.”

Even on your most off days, working with The Beef will always be second nature for you. Even when the space is significantly more cramped than it used to be.

You rewrite directions on how to use the coffee machine while showing them to Ebra and Chi-Chi. Ebra tends not to learn new tricks, so he stops listening by the time you get to syrups. That’s fine. No one ordered syrups in their coffee at The Beef back in the day all that often either.

Mikey really shouldn’t have invested in all those syrups back then. He really only did it for you and the staff. To be fair, when he did convince regulars to try your coffee they always changed their tune. The people don’t know what they like yet. They will like this. You were his proof that that idea was true.

“You gotta toss these, Boss. Slows you down.” You overhear Cheech saying behind you. You turn to see his arm on Ebra’s shoulder, holding the small blue baskets for sandwiches in his other hand. “Just the wrapping is fine. These people are gonna throw this shit out anyways, waste of plastic.”

Cheech turns his head to you, “Right, Handy?”

“...Don’t call me Handy.” Don’t freak out about throwing the old stuff away. Don’t freak out about throwing his old stuff away. You shrug, looking at Ebra over your shoulder. “Maybe just offer them, if they ask for one?”

“Y’know what the people are asking for, babe?” Cheech sucks his teeth, pulling Ebra closer, who looks nonplussed. “They’re asking where the nearest brick is to throw through our window. This rich people shit is getting on their nerves.”

You sigh, eyes flitting to Ebra for confirmation. “Yeah?”

He shrugs, nodding. “Ninety-eight percent, Jack-Off.” Cheech and the gang have been a terrible influence. How are you going to undo this?

“C’mon, E…” You scoff, but nod as you turn around, arms crossed. Gesturing with the frother as you do. “Well, I’ll make note of that. Now back to the fuckin’ hand frother, Cheech?”

“I know how to crank it, Handy—” “I swear to fucking God—”

“Ey!” Tina comes up to your corner, smacking the back of Chi-Chi’s head with a hand towel when she does. “Don’t talk to the baby like that, clean your mouth.”

He puts one hand on the back of his head, hissing, and another up in front of him, in defense. “Ey, T, it’s all love, aright? Playing!”

“Yeah well, you’re not gonna wanna play wit’ this one. ‘Specially not now—” She nudges you, smiling that coy ‘I’m about to blow up your spot’ smile.

You grimace, attempting to interrupt her. “T, don’t—” “That she’s Jeff’s.” “—Goddamnit.”

“Oh! Oh shit!” Cheech laughs, delightfully shocked. “You finally closed on Charmin’? Congrats—” It’s a blessing and a curse that Carmen, the guy you only ever saw in photos and heard in stories that you had a very minor and not vocal crush on, is now your… boyfriend? Undetermined.

You wave a hand in his face, “Shut the fuck up—”

“So where should I send flowers?”

You hate this family. “For the record, I have not closed shit.”

“What’s closing?” Tina takes a half step back, surveying your face, it doesn’t reveal anything. “What’s that? Gramps?” She turns her question on Ebra, who shrugs, equally as old and unknowing.

“Well Jack-Off’s a little Mother Mary for my taste—”

You scoff, “So not true, for the record—” but Chi-Chi continues his tirade. “So I suspect she just means they haven't had the ‘are we datey-wating carmy baby?’ talk.”

You all but growl, crossing your arms as you wait for the second tutorial coffee to finish dispensing from the beloved whirring machine behind you. You can get the fuck out of here as soon as it’s done, and you’re praying that’s soon, because this interrogation is about to turn terrible. “We are currently unlabelled, if that’s what you’re trying to say.”

Tina kisses her teeth, poking at your shoulder. “Richie told me you spent the whole wedding together and you come back with no label?”

You sigh, composure falling apart. You are not ready for a mother’s disappointment. “We talked out a lot of important stuff—” “Mija, that is important stuff!”

“I just— We’ll talk eventually—”

Chi-Chi conveniently interrupts you when it looks like Tina’s about to go off into a full rant on the downfall of romance in modern relationships. “So you’re still on the market, Handy?”

“For you?” You smile, then drop it. Pushing your hand against his forehead. “Never. Now froth the fucking milk.”

He mumbles an endless series of expletives, but gets to work. You give him a quick tutorial on the hand frother— You fought hard for the old machine, but you are overjoyed to see an automated steamer and frother on that Ascaso. That part is gonna be a dream. You can make so many new drinks for Carm— The menu.

When you finish, you take the latte from Cheech to hand to Tina; and when you do, you catch her looking… off. She’s staring at the piled up diner baskets, next to the unused napkin dispensers.

You put your hand on her shoulder, massaging it lightly. “You good, T?”

Your hand shocks her back into reality, “Yeah, yeah, I’m good, baby.” It takes her a second to remember where she is. She takes the latte, nodding. “I’m good. You good?”

“I’ve got my complaints.” You shrug. “But nothing I won’t survive.” Probably.

Tina takes a sip of her coffee, continuing to nod. She wants to dig deeper into your thing, you want to dig deeper into hers, but the painful groaning from the front of the kitchen, “And when did I fuckin’ greenlight this?” interrupts both your trains of thought. Uncle Jimmy tends to have that effect.

With a knowing nod, you walk together to the front, leaving Ebra and Cheech to continue experimenting with the coffee machine before they open their side of the restaurant.

You watch from the sidelines as Carmen defends his choices, “The old one was shit, she was burning her hands on it. She’ll need the three groups to keep up.” and you’re able to quickly glean they’re talking about the new espresso machine.

“Okay, I hear that,” Jimmy nods, “but why the fuck did it need to be ten grand?”

“Ten?!” You can’t help but shout, you slap your hand over your mouth. Budget is none of your business. But fucking ten? You part your fingers to mumble through your hand, “Sorry, continue.”

Carmen cares too much about your drink menu. Berzattos tend to invest too much into your special interests. Though this time, instead of syrups, and in addition to a 10k coffee machine, you see on the stainless steel table your shared sketches laid out alongside all the ingredients needed– Including the concentrates, whips, and other compounds Carmen made ahead of time for you. He’s so sweet. God, you love him. God, that’s disgusting. They have all, of course, been haphazardly shoved aside though, to make room for The Computer’s— Computer. Carmy’s nonplussed by that fact, it seems.

Jimmy gestures to you, deadpanning to Carm. “See, Chip understands the power of the dollar.”

“I’m not involved.” You add, waving your hand, it’s a terrible moment for your favouritism to shine through. Though you do enter the radius of this trainwreck of a quarterly review, kneeling down by the kitchen island to finish what you started with the plexiglass and hinges. “Ignore me, continue.”

The men stand on either side of you, as you bolt down the hinges. Carmen brushes off the dollar comment with a simple, “It’s the best.”

Why do you need the best? You think; Jimmy concurs with your brain, speaking for both of you. “Why do you need the best?”

The question seems to make no sense to Carmen. He freezes, blue-screening. “Cause—”

You duck your head under the counter at just the right moment— Or just the wrong moment? Because you don’t get to see Carmen looking down at you, then back up at his uncle. “Because.”

You don’t see Uncle Jimmy practically roll not just his eyes but his entire body back into himself, witnessing the puppy love that is going to ruin his credit score. “Chip…”

When you slide yourself out from under the counter, Carmen puts his hand on the edge of the counter to make sure you don’t hit your head— Because you have an awful tendency to do so. You’re too focused on the way Uncle Jimmy says your name like you’re in trouble to notice though. “What’d I do?”

“You’re you.” Jimmy grimaces, shaking his head. It’s not your fault. Not completely. “F-Y-I– Your boss just cut your bar budget by ten grand.”

“Hm.” You squint, lips in a line. “And what do I do if the budget I was planning was just ten grand?”

“Well respect yourself more than that.” Cicero scoffs, arms crossed. “Take twenty, now you’re back to ten. You’re welcome.”

“Generosity knows no bounds.” You shake your head, laughing him off as you duck your head back under the counter. “Thank you, Unc.”

“Sorry, who exactly are we giving twenty thousand?”

“Oh fuck—” Despite Carmen’s best efforts, you still manage to bump your head on the roof of the counter, alarmed by the new voice— The Computer, you assume. “Fuckin—Ow— Sorry! Y’know what, hol’ on, let me just finish up here—”

“It’s the drink budget. Tony’s the new mixologist.” Natalie answers for you. “And sommelier.”

“Ah,” hums The Computer. “She’s the one we’re paying Quarter-Master for?”

“Nah, that’s me.” Gary strolls by, calling out to wherever his manager has gone, “Richie, you find that book yet?!”

“I’m taking them too!” You finally pop your head out from underneath the counter, finished bolting in the hinges. “Apparently I need actual W-S-E-T certification and a bunch of memorized google searches, youtube videos, and wine review blogs do not legally make you a sommelier.”

“I think it’s impressive you made it this far on basically nothing.” Syd taps the top of your head, she’s the one who made the call on schooling. She looks to her co-owner. “Classes are coming out of the advanced.”

“So is this.” You tap the plexiglass, nodding up to Carmen as well. “You’re workin’ with like… A thousand left for pre-paid work?”

“Hm.” Carmen nods, looking at The Computer, and you turn your head to him too. “Did you account for that?”

“Did I account for a thousand dollars?”

Carmen shakes his head like a white flag immediately, hearing the sarcastic tone, “Alright, you don’t—”

“A thousand dollars does not take you out of the hole, man.” He’s right, but you don’t love the tone. He tilts his head, reading something off his screen. “Payroll is a little high, for a somme.”

“I don’t disagree—” You try to say, because yeah, your contract does have a weirdly high salary.

But Jimmy, Nat, and Carm all speak over you. “It’s not.”

“That’s not pay for a somme, that’s a pay for Chip, you don’t need to enhance on that.” Jimmy deads the topic then and there. “You’ll see. Just trust me. You were sayin’ somethin about tiny plants?”

“Microgreens.” Says Syd.

“Yes. Do less of that.”

And you just watch, from the sidelines, as this crew flows into a bit of a repetitive we’re doing this, which gains the response, well stop. Do less, charge more, figure it out, duh, don’t duh– What’s that you’re hearing about a daily changing menu? Carmen seems to be the only one campaigning for it. At a point he just starts pacing, pointing at numbers on The Computer’s screen that he doesn’t understand but pretends he does.

You’ve got a million ideas, but it’s none of your business. It very literally isn’t your business, until Jimmy turns his head just so, grimacing at the non stop debate, to see you standing aside, arms crossed.

He sighs, beckoning you to the table, like it’s a witness stand. “What’s that fuckin’ face on your face, kid?” Oh, for the love of God, why are you so easy to read?

You pfft, shrugging. “I’m not makin’ a face—!” But you come forward nonetheless as he boldly speaks over you.

“You’re makin’ a face,” — “This is just what I look like,” — “Y’know how I know you’re makin’ a face?” — “Enlighten me.” — “Cause it’s the same fuckin’ face—”

He takes this moment to point at the face on your face. “That your dad makes.” A man that gambles as well as Cicero is a man that knows your dad’s tells. And a man that knows your dad’s tells is a man that knows your tells.

You bite down on your inner cheek, poorly pretending to be confused, shrugging again, “I dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Come off it.” “I’m not on anything, Unc—” “You’ve got a problem, say it.”

“I don’t have a problem!” You have a lot of problems, but they can’t know that. That makes you judgy and pushy— You don’t know enough about the business to have an opinion. “I’m just observing, that’s all.”

Uncle looks up, to Heaven, to Mikey, and sighs the world’s heaviest sigh. It sounds painful. When he finally tilts his head back down to you, it’s to say, “C-K.”

“Cicero.”

“Y’know why I’m able to pour mas queso into this fuckin’ kid?” He loosely gestures in the direction of Carmen, who in response seems to bite down a lot of venom. It’s bad to think he’s pretty when he’s annoyed, isn’t it?

You tilt your head, “Honestly, I always assumed some sort of mob association.”

Jimmy holds back his laughter, it comes out as a disgruntled cough. He shrugs. “It’s because when I saw your dad at the table, makin’” —He gestures to you— “That fuckin’ face, I knew to pull back.”

“You don’t need to pull back.” Your reply is a touch too panicked and instant for anyone’s liking, makes it a little less believable. But Cicero smirks, and you know that face as well as he knows yours. Check. He’s got you.

“Then speak on it.” And he pushes you forward, just slightly, like a slap of support on your back. You grimace, looking to Carm and Syd for permission to have opinions, and they both nod, like it’s obvious. With great hesitation, lips pressed together, you finally allow yourself to come off as judgy, opinionated, a fixer.

“I think the chargers are kinda stupid.”

A plate no one eats off of, that they still have to clean, that’s on top of another plate? Definitely super necessary. Definitely not some rich people NOMA bullshit.

You look to Syd, apologetic. She shrugs, open mouthed, head tilted, “I– I mean, I didn’t invent them.”

“It’s presentation.” Carmen nods, to himself. He doesn’t like to budge. “That first look at the table affects everything.”

“Yes.” You nod, directly across the counter from him. “I agree, I just think the plates are stupid.”

“You got somethin’ better?”

“Think so.” You hum, tilting your body back to yell to the back of the restaurant. “Ay, Cheech! Pass me a fuckin’ basket!”

It’s without hesitation that you hear, “Hut!” before even seeing the man. You see the blue basket being hurled towards you before you see the man. You catch it, albeit a bit clumsy, but you catch it.

You toss the basket on the table. Everyone stares. You defend yourself before anyone even criticizes it, “Easier to clean than plates, because you just need to rinse the plastic. Ties together a colour scheme, costs nothing, they’re gonna be tossed anyways.”

“It looks cheap.” Carmen tuts, but he really does seem to be trying to hear out the idea, despite his reservations.

“It looks purposeful.” You double down, leaning on the counter just so, “It carries a story, that we didn’t forget where we started.”

“Ooh.” Marcus, clocking in just in time, hums behind you. “Kind of a bar, Chef.”

“Thank you, Chef. Morning, Chef.” You fist bump him over your shoulder, not looking. Too focused on convincing the man before you, you let him think in silence for some time before asking. “Think on it?”

“No.” Carmen shakes his head, and you’re a little crestfallen, for a second. “It’s good. Let’s do the baskets, yeah—” He then remembers to ask for permission, he turns his head to Syd, “Yeah?”

“Yeah? Oh, uh. Yeah. Yeah. Baskets are good.” Syd nods to Nat. “Can you look into, uh—”

“Returning the expensive as fuck earthenware shit? Happily.” Nat is far too cheery upon receiving a paperwork rabbit hole of a mission. She brushes past you, excitedly whispering, “Please keep going.”

“Oh, uh—” Are you some sort of thought leader now? “Well, uhm, I think I heard you sayin’” —You snap your fingers at The Computer, “That R and D cost is a little high?”

“A lot high.” He corrects.

“Kid with crayons.” Jimmy tuts, “Need to pull back a little.”

Carmen’s screwing and unscrewing the cap of a mason jar— Marmalade, it’s for Syd’s drink. He made it this morning, it’s labelled down to the minute. Just let him work on his fucking drinks menu, please God. He’s been dying for this moment and it’s being thrown off by this bullshit.

He can’t keep biting his tongue, “Hey, uh, why don’t you just tell us to do everything a little bit less so we can skip this and get back to work, huh?”

You hear Uncle Jimmy inhale as preparation to verbally beat Carmen’s ass. You put one hand up in front of the old man’s face, the other hand grabs a dry-erase marker. “He didn’t mean it like that and he apologizes, Unc.”

“Does he now?”

“He does.” You drop your hand, focusing on lifting the glass panel, clicking the locks in place to keep it up. You nod to Carmen through the pane. “Right, Carmy?”

Poor Carmen nearly deflates, “...I’m tryna be the guy.”

“Not what the guy does, baby boy.” You hum, uncapping the marker with your teeth. You turn your head to Cicero. “Guy had a lapse, he forgot you were his boss and just thought of you as family, so he spoke to you like family, cause he loves you, Unc.”

Cicero nods, tilting his head just so at Carmen. “S’that right?”

Carm manages to shake his head and nod all at the same time, “S’a facet.”

“....Well, just don’t do it again.” A crisis is averted and an uncle is softened.

“I love to see a family come together.” You hum, nonchalant, writing on the glass, ‘R & D - Cost: Bad’

“Bring it from bad to good.” The Computer notes very helpfully. “You can cut—”

“Hol’ on.” You put your index finger up, effectively shushing him, “Just think about it first. We don’t have to go straight to cutting. Let’s look at our options.”

“Your options are fucked.”

“Just—” You tut, rubbing the bridge of your nose, man, you really are becoming your dad right now. Loosen your grip, Jack. “Widen the scope. We cut costs through returning those chargers— How else can we ‘return’ shit? Carmy?”

Thank God you’re the guy, because Carm can’t hack it. “Heard? Yes?” And frankly, he doesn’t want to.

“What’s the main cost on R and D?”

“Supplies. Food— Y’know, lot of trial and error.” He nods to a bus tub filled with failed attempts over this morning’s session. But you like that, right? “Trying new things, y’know?”

“...Carmen.” He doesn’t answer, because he can hear he’s in trouble. He is staring at you stare at the tub in what seems like a sort of contemplative, serene, searing anger. “Sweetheart, are those four wagyu filets in a fuckin’ bus tub?”

“Yes, it’s got a blood orange reduction, but– But Syd suggested mint—”

You don’t let him finish, “Is it poison?”

“It’s not.” “It’s edible?” “It is.” “Okay, so then, babydoll, why is it not being eaten?”

Syd winces from the sidelines, hissing under her breath, fist over her mouth. Carmen cannot help but notice. You’re perhaps… a dash upset.

“We can’t eat everything.” “Did you offer it to the crew?” “Yeah—” “You offered it to Nat, Unc, Cheech— All the servers? Or did you just offer it to the cooks?” “...Heard.” “Did you take a bite of all of these?” “Not all.”

You start writing on the glass again, explaining as you do, “Okay. So then uneaten food from R and D should be sold on one of those fuckin’ food waste apps— Too Good to Go, or somethin’. We advertise it to The Beef regulars, try to get the other side of our city to understand the finer things, prevent any brick through window incidents, how we feel ‘bout that?”

You remember small things far too well. You did make note of the rich people shit getting on The Beef customers' nerves. You make note of the people who live on your block, who cannot afford to eat here. You make note of the fact that Carmen resents subtracting with a passion now, so you find another way. He can still try new things, just needs to handle the results better.

“...You keep a binder or somethin?” Is all Carmen can think to ask.

“Steel trap memory.” You tap the cap of the marker to your head, “Good though?”

He nods, “Good.”

“Good.” You take a breath, dragging a hand down your face, practically coming out of a fugue state. Carmen knows your need to have something to do, just as much as him, so he slides the jar of fig marmalade to you from across the table. You take it happily, unscrewing the lid. You’ve also been dying to get to this menu.

But Richie comes up from behind, scratch and sniff wine book in hand— Didn’t Mikey get you that? It was meant to be a gag gift but it’s actually quite useful. “Chip, can you also tell Chef Carmen the daily menu fuckin’ sucks?”

“Re-lax.” You sigh, pulling over all the ingredients and tools you need for Syd’s drink. “Syd told me ‘bout this though, daily pre fixe, or whatever it’s called?”

“It’s—” Carmen crosses his arms over himself, immediately defensive but trying his best not to be. “It’s an idea I’m floating, for now— It’s what the best restaurants do, and— And even if we don’t have full intent on getting a star, right now, it’s still important.”

“I just think…” You hum, trying to figure out the most delicate way to say it. “It doesn’t exactly give you the most room to collaborate or create—”

“The whole point of it is to collaborate and create—”

“Oh yes,” —As if waiting in the wings for this, Richie pops out behind you again, “What wasssit? ‘Vibrant Collaboration’ and ‘Constantly Evolve Through Eating My Own Head like a fucking ouroboros’.”

“Relax.” You hiss this time, putting a hand up in front of Richie. You can speak for yourself. “You don’t have time to be creative or collaborate when you’ve gotta make decisions in less than twelve hours.”

Carmen tries to defend, he gestures to the one good plate of wagyu with mint that came out of this morning, “But the—”

You nod and hum, knowingly. The sweet sound stops him. You already know the answer, but you ask anyway, as you scoop fig marmalade into your cocktail shaker. “Did you get to try the pop rocks thing yet?”

“Well, no, it’s not viable to perfect that in such—”

“A short amount of time, angel?”

“Oooh…” Richie mimics Syd’s movements, air whistling between his teeth as he takes a sharp breath. He gestures, standing behind you, staring at Carmen as he slides his thumb across his neck. He mouths, ‘Mad mad.’

Carmen’s two closest friends are freaking him the fuck out and one of them wasn’t even doing it on purpose. How do they know that? How can they tell that? Are you gonna break up with him? Are you even dating? This work together thing was a terrible idea—

“You don’t have time to be thoughtful about things, if you do an entire menu every day, you’re gonna have to cut corners on what you’re willing to experiment with.” You reword, more productive, better for his brain. “Plus, prix fixe is a fuckin— In—In my opinion, is sort of a lacking idea, maybe, for a new restaurant.”

Carmen’s willing to give up the daily rotation, he’s not so willing to give up the pre fixe. “It’s what the best restaurants do.” Carmen loves the word best, huh?

“Have those restaurants—” You bite your tongue from what was going to be an immediate catty response.

You try again, measuring out orange liqueur and lemon juice as you do so. “You’re thinking like a Chef and you need to think like a customer— A- A guest, for a second.”

Carmen gives you the floor, mostly because he cannot compute the command. You continue, “Let’s do a little roleplay, alright? Let’s say we’re just average people, not workin’ at The Bear, and we’re goin’ on a date.”

“When?” “...When?” “When is the date?” “No, I’m— It’s— This is hypothetical.” “Yeah but in the hypothetical.”

You shrug, clicking tongs together as you grab large chunks of ice for your shaker. “I dunno, Friday nights? We have like a Friday night date night.”

“Oh, so you’re doing good.” Richie hums, proud of this hypothetical you, “Weekly date night is a cornerstone.”

“Moving on.” You elbow Rich behind you, shaker sloshing in hand, “I’m not a foodie, you are— In this hypothetical. You’re looking around at restaurants in the area for the date, you find The Bear— You find through their website with an improper hyperlink that the menu is,” —You list off on your free hand— “prix fixe, unavailable online, and changes daily so you can’t go off of reviews either. Also, it’s a new place, so you can’t really ask around for opinions.”

“Right.” Carmen nods, as does Syd. Uncle Jimmy’s got that stupid smirk he gets when he sees his kids fall in line. You pour the ouzo over the ice, focus on the drink, not Carm’s mopey expression.

“So, we probably wouldn’t go, right?”

Carmen keeps nodding, eyes downcast— Not upset, just can’t take feedback without keeping his head down. “Prob’ly not, yeah.”

You pound the shaker shut, shaking it lightly in one hand as you try as hard as you can to sweetly explain. “People are open to like, two surprises on an outing. New place, new food— But they will need a set menu and they will need to have it available beforehand— And they’ll need to be able to choose.”

He looks like a cat in the rain, so you add, “But. Maybe we can do a daily special? Or weekly, depending on burnout, but like, y’know, a semi-frequent one new thing. And maybe on like, Valentines or some holidays we do a fresh prix fixe. That’s how some of the best places do it.”

Carmen’s eyes upturn, smiling with them, at that last part. “You do keep a binder.”

“Syd does. I just pay attention.” You shake your head. “She mumbled about it all night when we got back.”

Adamu is immediately aghast, she should’ve realized ages ago, you were practically quoting her. “You said you couldn’t hear me!”

“No, I said you weren’t bothering me, and you weren’t.” You can’t hide your smile as you break the seal on the shaker. Syd sucks at sharing her ideas, but you’re happy to act as a good mouth for her good brain. “Hand me a lowball.”

With a grumble, Syd walks off in search of the lowball; while everyone does seem to agree this is best practice, Carmen does still seem a little sore about it.

“It’d probably also serve us well to do a seasonally rotating menu, right?” And so you throw him a bone. “Like Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall? Base it on what’s in season with local vendors?”

“What grows together goes together.” Tina says, nearly sing-songy. “Farmer’s market is rough though, Jeff.”

“Fuck a farmer’s market— With love, fuck a farmer’s market.” Back to writing on plexiglass you go. “We gotta do vendors, maybe f’ like, eggs and dairy we can do farmer’s market, but it’s just not feasible. Maybe for holiday pre fixe or daily specials? But full stock, it’s just not— It’s not it. And I say that while having farm fresh eggs and local honey in my pantry, alright?”

Carmen agrees, like a bobble-head this guy. He nods to Tina. “That cool with you, T?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s cool with me.” Tina is a millisecond off to pipe in, which is really not noticeable– To anyone but you, that is.

“Why’s— Why would T not be good with that?”

“She’s in charge of farmer’s market.”

“Hm.” You bite the end of the dry-erase marker. “T, would you be cool with rotating that, now and again?”

“Ooh?” She tilts her head, shrugging, “Yeah, yeah, kid. If you wanna take the reins.”

“Not me.” You return to scribbling on the glass board. You point at Carmen and Syd through the glass. “Them.”

“I’ve paid my sous chef dues.” Says Syd, returning to the table with your glass. You tut, shaking your head. You refocus your vision from your writing to beyond the plexiglass, at them.

“You need it for inspiration! You fuckers keep forgetting you like cooking, I need you to visit the farmer’s market once in a while to remind you.” You take the lowball glass and tong a few ice cubes in. “Non-negotiable. Heard?”

A soft, simultaneous, “Heard, Chef.” from your cats.

“Good.” You strain the mixed concoction out of the shaker, into the lowball glass. It’s a very pretty peachy pink. You tweezer a slice of dried fig and place it on top. You grab a toothpick, stick it down the glass, pull it out, and taste the toothpick. Balanced, solid flavour, should be good.

You slide the drink over to Syd. “I can’t drink everything obviously, so first dibs goes to whoever the drink is based on— I don’t care who drinks it, just let me know if it goes down smooth.”

You also in turn hand Syd the recipe card and sketch, and you’re quick to move on as she reviews and sips away.

Ouzo. Dry anise tasting spirit. It’s got a licorice aftertaste, but oddly sweeter for it. It’s strong. Resilient. It’s made from remnants of unfermented wine grapes and a mix of other distilled and unused spirits. Better than the sum of its parts. It goes well with figs. Muddle it together with fig marmalade— Sweet yet earthy, spring-like. Orange liqueur to marry the flavours, lemon juice to brighten. Shaken, pour over ice into a lowball, serve with a dried fig on top.

Syd manages to reserve her reaction to a slow but repetitive nod, like entering deep space. She only comes back to reality when Richie reaches for the drink, wanting to try. She’s quick to pull it away from him, coveting the glass.

“Ah… what else? Rapid fire.” You knock your head around, remembering what The Computer talked about, and in quick succession, you line up every problem and talk through them, possibly solve them— As best as a newbie can. At the very least, you open the floor to actual discussions as you make drinks all the while.

“Opening a full sixth day I think will shoot us in the long run, especially if we ever get a kitchen plague going. Maybe we just open for half the day on Mondays going forward, try out breakfast? Stop booing me, I’m right.”

Richie’s. Also served over ice in a lowball. It’s similar to a whiskey smash. Nixing the mint. Whiskey bourbon— A good one, but not too good that it’s a sin to mix. Something with a cinnamon spice, that's warm all the way down, but never burns. Water it down a bit by stirring peach juice over the whiskey with ice for a brief moment. Float blueberry syrup on top. Add a toothpick, spearing two blueberries and one peach halve, balance it over the glass, for stirring. So the drinker can mix the blueberry syrup in and have a cute colour changing experience.

“Wine pours, me and Gary got that. We can also just start charging by the bottle by default— Whatever works.”

Marcus’. Simple but effective. A rum and coke ice cream float. Made complex by the fact that the ice cream is on a rotating schedule, based on whatever Chef Brooks is feeling that night and what’s in stock. Right now? Pistachio. So tonight it’s actually rum and seltzer, and it will probably continue to be rum and seltzer, based on the way Marcus’ eyes light up by the opportunity to get weird. More often than not, you’re going to need that neutral base. Served in a milkshake glass, because what else?

“I don’t understand why I couldn’t just grow these microgreens myself in house. They’re just plants you murder early, are they not? Am I missing something?”

Tina’s. Varied take on a spiked agua fresca. Fresh blended mango agua fresca— With ginger, of course. A healthy kick is a necessity for a mom drink. Sweetened with simple syrup, spiked with white rum, dash of agave bitters, top with coconut water. Served in a tall glass, because why would you skimp on portions?

“Why are we shipping flowers from New York? No, fuck that, go to Violet’s Violets— I fixed her cooler once, she falls in love and gives a discount to literally anyone who’s nice to her. Just send Marcus with some dessert and you’ll be set for life.”

And of course, Carmen’s aperol spritz. You go with the cherry syrup rim for now because it’s important to try. You’re almost certain it’s too much though.

“Napkins…” You rub your icy cold hands— From shaking up so many goddamn drinks— Over your eyes. “Why are we renting?”

“Buying is insanely overpriced.” Answers Computer.

You nod, shrug, but nod, fingers tapping the glass, “Well, it’s like renting over owning right? It might be better to own because, y’know, you might suddenly get told by your napkin vendor, like, like years down the line, after basically paying for these napkins in full through rent, ‘hey, actually, we’re gonna jack up prices or just take those napkins back’ even though you’ve —again— Literally had them for years—”

“Chippy, are you good?” Richie tries to massage your shoulder, tries to break you out of the doom spiral, but admittedly, it was never his forte. Still isn’t.

“We—!” Your voice hangs and is grating in a way it usually isn’t, ignoring the question. “We can produce our own napkins if we buy linens by the yard and hem ‘em ourselves. We—” You snap your fingers a couple times at Carmen, praying he backs you up. “We can even get The Bear monogrammed on them.”

“That sounds nice…” It’s Carmen’s turn to ease you off the ledge of insanity, gently. “It also sounds expensive, were you gonna do that?”

“Fuck no.” You’re quick to shake your head. “I fucking suck at sewing, my own jumpsuit is covered in my blood— No, my—” Oh. “Hold on.”

Your hand immediately goes for your back pocket, quickly pulling your cell-phone out, and dial one of your first starred contacts. Richie, over your shoulder still, sipping his blueberry and bourbon cocktail, excitedly mumbles. “Oh, put it on speaker.”

You’re annoyed before he’s even answered, knowing the headache you’re about to get. “Trust me, the first thirty seconds minimum will not need—”

“Hey!” It’s impossible to convey how earth shatteringly loud and drawn out his voice is, immediately upon answering. There may be eight seconds of the sustained vowel? Maybe more. Almost everyone flinches, par for Syd, Carm, and Rich. Though for all different reasons.

A touch grating, in the same way your voice just was. Like father, like occasional daughter, you suppose. “Hey kiddo baby darling sweetheart angel princess—” Oh, he’s mad. The whole ‘slew of nicknames when you’re pissed off’ thing? Yeah, that didn’t start with you. “Did someone die? Because that’s the only reason my darling baby only daughter calls anymore!”

You sigh, immediately exhausted, putting your weight on one leg. “Y’know, once a month is honestly a lot of times a year for a fully grown woman to call their dad, on average. I absolutely call you more than my friends call their dads.”

Richie almost chokes and whispers over your shoulder, hesitant, internally preparing for a dreadful future. “Please tell me that’s not true.”

“Oh, and you should be so lucky that you have a dad to call! Cause I bet those friends are calling funeral homes, aren’t they?!”

“Dad—”

“I should have never taught you independence. Worst mistake of my life to teach you how to be your own person. Richard, never teach your kid how to use a screwdriver, it will be the last day you are a father.”

“Noted, Big C-K.” Richie goes for your dry erase to actually write it down, you pull it away from him. That’s gonna require a long talk down later.

Carmen mouths to you, across the table, he meant to ask earlier when Cicero said it but there wasn’t time. ‘C-K?’

You mouth back, gesturing to the logo on your very own flannel ‘Chicago’s Kindest.’ He’s not the best with acronyms.

“Oh— And thank you for bringing that up! And what’s this I hear about you cutting your hours with C-K? I hear this from Tony of all people ‘fore I hear it from you?”

“I got a long-term bartender gig that’s actually gonna keep my bills paid, alright? And I like it. Putting that mixology double trade major to good use. Cicero’s got stock in the place, actually.”

“How you doin’ C-K?” Cicero pipes in next to you, waiting for his moment.

“Ah… I’ve got my complaints. For one, my Jack keeps you more company than me!”

There’s a series of hums and haws, that weird uncle secret language of heavy exhales that manage to say more than any actual words they could say.

You let the heaving run its course for ten seconds before cutting it short with, “Anyways, I’m still gonna keep the business running, just only in the mornings. It’s not like I brought in that much business anyway, I’m not pulling a foundation.”

“Everytime a small business dies, a rich man laughs, Jack!”

“It’s not dying! It’s alive! It’s present and alive!” Don’t get flashbacks. “Anyways, speaking of small businesses, I need a favour—”

“Ooh, the truth comes out, princess calls cause she needs bail—”

“For the love of God, let me get through a sentence, Pops!” You grumble, continuing. “Remember that overpriced monogram machine you bought for no reason?”

“It was not for no reason, it was invaluable because it saved my mitts from hand embroidering all those logos— And and— you have to remember—” You mouth the words along with him, mimicking him, because you know exactly what he’s going to say, “that it all starts in your community— And now you have like eight beautiful outfits, cause of me… And also it’s fun.”

“Well… If it’s fun, would you consider making some linen napkins?”

And it flows like ping pong, because your dad is a repairman— Well, former, but still. He’s simple. He handles negotiations simple. So do you.

“For who?” “Restaurant. The Bear.” “Why?” “Cause they need linen napkins.” “How many?”

You look over your shoulder to Richie, he does the math in his head pretty quickly, “Bout seventy to a hundred covers a night.”

“Six hundred.” “Pay?” “We’ll pay supplies, and I’ll give you like—” You look to Syd, expectantly. She has no answer, so you put your advanced on the line. “A thousand?”

“A thousand!? Less than a dollar a napkin! Is this pre-housing crisis?!” “I work here, okay?! Discount me!” “My God, princess, are you in love with the owner or something?”

That world feels like it's choking, but that's probably just you. You blow hot air out of your mouth, looking anywhere but Carmen. Refusing to see him even in your periphery. Refusing to see his blue screened but ever so slightly expectant expression. Well? Are you? …Or something?

After a long moment, you find a way to avoid the question. “Ah–Uh, Syd co-owns the place.”

“Oh, Adamu?!”

Syd pipes in, leaning over the table. You hold the phone out for her. “H–Hey, Mr. CK.” She waves, despite the fact that it’s a phone call.

“Hey kiddo. Aw, what a sweetheart. Lead with her next time!”

“Alright!” You bring the phone back to your face— It’s remained off speakerphone this entire time, but he continues to yell loud enough for the table. “I didn’t realize you were best friends.”

“Of course we are. Y’know she brought me this uh– this salmon mushroom risotto the other night? Unbelievable.”

You squint at Adamu curiously, whispering. “You bring my dad food?”

She whispers in return, defensive. “He lives on my block, don’t be weird.”

“For her, I’ll do it for eight-hundred, okay kiddo? I know how tough it is to start up a business, can’t imagine trying to move on top of that.”

Your turn to blue screen. Moving? You’re immediately over the love thing. “...Pardon?”

“...I’ll do it for eight—”

“No– Yes, sorry, yes dad that’s great—” You arch the phone away from your face, focusing your attention on Syd. “Syd, you’re moving out?”

She sighs, “Trying to.”

“Pops.” You straighten up, not looking away from her. “I’ll call you back to sort details later, okay?”

“Sure. You also need to let me know holiday plans, are we going up to Oak Park or—”

Somewhat disrespectfully, you speak hurriedly, “Yeah, we’ll figure it out, love you, bye!” and hang up. Still locked on Syd, you ask. “When you tryna move?”

“Like, soon as possible.” She stretches out her shoulders. “My own dad is sort of… Encroaching on my space.”

“Right.” Your eyes flicker with too many ideas, and you’re trying to temper expectations. “You wanna live by yourself?”

“I mean, I don’t really know anyone on the same timeline as me, with the same ‘low budget’ as me.”

The Computer attempts to interrupt the interruption of his review, holding a finger up, “And why are we talking about—”

But you hold the palm of your hand up, continuing on, “I need to move out asap and have a ‘low budget’.”

That’s Carmen’s queue to chime in, he loves your place. “What happened?”

Also Richie’s, “What? Chip, your spot’s like a historical site, ya can’t move.” and this is generally agreed upon by a sea of dismayed voices.

“To make an extremely long story short, I don’t have a choice.” You wave your hand in the air, silencing murmurs. “My sweet old lady landlord— The only landlord I’ve ever respected, got bought out by a fuckin’ big business gentrification ass company— I’m not in a rent controlled zone so they’re gonna keep jacking the rent until I move out so they can tear it down and build a new spot— They also may or may not have found out that me and Loretta— My landlord— Haven’t exactly been keeping up to date on my lease.”

“Meaning?” Carmen knows the answer will be bad.

But it’s somehow worse. “Meaning I pay my rent on time in cash and she texts me once a year saying ‘do you want to keep living here?’ and I say ‘yes’, and we continue on.”

“Well, hold up—” Richie holds a hand up, like he’s a genius. “Squatter’s rights?”

“I thought about going that avenue, but—” You gesture to Syd. “If you’re already moving, and looking for a roommate?”

She looks up and around, thinking about it. You decide to join her in the brainstorm, scooching yourself just an inch to the right, writing on free space on the plexiglass screen, ‘pros and cons’

“Pro.” You murmur as you write. “I have a better credit score than you.”

Syd sputters, half sarcastic. “Well, that’s just uncalled for.”

“It’ll give you more options for places! Better ones! Ones with in-unit laundry!” You defend.

“In-unit laundry…” “Your eyes just lit up in such a sad way.” “Con. You are an ass.”

“That’s a pro. A real con would be that I have a lot of plants and if I ever go on vacation I’m gonna need you to take care of them, and I’m not gonna have a binder for you, because I water them based on vibes, and if I come back and they’re dying I’m gonna be pissed off and very passive aggressive about it.”

“Violently honest.” “Pro. Mostly direct. Aside from when I’m not.” “Con. I’m not direct.”

“Con. That’s fine but if I get the idea that you’re mad at me I’m gonna act really weird about it until you reassure me that everything is okay and you don’t want to throw me out the window.”

“Yeah. Con. Same.”

“Pro. I’ve lived by myself for a while, which is good to have when you’re moving out of your parents for the first time. Con. I’ve lived by myself for a while, and I’m very used to the lifestyle of big t-shirt no pants, I’m not giving that up.”

Now that one takes Syd a second to unpack, “But, but like, underwear though, right—?”

“No shit I wear underwear!”

“Okay! It’s important to note!”

“Don’t be weird.” Richie grumbles behind you, solidly directed at Carmen.

Who’s whole face really just scrunches up in confusion. “‘Don’t be weird’? You don’t be weird.”

“I’m not bein’ fuckin’ weird—” “Then why are you up in my shit—” “Up in your shit? Oh wow—” “Fully not what I was referencing—” “Don’t be weird, cousin!” “I literally— I did not even move— Not a single cell in my body—” “And— And you only know that ‘cause you had to lock it down, you dog—”

“I don’t remember having kids, why the fuck am I in a Kindergarden?” Uncle Jimmy interrupts.

“I’m just takin’ care of my boy, Unc.” Richie raises a hand in defense, feigning innocence. “Can’t be too careful.”

“You super can, and you super are.” You grimace, elbowing him again. “And also, not important–!”

“Actually, no, very important.” Syd of all people interrupts. “Non-negotiable, like you can’t— …Like you— …When I’m home it’s like— Don’t—” Ah.

You roll your eyes and save her before she just about breaks out in a feverish sweat. “Syd, I wasn’t planning on it. That’s like roommate rule one.”

“Syd.” Richie points to his own eyes, then to hers, ‘watching you’. “Don’t be weird.”

“What the fuck—”

“Everyone shut up, pros and cons—!” You shout, gaining the attention back. “Pros. I have a car, we work at the same place, I have all the furniture for a living room already, you'd never have to wait for a landlord to fix something ever again, and I could probably do a bunch of D-I-Y renter friendly projects, if you wanted.”

“...Oh my god, a French-door pantry.” “I think I could swing that.” “Pros. You’ll never have to cook again. I guess that’s my only pro, actually.”

“Con. I have been feeding the cat on my fire escape for like a year and if I’m moving I am going to have to adopt her, so we’re gonna have a cat. She’s cute, she has five toes on each paw. Something dactyl, it’s called.”

“What’s her name?” Squid’s not excited per se, but she’s not saying no.

You shrug. “I never named her, let’s name her together.”

“No, that’s too much pressure—” “No, you’ll do great—” “What do you mean I’ll do great—?” “Three–” “Oh like together together? No! What—?!” “Shut up, just do it, head empty, two—” “No! I’m just not gonna say any—” “Yes you will, Squid. One!”

And together, perfectly in sync, like it was planned all along, you both say on queue, “Calamari!”

“There we go.” You write ‘Calamari’ on the plexiglass. “That’s my girl— That’s our girl, actually. I’m still not sure if she’s a girl.”

You click your tongue against your teeth, knocking your head back and forth in thought as you look at the scribblings on the glass. “Non-negotiables?”

Syd leans forward on the table, chin propped up in her hands. “I need forty-five minutes of bathroom time at the beginning of the day.”

“...Do you have a fuckin’ lactose intolerance?” “It’s my me time!” “Alright! Fuckin’ fifty minutes of toilet time for Syd. Ah, I need east facing windows… and uhm…”

Syd stares at you, and alas, she can tell, “You have a big non-negotiable…”

“It’s not that big… It’s more a group thing than a roommate thing, really…” “What is it?” “I think… It would be fun… If we all started playing Dungeons and Drag—”

There’s an immediate, staggeringly loud array of groans, you’re still writing it down nonetheless, all the while defending, “I honestly think a little roleplay and math would fix you assholes! I really think it would! I’ll D-M, I’ll make it so easy— Please?”

Syd grimaces, but inevitably nods. “Y’know what, you’re never gonna get a concrete schedule for that down, and no one else is gonna agree so yes, sure from me.” Still a win.

“Okay.” You hum, capping the marker. “So… Aim to move first of February? You down?”

It takes some time, and you realize as Syd’s brain frozen, that you might be overstepping. “Sorry, that’s going too fast, you think on it—”

“...I’m down.” You make it very easy for her to say yes, by giving her the option to say no. “Yeah, let’s do it. February. I’m down.”

“I’m so happy for you two, but I’m still fuckin’ reeling— Chippy, it’s– it’s— So many memories—” Richie’s being overly dramatic on purpose, hand on your shoulder, really laying on the vocal fry in his voice; but it is true. “I mean, come on, first time I’d ever been stabbed was on your block.”

“Sorry, what?” Carmen was having fun watching his two favourite employees figure out they’d be perfect roommates. He loves to be a fly on walls around you more than he’d like to admit. Richie managed to ruin it with one line. “Stabbed on your block?”

“Yeah,” You suck the air between your teeth, trying to think of some sort of white lie, but slowly shake your head, “I— Yeah, there’s no real way for me to down play it, I was so fuckin’ scared.”

“You were tweaking!” Richie laughs, clapping his hand against your shoulder, to him it’s a charming story— You’d probably be laughing too, if Carmen didn’t seem so… unpleased, let’s say. “You fuckin’ thought I was gonna die!”

“You fucking were!” You slap Rich’s hand away. “It was so close to a cerebral artery— First and last time I’ll administer stitches in my fucking kitchen, hand to God—”

“What’s the story?” Oh, new face from Carmen you haven’t seen before, bewildered annoyance, you’d describe it as, it’s going in your bottom five. “You live in a bad neighbourhood?”

“It’s rustic—” You try, but Richie opts to speak on your behalf. “Oh, Chip lives in a terrible neighbourhood, Cousin. You’ve been there, haven’t you?”

“Yeah but it didn’t seem that bad— No— Hold on, go back, stabbed why?”

“So I heroically defended a boy from crooked—” Richie tries, but you opt to speak on his behalf. “Richie was helping me bring up groceries, we saw some highschoolers shaking a kid down, Richie tried to break it up, one of ‘em stabbed him with one of those shitty switchblade comb things.”

“You got stabbed by a kid?” Syd snorts, but immediately regrets it because she has perfectly set him up for—

“Yeah, and wouldn’t be the last time, would it?”

“Richie, c’mon…” You reach up, patting the guy’s shoulder. “It was an accident and she apologized—”

Richie just raises his eyebrows, interrupting with a simple, “Mm-mm.”

And so yours raise in tow, “...Fuck you mean ‘mm-mm’?” And your head turns to Syd, alarmed. “Syd, you apologized, right?”

Her mouth just sort of hangs, sputtering noises do come out of it, but nothing that strings a sentence together. You grow more agog, repeating again, astonished, nearly laughing from the shock, “Syd?! You apologized, right?! And told him it was an accident, right?”

Syd takes a beat, but she gets there. “I— I. Am. Sorry I stabbed you by accident, Richie.”

“Hm.” Richie crosses his arms, considering, mostly sarcastically. “Yeah, I’ll take it, I guess. Would’ve liked a card.”

“I am not getting you a card.” ��I’m jus’ sayin’ I’d’ve liked one.”

Carmen’s still five steps behind, “Are you gonna be fine living there? In January?”

You choke back a laugh, because this is how men try to show they care, one must imagine. “I’ve been fine for the past handful of years living there, I think I’ll be fine for another month, sweetheart.”

“Crime is bad in January.”

“I was a first responder, and I know that’s not true.” You shake your head, shirking off laughter. “It’s actually in the summer that you see shit go down. Again, I will be fine. But you are free to visit.”

“Point of order.” The Computer finally pipes up again— Might’ve forgot he was here, if you’re honest. “What are we talking about anymore?”

“Point of order— I feel like numbers— Talking numbers is great but it’s all just like— Paper, y’know?” You unlatch the plexiglass, gently settling it back down on the table. “We should be talking more.”

Tina nearly whistles in agreement, nodding by your side. “Heavy that, Jeff.”

“That’s what I’m sayin’, like—” You snap your fingers to the rest of the crew, hand moving to and fro to point at everyone, “Did y’all know until right now that Syd was moving? …No, right? Let’s like— Fuckin’ remember to check in, like y’know, family, Chefs.”

And without calling her out, you can feel Tina’s demeanor next to you change, relaxed.

“Heard, Chef.” Is the agreement from the crew, however, The Computer nor Cicero seem convinced, so with a sigh, you put on your most authoritative voice.

“Y’know. Three Cs! Caring cuts costs!” A phrase no one has ever said, but it sounds legitimate when you put it like that. That gets them to acquiesce.

Thank God, Marcus helps you move the conversation along, “...What’s everyone doing for the holidays?” Alas for both of you, the silence is deafening. “...Or not.”

You volley back for him, “If no one has hard plans I was thinking of having a lil’ Holiday party? Nothing big. Sort of a ‘goodbye old apartment’ party? Come by after you hang out with your families or whatever?”

“Not gonna go up to Oak Park?” Rich leans one arm on your shoulder, nursing his whiskey cocktail in the other.

“Meh.” You shrug, attempting to push him off you, but he doubles down. “We’re not so intense about holidays since everyone’s aged. I’ll visit my nephew on New Years.”

“I’m doin’ Eve with Eva, but I’ll be free on the day. I’ll come by. We doin’ gifts?”

“I mean I got you something, so,” You tap the bottom of his glass as Rich takes another sip, making him flinch. “Catch the fuck up.”

Syd pipes in, sniffing. “Me and my dad only celebrate on Christmas Eve now, so I’ll come.”

“Incredible. Two down.” You gesture to Marcus and Tina across the table. “You guys? Tina I assume you’ve got a loving family and shit?”

Tina smiles and nods, rightfully proud. “I do have a loving family and shit, but maybe I’ll come by late with them too?”

And Marcus tacks on with her, “I’m gonna be with my mom most of the night, but I’ll come through for a couple hours.”

“Perfect, perfect. Invites open to any plus ones as long as you text me first!” You hum, writing names down on the glass board. It’s kind of a nightmare of different lists at this point. “Richie, can you make sure Fak and Sweeps get the invite?”

“Yessir.”

“And us!?” Shrieks Cheech in the back, who really shouldn’t be able to hear you, he should be in the zone, slinging sandwiches.

You yell back without turning to him. “Yes, fucker, you and E can come, if you want! No fuckin’ plus one for you though!”

“Oh come the fuck on, Jack-Off!”

“Oh, make me a fuckin’ sandwich, big man!”

“Oh, I’ll make you a fuckin’ sandwich!”

“Oh, my dick!” A response that makes no sense, consistently the perfect bookend. You sigh, and finally, your eyes flit to the most terrified two in the room. “Berzattos… Holiday plans?”

“I think we’re gonna do dinner on Christmas Eve, and then the morning together? Well, I am.” Sug hesitates, she’s looking between Uncle Jimmy and Carmen. “I was gonna ask what Carm’s plan is…”

“I’ll go. I’ll go.” Carmen has to stop himself from biting the skin off the tips of his fingers. “I’ll go. And I’ll come to the party, after.”

“I’ll probably just go home with Pete after. Baby’s first Christmas, y’know.” Natalie hums and nods awkwardly. There’s a question both of them want to ask. Neither of them are brave enough to ask it. And while you can sense there’s something dancing in the air, you’re not going to overstep on this front.

“Mazel. I can buy silly decor with reason now. …Now let’s talk about the important grievances.” You hum, happy to end that chapter.

You turn just slightly to gently slap Richie’s cheek as he stands next to you. “Rich, you need to line your beard up, this neckbeard shit is pissing me off—”

“What’s with the fuckin’ drive by?!” “It’s been on my mind forever— You can’t be wearin’ suits and then be rockin’ that unkempt shit, clean up—” “I’m clean! I’m fucking clean!” “Who said? Who fuckin’ said? Cause I sure didn’t!” “How’m I s’posed to be linin’ my shit up every mornin’—” “You do not grow a beard that fast—” “Oh fuck you, I’m not fuckin’ Carmen, I grow a fuckin’ beard.”

Carmen’s just surprised to hear his name out of any name come up. “What– Now that’s a fucking drive by, what the fuck?”

“If we’re voicing grievances, I’d like to voice my fuckin’ complaint with Captain Crash-Out over here—” “Who the fuck is sublimating now?” “You’re not usin’ that term correctly, cause you’re not integrated—” “I thought you two worked this out on the road trip!” “We did!”

You only half regret starting this feud with the beard comment— To be fair, you’re right. “This is it working?”

“This is, in fact, it working.” Syd confirms plainly, her disappointment more than apparent. Rubbing the tips of her fingers to her temples. The fight is out of her, at this point.

“Alright.” You slap your hands together. “Richie, what is your complaint?” Are you just union rep now? You might be a union rep now.

“Carmen is fucking killing me.” The cocktail swishes and nearly spills as Richie points at the Chef, emphatic. “He won’t change shit for guests!”

“No substitutions!” It’s almost cultish, the way Sydney and Carmen yell it out together.

Richie scoffs, head reeling back. “What happened to it bein’ about hospitality?”

“I mean…” You suck air through your teeth, squinting. “If we’re sayin’ no substitutions, it’s no substitutions— Unless it’s like an allergy or sensory thing— But even then, it shouldn’t be like a major component getting replaced.”

“See? See?” It’s almost maniacal, rabid, how delighted Carmen is that you’re on his side. “Fuckin’ thank you. This is why I lo—”

Before Carmen can finish his sentence, Richie flails about to suddenly throw the peach and blueberry skewer from his drink at Carmen— Not the pointed side, he doesn’t want to stab the guy. Just wants to save him from running his mouth. The peach slice hits Carm’s chest as Richie stutters out, “F-Fuck you, fuck you, fine. No substitutions— What the fuck am I supposed to say then?” speaking over whatever syllables fell out of Carmen’s mouth, muddling them.

You cock your brow, but Carmen seems to quickly let the childish toss go, more than eager to move on. So you do too. “...Say some bullshit like, like, The Bear encourages —uhm— explorative culinary experiences where you let your taste buds go beyond your limitations and comforts— So eat a fuckin’ mushroom, you’re not gonna die.”

“If they don’t like mushrooms—” “Then they shouldn’t order it!” “How hard is it to just fuckin’ switch it out!?” “So hard! So hard! I think! I could guess!”

“I could do it.”

“Could you?” You cross your arms, leaning your weight onto one leg, pivoting to Richie. “Okay, roleplay, you’re Carmen, I’m you—” Just as Richie opens his mouth, you hold your index finger to his lips. “I know you wanna be a bitch, I’m askin’ you to just skip that part for me.”

His shit eating grin is only a little endearing. “How am I supposed to be in character if I’m not allowed to be a bitch?”

You clench and unclench your hands in the air, but let it go, opting to move on to your little thought experiment. “Chef, patient—” Instincts never give out, huh? “Christ, patron doesn’t want mushrooms in their anolini, I need you to sub it.”

“Ah, well I’m happy to do that for you, Host Richie, I—” He’s going to go into some scathing spiel, and you love the guy, but you have to rub dirt in the wound for the lesson to stick.

You speak over him, voice stern, “Chef. In order to keep pace, I need you to make this call in fifteen seconds, what are you subbing it for?”

Richie’s head shakes back and forth as he scrambles to get his brain to work.“Fuckin— Fucking– Eggplant.”

“Eggplant?” You ask politely, tone unsure. Carmen asks it with you, tone ridiculing.

“It’s a sauce isn’t it?” You squint, turning your head to the actual Carmen. “It’s like a really thick mushroom sauce stuffed pasta?”

He tilts his head from side to side, but nods. In gist, yes. “It’s a ragout. Low and slow cooked stew—” Carmy’s ready to rave about it and teach you every facet of the dish, but perhaps that’s too romantic for a public setting. God, he’s weird about love. “We keep it going on our back burners all day— It takes an hour minimum to make from scratch, you can’t just sub it.”

“Yeah, well…” Richie stops himself short of getting snarky for no reason all over again, taking a second to think about it. “Well, I didn’t know that. You didn’t explain that shit to me.”

“I don’t have time to hold your fuckin’ hand—” Carmen stops short of getting catty when you give him a very soft and yet gutting disappointed look. He pinches the bridge of his nose, sniffing. “I can’t explain why I do everythin’ I do when I’m— When we’re in a middle of a rush, I just need you to trust when kitchen says we can’t do it. Trust that I thought it through.”

Richie has to control himself, has to make sure the corners of his mouth don’t upturn just slightly, has to make sure it’s not clear that he is overjoyed that there’s finally middle ground, can’t get his hopes up. He nods. “I just wanna make everyone happy, y’know?”

“I know. You’re—” Carmen’s nose scrunches up for a second, God, he’s never had to say that he think’s Richie’s good to his face. And he’s not gonna start now, “Eggplant would be a good sub, if we had time.”

Richie prods his tongue along the side of his cheek, thinking. “Maybe I could look into knowin’ restrictions faster and estimatin’ their orders, so you can have ‘em on deck?”

And Carmen does think that’d be a waste of time, but he’s learning. He hears it out. “Could give it a shot, yeah.”

“Same team.” Richie reaches across the counter, and Carmen actually takes his hand, a quick dap. Civil.

“Same team.” First time you’ve heard Carmen adopt your idiom; you can’t help but smile, though you’re trying to hide it. You’re too focused on arguably the two most important men in your life to notice the silent conversation Uncle Jimmy is having with The Computer, speaking solely through nods and exchanged glances.

Pay is for Chip. Cicero nods, and The Computer nods back. He gets it now. Pay is for Chip. Not just the mixologist, not just the sommelier, not just the repairman, not just the not-quite girlfriend, Chip. You’re Chip. You’re the cog, the piece. The grease between everyone.

You’re the guy. Always have been, always will be.

The silent conversation and the warm feeling in the room is cut short though, by The Computer. “Can she deal with the butter thing?”

“What the fuck is the butter thing?” You immediately jump onto the case, when Carmen looks down and away from you, you frown, leaning in. “What’s the butter thing?”

Jimmy snaps his fingers at The Computer, he hands him an invoice, which is then handed off to you. Old Major Farms, Orwellian Butter, salted and unsalted. $11,268. You just. Stare. The math comes all too easy to your head. Worth a week?

“It’s the best.” Carmen repeats as your eyes remain worryingly unblinking. “It’s—”

“Carm.” Syd all but hisses, shaking her head in tight swivels, waving her hand around her neck for him to cut it. “Making it worse.”

“Angel is like, the worst it can get.” Hums Richie. Recalling your barometer of anger. Recalling the times when Mikey would say ‘what’s the point of paying bills?’ And you’d have to pull him aside. “Can’t get much lower than that besides—”

“Light of my life.” You look up from the paper in your hand, and both Richie and Sydney wince. Your voice is terrifyingly delicate as you nod over to the room behind you. “Apple of my eye. Can I speak to you in your office, please?”

Carmy’d like to say no. “...Yeah.” But you already started walking before he even answered, so there’s not much of a choice here. You head in by yourself, and thankfully, the door closes behind you, so Carmen’s got a second before he gets devoured.

He walks around the counter, and as he nears the door, Richie grabs his arm. He whispers as he hands Carmen what’s left of his cocktail. “You need to lock the fuck in.”

“I know.” Carm returns, shooting down all that’s left of the lowball. Why’s Richie’s the sweet one? Why’d Carmen get the cough syrup drink? That’s not fair. Do you not think he’s sweet? “Thank you for the— Intercept.”

Richie nods, he’s been unwillingly playing quarterback for Carmen since going to Rockefeller and seeing that goddamn giant tree and Carmen couldn’t stop opening his big fucking mouth after seeing you under the star. “Just think with your brain, not your—”

“Don’t.” “Was gonna say heart.” “Sure.” “Don’t be weird.”

“I know it’s expensive.” Carmen gets it out before even fully closing the door behind him, “But it’s normal prices, for high-end restaurants. I know it’s different—” He stops short when he finally turns around from the closed door, to see you, holding your painting.

It’s facing you, you’re reviewing it in your hands where you sit in the office chair; the brown wrapping paper freshly ripped and on the floor. Carmen still doesn’t know what’s on the piece.

“Carm.” You twist the piece around in your hand, turning it to him. He can see the nine squares. The Beef to The Bear. Mikey. “This is not another restaurant.”

Carmen continues to stare, silently, though he takes a step closer, reaching a hand out to graze over the canvas. You keep going, clarifying. “We’re not just another high-end restaurant. We’re us. And so we should be doing things like us. We’re the best, we don’t need the stuff to be.”

He was with you until that last part. His pursed lips say as much.

“It’s—” You smack your lips together, haphazardly handing him the canvas, he’s very quick to grab it with both hands, not wanting it unstable for a second. “Hold on, let me show you somethin’ — I think I left one in here.”

You roll the office chair back a bit, sinking down in the seat to reach far behind a tall cabinet; you have to pad your hand around in the dark nook for quite some time before you pull out— A screwdriver. An oddly shaped one, at that.

“...Has that been here the whole time?”

You nod. “Like threeish years at least, I think I threw it back there while telling it’s origin story. It’s part of the first set I ever got.” You grip the flat wooden handle. “It’s the worst screwdriver on earth, like, by far.”

That gets a little chuckle out of Carmen. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You look up from it to him. “It’s a handmade set. Dad’s dad made it.” You awkwardly roll closer to him, he leans over, head next to your head as you both look down at it. “It’s got a flat wooden handle, made of poplar— So not only is it fucking impossible to get a good grip on, it’s also so fucking slippery. It’s part of a whole set, passed down from my grandpa to my dad to me.”

“Sounds fucked.”

“It is.” You laugh, and so does he. “It’s purposefully meant to piss you off.” You rub your thumb over the dent marks in the wood— All from the times you threw it at something— Including the very cabinet that it hid behind. “You ever wonder why I took over the handyman gig, bein’ the youngest and all?”

Carmy shrugs, glancing from the screwdriver to you. “Just assumed you were the best.”

That gets another laugh out of you, and Carmen’s overjoyed by the sound. “Yeah, I’m probably the best. But that’s only cause I kept up with it.”

You turn your head up to face Carmen again as you explain, “When our dad started bringing us to jobs as kids, he would make us exclusively use this set of screwdrivers— Sort of as a secret test. My brothers would get pissed off, as planned, and they’d quit and cry. And I dunno, I guess I’d cry and keep going? And I learned a couple tricks, eventually.”

“Tricks?”

“Like.” You pull back in the chair and run your hand across the office desk. The corners of it are screwed into the metal cabinet below it. “It’s really good if you’re screwing from the top down.” Using it as an example, you start to unscrew it. “It’s balanced. And it’s really all in the grip— Always loosen your grip with this one. Even if that seems counterintuitive.”

You get it to unscrew just fine with your loosened grip. “But if that doesn’t work, and you just can’t get it to work—” You lift the screwdriver in front of his face, showing off the sides of the handle. He smirks at the— “Just make your own grooves, it’ll be easier to hold.” Tiny teeth marks.

“Carm.” You tap the handle to his nose as he zones in too much on it. “I’m the best repairman because I can work with anything. You’re the best Chef because you can work with anything. You don’t need the best when you’re the best.”

He’s the best?

He’s the best.

“I truly think you could make just as good a plate with Becel as this fucking Animal Farm butter.”

Carmen’s the best. You think he’s the best.

He’s gotta think with his head and not with his heart and not with anything else, either. Lock the fuck in, Carmen.

“I dunno bout all that.” He shrugs, bashful and attempting to hide it, trying to shake the praise off his back.

“Well I know ‘bout that.” You shrug back, “I’m actually kind of a genius, when it comes to knowing who’s good and who’s not.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Carmy hums, and the sound is sweet without reservations. “...Painting is very good.” He nods to himself, on repeat, like a bobblehead. “Or I guess it’s less a painting and more a buncha photo transfers?”

“Yeah.” You set the screwdriver aside on the desk. “Most of them I took.”

“They’re good. It’s—” He pauses, tongue against his teeth. “It’s nice to see evidence he kept up, or somethin’.”

You nod, seeing Carmen’s brain struggle to keep pace in real time. “We took that one I think the day we talked to Uncle Jimmy about The Bear? Had to print out articles as proof we could make it work— Or, that you could make it work, rather.”

Carmen sniffs, crossing his arms, hands in tight fists— Probably too tight— where they hide. “Yeah, kinda fuckin’ up my end of the bargain, hm?” The light laugh that follows is hollow.

“Eh. You both did.” You smile, though it’s hesitant. “ But at least you’re still here fixing it.”

Still here. Still fixing it. That is in essence, the piece. Carmen gets lost staring at the squares, so you speak as he does. “I was trying to like. I dunno, replicate your brain.” He can see it. The messy yet coherent, controlled yet chaos. The love. The grief. The progress. The home. You see him. He can see that you see him.

“11k for butter,” Carm’s head doesn’t move but his eyes raise to you. “Is a week. More than a week.”

Ah. Carmen can see you too, see your thought process. The Ascaso, worth one of the worst weeks of Mikey’s life. The fucking butter. Worth more than a week of Mikey’s sobriety.

All you can do is nod solemnly. “It is, yeah.”��

He nods back, tongue prodding his cheek. “That’s too much.”

“I’d agree.”

“I’ll switch to local.” You make it easy for him to fix his mistakes, by giving him the space to realize them.

“I think that’s the right call.” You nod, smiling. After a moment, you reach for Carmen to uncross his arms, and when he does, you take his fist and uncurl it— Your hand is a very soothing balm to the spots where he dug his nails into his own hand.

“Loosen your grip, Carmy.”

And so, he does. With a laugh and a look to high heaven, he loosens his grip. Really loosens his grip. Well— Not completely, he’s not going to say that, but he will say something that is just nearly as difficult but not quite. He'll bite down a little. He’ll make the grooves, for now, until his grip is good enough.

“Come to dinner with us?”

would you believe me if i said I had to rewrite a bit of this last scene because intially it went so rom-com and I was so disgusted when I reread it in the morning I had to stare at it in the subway ride to work like "what the fuck am I gonna do"

was this chapter good? God I hope so. I felt like with where we're going, it was kinda necessary to do Chip's onboard, set the stage for what work is like for her. I had to loosen my own grip with this one lmao. just allow myself to be a LITTLE messy. if it's bad, lie to me. tell me sweet little lies peach

DAD REVEAL THOUGH EH? MR CK!!! So much did happen this chapter. Chips on board! Squid Ink moving in together era commences! Christmas party!! Also. Would you believe me if I told you no shit syd was gonna move, she was planning it in S2, but I was planning this whole time for Ink to get evicted!! I want those fuckers to be roommates STAT!!!

anyways, i really hope i remembered to write down everyone that asked to be added to the taglist, i might've not. i'm very sorry if i didnt

oh also if you wanna be added!! send in your thoughts!! words for words baby, essay for essay cmonnn gimme ur character analysis!! (oh and also ask to be added, ofc)

@hoetel-manager , @fridavacado @sharkluver , @spectacular-skywalker , @silas-aeiou , @deadofnight0 , @sunbreathingstuff , @anytim3youwant @navs-bhat @whoknowswhoiamtoday @gills-lounge @blueaproncarmy @itsallacotar @catsrdabestsocks101 @popcornpoppin @renaissance-painting @lostinwonderland314 @v0ctin @ashtonweon @mrs-perfectly-fine @thefreakingbear @anytim3youwant

#carmen berzatto #the bear fanfiction #the bear x reader #the bear hulu #the bear fx #the bear #the bear x you #carmen x reader #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen x oc #carmy berzatto

200 notes · View notes

theshift · 3 days

Text

The Breakout

Before everything fell apart, Marcus had a life that he was proud of. He wasn’t some thug or low-life; he had his routines, his ambitions. Boxing was his escape, the one place where he felt in control. He spent hours in the gym, the sound of fists hitting heavy bags and the smell of sweat filling the air as he trained. There was something about the discipline, the focus, the rhythm of a good fight that made the chaos of the outside world fade away. He wasn’t a pro, but he was good—damn good—and he was starting to get noticed. On weekends, he’d run along the river, feeling the early morning breeze, imagining his next match. Life wasn’t perfect, but it was his, and he had a future lined up. That was before it all got ripped away—before he was framed for a crime he didn’t commit. Now, that life seemed like a distant dream, one he’d never wake up to again. The real world, the one he’d worked so hard for, felt like it had vanished forever.

Marcus had been in prison for two long months. His life had been ripped away, and now he was just another inmate waiting for judgment in a system that didn’t care.

But even worse than being locked up was dealing with Officer Nathan, the patrol officer who took sick pleasure in making Marcus’s life miserable. Nathan was cruel. Every day he found a new way to degrade Marcus. Whether it was spilling his food on the ground or shouting insults that cut deeper than the metal bars around him, Nathan loved to remind Marcus who was in control.

Today had been no different. As Marcus sat on his cot, his mind still reeling from the news of his sentencing—fifteen years—Nathan showed up at his cell with that same smirk.

“Well, well, look at you. Fifteen years, huh? Guess you’re gonna rot here for a while,” Nathan sneered, leaning against the bars. “Bet you thought you’d get off easy. But nobody cares about some low-life scum like you.”

Marcus clenched his fists, staring at the floor. He couldn’t believe it. Fifteen years for something he didn’t do. His whole life—gone. He swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to ignore Nathan’s voice.

“You know what the best part is?” Nathan continued, his voice dripping with cruelty. “You’ll be here, getting old and wasting away, while I’m out there. Free. Living my life. Makes you wonder why you even bother fighting, doesn’t it?”

Marcus’s body tensed. “I didn’t do it.”

Nathan barked out a laugh. “Sure, that’s what they all say. Keep telling yourself that, Marcus. Doesn’t change a damn thing.” He tapped the bars with his baton, a sharp clink ringing out. “You belong here. And I’m going to make sure every day feels like hell for you. Count on it.”

Marcus couldn’t take it anymore. The injustice, the humiliation—it all boiled inside him. He couldn’t live like this, not for fifteen years. His hands shook, his breath coming in sharp gasps as his heart pounded in his chest.

“Hey, what’s wrong? You look like you’re about to cry. Go ahead,” Nathan jeered. “Cry like the pathetic loser you are.”

Something snapped inside Marcus.

“You think you’re untouchable,” Marcus muttered, his voice low, trembling with rage.

Nathan raised an eyebrow. “What was that?”

Marcus slowly lifted his head, eyes burning with something darker, something Nathan had never seen before. “You think you’re better than me because you’re on that side of the bars? Because you can do whatever you want to people like me?”

Nathan chuckled, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes now. “Yeah, I do. What are you gonna do about it?”

Marcus’s lips twisted into a cold smile as he stood up, his body humming with a power he had always kept hidden, a power he had refused to use until now. His gaze locked onto Nathan, and the room seemed to thrum with a strange energy.

Nathan stepped back from the bars, suddenly on edge. “What’s your deal, man? Sit down before you do something stupid.”

But Marcus didn’t stop. His eyes were like burning coals, and a strange pressure filled the air around them. He closed his eyes, focusing inward, feeling the dark energy swirling within him like a storm, ready to be unleashed.

He had never wanted to use his gift, but this was different. This was survival.

Marcus's body felt weightless as he reached out mentally, a strange, ethereal sensation that began to rise from the depths of his chest. The connection to Nathan was immediate—a tether of energy, dark and tangible, latching onto him like invisible chains. Marcus’s mind surged toward Nathan, slipping through the cracks of his consciousness, feeling his presence as if it were a physical thing.

The shift was sudden, a jarring sensation that sent Nathan stumbling backward. His hands shot up to his head, as if he could physically block Marcus’s intrusion, but it was already too late. Marcus could feel Nathan’s mind now—panicked, scattered, full of raw terror.

“No—what are you doing?” Nathan’s voice was sharp, trembling with fear.

Marcus’s smile widened. His consciousness flooded Nathan’s mind like dark water, consuming him, pushing past every mental wall the officer tried to erect. It was a slow process, deliberate, like sinking into quicksand, inch by inch, until Nathan’s screams became muffled in the back of his own mind.

Nathan staggered back against the wall, his body twitching as Marcus took over. From the outside, it looked like Nathan was having some kind of seizure, his face contorting in shock as his limbs jerked, resisting the possession. But Marcus was relentless. He pushed deeper, feeling his own awareness settle into Nathan’s body as though slipping on a perfectly tailored suit.

Nathan's mind screamed, trapped now as a mere voice, a presence that Marcus could feel but had full control over. “Stop! Get out! You can’t do this!”

Marcus ignored him. He flexed Nathan’s fingers, feeling the strength of his new form. The once-familiar prison walls looked different through Nathan’s eyes—sharper, crisper. Marcus rolled his shoulders, testing the muscles that now responded to his command.

Inside, Nathan’s terror grew. “What are you—get out of my body!”

Marcus’s laugh, low and cruel, rumbled through Nathan’s throat. “Oh, Nathan… you’re not in charge anymore.”

With one final surge of effort, Marcus forced Nathan’s consciousness into the back of his mind, shoving him deep into a corner, trapping him in the prison of Marcus’s old body. Nathan was now locked away, his pleas for help falling on deaf ears as Marcus stood tall in his stolen skin.

Nathan, now trapped in Marcus’s body, staggered forward, horrified at the sight of his own hands—Marcus’s hands—reaching out toward him, mocking him. He tried to scream, but Marcus simply sneered. “Enjoy being on the other side of those bars. I’ll make sure to give you the same treatment you gave me.”

Marcus felt the real Nathan's panic, buried deep inside his old body, helpless and confused, as the guards dragged him away. “No! You don’t understand—I’m not Marcus! I’m Nathan! Please!”

But no one listened. To everyone else, it was just Marcus losing his mind.

Meanwhile, Marcus—now fully in control of Nathan’s body—strolled through the prison halls, relishing the newfound power. Nathan’s voice screamed in the back of his head, but Marcus simply tuned him out, reveling in the freedom and control he had never felt before.

“You’ve had your fun, Nathan,” Marcus muttered under his breath, his voice sounding strange but powerful. “Now it’s my turn.”

Nathan was trapped inside Marcus’s body, powerless, screaming silently as Marcus turned and walked down the hallway in his new form. The other guards greeted him with nods of respect, completely unaware of the switch.

As Marcus settled into Nathan's body, something unexpected surfaced from the officer's memories—Nathan was secretly into men. Hidden beneath his tough exterior and cruel demeanor was a desire he had never dared to act on, a truth he kept buried deep, afraid of what it would mean for his image as the hardened officer. And to Marcus's surprise, Nathan had even found him attractive, though he would have never admitted it. The irony was delicious.

Now, with full control of Nathan's body, Marcus realized he could have the life Nathan was too scared to embrace. He wasted no time. With Nathan’s face, his fit build, and authority, Marcus quickly began to attract attention, something Nathan had always fantasized about but never had the nerve to act on. Marcus, on the other hand, had no qualms about indulging in what Nathan had suppressed. Within days, he had hooked up with men who were drawn to his new appearance—something Nathan had always dreamed of but never had the courage to pursue. It wasn’t just about the power; it was about taking Nathan’s secret desires and living them out in ways Nathan never could.

More days passed, and Marcus, now in Nathan’s body, relished every moment of his new life. He took over Nathan’s duties, tormenting the real Nathan—trapped inside Marcus’s old body. Every time Marcus walked by, he could see the fear in his own face, the panic in Nathan’s eyes as he tried to tell the guards what had happened.

“Nobody’s listening, Nathan,” Marcus whispered one day as he passed by the cell. “They think you’ve lost it. Crazy, isn’t it?”

Nathan, trapped and powerless, screamed, banging on the bars of the cell. “Stop this! Please! I’m not Marcus! I’m not him!”

But no one believed him. To the other guards, he was just another inmate losing his mind.

Marcus continued his life as Nathan, basking in the power that came with it. He spent a week tormenting the real Nathan, letting the other guards treat him the same way Nathan had treated Marcus. The irony wasn’t lost on him, and he loved every second of it.

One day, Marcus stood in front of a mirror in Nathan’s office, staring at the reflection of Nathan’s face. A thought struck him.

“Why waste this? Why stay here as some low-life prison officer?” he murmured to himself. He grinned, running a hand over Nathan’s strong jawline. “I could do so much more.”

The next morning, Marcus handed in Nathan’s resignation. He was done with this place, with this pathetic life. He had bigger plans. He left the prison behind without a second glance, the real Nathan screaming in his own body, now doomed to serve the sentence Marcus was supposed to endure.

And Marcus? He moved to the city, reinvented himself as a model. Nathan’s looks, once wasted on cruelty, now served Marcus well. The spotlight loved him, and he embraced his new life, his new identity.

As Marcus rose to fame, Nathan remained locked in a cell, forgotten, living the nightmare he had once created for others.

And Marcus? He was finally free.

#male body swap #malebodyswap #male possession #male transformation

187 notes · View notes

bookwormjust · 2 days

Text

Fever (established relationship Eris, caring hounds)

The night is quiet, the autumn breeze gently rustling the leaves outside the grand windows of your shared bedroom. You’re lying under the thick blankets, your body weak and trembling with the creeping fever that’s settled in once again. Though you're fae, your body has always been prone to sickness, a vulnerability that still clings to you even in your immortal state.

Eris had been working late again, the weight of his new responsibilities as High Lord of Autumn keeping him away more often than either of you would like. Since the death of his father, Eris had inherited not only the title but the endless demands of ruling his court. He was trying to be everything his father wasn’t—just, fair, protective—but it meant you spent many nights alone in your bed.

Except for the hounds.

Eris had insisted that his pack of loyal, powerful hounds guard you while he worked. They never left your side, curled at the foot of the bed or lying just outside your door, always on alert. The largest of them, the pack's leader, had taken a special liking to you, his amber eyes always watchful, his presence a constant comfort in Eris's absence.

But tonight, something’s wrong. The fever that had started as a faint warmth earlier in the evening has now become a roaring fire under your skin. You’re shivering uncontrollably, your breaths coming in labored gasps. The room spins around you, and despite the layers of blankets, a deep chill settles into your bones.

Suddenly, through the haze of fever, you hear a low growl—then the sound of paws padding softly across the floor. You barely manage to open your eyes when you see the chief hound standing beside your bed, his gaze sharp and concerned. His muzzle nudges your hand gently, as if to check on you.

You attempt to reassure him, your voice weak and hoarse. “I’m okay,” you whisper, though the trembling in your body says otherwise.

The hound doesn't buy it. With a determined huff, he turns and trots out of the room, his footsteps echoing faintly in the hall. He knows exactly where to go.

---

Eris is in his study, pouring over stacks of parchment by the dim light of the fire. His head aches from hours of work, but he refuses to stop, not until everything is perfect, not until he’s sure his court is safe and thriving. But his thoughts keep drifting to you. He hadn't missed how pale you'd looked earlier, the slight flush of fever beginning to color your cheeks. He’d meant to check on you but got caught up in endless council matters.

The sound of paws rushing toward him breaks his focus. His head snaps up just as the leader of his hounds barrels into the room, his amber eyes wide and alert. Eris instantly knows something is wrong.

“What is it?” he demands, his voice tight with concern.

The hound whines, nudging at Eris’s leg before turning back toward the door, clearly wanting him to follow. Eris doesn’t waste a second.

He moves swiftly through the corridors, his heart pounding with worry. When he reaches your bedroom, the sight of you lying in bed, shivering and drenched in sweat, makes his blood run cold.

“Gods,” he whispers, rushing to your side. He kneels beside the bed, his hand instantly going to your forehead, feeling the scorching heat radiating from you. “Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”

You blink up at him, your vision blurred from the fever. “Didn’t want to... bother you,” you mumble, your voice weak. “You have... so much to do…”

Eris’s jaw tightens, guilt flooding him. “You’re my mate,” he says softly, his voice filled with both frustration and affection. “Nothing is more important than you.”

Without hesitation, he calls for water, cool cloths, and medicine from his healers. His hands move with urgency but care, placing a cold compress on your burning skin, brushing damp strands of hair away from your face as he whispers soothing words.

The hounds gather around the bed, watching anxiously as Eris tends to you, their loyalty to you as fierce as his own. The leader nudges Eris gently, as if to say *I’ve brought her back to you—now take care of her.*

“I’ll never leave you like this again,” Eris promises quietly as he sits beside you, holding your hand tightly. He brushes his thumb over your knuckles, his fiery gaze softening as he watches you, concern etched in every line of his face. “You’re going to be alright. I’m here now.”

Even through the fever, his presence calms you, and despite the heat that consumes you, you find comfort in his touch. You drift into a restless sleep, knowing that with Eris and his loyal hounds by your side, you’re safe.

#acotar reader imagine #acotar x reader #acotar #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris x reader #eris x oc #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x oc #eris vanserra x y/n #Spotify

172 notes · View notes

cosmicdahlias · 3 days

Text

“There’s A First Time For Everything”

a ford x reader fic

minors dni

warnings: S M U T, oral

this is my first ever full length fic so go easy on me please 😩

Ford had pulled you into a passionate kiss. One hand cupping your cheek, the other wrapped around your waist. You had just come back from a date at the planetarium, Ford’s suggestion. It had been nearly a month since you two started dating and you couldn’t have been happier.

He pulled away, studying your face. He could tell something was on your mind, he could always tell.

“What’s wrong stardust?”

Ah… stardust, you melted when he called you that. Something had indeed been consuming your thoughts all night. You blushed under his gaze, swallowed and took a deep breath.

“Well… we’ve been together for almost a month now and we still haven’t… you know…”

You let your words trail off, too nervous to complete the thought aloud. Ford stared down at you for a second before what you had shared registered and his eyes widened. Now it was his turn to blush.

“I- oh. I see.”

He paused. Then he chuckled. Taking your chin between his thumb and index finger.

“If I can be frank with you, it’s been on my mind for a while now too. If this is what you want, I would be more than happy to oblige.”

“Ford, I-“

Before you could get the words out he grabbed your waist and pressed his lips against yours. It was different than the last one, more aggressive and filled with desire. It took great willpower for him to break away. He scooped you up bridal style and carried you to his room.

He laid you down on his bed. As he stood over you he took in the sight of you, there and wanting him. He felt his cock twitch in anticipation. He lowered himself to press kisses into your neck, dragging his tongue across your smooth skin. God, he had wanted this for so long.

You moved to take off your dress but he grabbed your hands, stopping you.

“No darling, allow me.”

His rough hands began bunching up your dress as he slowly pulled it over your head. As the dress fell to the floor all he could do was just stare at the beauty that lay before him. You, in his bed, in nothing but a bra and panties. Slowly he regained his composure and began to run his rough, calloused hands over your body.

“God y/n, you look so fucking beautiful.”

You kissed him hungrily, biting his lip and eliciting a groan. Your fingers gripped the bottom of his sweater. As you lifted it off of him you admired his salt and pepper chest hair and scarred torso.

He sat you up and undid your bra, pulling it off you to reveal your breasts. Laying you back down he hooked his fingers on the hem on your panties and slid them down your thighs and ankles.

“You’re already so wet for me.”

He hesitated for a moment, looking as if he was unsure about saying something.

“What is it?” You pried

He chuckled again.

“Ahhh haha, you see it’s just that I’ve never actually been with another person before. I’ve had my experiences in my time through the portal, but never with a human. The anatomy is… different. I know enough from what I’ve read about sex, but I’ve never had the real thing.”

You smiled.

“I’m sure I can help you out. There’s a first time for everything.”

You laced your fingers in his silver locks and began to push him down to your aching pussy. As he descended he kissed his way down your body, his tongue dancing against the soft flesh. He paused at your clit and massaged it with his thumb before taking it in his mouth. His warm tongue flicked at it, making you shudder.

The sensation of his mouth on you elicited a soft moan from your parted lips. He lapped at your dripping pussy greedily. As he did so he growled against your clit, the vibrations felt incredible.

Your grip on his hair tightened and he gave another growl of approval. Between kisses and licks to your clit he whispered out

“Stars, I could spend forever between your thighs.” He groans into your pussy.

“Fuck, please do.”

All he can focus on in this moment is making you feel good, your pleasure is his. You bucked your hips against his mouth and he took this as a signal to slide two fingers inside of you. A loud moan involuntarily escaped you and you wondered for a second if you’d just woken Stan.

“Ah, hnn, Ford it feels so good.”

His fingers began to fuck you at a punishing speed, his tongue swirling rapidly around your swollen clit. You started to feel yourself getting closer to the edge as if a coil was being tightly wound, close to snapping. Any increased amount of sensation would break you, and he knew that.

He quickened the pace of both his tongue and fingers and that was enough to make the coil snap. You threw your head back and another unwilling moan drew from your lips. If Stan wasn’t awake before he definitely was now. Tears formed in the corner of your eyes as Ford refused to let up, coaxing a second orgasm from you before you even had a chance to process the first one.

Slowly he withdrew his tongue and fingers and watched as the shaking mess before him came back down to Earth. He looked at you in awe, dear god you looked incredible. He wanted to savor the image of you, so full of want and lust for him.

When you’re finally half cognizant again you slowly sit up, looking him in the eyes you manage out a simple

“Pants, off.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice, he stands up and begins fumbling with his belt buckle. He starts to slide his black pants off and jesus fucking christ you did not expect him to be THAT huge. You always thought he had big dick energy but by god you don’t know how you’re going to fit him inside of you. The thought of it excites you greatly. He catches you obviously staring and lets out a laugh.

“Like what you see?”

You nod vigorously. Yes, god yes you do. You stand up and tangle your fingers in his hair and pull him into a deep kiss, his hands cupping your ass. You break away and begin to slide down on your knees. Now this is a sight Ford could get used to.

You start with the tip, taking it in your mouth and flicking your tongue. He moans your name softly and juts his hips towards you. Slowly you begin to work your way down its length and you feel your jaw protest, but elect to ignore it. He runs his fingers through your hair and lets out a shuddered breath.

“Hahhhh, fuuuuck that feels incredible.”

You bob your head up and down his shaft, the tip scraping your throat, you feel the urge to choke but breathe deeply out of your nose to ease the feeling. Ford cocks his head back in ecstasy, he might as well be on another plane of existence with how you’re making him feel. You slowly remove your mouth and he lets out a small whimper of protest as you take his cock in your hand and thumb his glistening tip before aggressively taking the full length back in your mouth and stroking his shaft.

“Hhhhh, oh my god baby who even taught you how to do that?”

His hips begin to involuntarily buck towards you, he’s moaning and cursing like a sailor. It’s taking everything to not just let himself cum in your mouth, but he wants to fuck you, he needs to feel you around his cock.

He grips your hair and pulls you off of him, you look up at him and the sight of your doe eyes looking straight into his makes him almost cum right then and there. He picks you up again and throws you down on the bed.

He climbs on top of you and once again savors the moment of you underneath him, he kisses you passionately and then whispers in your ear

“I need to be inside of you baby, and I want you to promise that you’ll tell me if I’m hurting you. Do you understand, stardust?”

That petname makes you fold instantly, fuck he could do anything he wanted to you and you’d say thank you.

He lines his tip with your entrance and slowly guides his way into you, you suck in a sharp breath as you adjust to his massive girth. My god does it feel good. He slides himself all the way in, down to the hilt. He rests there for a moment, letting you get used to the feeling of his cock stretching you out.

He starts to move with a slow rhythm and you feel yourself tighten around him. Your hips buck against him in time with his, a perfect dance of ecstasy. He begins to moan filthy things into your ear.

“Oh god you don’t know how long I’ve dreamed of this moment, how badly I needed you. Every day since I asked you to be my assistant working with you has driven me crazy, just looking at you made me want to bend you over the lab bench and fuck the daylights out of you. I would have to steal myself away just to stroke my cock to the thought of you so I could focus, why else did you think I would disappear for half an hour?”

You knew he wanted you, you had been wearing shorter skirts with the hopes of getting his attention, but you had no idea it had this much of an effect on him.

He began to increase his pace, panting and breathing heavily. You gripped his biceps and as you started to moan he kissed you, muffling the sound before it could reverberate throughout the room.

He had never been a religious man for even a second of his life, but in that moment began to wonder to himself if this is what heaven felt like. He never wanted this to end, to spend forever like this buried in you would be everything.

His glasses began to fog as he felt himself getting closer. He slipped a hand underneath him to your clit, if he was going to cum he wanted to make sure you did too. You tightened around him from the mere sensation of the pads of his fingers on your clit.

He pumped faster, his fingers toying with the soft nub. He was trying to hold back for as long as he could so you could cum together. It wouldn’t take you long after cumming twice already, you could feel yourself getting there.

Ford let out a loud groan, nothing in his life had ever felt so good, he wanted to do this every day.

“Dear god you’re so warm and tight, stardust” he gasped.

Stardust, that did it. You felt yourself come undone around him. The spasms of your pussy squeezing his cock was enough to make him cum instantly. Waves of pleasure hitting both of you like a freight train. It was like the greatest high. He continued pumping his cock in you, refusing to let it end.

He kissed your neck, breathing heavily against your skin. You could feel him still throbbing inside of you. Slowly he began to pull out and you shuddered at the sensation.

He laid down next to you and pulled you up to lay on his chest, his hand stroking your back. He kissed your forehead and then the words spilled out before he had a chance to even think

“I love you, y/n”

He felt his heart skip a beat as you looked up at him, his cheeks flushing slightly.

“I mean I-“ he stammered

“I love you too, Ford”

You had both been too nervous to say it to each other and it took a passion driven spur of the moment confession to coax it out.

You took his face in your hands and kissed him deeply before returning your head to his chest. He held you in his arms as the exhaustion of lovemaking slowly overtook the both of you.

#ford pines #ford pines smut #ford pines fanfic #ford pines x reader #gravity falls

154 notes · View notes

foreverisntenough · 1 day

Text

‘Act II’

Summary: Attraction is like a gravitational pull that is undefinable and unavoidable. Unbeknownst to you, Jude had been keeping an eye on you since he caught a glimpse on his best friend’s girlfriend’s Instagram but he’s been loving his single life. You always were independent and know how to swim on your own but maybe you have been just treading water. Could the tides change on a holiday in Greece when you finally meet? It might get a little rocky but maybe you could be his paradise.

Index

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series! ‘Act II’ is interconnected to the 'You’re Mine' and 'Ours' Series but can read it independently.

Chapter 8 - Last Night | ‘Act II’

word count - 10.9k

Jude leaned casually against the kitchen island, a drink in hand, as he made small talk with the girl who had been eyeing him all night. She was attractive, with hair that fell in waves around her shoulders and a confident smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She was saying something about her job, but Jude’s mind kept drifting, his thoughts unwillingly turning back to you. As the girl laughed at something he’d said—a joke that felt hollow even as he told it—Jude’s heart twisted uncomfortably in his chest. Everything about this felt wrong. The way she looked at him, the way she leaned in a little too close, the way her laughter felt forced. She wasn’t you. She didn’t make his pulse quicken, didn’t challenge him in ways that both frustrated and fascinated him. She didn’t make him feel like he was teetering on the edge of something incredible and terrifying all at once. The girl’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he forced a smile, trying to engage in the conversation. But as she spoke, he found himself comparing her to you in every way. The way her laugh wasn’t as genuine, the way her eyes didn’t light up with that same spark of mischief. She was perfectly fine, but she wasn’t you. Jude’s grip tightened around his glass, his knuckles turning a shade lighter. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be talking to this girl, this close to her, trying to convince himself that he could be the person he used to be—the one who didn’t care, who didn’t get caught up in feelings he couldn’t control. But with every passing second, it became more and more clear that he couldn’t do this anymore. He didn’t want to. Before he could extricate himself from the conversation, he felt a familiar presence at his side. He turned to see Trent standing there, a look of confusion and concern etched across his face. Trent glanced at the girl Jude was talking to, then back at Jude, his brow furrowed.

“Jude,” Trent said, his voice polite but laced with underlying tension. “C’mere for a minute, mate.” Jude hesitated, caught between the girl’s expectant gaze and Trent’s pointed look. Finally, he nodded, excusing himself from the conversation with a forced smile. As he and Trent stepped away, Jude could feel his heart pounding in his chest, a mix of guilt and frustration churning in his stomach.

“What the hell are you doing? You need to drop this shit. You know what you're doing, mate. ” Trent asked quietly once they were out of earshot, his tone more confused than angry.

“It’s nothing, bro. Just talking.” Jude ran a hand over his hair, exhaling sharply.

“That didn’t look like nothing. I thought you were with Y/N. What’s going on? You have a fight? I thought things were good.” Trent’s eyes narrowed, clearly not buying it.

“Nah, we’re good. I am into Y/N,” he admitted, his voice low, “but we’re not… She’s not my girlfriend, okay? It’s not like what you have with Whit. It’s so different.” Jude felt a pang of shame at Trent’s words, but he tried to shrug it off, to play it cool.

“Why not? You like her, she likes you… She’s flown to Spain twice to fucking see you. Why are you holding back?” Trent crossed his arms, his expression growing more serious. Jude opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. How could he explain the fear that gnawed at him—the fear of losing himself in someone else, of being vulnerable in a way he’d never been before? The truth was, he did want what Trent had with Whitney. They we’re engaged, they had a baby, they had lived together for years, but the most enviable aspect of it, they were unequivocally in love. He envied it more than he cared to admit. But the idea of giving himself over to something so uncertain, so unpredictable, terrified him.

“I’m not ready for that,” Jude said finally, though the words tasted bitter on his tongue. “I’m not like you, Trent. I can’t just… dive into something and hope it works out.” Jude took a deep breath.

“I’m not hoping bro… I put work in. We put in effort for it to work out. You should too. Stop dragging her around if you aren’t ready. It’s fucked up. Jude, I’ve known you a long time, and I’ve never seen you like this. Y/N means something to you—more than any of the other girls you’ve been with. Don’t throw that away because you’re scared.” Trent’s expression softened, his concern for his friend clear. Jude looked away, his jaw clenched. He didn’t want to hear this, didn’t want to confront the truth that Trent was so easily pointing out. “If you don’t want her, don’t fucking do this, tell her.” But he couldn’t deny it, either. You had gotten under his skin in a way that no one else ever had. You were all he could think about, even when he tried to distract himself with someone else.

“I do want her. I just don’t know what to do,” Jude admitted, his voice strained. “It’s like… she’s all I can think about, even when she’s not around. And that scares the hell out of me, bro.” He sighed.

“Then stop fighting it,” he said simply. “You’ve got something good with Y/N. Don’t mess it up because you’re afraid. Trust me, it’d be worth the risk.” Trent placed a reassuring hand on Jude’s shoulder. Jude swallowed hard, the weight of Trent’s words sinking in. He knew his friend was right, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept. Still, as he glanced back at the party, at the girl he’d been talking to just moments ago, he knew that nothing here could compare to what he had with you.

“You’re right,” he said quietly. “I need to stop fucking about.” Jude nodded, the decision finally settling in his chest. He hated that he was conceded. He hated that Trent was right.

“Good. Stop being a fucking donut and go upstairs. Go upstairs and find her please. She’s the one you should be with tonight.” Trent smiled, relieved. Jude nodded, feeling a sense of resolve he hadn’t had before. As he made his way back through the party, the noise and the people faded into the background, his focus solely on you. He didn’t know what the future held, he was praying that when push came to shove he’d be ready to take the plunge. For you, it was worth it.

Jude climbed the stairs with a heavy heart, a type of guilt he hadn’t felt since he was a little boy who had done something wrong but didn’t quite know how to fix it. As he approached the door to his room, the weight in his chest only grew… why did he just do that? When he finally opened the door, the sight before him made his heart break. There you were—curled up in his bed, looking so peaceful, so angelic, that it nearly undid him. The soft light from the hallway illuminated your face, casting a gentle glow over your features. Your hair was splayed out on his pillow, and your chest rose and fell with the slow, steady rhythm of sleep. You were perfect, and all he could think about was how much he wanted this—wanted you—to be his every night. Carefully, Jude crossed the room and slipped into bed beside you. As he pulled you into his arms, he felt the warmth of your body seep into his, grounding him in a way he desperately needed. You stirred, your eyes fluttering open as you felt his presence, and you instinctively cuddled closer, pressing soft, sleepy kisses to his bare chest. Jude stared up at the ceiling, his mind racing. The guilt gnawed at him, sharper now that he was lying next to you. How could he have been so foolish? How could he have even entertained the thought that there could be anything better than this—than you? After all the turmoil from him entertaining a girl the other week, was he delusional? The very idea was absurd, and the embarrassment of his earlier actions weighed heavily on him.

“Baby…What took you so long?” you murmured, your breath warm against his skin. Still half-asleep, you nuzzled into him, your voice soft and drowsy. Jude’s heart clenched at the question. He grappled with what to say, not wanting to lie to you, not wanting to keep any more secrets. But the truth was complicated, and he didn’t want to hurt you with it.

“I was… just talking,” he said, his voice quiet and uncertain. Finally, he settled on the simplest answer, though it felt inadequate. You hummed in response, your eyes closed as you clung to him, but there was a hint of something in your voice—a slight tension that hadn’t been there before. Even in your tired state, you could sense that something was off, something was troubling him. And as much as you wanted to ignore the uneasy feeling in your stomach, you couldn’t quite shake it.

“Jude… is everything okay?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, laced with a mix of concern and weariness. You tightened your grip on him, your kisses trailing up to his neck as if to reassure both of you. You hated that now you were scared of him being with other women.

“Yeah, angel.” he whispered back, his voice strained. “Everything’s fine. Just… just tired, I guess.” Jude’s throat tightened, and he swallowed hard, wishing he could just erase the last few hours. But even as he said the words, he knew they weren’t enough. You deserved more than this, more than half-truths and evasions. You deserved all of him—the real him—and he wasn’t sure he was ready to give that, but he knew he had to try. As you drifted back to sleep in his arms, Jude made a silent promise to himself: he wouldn’t let this—let you—slip through his fingers. Not now, not ever.

Whitney caught you in the hallway the next morning, her expression a mix of concern and determination. You two had always been close, but Whitney’s protective side was out in full force today, especially after what she’d heard from Trent last night when they had gone to bed.

“Y/N, can we talk?” Whitney’s voice was soft, but there was an underlying tension that made your stomach tighten. You nodded, trying to suppress the unease rising within you. You’d seen the way Jude had been acting the night before, and though you tried to push your fears aside, they lingered like a dark cloud over your thoughts. Whitney led you into the small sitting room at the back of the house, away from the noise and commotion of the morning. Once you were seated, Whitney wasted no time getting to the point.

“Trent told me what happened last night,” Whitney began, her eyes searching your face for a reaction. “He said Jude was talking to another girl at the party right after you went up and not in a platonic way… and that Trent had to step in. Even if it was harmless… it’s really not nice.” Your heart sank. You’d suspected something was off, but hearing it confirmed made you feel like the ground was slipping from beneath your feet. Still, you forced a smile, trying to brush it off.

“It’s fine, Whit. Really,” You said, your voice steady even though your heart wasn’t. “Jude and I… we’re not anything serious. We’re into each other, that’s it. It’s meant to be just fun.” You lied. And the lie fucking hurt.

“YN, I know you. And I know you care about him—probably more than you’re willing to admit. I just… I don’t want to see you get hurt.” Whitney frowned, clearly not convinced. You looked away, your gaze fixed on a distant point outside the window. You wanted to believe that everything was fine, that you could keep your heart protected behind the walls you’d built. But the truth was, those walls were starting to crack, and it scared you more than anything.

“It’s just… complicated,” You finally admitted, your voice quieter now. “Jude’s not the kind of guy who wants to settle down right now I don’t think and I’m not the girl who wants to get her heart broken.” You sheepishly told her. Whitney reached out and took yorur hand, squeezing it gently.

“I get that. But maybe you’re not giving yourself—or him—enough credit. Jude cares about you, Y/N. Trent said he was acting weird last night, and I think it’s because he doesn’t know how to handle what he’s feeling.” Whitney sympathetically smiled at you. You bit your lip, your emotions swirling in a confusing mix of hope and fear. You’d seen glimpses of something deeper in Jude, moments where he’d let his guard down just enough to show you that there was more to him than the carefree playboy he pretended to be. But you’d also seen the hesitation, the way he pulled back whenever things got too real.

“It’s just… he’s used to keeping things casual and so am I. You know I always have.” You said, your voice faltering slightly. “And I don’t know if I can let myself get close to someone who might not be there when it really matters.” Whitney’s gaze softened, her worry for her friend evident.

“You’re right to protect yourself, but don’t shut him out completely. Maybe you need to give him a chance to show you who he really is. Maybe he just needs a little time to figure things out.” You nodded, though your heart still felt heavy. “Y/N… you always have but you haven’t always had to.” She cooed gently. You wanted to believe Whitney, wanted to believe that Jude could be different, that he could be the person you needed him to be.But the fear of getting hurt, of letting yourself fall only to be left alone, was almost too much to bear.

“I’ll think about it,” you said finally, squeezing Whitney’s hand in return. “But for now… I’m just going to take things one day at a time. No expectations, no promises.” You couldn’t even pretend to smile as you said it because that’s exactly what you wanted. You wanted promises and you wanted to expect things of him.

“That’s fair. Just… don’t forget that you deserve someone who’s all in, Y/N. Someone who sees how amazing you are and doesn’t want to let you go.” Whitney smiled, though there was still a trace of worry in her eyes. You nodded, your heart aching with the truth of Whitney’s words. As you stood up and made your way back to the rest of the house, You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were standing at the edge of something—something that could either lift you higher than you’d ever been or break you completely. And the scariest part was, you weren’t sure which way it would go.

You were curled up on the couch later in the day, head resting against Jude’s chest, completely knocked out from a mix of exhaustion and the drinks you’d had yesterday night. The soft rise and fall of your breathing was the only sound in the quiet room. Jude, very much awake, ran his fingers lazily through your hair, his gaze soft and protective. He was hungover too, but he didn’t mind, not with you draped over him like this. Trent came over to the couch, having just said his goodbyes to Denise, Whitney who was still saying hers. Without warning, he flicked Jude’s ear, pulling him out of his reverie. Jude winced, then grinned up at Trent, lifting one arm for a half-hearted dap without disturbing you.

"You alright, mate?" Trent teased, eyeing the two of you with an amused smirk. "Looks like you’ve got your hands full."

"Yeah, I don’t wanna move. Might wake her up." Jude chuckled, keeping his voice low so as not to wake you. Trent raised an eyebrow, leaning in a little closer.

"Nah, that’s not it," he teased, a knowing grin spreading across his face. "It’s not about waking her up, it’s ‘cause you like it. You like her laying on you, you like taking care of her." Jude couldn’t help but laugh softly, though he knew Trent was right. He enjoyed having you this close, the feeling of being needed, and maybe even more than that, the feeling of taking care of you, of you trusting him enough to fall asleep against him. He was in deep, and he knew it.

"Yeah, yeah," Jude grumbled, shaking his head with a smile. "Alright, maybe. But keep that to yourself, yeah?"

"Too late for that, bro. You’re already in trouble so don’t fuck it up." Trent gave him a light punch on the shoulder, still grinning. Jude let out a quiet laugh, glancing down at you again, your peaceful face nestled against him. He didn’t mind being in trouble. Not if it meant moments like this with you.

When Jude picked up the injury, you knew it was going to be a long road for him. It wasn’t just the physical pain or the rehabilitation that weighed on him—it was the feeling of purposelessness, the uncertainty of what he was without football. You curled up next to him, your arms wrapped tightly around his waist as he vented his frustration. He wasn’t the kind of guy to let anyone see his vulnerability, but with you, he felt safe enough to spill his thoughts.

"It's not the rehab, you know?" he started, his voice low and filled with frustration. "It's the fact that I'm just sitting there, useless. I hate watching from the stands... makes me feel like I’m not contributing to anything, like I’m just taking up space." You ran your hand across his chest, feeling the tension building in him as he spoke.

"I can’t imagine how tough that must be," you said softly, "but Jude... you’re so much more than just football. I know that’s hard to believe right now, but you are. Football’s what you do, not who you are." He sighed, staring at the ceiling as if it held some answers, but you knew he was listening, even if he didn’t say it right away. The weight of sitting out a game at the Bernabéu, watching his team battle on without him, was too much for him to bear.

"I'm supposed to be out there. That’s where I belong, on the pitch. Not stuck in a suit, sitting on the sidelines," he muttered. Then, his voice softened as he turned toward you, his gaze searching yours. "Will you come with me to the match? I don’t want to sit up there alone." You blinked, surprised by the question but also deeply touched. You knew this was more than just wanting company. This was him letting you into his world—really letting you in. This wasn’t about a night out, or a private moment shared between just the two of you. This was about being seen with him, in front of the world, at his place of work where every move he made was watched, scrutinized. And he wanted you there, right beside him. It was a gesture of trust, of significance. Jude had built walls around his life, carefully separating his public and private selves, but now he was pulling you through those barriers. Your heart swelled with the realization that this wasn’t just about sitting in a box seat at the Bernabéu. This was Jude telling you that your support, your presence, had become something he relied on, something he couldn’t imagine going without.

"Of course," you whispered, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "I’ll be right there with you." He pulled you closer, resting his head against yours, his breath a little steadier now. There was still so much for him to work through, but in that moment, you felt like the invisible walls between you had crumbled a little more. You were part of his world in a way you hadn’t been before, and the weight of that made your chest tighten with emotion. As you lay there, you couldn’t help but feel the enormity of what it meant. The world would see you two together, no more hiding, no more secrecy. Jude needed you in a way he hadn’t before, and that thought filled you with both warmth and a sense of responsibility. You wanted to be there for him, to lift him up when he felt purposeless, to show him that his worth went beyond the pitch. In that quiet, intimate moment, you realized that you’d become part of his foundation, and in some ways, he had become part of yours.

You were engrossed in a video, scribbling notes in your notebook while sitting cross-legged on Jude’s bed. The topic was one you couldn’t afford to miss—an upcoming art exhibit back in New York, one you really needed to be home for. Your focus was razor-sharp until you felt Jude’s presence beside you. He flopped down dramatically, his larger frame pressing into yours as he leaned his head into your lap.

"What’re you doing, angel?" he asked, his voice low and curious looking up at you.

"I need to pay attention," you muttered, trying to focus on the details of the exhibit, but Jude wasn’t so easily deterred.

"Can I listen with you?" he asked, a little more earnestly this time.

“You don’t have to.” You smiled. At first, you were ready to brush him off, but something in his tone made you pause.

“Can I listen with you?” he repeated again persistently. He just wanted to be with you. You sighed softly, running your fingers over his hair in a distracted motion, scratching at his scalp while the video continued. Jude grabbed the pen from your notebook, and even though it was unclicked, he began tracing it over your skin in idle strokes. His touch was light, almost absentminded, but it sent small shivers across your arms. You could tell he was about to ask something—his lips parted—but before he could get the words out, you shushed him gently.

"I just wanna know your middle initial," he whispered, smiling against your thigh. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the soft smile tugging at your lips.

"You're were right. It's ‘y/m/i,’" you finally admitted before leaning down to kiss his temple. He had been drawing your initials on your skin, you felt the letters over and over again. Satisfied, Jude clicked the pen and, with careful precision, began to write his own initials now—'JVWB'—on your arm. The ink left a subtle trail on your skin, a quiet mark of him. When he finished, he gently turned your hand and placed the pen in it, watching you with that familiar glint of mischief in his eyes. Wordlessly, you took the pen and did the same, tracing your initials onto the inside of his wrist. You both glanced at the marks, your initials resting against each other’s skin, a quiet connection. You didn’t say anything more, but neither of you wiped the ink away. It felt right, leaving it there.

The morning of the match, the energy between you and Jude felt different. As you both got dressed in the warm glow of your shared space, there was a quiet, almost unspoken intimacy that flowed between you. Jude was focused on pulling together his outfit, looking for a middle ground between subtly but professional, while you carefully picked out your own clothes—stylish, sophisticated, a Miu Miu denim jacket, a leopard mini skirt, tall black boots, along with the Chanel bag Jude had gotten for you. You knew you could have worn something simple, maybe a Madrid jersey, but something about today felt like it needed a more personal touch. This wasn’t about being just another person in the crowd. When Jude looked over at you, his eyes flickered with admiration. A slow grin spread across his face as he took in your appearance.

"You look gorgeous," he said, his voice soft, but there was an edge of pride in it. "The club might have to put you in the trophy cabinet after this." His playful smirk made you roll your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the warmth that flooded your chest. You both left for the stadium, and though Jude wasn’t on the pitch today, the moment you arrived, you could feel the weight of being by his side. The cameras were everywhere, capturing the scene, projecting it onto the big screens for the entire stadium and anyone watching from home to see. Jude sat beside you, his presence calm but solid, like a shield against the swirling energy of the match day. When the camera panned to him, he raised his left hand, giving the crowd a wave, but what made your heart skip a beat was the way he kept his right hand intertwined with yours. His fingers laced through yours, resting gently on his thigh, a subtle gesture that wasn’t overt but spoke volumes. It was bold, and in a world where he could easily keep things between the two of you private, he chose to let people see this small but meaningful connection. You weren’t hidden in the background anymore; you were sitting there beside him, as much a part of his world as he was in yours. That quiet gesture had your heart racing in a way you hadn’t expected. It wasn’t just the thrill of being seen with Jude; it was more than that. It was the sense that, for the first time in your life, someone truly saw you for who you were, beyond the surface, beyond the glamor or the assumptions people had about you. Jude’s hand in yours wasn’t about possession or display—it was about acknowledgment, appreciation. He saw you, the real you, and it made you feel like you were falling for him all over again, but deeper this time. You glanced over at him, watching as he focused on the game below, but there was a softness in his expression, a hint of vulnerability that made your heart swell. You leaned into him slightly, letting your shoulder brush against his. He squeezed your hand in response, a silent confirmation that he felt it too—this connection, this bond that was growing stronger by the day. Sitting there with him, surrounded by the energy of the match and the roar of the crowd, you realized just how much he appreciated you. Not as an accessory or a fleeting romance, but as someone who mattered, someone who was part of his life in a way that was real and meaningful. And in that moment, you felt something shift. You weren’t just falling for Jude—you were falling into something deeper, something that felt like it had the potential to last.

Jude had popped inside momentarily so you sat in the stands next to Denise as the game unfolded before you. The roar of the crowd, the energy in the stadium—it was exhilarating. But what truly caught you off guard was how at ease you felt with Denise by your side. Denise had been warm, welcoming, and most importantly, had said things you hadn’t realized you needed to hear.

“You know,” Denise said, her eyes fixed on the field, “Jude’s been so much happier lately. I can’t help but think it’s because of you.” She turned to you, her expression soft. “He talks about you all the time, hun. It’s been nice having you around.” Your heart fluttered, the tension you’d been carrying easing slightly. Whitney’s words from the other day had lingered in your mind, leaving you with doubts and questions. But hearing this from Denise, someone who knew Jude better than anyone, was a relief. It made everything feel more real—more possible. When the final whistle blew, Denise gave you a reassuring smile as you made your way to the box to find Jude. As soon as you saw Jude, his eyes found yours, and a grin spread across his face. He moved towards you, pulling you into a tight embrace, his lips brushing your temple. The connection between you was undeniable, the affection natural and easy. For a moment, you felt like everything was falling into place. But then, someone else appeared.

“Hey, Jude!” the guy called out, striding over with a casual confidence. He glanced at you, curiosity in his eyes. The man in the suite—one of the VIPs, someone who clearly knew Jude and had been chatting with him casually throughout the game—turned to Jude with a curious smile and asked, "So, who’s the lovely lady?" It felt like the whole room paused, even the noise from the crowd below dimming in your ears. Your heart raced, anticipation bubbling in your chest. It wasn’t that you expected Jude to call you his girlfriend. You weren’t naive. You knew where you stood—or at least, you thought you did. Jude hesitated, the words catching in his throat. He hadn’t thought about this—hadn’t prepared for it. And in that moment of uncertainty, he saw the flash of hurt in your eyes. But what you didn’t expect was Jude’s hesitation to continue. His pause. The way his mouth opened, but no words came out. He didn’t say your name. He didn’t offer any explanation of who you were. He was stumped, as if he didn’t know how to define you or the place you held in his life. The silence hung heavy between you, a sharp contrast to the warmth and connection you’d felt moments before. You felt your stomach drop, like someone had pulled the floor out from under you. How could you be so wrong? Just minutes ago, you thought he saw you—truly saw you. You thought he wanted you, that he appreciated you for more than just a passing moment. But now, all of that belief, all of that trust came crashing down. What you felt like doing amidst the sting of his hesitation was telling this man that you were simply the idiot who Jude uses for sex and to unload all his feelings on but apparently, not good enough for a label. Jude eventually muttered something about you being a friend. The man nodded politely and moved on, but it didn’t matter. The damage was done. The moment was ruined. You sat there, stunned, the weight of disappointment pressing down on your chest like a heavy stone.

This was a test, wasn’t it? All of it had been. You’d been waiting to see if he could really step up, if he could finally give you the validation you needed after everything—the months of uncertainty, the limbo, the back and forth. The audacity he had to be jealous enough of you to sleep with someone else but the indifference to not even say your name was shocking. And while Jude had passed the first part of the test, holding your hand, letting the world see you together, he had just failed miserably at the most crucial moment. Your chest tightened, and you blinked away the stinging sensation in your eyes. You couldn’t let him see how much it hurt, but inside, you were crumbling. You knew in that instant that you were done. This was it. You couldn’t handle the limbo anymore, couldn’t live in this space where you were important one second and invisible the next. You weren’t going to be someone he couldn’t even acknowledge in public, someone he wasn’t sure how to define. The decision hit you with finality: you needed to go home. Tomorrow. You couldn’t stay another minute longer in this in-between state, where you were constantly left guessing about where you stood in his life. You deserved more than that. You needed more than that. Jude couldn’t sway you this time. You felt distant, like you were a million miles away from everything and everyone—including Jude. And as much as it hurt, you knew it was time to let go. You had been drinking and you started drinking more after that. This night was a wash anyway. It was clear that no matter how many people told you that you were good for Jude and he liked you, he didn’t want it enough. You’d traveled to Madrid to make things work and he couldn’t even get the balls to introduce you. The rest of the night was awkward and tense and for you a bit blurred. You retreated to his house, but the usual comfort between you was absent. You kept your distance, and Jude was too afraid to bridge the gap, terrified of making things worse. But in your drunken haze you wanted one last hurrah with jude. A final send off.

It's late and the air was heavy with tension between you and Jude. The pressure from earlier had been intense, leaving you with hurt feelings and unresolved emotions. But as the moonlight streamed through the windows of Jude’s room, and despite your anger and deep sadness inside you, he still looked delicious. You couldn't help but be drawn to his irresistible presence. With a deliberate move, you rolled over and face him, your eyes adjusting to the dim light. Jude, with his tall, athletic frame and tanned skin, looks like a Greek god lying there. His brown eyes flickered, meeting yours, you could see a mix of emotions playing across his handsome face. You reached out letting your fingers trace the outline of his muscular chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. A mischievous smile played on his lips, and you knew then he was considering your temptation but he also knew he was in the dog house so there was hesitation.

“Y/N, you’re drunk and you’re upset. Please.” His voice is deep and husky. Jude paused as he tried to hold you off from climbing over into his lap in bed. The thing was… you really weren’t that drunk anymore, not at all actually, you knew exactly what you were doing.

“Mmm it’s fine, baby. I’m really not and I want you. You’re turning me on.” You leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear before you sat back on your heels and ran your hands up his thighs. Jude groaned but then shook his head despite feeling his resolve crumble.

“I’m not doing anything.” Jude smiled at you hating that the way you were leaned over him had you tits spilling out of your tank top. You were running on the adrenaline of ending this and you wanted Jude to fuck you.

“Mmm but you… you’re so sexy.” You continued moving your hands up over his hips onto his abs. You caught his eyes dropping to your tits. “Are my nipples hard already, Jude?” You smirked, glancing down. “Look.” You brushed your fingers over your hardened nipple before pulling your shirt completely over your head. You sat there playing innocent on full display for him.

“We really shouldn’t, yeah?” Jude hesitated again despite his hands moving to grab your hips pulling you onto his lap. He was saying one thing and doing the other. Ironic considering he’d been doing that out of the bedroom as well. He gripped your hips, and he pulled you closer. You leaned forward and began kissing his neck.

“Pleaseee, I want your cock inside me.” You moaned rolling your bottom lip dramatically before sitting down onto him entirely. Jude could feel your warm pussy on his hardening cock now. You could feel his desire growing as your bodies pressed together. His fingers explored the curves of your body, tracing the line of your waist, then sliding up to cup your full breasts. A soft moan escapes your lips as his thumbs graze your sensitive nipples, before pinching them.

“Y/N, come on this is so unfair.” He complained. "Too fucking gorgeous to resist," he whispers, his breath hot against your neck.

“Just give me a kiss, Jude. Please. I promise I’ll be such a good girl for you.” You moaned, picking up his hand, dragging his fingers up your body before taking two of them in your mouth. You sucked on his fingers the way you would his cock, swirling your tongue around them.

“Fine, just one.” He smiled but he knew he was tempting fate as he leaned in to kiss you.. apparently just once but you both knew that wasn’t going to happen. “Jesus baby.” He growled. His words ignited a fire within you, and you felt a surge of power, knowing you had this effect on him. You wanted to show him just how perfect you were, to make him remember everything, especially the pleasure you give him. You were straddling his waist, your legs on either side of his powerful thighs. The heat between your bodies palpable as you grinded against him, your wetness already leaving a slick trail on his hard length. "Fuck, Y/N," he groaned, his hands gripping your ass, pulling you closer. "You're driving me crazy." He whispered. You wanted to roll your eyes. He was in fact driving you crazy lately. You leaned down, your hair cascading around his face as you kissed him hungrily. Your tongues dancing, tasting each other, as your hands explored, caressing and teasing. You reached down, guiding his thick cock towards your entrance, teasing yourself with the tip.

"Please, Jude," you begged, your voice breathless. "I need you inside me. Make me forget everything but you." With one swift motion, he thrusted into you, filling you up completely. You gasped at the sensation, your body welcoming him as if you were made for each other. The stretch of his massive cock both intensely pleasurable but painful from the lack of foreplay. After you adjusted his cock hit all the right spots, and you couldn’t help but moan loudly, your head thrown back in ecstasy. Jude started to move, his hips thrusting in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Each stroke sends waves of pleasure through your body, and you matched his pace, riding him with abandon. His hands grip your tits, squeezing and kneading them, as he fucked you with purpose, making you feel every inch of his hardness.

"You like that, baby?" His voice raw with desire. "You like my cock pounding into your sweet pussy?" He sat up and whispered nibbling on your ear. He tucked his face in the nape of your neck. He sucked on your sensitive skin. His hair tickling you. Hoarse grunts escaping him as you soaked him. He collected enough spit in his mouth before he made you open yours. He spit his saliva into your mouth. You swallowed diligently with a moan.

“Oh fuck, that feels so good!” You whined, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Harder, Jude. Make me feel you everywhere." He obliged, picking up the pace, his hips slamming into yours. The bed creaked with the force of his thrusts, and your moans fill the room, a symphony of pleasure. You felt your orgasm building, a coiling tension deep within your core. You shut your eyes tight with your mouth agape as your tits bounced. The sight was enough to make him cum. You flashed your eyes up to look at him. The look in your eyes made Jude tense.

“Oh angel, don’t give me that face. I’m not gonna last.” He grunted out. He slapped your ass and you smirked. You moaned at the second. You squeezed your pussy tighter around him feeling him twitch inside you. “Fuck baby, squeezing me so tight. You want to cum for me? Let me feel you cum on my cock, baby, please.” He begged. He knew exactly what to do, what to say to get you there. "That's it, angel," he encouraged, his breath hot against your ear. "Cum for me, baby. Let me feel your pussy clench around my cock." His dirty words pushed you over the edge. You cried out his name as your body convulsed around him, your juices flowing freely, coating his shaft. He groaned, his own release building, as he continued to thrust through your orgasm, prolonging your pleasure. As the waves of ecstasy subsided, you collapsed onto his chest, your heart racing. Jude's arms wrapped around you, holding you close, his breathing ragged against your hair. You could feel his cock still throbbing inside you, awaiting to continue fucking you when you were ready to go but the reality was… you wouldn’t ever be again. You were ready for something Jude was about to hate.

"That was so good, baby.” You kissed his chest, tasting the salt of his sweat, whispering against his skin. His lips were back all over your neck. He smacked your ass cheek ready to go again but you ignored it. “I’m tired, Jude.” His whole body stiffened at your words, his body going completely still.

"Y/N..." he began, but you cut him off by placing a finger on his lips.

"Shh... no more talking. Tired. Just sit with this," you said softly, as you gently rolled away from him, breaking the connection between your bodies. You curled up on your side of the bed, your back to him, knowing that Jude was being left unfulfilled, his cock still throbbing and needy, desperate for relief. You felt a pang of satisfaction knowing you've left him wanting more, but also a hint of guilt for the lingering tension between you. As you laid in bed after, the silence between you felt heavy, almost suffocating. Jude wanted to reach out, to pull you close and tell you that you were more than just a fleeting moment, more than just someone to pass the time with and maybe you could continue having sex because this was probably the worst case of blue balls he’d ever had. But the words were stuck in his throat, weighed down by the fear that maybe it was already too late. You, for your part, stared at the wall, your mind racing. You’d always been afraid of getting too close, of letting someone in. But with Jude, it had felt different—until now. Now, all you could think about was how vulnerable you’d let yourself become, and how much it would hurt if this all fell apart. Taking back some semblance of power through sex was satisfying but that feeling vanished quickly. In the quiet darkness, you laid side by side, both too scared to do anything, both too afraid of what might happen if you didn’t. As the night rolled into morning, that fear only grew, threatening to tear you apart even as you clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, you could find a way through this together. You began to drift off to sleep, your mind swirled with emotions, unfortunately you were dreading what was to come in the morning. Everything had been perfect, or at least it felt that way. You were sitting there, hand in hand with Jude, feeling like you’d finally found something real. The world seemed right for once—like you were falling into place with him, and for a fleeting moment, you believed it. You believed you mattered to him in the same way he had come to mean so much to you. But then it all came crashing down.

The suitcase hit the floor with a heavy thud as you stood in the middle of the room, chest rising and falling with anger. The sun was far too bright for how dark the mood felt inside the room. You could hardly look at Jude without feeling the wave of betrayal twist inside you. You were livid, yes, but underneath all the fury was a deep, wrenching hurt that had been growing since they day he’d told you he slept with someone else.

"You’re really leaving?" His voice cracked at the end, soft, unsure—a sound so foreign for him, but it didn’t sway you. Jude stood across from you, his face losing its color, brows furrowed in confusion and guilt, hands clenched at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them.

"Yeah," you bit out, your voice edged with bitterness. "I am." For a moment, the air was filled with nothing but the echo of your words, the room stilling as the finality of it all weighed down between you. Jude’s heart pounded in his chest, a cold dread wrapping around him. He knew you were upset after last night, after his inability to introduce you, but this… this felt like too much. His thoughts were spiraling, the panic bubbling up, clawing at his throat.

"I know last night wasn’t great," he started, walking closer to you, his voice low, trying to keep it steady. "But leaving? Just like that? It feels… harsh." He could barely believe the words coming out of his own mouth, grasping at anything to keep you from walking out that door. And that’s when you snapped.

"Harsh?" you repeated, your voice shaking, eyes brimming with unshed tears. You spun around to face him, anger flashing across your face like lightning. "Harsh is being reduced to nothing in front of everyone. Harsh is you pretending like I don’t exist when it matters most." You could feel your throat tightening as the words spilled out. "Harsh is thinking I’m finally something to you, only for you to not even say my name, Jude. Not even my name." Your words were like a slap across his face. Jude froze, the shock of it hitting him like a punch to the gut. His mouth opened, but nothing came out, the weight of your anger and hurt choking him.

"That’s not—" he croaked out.

"You didn’t even look at me!" you yelled, cutting him off, your voice shaking now, the pain seeping through the cracks. "It didn’t matter if it was me, or the girl you slept with, or the one you were flirting with at the party. It’s all the same, isn’t it? We’re all interchangeable to you. Nothing special. I’m nothing special." Jude’s stomach twisted violently, his face going white as your words hit him like a freight train. His hands trembled as he raked them over his face.

"How do… you—" His voice cracked again, barely a whisper. "How do you know about anyone at the party?" The disbelief in his voice almost made you laugh, but it was a bitter, broken sound. You wiped at the tears angrily, shaking your head.

"Do you think I’m blind, Jude? Do you think I didn’t hear about you with her? The way you smiled at her like it meant nothing? The same way you smiled at me before we got involved. Do you even realize how much you’ve hurt me? Or are you too wrapped up in your perfect little world to notice?" Jude took a step toward you, but you recoiled, holding your hand up to stop him.

"I wasn’t thinking… I didn’t—" His heart was pounding in his chest, a deep pit forming in his stomach.

"Exactly, you weren’t thinking," you spat, the frustration bubbling up inside you. "You’ve never thought about me, Jude. About how I feel. I’ve given up so much to be here with you in Madrid, to support you, to be by your side, and you can’t even give me the decency of acknowledging me in public." Jude swallowed hard, his throat tight, guilt crashing down on him like a wave. He could see how hurt you were, how much pain you were carrying. His mind was racing, trying to find the words, but everything felt hollow compared to the anger and heartbreak written all over your face.

"I do care about you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, but you just shook your head, a sharp laugh escaping your lips.

"Do you?" you asked, your voice quieter now, the anger beginning to give way to the deep sadness that had been simmering underneath. "Because it doesn’t feel like it. It feels like I’m just here, waiting, always waiting for you to make me feel like I actually matter to you. But last night? You couldn’t even say my name, Jude. You couldn’t even call me yours." He felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. His chest was tight, and he could barely breathe. He didn’t know what to say—because you were right. He had failed you in the worst way possible, and now he was standing in front of you, watching everything fall apart.

"I’m sorry," he whispered, the words so small, they felt like they’d vanish in the air. "I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize… I didn’t mean to hurt you like this. I—"

"You didn’t realize," you repeated, shaking your head, the hurt etched deep into your face. "Of course, you didn’t. You never have." Jude felt a sharp, deep pain in his chest as the realization of how much he had messed up hit him. His hands fell limply at his sides, helpless.

"Please, don’t leave. Don’t go. I know I’ve hurt you, but I—" You cut him off again, shaking your head as more tears slipped down your cheeks.

"I’m tired, Jude. I’m tired of being the one who waits. I’m tired of always being on the outside looking in." Jude felt his heart break as you spoke, his entire body aching with the guilt, with the fear of losing you. He didn’t know what to do. He had never felt so helpless in his entire life.

“I’m begging you, please," he choked out, his voice cracking. "I need you. I don’t know how to fix this, but I’ll do anything. Just… don’t go." You stared at him, your eyes red and swollen from crying, and for a moment, you felt like you might give in. Like you might run into his arms and let him hold you the way you wanted him to, but then the anger bubbled up again, and you couldn’t.

"I can’t do this anymore, Jude," you said, your voice shaky but firm. "I can’t keep pretending like I’m okay with being nothing to you when all I’ve done is give up everything for you." You turned, grabbing the handle of your suitcase, and Jude’s heart clenched painfully as you went to turn towards the door. He wanted to reach out, to stop you, but his feet felt rooted to the floor. You stood there, suitcase in hand, your heart pounding as Jude's words echoed in the room, cutting through the tension like a jagged knife.

"I called her your name," he said softly, his voice strained with guilt, like he was offering it as some kind of consolation, a way to make things better, to prove you weren’t nothing to him. But instead of calming the storm inside you, it ignited something far worse—a deeper, more painful rage. Your grip tightened around the handle of the suitcase, your knuckles turning white as you stared at him, disbelief flooding through you.

"You think that makes it better?" you asked, your voice cold, the anger simmering under the surface ready to explode. "You think that fixes anything?" A whirlwind of rage and heartbreak tearing through your chest. You couldn’t believe how the night had unraveled, and now, after everything you’d been through together, this was how it was ending.

“Wait!” Jude’s voice cracked behind you, desperate and pleading. You paused, barely turning your head, your body rigid with fury, your breath coming in sharp, jagged bursts. “When I—when I slept with her…” he began, stumbling over his words, “I called her your name.” His voice trembled, the confession hanging heavy in the air between you. He said it like it was supposed to mean something, like it should somehow ease the ache in your heart. But instead, it was gasoline on a fire.

“What?” Your voice was sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade. “You think that’s supposed to make me feel better?” You whipped around, eyes blazing, barely able to contain the explosion brewing inside you.

“I—no, I just—” Jude stumbled over his words, trying to catch up with the damage he didn’t realize he’d already done. “I just wanted you to know, even when I was with her, I was thinking about you.”

“That’s supposed to be comforting?” You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.” He stepped forward, hands raised as if he could somehow reach you, somehow fix the irreparable.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I was so messed up, I thought you were with someone else. I wasn’t thinking straight—”

“Don’t,” you snapped, your voice cold. “Don’t be sorry. You can sleep with whoever you want, right?” You threw the words at him, each one a bullet, sharp and cutting. “It must be so fucking hard being the Jude Bellingham and not hooking up with people when you’re this insecure.” The venom in your tone was thick, and Jude flinched, his face twisting in pain. He tried to protest, stepping forward, pleading.

“Angel… I thought you were with him. I didn’t know what else to—” he puffed out some air defeated.

“No, I’m not your angel anymore.” You interrupted , your voice dangerously low, as you turned fully to face him. The look on your face made him stop dead in his tracks. Something in your eyes shifted, darkening, and he knew instantly he was about to lose more than he’d ever realized. “Did she make you feel as good as I do?” Your voice trembled, but the power in your words was enough to knock the breath out of him. The question was simple, but the impact was profound. Jude froze, the weight of your question crashing into him. His eyes widened in shock and fear as he realized the gravity of what he’d done.

“God, no,” he breathed, his voice soft, like the truth was tearing him apart.

“Of course not,” you said, your voice dripping with scorn. You shook your head, a cruel, bitter laugh escaping your lips. “You threw everything away—for shitty sex—because you were too insecure to believe we had anything real.” The truth of it hit him like a punch to the gut. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. The room seemed to spin around him as he watched you, standing there with a strength he suddenly realized he had never truly appreciated. You stepped closer to him, eyes burning into his, your voice steady but cold. “I hope it was worth it, Jude. I hope that fleeting moment of doubt and weakness was worth losing the one person who would’ve given you everything. Because I tried to give you everything.” You started crying, unable to stop. You had made a mistake but only because of Jude. His heart dropped to his stomach as he realized what you were saying and how much it hurt you. It wasn’t just about the mistake he made—it was about how he’d completely shattered something that could’ve been so much more. He hadn’t just messed up; he’d destroyed the only connection that had ever felt real to him. You took one last look at him, disgust and heartbreak mingling on your face. “You can keep apologizing, but it won’t change the fact that you let your insecurity ruin everything we had.” Jude had never been called insecure before and it had never been more true. And with that, you turned on your heel, leaving him standing there, drowning in the suffocating weight of his own regret. For the first time, it was glaringly obvious—emotionally and physically, no one would ever measure up to you. Jude’s face crumpled as he realized how wrong his words had been, how desperately he had miscalculated. He had thought that maybe, just maybe, telling you he’d been thinking of you would ease the pain, but all he had done was drive the knife deeper.

"I didn’t mean it like that," he stammered, his eyes pleading with you to understand. "I wasn’t trying to—"

"You weren’t trying to what, Jude?" you cut him off, your voice rising, the hurt pouring out of you now like a dam had broken. "You weren’t trying to tell me that I’m just some idea to you? That I’m nothing more than a name you throw around in your head, in your bed? I mean so little to you that it doesn’t even matter who I am as long as you can imagine me there?" Jude took a step toward you again, desperation in his eyes, his hands reaching out as if he could physically stop you from leaving, from pulling further away.

"That’s not what I meant, I swear—" He shut his eyes.

"But that’s exactly what it is," you spat, shaking your head, tears blurring your vision. "You don’t care enough to see me. Not really. You only care about the idea of me, the version of me that you can fit into your life, your world. But you’ve never actually cared enough to sort out who I really am, to protect me, to give me something real." Your chest felt like it was caving in, the weight of all the hurt you had been holding back for so long crashing down on you. You had given him everything, opened up your life, your heart, and now it felt like all of it had been taken advantage of. Used and discarded. Jude’s face fell, his expression shifting from confusion to something much darker—guilt, pain, the realization that he had truly lost you.

"I care about you, I care about you so much," he whispered, his voice breaking, but you shook your head, stepping back as the walls started to go up. This wasn’t something you could just patch over with words anymore.

"No, Jude," you said, your voice firm, though the cracks of emotion were still there, seeping through. "You don’t. You don’t care about me, because if you did, you wouldn’t treat me like this. You wouldn’t let me be labelless, nameless. You’d fight for me. You’d see me." Jude’s breath hitched, his eyes wide as he stared at you, helpless. He could feel you slipping away, and he didn’t know how to stop it. He had never been good with feelings, with sorting through the mess of his own emotions, and now, standing here in front of you, he realized that it was too late to learn.

"You’re right," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I didn’t let the people around me know that I saw you the way I did but I promise I did see it. I didn’t treat you how I knew I felt. But I will now. Please… don’t go." But the damage was done. The cold, suffocating weight of betrayal had settled deep inside your chest, and no matter how hard he tried, no matter what words he said, you knew there was no coming back from this.

"I can’t," you said, your voice hollow, the finality of it hanging heavy in the air. "I can’t keep letting you do this to me. This time… this time, I’m building a wall. A steel wall. I can’t keep protecting myself with the glass you begged me to take down because you keep shattering it." You turned toward the door, your heart breaking with each step you took, but you knew you couldn’t stay. Not anymore. Not after everything. And behind you, Jude stood frozen, his heart pounding in his chest as the realization hit him—he had lost you. Jude stood there, heart hammering in his chest as he watched you walk out the door, the words stuck in his throat, choking him. He wanted to call out, to say something, anything to stop you. He knew exactly what he needed to say—I love you. But how could he say that now? It would’ve been selfish, unfair. You didn’t deserve his love if it was tangled up in this mess, in the pain he had caused.

So, he let you go.

As the door clicked shut behind you, the silence swallowed him whole. His fists clenched at his sides, his body vibrating with a tension that had nowhere to go. He took a step forward, and then another, until he reached the wall. His breath was shallow, ragged, his head spinning. The pressure inside him built, rising like a tidal wave, until it was too much, until he couldn’t hold it back anymore. With a guttural scream, Jude lashed out, his fist connecting with the wall, the sharp pain shooting up his arm like fire. He didn’t care. He hit it again, harder this time, the plaster cracking beneath his knuckles. The pain was grounding, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough to numb the agony in his chest, the guilt that was eating him alive. He stumbled back, his body trembling, and slid down the wall until he was sitting on the cold floor, his head dropping into his hands. The tears came then, hot and unrelenting, streaming down his face as he sobbed into his palms. He couldn’t remember the last time he cried, but now he couldn’t stop. He was furious—at himself, at the situation, at everything he had done to you. Jude had spent so long trying to be the person everyone expected him to be, the confident, untouchable star, the guy who always had it together. He thought he needed to prove something to Toby the other night, prove that he was still Jude. The one who didn’t get tied down, who could have anyone and never cared too much. But right now, sitting there on the floor, broken and alone, he wanted to be anything but that person. He had lost you, and it was all his fault. He had never felt more himself than when he was with you. He had never felt more safe and authentic and he was too juvenile to grow up and do something about it. The realization hit him like a sledgehammer. He had taken you for granted, dismissed your feelings, brushed off your pain. And now, you were gone. Maybe for good. He couldn’t fix it with an apology this time. Words were meaningless now, and no amount of charm or sweet talk could undo the damage he had caused.

"I’m so sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible as it cracked with emotion, the tears still falling. He wasn’t sure if he was talking to you, to himself, or to the empty room that felt like it was closing in on him. Jude’s chest heaved with the weight of his own remorse, the crushing understanding that he had pushed away the one person who made him feel real, made him feel seen. And now, all he could do was sit there in the wreckage of what he’d destroyed, the emptiness echoing around him. All he had wanted was to be enough for you, but now he wasn’t sure he ever could be.

You furiously scrubbed over your arm where Jude’s initials once were every time you showered even though the ink of of him was long gone. It felt like Jude was burned onto your body, no solvent was strong enough. You couldn’t get him off. The tension between you and Jude had lingered long after that fateful night at the game. What had once felt so natural, so easy, had become heavy with unspoken words and unmet expectations. The awkwardness hung over you like a storm cloud, and neither of you knew how to clear the air. The silence between you was deafening. Jude wished he asked you to stay, beg you not to leave—but he knew your answer, his fear once again kept him quiet. When you walked out the door, neither of you called it a break. You weren’t officially together, so how could it be? But it felt like one. The space between you grew, not just in distance, but in the emotional chasm that had opened up. Back in your Manhattan apartment, you found yourself crying more than you’d care to admit. You were embarrassed, frustrated that you’d let yourself get so wrapped up in someone like Jude. Someone you thought might actually care about you beyond the physical. But now, all you had were memories that felt more distant with each passing day. Jude wasn’t faring much better. He would stare at his phone, your contact name glowing on the screen as his thumb hovered over it, unsure of what to say, what to do. Every time he thought about calling, he would sigh and put the phone down, the weight of his own insecurities and fears keeping him from making that leap. Even Denise noticed the change in her son. He was quieter, more withdrawn. She didn’t press him, knowing better than to force Jude to talk before he was ready. But she could see the hurt in his eyes, the way he carried himself with a heaviness that hadn’t been there before. Weeks passed in this limbo, neither of you reaching out, both of you desperate to but too afraid to be the first. Once you had left Madrid for home, everything seemed to unravel at once. You felt like this was the end for you and Jude, the silence between you made it feel like it should be. You hadn’t responded to his texts or calls. The sting of that moment in the suite still lingered, and as much as you cared for him, you couldn’t ignore the way he hesitated, like you didn’t matter. Back in Madrid, Jude was losing it. Your absence hit him harder than he expected. He tried to keep himself busy, but no amount of training or distractions could drown out the fact that you were gone, and the silence on your end was eating him alive. The uncertainty of whether you two were over gnawed at him, twisting in his gut.

🪩🫶❤️‍🔥🍹🌞🍒 Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter 🍒🌞🍹❤️‍🔥🫶🪩

Next part - Chapter 9 xx

#jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham #footballer x reader

129 notes · View notes

kismetlotts · 3 days

Text

cw: sexual content

Colleague Simon Riley who you banter with all the time. You weren’t scared of him or intimidated by him like everyone else and he found that different; intriguing. You’d seen him kill people so effortlessly, watched him make decisions that would keep people up all night but nothing put you off. There was something there on your end that drew you in- he had no clue what it was until one morning Johnny decided to enlighten him.

“Aye Ghost has everyone tinklin’eir pants’!” He’d laughed, the two of them were walking towards a helicopter preparing for their mission together, his hand pushing Ghosts shoulder trying to get something out the man but failing as usual. Johnny can talk for days, meaningless rambling, life stories, ranting, joking- god the guy doesn’t shut up. He was nearly as bad as you and in his head he was sure you two were distantly related. Two of the most annoying people being two of the most closest people to him.

“Aside from bonnie, eh’ she’s wet for other reasons.” He’d chuckle out, arm still bumping into his shoulder while he laughs loudly, but Simon froze. His whole body hot and stomach swirling surely he must’ve heard wrong. Even if he heard right, it’s Mactavish. He’s not exactly great at reading people more so knowing something like that.

“What?” Simon asked his voice dark and gruffly. Johnnys eyes met his and his cheeky smile fell of his face. Eyes scanning Ghosts for a moment before stopping in shock, mouth open slightly.

“Ya didn’t know? You ave’ her wrapped round your finger! Don’ try mess with me every’ne knows it’s obvious- she’s even gon’ told me tha’.” And Simon just felt lost. He wasn’t sure how to feel. He’d never really been with a woman or exactly cared to, his life was hectic as a youngster and being in the SAS it’s not often he engages or talks to a woman other than yourself. He didn’t see you in a romantic aspect: he’d never really thought of it. You’d always just been you to him, the girl who annoys him, he’d never thought about being with you. Or maybe you were just attracted to him, maybe you just wanted to fuck him- He didn’t know. He didn’t know much about feelings.

“She said herself that she gets wet over me?” He asked again just to be clear. His way with words were cut to the point and open, hearing Simon say ‘gets wet’ so fast and easily was enough to make Johnny cringe internally but he nodded. He told Simon about that night- what you had said, what you wanted. He went over everything thag happened while you two were hanging out. You and Johnny were kind of close and as much as Johnny talks, he didn’t take the Scott man for a liar. Simon spun around on the spot, telling Johnny to continue on with the mission and take another recruit before heading for the offices, catching a glimpse of you sorting through papers.

He slipped into the room quietly, walking up behind you as you spun around reaching for something. Jumping as he looked down at you, silently.

“- Oh my fuck! Simon! You scared me you idiot.” Your heart pretty much jumping out of your chest as you huffed. You’d already been so stressed out with all this paperwork given to you- this wasn’t even your job but of course you’d help out where needed. Simon just looked down at you more, eyes squinting below his skull mask as he looked over you. You shot him a glance, then another one, then another one until you were about to ask what his problem was but Simon spoke first.

“Do I make you wet?”

“….Sorry?”

“Do I make you wet? Like horny?” You were fucking gobsmacked and you knew exactly what had happened and you swore to god were going to fucking murder that mohawk wearing, secret sharing dickhead. And Simon was no better, how can someone just go up to you and ask you that? Your back ran cold and your face burnt hot- words coming out in a jumbled mess.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” And instead of talking he took a step forward, cornering you in and making you step back. Not realising what was happening yourself until you were against the wall, looking up at him with them eyes. So wide and innocent, shining in the light, but fabricated with a need. A desire.

Everything in your vision blurred beside Simon, it was like you were back in bed. Lost in your dream world, slipping your hand into your panties, circling your clit imagining he was in bed with you. Imagining you him so close to you. Your pussy throbbed and you could feel the wetness of your panties already, still looking up at him as you blinked. Simon saw it now, the look in your eyes- it really was obvious. His eyes dropped down your body and back up at your eyes as he took a step back himself in disbelief.

“Fucking ‘ell, I do don’t I?” And what could you say? Lie? That would make the situation bigger than it needed to be with either you being found out as a liar or Johnny. You couldn’t admit it could you? I mean the two of you were close but he was still your Lieutenant. You could be in a lot of trouble- fuck if he wanted, you could probably lose your job. A sigh left your lips as you wracked your head for ideas. Excuses, explanations- but you had to be honest with him, it was the only way.

“Look! It’s not like romantic- I’m not like into you like that at all. I just- Okay I just find you attractive. It’s like if you were looking at some hot naked woman, you’d get hard wouldn’t you? I cant help what my body does!” Simon stood still, staring at your legs which only added to the moment. Only added to the aching need you felt

“I’m not naked. I ain’ sexy and I wear a mask for a living ‘nd kill people, you find that attractive, do ya?” Yes. You did and you didn’t know why yourself. You knew what he meant by it and he knew you didn’t find killing people attractive so instead of getting defensive you stayed quiet. You found him attractive, his voice, his height and the mask added to your intrigue. He watched as you remained quiet taking a deep breath and tilting his head to the side.

“So you want to fuck?” His voiced asked slightly deeper and you let out a laugh, back still pressed against the wall as he moved in closer.

“Jesus Christ Simon you cant just ask someone that-“ His hands met your body as he began to trace the fabric of your clothes, running his fingers over your skin slowly because he was starting to see something in you. Something sexual and he fucking liked it. He licked his lips underneath his mask, smirking as he locked eyes with you again.

“Just take my chances then?”

#call of duty #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod smut #simon ghost riley #ghost simon riley #simon ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost call of duty #ghost smut #mw2 ghost #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley #simon riley smut

127 notes · View notes

m3l0nfl0at · 3 days

Text

pack it up - t. kuroo

kuroo tetsurou x gn! reader ; FLUFF SO MUCH FLUFF, reader has doubts (who doesn’t honestly), domestic kuroo x reader, kenma teases you and kuroo for being simps, nerdy and simp kuroo (yummy, my fav), oh and timeskip!kuroo, 3.3k words

summary ; this is a mini fic based off of my fic here, just say yes but this can be read as a stand alone! You and Kuroo decide to take your relationship to the next level, are you ready for that change though? (aka moving in with kuroo)

melon’s recommended melody: moving out - kacey musgraves

Packing was always dreadful, it didn’t feel like long ago you were taking all this stuff out of the box and now you’re here putting it all back in a box. Even though Kenma told Kuroo to not steal his roommate, here you are moving into Kuroo’s apartment. Kenma keeps passing by your room watching you pack because each time he passes by, you’re focusing on something different. “You know Kuroo’s expecting you to be ready in three days, right? If you keep going at this rate, you’ll be done in, say, three years.” Kenma slowly walks away before you could even respond to him. Oh, how you were going to miss his sweet remarks. Truth be told, you loved living with Kenma, he was always neat, kept to himself, and you got used to hearing the video games he played during the night, even going so far as to call it “white noise”. Nevertheless, when Kuroo asked you last month if you wanted to move in, you felt ready to take your relationship to the next step. Kuroo would spend the night at your place occasionally. Nevertheless, you were more likely to spend the night at his due to not wanting to be affectionate in front of your roommate. If old habits die hard, then why were you here getting anxious at the thought of living with your boyfriend?

Living with Kenma, you got used to your daily routine in this apartment, you knew this apartment like the back of your hand, and you got used to seeing Kenma everyday but now that’s all going to change? You suppose that’s why it’s taking you forever to pack, you slightly fear everything changing too quickly. On one hand you’re excited to move in with your boyfriend, seeing Kuroo everyday? Yes please! On the other hand, you’re going to be seeing Kuroo everyday. What if he gets tired of you, what if he gets mad at your habits, or what if you guys realize living with each other that you guys aren’t meant for a relationship? Hearing Kenma walk by again, only to see you zoned out looking at a box labeled mementos. Kenma sensed something was wrong but thought if he kept walking by, maybe you would realize what little time you had and get to packing. However, by his fifth time walking by, he knew you were overthinking. Due to you being too quiet for your own good, that was his thing after all. “Tell me.”, you look up to see Kenma leaning on the door frame. “There’s nothing to tell, Ken. Just overwhelmed with how much crap I have to pack up.”, Kenma’s face relaxes as he glares at you. “Don’t make me call your boyfriend, so he can come give you a sappy talk.” You look back slowly at the mention of Kuroo not wanting him to see you in this state. “You know what? Maybe you do need your boyfriend to come snap you out of whatever daze you’re in. Who knows, maybe he’ll help you pack faster.”

You chuckle, knowing that Kenma secretly pokes fun at you guys for the way you both act so sweetly towards each other. “Would you make fun of me if I said to call Kuroo right now?” Kenma rolls his eyes, walking away. “I’ll call him.”, Kenma would never admit this out loud but he secretly loves seeing the way Kuroo folds for you. If Kenma wasn’t above publicly teasing he would so make fun of him for being absolutely whipped for you. Kenma left you alone with your sad empty mementos box, lifting up a picture frame that contained a picture with you and Kenma from when you first moved in. A part of your heart breaks, you reassure yourself that Kenma will always be here in this apartment. You hope he knows that a part of you will always be here too. If it weren’t for him, you and Kuroo would’ve never been together. You owe a lot to Kenma, from kickstarting your career to introducing you to your future boyfriend. Plus, you work under Bouncing Ball corp so you’ll still see him every other day. Kenma comes back and sees you look at the picture of you two, “You work for me you know? Plus you’re dating my best friend, I'm not dead or anything.”. Laughing you look up at him, “Can’t you let me be sentimental! I got used to your quirks, your 3 A.M. gaming, and your obnoxious best friend. I’m just going to miss seeing you as much as we are used to, that’s all.”

“We both know you just hate change but if it helps I’m going to miss you too. The apartment does look a little glum as you’re packing away all your stuff. I guess I actually have to decorate now.”, he groans thinking about how he’s going to decorate the apartment to fill your space. “Maybe now you can use my room to make that theater you always wanted?” Kenma nods, glad that you weren’t completely gone yet. Placing the picture frame in the box, you hear the door open. Quickly getting up to be met with Kuroo at the front door holding takeout, “There’s my beautiful partner, hi baby.”, you take the bags from his hands before he pulls you in for a hug placing a quick kiss on your cheek. Kenma comes behind you stealing the bags from you, gagging at the shared exchange. Kuroo laughs, “Well hello to you too, Kenma.”. You and Kuroo start heading to the table as Kuroo pulls out a chair for you to sit in.

The night goes on, as you all end up talking about your day and how the following days were going to look for the three of you amidst the chaos that was moving out. “Sweetheart, have you almost finished packing? I wanna know how much stuff you have so I can book the moving truck.”, you freeze. “About that…”, Kenma cuts you off, “All she has packed is a picture frame.”. You look over at Kenma, bewildered that he ratted you out. Kuroo laughs at how cute you look but is also shocked that you’ve packed so little in a week. “Let’s go baby, I’ll help you pack your things.” Kuroo gets up finished with his plate and grabs yours to place them both in the sink. Following him to your room you start to feel anxiety creep in, shaking your head to get rid of the thoughts. Kuroo walks in to see boxes all labeled and set up, yet lacking all the items inside. “Well, you would win the contest for boxing baby but not so much for packing.”. You place your head in your hands, “I know, this is so embarrassing. In my defense, every time I start to pack I get distracted and start doing something else.”. Kuroo grabs your hands off your face, placing them back on your lap, “Well now I’m here to help you, no need to be embarrassed sweetheart.”.

Kuroo grabs your box labeled clothes heading to the closet to start neatly folding the items in your closet. “Baby, do you want me to put this away in a specific way? Or should I just try to stuff everything in the box? Bunny?” Kuroo peeks his head out of the closet. Seeing you entranced on another picture frame, “Sweetheart, at this point I’ll pack the mementos.”. Kuroo went to grab the frame before he saw a picture of you as a toddler, now yanking it out of your hand. “Baby! Are you joking? You are so adorable! Oh my god this has to be hung up in the living room so I can see your cute little face before I leave for work!” You roll your eyes at Kuroo’s behavior, “Kenma should just pack the mementos because you would definitely not be faster than I am.” You get up to hug him from behind, “Tetsu, can I be honest with you?” Kuroo is still looking at the picture of you as he hums in approval. “I’m nervous.”, Kuroo finally places the picture in the box before turning to fully face you. Kuroo pulls you into a hug, kissing the top of your head. “Breathe baby, your brain needs oxygen.” laughing along with him for being such a dork. “You know it’s okay to be nervous right? You’re going through a big change, be more lenient with yourself, yeah?”

Kuroo pulls back from you, “All I know is right now, my heart is pumping like crazy thinking about you living with me.” You laugh as he places your hand on his heart feeling the said thumping. Kuroo brought the positives into your life that you needed, made you feel safe, and most importantly stood by you even if you surrounded yourself in negative thoughts. “I’ll wake up to your breathtaking face every morning, come home to your heartstopping smile, and go to sleep with you in my arms. What more could I ask for? We’ll get through this together. I mean it’s not like I’ve ever lived with anyone before, especially with someone as gorgeous as you.”, you punch Kuroo’s shoulder rolling your eyes . Kenma coughs interrupting Kuroo’s speech before it went off the rails, “So I take it you're still not packed? You are both hopeless, move over.” Kenma starts placing all your mementos away in seconds, you look over at Kuroo mouthing I told you so. “I brought Kuroo to help you pack and now I’m here to hold Kuroo accountable. You both are going to get nothing done at your apartment, if all you do is give each other heart eyes all day.”, you and Kuroo blush profusely knowing that you’ve both been caught.

With Kenma helping you pack everything went smoothly, Kuroo left for the night leaving you and Kenma alone for the next two days. “Well, we got mostly everything. I just need to take down the last of my posters. I don't want them to bend out of shape in the boxes. Then we can start loading everything into the truck.”, you stopped when you suddenly heard a shuffle behind you. Turning around to be met with Kenma looking around and touching the empty walls glumly, “It’s going to be hard to find something to replace your space. That something is going to fall short in everything compared to you.”, you get closer to Kenma before nudging his shoulder softly. “I’ll miss you too Ken. Thank you for everything, I could never repay you for the amount of kindness you showed me.”, breaking away it felt bittersweet. The walls were suddenly white with no more picture frames or traces of you anywhere, you’re actually moving out. “You ready to start packing up the truck?” Kuroo's bedhead fills the doorway as Kenma gives you one last smile pushing you towards Kuroo. You take up his offer, getting to work by lifting your boxes that is until Kuroo stops you. “Oh, sweetheart, I’ll take that one. Don’t want to bump into each other again, do we? Can’t have you falling for me a second time.”. You brush off his comment but you're strangling him as soon as you get to your new apartment.

All the coming and going back and forth had you exhausted, wanting nothing more than to start unpacking everything. You go to Kuroo’s room making a mental list of everything you need to buy from furniture to home products. Kuroo says goodbye to Kenma, a few seconds later you hear his footsteps approach you from down the hallway. He walks up from behind, embracing you, “You ready to start unpacking baby? Ken said he gave you the next couple of days off so you can settle in.”. You nod, wanting nothing more than to make this apartment your new home, “Yeah, I was thinking we could go to a furniture shop and also to the groceries! You know just so I can get some of my favorite products-”. “No need to worry bunny, I restocked your products you left here. I also got you a dresser for your side of the closet, even separated my side from yours. However, if you still want we can go to the groceries and Ikea just in case I missed something.” You turn around amazed he did all of that for you, “Are you serious Kuroo? You thought that far ahead?”. He nods excitedly, dragging you to the closet as you see his side of the closet filled with clothes. In addition, you see the newly setup dresser for you on your side. Then he drags you to the bathroom looking at the shower rack filled with all your regular products and a space in the toothbrush holder for you. Spinning around to crush him in a hug. He knows that change wasn’t always easy for you but if he could do anything extra to make it easier, he would do it again a thousand times. “I love you so much Tetsu.”, Kuroo grins into the crook of your neck feeling his palms getting sweaty due to being so close to you.

“Well, this is our home now. I want you to feel the same way I do when I’m with you, safe and welcomed.”, you pull back pecking him on the lips. “You’re getting too good at reading me, it's starting to freak me out Tetsu. Don’t tell me you even bought me my own loofah?” Kuroo bashfully opens the shower curtain to show you the new loofah standing next to his. You laugh suddenly feeling at ease, having to ask Kenma later if he had any part in this. Kuroo was right, this is your home, you didn’t want to be anywhere but with him. “Well casanova, help me unpack will ya?” Kuroo scrunches his nose at the new nickname you call him. “Nope, try again baby.”, you think hard trying to think of a nickname that’ll smoothly roll off the tongue. “Ok what about handsome, my love, darling, superstar, my loverboy, captain-”, Kuroo places a hand over your mouth quickly. His face is so red, it almost replicates a tomato, “Yes to all but I fear that if you kept going I was going to have a heart attack. Plus, we still have to unpack and I don’t think I can hold myself back for much longer if you keep calling me sweet names.”

After an eventful day of unpacking, you and Kuroo spent the rest of the day cuddling at ease which is something you usually do every night. Yet both of you felt so giddy laying down tonight, you don’t have to wake up in the morning and immediately leave for your train. Instead you’ll wake up, look over to the love of your life and start your new daily routine with him doing the most domestic things together. You fell asleep knowing this was a new chapter in your life and as scary as that was, you know wouldn’t want to share this experience with anyone else. Kuroo wraps his hand around your waist, sighing, feeling at peace with everything around him. He had nothing to worry about, no worries like if you made it home safely or if some creep on the train bothered you, you were right here safe in his arms. You both wouldn’t want to be anywhere but here, encapsulated in each other's warmth.

Feeling the sun slowly creeping up you turn around to face Kuroo, “No, don’t move, I need five more minutes.”. Giggling as you still move, wanting to see his face like you did the day you realized you liked him. “Isn’t this a sight to see? You know what, I don't need five more minutes, your face is my energizer. I can’t believe I get to wake up to you everyday, I must’ve solved some huge problem in my past life to be blessed with you.”, you hide your face in his chest from all the compliments he paid you this early in the morning. Kuroo kisses the top of your head before you feel the rumble of his laugh traveling through his chest. “Want to go make breakfast with me bunny? I bought some groceries to make pancakes. Yeah?”, you nod your head as you head to the bathroom to do your routine. Kuroo walks behind you, by reflex you hand him a spa headband so he can wash his face. He takes the black cat ear headband looking at it confused, your eyes widen standing straight up. “Sorry! I would always wash my face with Kenma so it’s by reflex.” Kuroo kisses your cheek following you while putting on the headband, “Okay, show me what you do baby. Maybe if I do everything correctly I’ll look as flawless as you do everyday.”

You take your time explaining to Kuroo your skincare and how to apply everything in which he obediently follows, taking note of what products you like for later. Then you both brush your teeth, making sure to go through everything diligently. However, when you looked at Kuroo you noticed his hair was sort of deflated. Due to him not being able to sleep between two pillows like he usually does. You start combing through his soft locks, seeing how he deflates under your touch. “You ready to go make some breakfast, my love?” Kuroo flushed under your touch and the use of his new nickname, nodding not wanting to wait a second. You grab his hand leading him to the kitchen, Kuroo smiles. Glad that you’re familiar enough with his apartment layout to lead him through it. “Ok handsome, let’s go make some pancakes.”

Kuroo guides you through his kitchen showing you where the spices were, how he dedicated a whole shelf in his pantry for you, and where he puts his utensils. Feeling confident enough you head to the pantry finding the pancake mix and hand it to him, while he grabs it but not forgetting to place a kiss on your hand. Wrapping your arms around his waist, feeling the muscles on his back move as he softly whisks the pancake batter, finding solace in this moment. “You still tired bunny? You can go lay down I’ll wake you when everything’s done.”, you shake your head. “No I’m not tired, just really comfortable right now with you. Being here, I feel welcomed by everything that you are. Waking up I see you, the living room has traces of your style, like it just feels like you everywhere I go.” Kuroo softly chuckles, “That’s good though right?” he feels you nod your hair ticking his back.

Letting go of Kuroo, you leave him to cook the pancakes while you prepare fruit and set the table. Kuroo pulls out your chair letting you sit down as he serves you a plate of pancakes shaped like a heart. You smile as he sits down grabbing your hand, caressing it, lifting his mug. “Here’s to our first full day of living together, I know there will be many more to go, I love you bunny.”, you smile clinking your mugs together. You send a picture to Kenma of Kuroo eating his pancakes surrounded by the array of fruit you cut up for the both of you. Making sure to get the heart shaped pancakes Kuroo made for you in the shot as well. Only to immediately get a reply back, “You both make me sick. Enjoy the new apartment lovebirds! (¬⤙¬ )”.

divider credit to @/vase-of-lilies, @/bunnysrph, and @/thecutestgrotto

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ melon's marginalia: writing this had me giggling so bad also just say yes now has a time line so please look forward to the masterlist! p.p.s i am accepting request for just say yes! kuroo short stories so hit up my inbox and i’ll try to get those done! i’m doing everything in a timeline order so pls be patient just know i see them! <3

122 notes · View notes