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hazelfoureyes · 4 months

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A Doe in Fall (part 7)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds

Part 7 Recognition

It was time to start again. Alastor couldn't forget what his mother had wanted, even if she didn't ask it of him directly. And while he finds his comfort again in killing, Detective Brady finds a lead.

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, smut, reader's thighs as ear muffs, referencing cruel racists in the early 20th century south, reference to marital violence, pussy eaten, p in v sex, no creampie BOO, bad dancing, Alastor's southern accent, Alastor's mother, gossip, murder, greed , two idiots pretending they aren't madly in love, poor family planning, lots of 1920's slang with notes for your ease」

I think I fixed the broken tag list!

....it's been over a month. Here's nearly 9000 words of our favorite idiots. I feel weird labeling this smut now as...we are...kinda past the smut point and just making sweet sweet love. lol ugh gross. thank you to everyone whose offered help, donated, and shared the word about my mom! It’s been an immense help and has made her a little emotional (in a good way) <Florida stole my moms teeth— explanation and donation link> unrelated, anyone want some RadioDust?

Minors…. Minors. My inbox counts as interacting when you’re literally in there requesting smut. I know your bio has no age but baby honey darling I can tell by your writing. 🔞 Do Not Interact 🏠🚗

A development he knew was coming even if no one else believed him. A drug addict with debts to the local crime syndicates disappearing was neither suspicious nor a mystery. Everyone was confident it was obvious Tommy was at the bottom of Lake Pontchartrain or halfway to California.

But not to him, not for Detective Brady. He had been on the beat for the better part of a year, convinced there was a connection between some of the disappearances in town.

No one wanted to hear it though, most people didn’t even care the people were missing. Only the occasional wife, concerned how she would keep a roof over her head and food in her kid’s bellies with the man of the house gone. But other than that, no tears or chest beating for the missing men and women.

Which made him confident there were countless more unreported cases. Just because no one missed them, a crime is a crime.

But, no bodies, no blood, no crime scenes… he looked like he had lost the fucking plot to his colleagues.

The city didn’t want the bad press, not to mention the fact there was no actual crime to be reported. Someone up and left down? Okay, he was a wife beater? Probably left with his mistress. The cruel den mother of the home for unwanted kids? Her assistant takes the lead and she moves onto a new town to menace. Probably running from the people angry with her.

But he finally had something. Tommy was pimping out dancers, and even laid hands on one. Surely there was a man looking for revenge for that. Can’t knock around a man’s woman and have it go unanswered.

So he tried again to find the woman whose only name he knew was a moniker. Autumn Hind.

Every time Brady came to the theater, another excuse. You left early. You were on the roof smoking—- oh, you slipped out the back. Weekends were your off days, so that was useless.

“You’re obsessed.” Detective Freeman threw an eraser he’d picked off his pencil at Brady. He had seen the man devolve slowly over the past couple months.

“Thanks.” Brady was staring at his notes.

“Not a compliment, Kenny. Shit happens, people leave town. You’re acting like a handful of no shows are some conspiracy.” Freeman came to stand behind Brady, leaning over to read his notes, “How can you even read that chicken scratch?”

He clapped the notebook shut, “Every report was a person less than liked. What are the chances they all leave town in the middle of the night, last seen in the same general area?”

Freeman patted his shoulder, “Did you just ask me why a bunch of assholes,” he stood up and made a show of stretching out tired muscles, “who liked illegal hooch* and jazz with plenty of enemies disappeared?” (*booze)

Brady slapped his desk, “There! You said it! They had enemies. But what— what if they had one enemy in common. A bar manager or — or a,” he was still looking for that link.

“Kenny, the boogeyman isn’t roaming New Orleans killing people. If the higher ups don’t care, if the families don’t care, it doesn’t matter. Let it go.”

The sleep deprived detective sunk into his wooden chair, swiveling side to side anxiously, “Tommy’s mother cares.”

“Yeah well mom’s are famously bad judges of character.” Slipping on his jacket, he shot a worried look to his partner, “Ya gonna go home? Janet’s probably a mess. You’ve been keeping late hours.”

“Nah not yet. I gotta get to the theater before this dame goes ghost on me again.”

“Yikes, still? You’ve been chasing her for a while.” He was making a slow inching walk to the door.

“It’d be easier if I had some support. I gotta do this on my own time.” A deep sigh, well past the point of hiding his frustration with his colleagues and bosses. Freeman looked over the wrinkled shirt and wilted tie, evidence of a man losing his grip.

“Welp, good luck buddy. Hope you get to the bottom of whatever this is.” He gestured at the messy desk and disheveled man, “See ya tomorrow.”

Brady waved without looking up. His eyes were staring into the black leather of his notepad. Tommy was the only recent assumed victim with any real suspicion. The woman whose husband disappeared after going to see a show? Only enemy to him was her, and she wasn’t strong enough to take him down. Deadend.

Most recent, nice young man from up north. Went out for a good time, hoping to catch a little lady for some stress relief, according to his coworkers. Never showed up at work the next day. No one had a bad word to say about the man. Making him an outlier, but still. He was young, strong, soft spoken. Not an enemy in sight but no family to worry, either. Deadend.

But Tommy. Someone cared he was gone. He was in the jazz game, the drug dens, the illegal drink business, and had a heavy hand. He was the perfect bad man, right?

He looked across his desk. Bad men. The occasional unsavory woman. Maybe it was just their time. They pissed off the wrong people.

Or the wrong person.

Someone who worked downtown, someone into dance and drink, someone with nights free to do his work. Maybe a hired gun? No, some of these people didn’t have the money for that.

Plus, one person and so many missing? That would be unheard of, it’d be some kind of record for Louisiana.

A record Brady could claim.

When he entered the theater James, the manager who replaced Tommy, noticeably rolled his eyes, getting in front of the man. “It’s real bad for business to have a cop in here all the damn time. Come on, if you’re not here for a raid then could you be a little less obvious.”

Brady looked past him, “What do you mean?”

“You’re— what is it? What can I do for you?”

“Here again for Miss Autumn. Care to give her real name yet?”

“No can do. Ain’t my business to tell. She’s finished her set, asked to head home early.” Brady turned and kicked a chair over, a large man approaching behind the manager before seeing the hip badge and backing up. “Nah we’re not doing that. We’ve told her you’ve come by but she’s a busy lady. Several gigs here and there. Enough, you’re harassing the dancers now.”

With a snap, Brady had his finger in the manager’s face, “Whatcha gonna do? Call the cops?”

“She. Isn’t. Here. What the fuck do you want? For me to tie her up and bring her to your station?”

That’d be ideal.

A month, nearly. Coming once or twice a week to try and speak to you but every time he missed you. He was going to snap if he heard one more time you were gone. Maybe everyone was in on it. Maybe you werenin the back right now laughing at him.

Brady scanned the room, “Where’s she live?”

“How the fuck would I know— please, leave.” James gestured to the doors.

He lifted his badge up, waving it at the patrons seated closest to him, “Yall know it’s still illegal to partake-,”

“Jesus! Enough!” The manager pushed him back, flashing an apologetic smile to the guests, “She moonlights Sundays at The Dime near the park on 5th, singing for a friend. That’s all I got about her life off stage. Will you fucking go?”

The detective perked up, “See, was that so hard?”

Finally, he could feel his fingers grasp the shifting shadow that was his only lead.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“I never said sorry.”

You turned your head, not expecting him to say something serious. Waiting, he didn’t add explanation. Sorry? What had he done… ran out of milk? Forgot to bring in the towels before it rained last week? A quick search of your memory yielded nothing.

“For what?”

He was staring off in front of him. “For putting you in danger before. In the park. I am sincerely sorry.”

You’d somehow almost forgotten. It’d been weeks. Every bad feeling that night had brought you had been carried away by good morning kisses and gentle words before sleep. Nearly every night was spent in his bed, Alastor dropping you off at your apartment when he went downtown for work. The incident in the park was a different lifetime already.

Had he really put you in danger? Or had you rushed into the danger of his hobby to feel closer to him?

“I put myself in that situation. You didn't throw me at that guy. I don’t do a damn thing I don’t want to do. You should have learned that by now.”

Tough act for a woman who jumped up to pour some man’s coffee.

You shook your head, you had to stop equating doting on Alastor as a show of weakness. It wasn’t. Even if admitting that meant admitting you were wrong.

But he had put you in danger’s way, he knew it. “No, you wouldn’t have ever been in that situation if it wasn’t for me.”

Your laughter bounced off the car windows, “Alastor, you met me getting choked to death by a strange man. People will always make dangerous situations for women to be in. Don’t act like you’re special.” A sly smile to ease his anxious heart. “I’d rather be in danger for you than just because I’m a woman. If it’s gonna happen anyway, might as well be worth something.”

His hand slipped onto your thigh, expression softening before his own smile grew again, “Don’t lie to my face so easily. I am very special, we can all agree.”

You looked around, the two of you alone in his car on a side street, “All? You know the trunk is still empty, right?”

“Oh, is that so? You’re quite dangerous yourself, I nearly forgot why we were here.” He patted his pockets to make sure he had what he needed. “When I give you a wave, back up to me, okay? Don’t leave the car. Just drive off if-,”

You kissed his cheek, “Shut it. Not a chance. Go give em hell, baby.”

Alastor crumpled against his steering wheel momentarily, your words cutting his heart open in a most wonderful way. He could never have predicted getting kisses before beginning his dark work. What had he done to deserve this? Perhaps proof someone in hell was in full support of his actions. Straightening his back and checking his hair and glasses in the mirror, he flashed you a smile before slipping out of the car.

When Alastor said he was ready to begin killing again, you were a mix of excited and scared. Excited for normalcy to return but scared of the dangers presented there in. You’d been dodging the blue eyed detective for a while already, and moving forward meant possibly making mistakes he could grab a hold of. Not mentioning the risk of someone hurting Alastor again…but for your part in everything, you and Alastor found a compromise.

A deal had been made. You’d stay in the car and bring it to him when he was done. He had asked you flee if something went wrong but you both knew that wasn’t going to happen. Crawling into the driver’s seat, you tried to remember what he had taught you. How to get it started up, how to make it go backwards. How to make it go, in general. You’d never driven a car. Well, not until Alastor insisted on teaching you. Driving up and down the long stretch of road he lived on, Alastor white knuckling the door handle as you jerked the car forward with every failed shift. You had started on his land, but he feared for his home's safety with you behind the wheel.

Your hands slipped down the steeling wheel, big and round. Your mother would’ve had a hoot had she seen you in the driver’s seat. Clearing your throat, you leaned into the back of the car and double checked the canvas was properly secured.

Another man tonight. The few times you’d both gone out for leisure, having preferred to spend time alone at home, Alastor had gotten gossip that piqued his interest.

You remembered the way the woman’s hand touched his arm when she leaned in. “You didn’t hear it from me but it’s best to avoid French Study on Thursdays. Real piece of work slipping something in drinks and robbing people.” He reported what she had said back to you. It’d panicked you, realizing you were closer to being on Alastor’s list than you’d realized.

“No, the issue isn’t the stealin’. It’s what he does with the people with,” he had been delicate as he said it, taking another long sip of whiskey, “other things of value. And the fact this man has no need to steal. It’s ridiculous! His family has been land ownin’ and well off for generations.” Alastor was always impassioned when discussing the things he hated, even when slipping into drunkenness. His accent came through when he had too much to drink, his real accent. The accent his mother had. “You robbed men for power balance, for their assumptions you were easy to manipulate to begin with. He? Uh, Him? He’s just a piece of shit. He thinks he’s better than everyone else. And no one would report him ‘cause his family name.”

His drink spilled a little, when you had offered to clean it he just slipped the button up off. He lost his usual classy air as the bottle emptied. Which you actually liked.

The benefits of drinking on his back porch was no need to worry about decorum. Music was softly spilling from the open window behind you, Alastor’s prized record cabinet spinning the newest presses.

“It’s like there’s a little bug under my skin,” he wiggled his fingers over his sternum, “It’s gonna dig into my bones if I don’t cut it out.”

Despite your own drunkenness, you nodded and followed along, “So, ya gonna kill ‘em?”

Alastor pouted, making you snort, “I don’t want to think about that right now.” He enunciated every word clearly in his practiced and professional voice.

You’d ended the evening playfully arguing the merits of prohibition on the jazz scene and watching Alastor dance around the wrap around porch. But the conversation hadn’t ended for him.

Little hints he was still focused on it popped up over the following week. Alastor randomly asking you how it felt to be drugged, did you wake up in pain? Embarrassed? Scared? You caught him staring at the greenhouse from the window one morning, lost in thought. Before he had finally said he wanted to go out again, you understanding what that meant, you’d seen him turning a dinner knife over and over in his hand impatiently.

And now here you were. In the car beside a park late Thursday, Alastor having done some scouting while you’d finished up early at the theater.

It took hours. Which was good, it meant Alastor wasn’t rushing. He liked the stalking aspect of killing, of watching someone from across a room knowing exactly how their night would end. And as that man whose name would soon be buried with him alternated smiling and barking orders at staff, Alastor felt his stomach flutter. Like watching a slab of meat slowly turn over the fire. The crueler he was, the worse he acted, the more Alastor found his fingers tapping on the bar with anticipation. Perfect. Damn yourself more. No fake smiles or double faces, no, people like him didn’t even try to play the game others were forced into. Born with money and land already theirs, they didn’t even know the rules.

But Alastor did. Alastor mastered them at the tender age of 14. When he realized his father’s features were a shield. His mother’s lessons on manners and charm his weapons. The first time he was in mixed company, when someone leaned in and whispered a cruel “prank” he had planned for a young dark skinned woman on the other side of the room, he understood. They pulled back and smiled at him, and he managed to muster one of his own. Just smile, they’d take it to mean whatever they wanted it to mean because they thought he was of the same mindset. They assumed it. Like so many other things people would assume about him as he grew.

When he told his mother the story after getting home, she shook her head. When he had asked her what he should have done, she set down her book.

“Well, I’d love to say you should have stood up for her. But I’d also like to have my son above ground.”

He asked her why she couldn’t have both.

“Sweetheart, we don’t usually get the choice to do either, let alone both.”

He offered a solution, after a moment of thinking, “I shoulda buried him first then.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice if that was how the world worked?” She returned to her book, “If God just struck em down dead as soon as they hurt people. Better yet, before.”

It would be nice. It was nice. Because Alastor couldn’t wait for God to make the world his mother mentioned. He grinned ear to ear, gloves a second skin, as the man crawled backwards in the grass like an animal cornered. His heart was pounding in his ears. Where to cut first? The gut, his family fat and soft from the money they made off the labor of others? The pale neck of a man who never spent a day outside, instead indoors drugging strangers for sport? The chest covered in a fine cotton shirt he didn’t appreciate?

He wished he had many arms, as many as he could imagine, to slash and tear in tandem.

“What do you want? Money?” the animal asked him.

Alastor shook his head no. No, he didn’t want money.

“Do you know who I am?”

Alastor nodded. “That is precisely why I am here.”

Would he beg? Cry? Bargain? Experience told him it’d be the latter.

“Alright well, if you know who I am you know you’re making a mistake. Here.” The man opened his wallet and pulled out a few greenbacks, holding them out for Alastor. Alastor’s smile softened slightly, remembering tossing you a wallet once before.

He reached down with his left hand to take the money, but instead grabbed the man’s wrist. Swiftly, quicker than the man could process, he took the knife tucked into his belt behind his vest and stabbed the man in the stomach.

Staring into his eyes, he could see his own image looking back at him. Smiling.

Alastor grabbed your face with both wrists, hands bloody and one still holding the knife, and kissed you when he’d flagged you down.

“Is this for bringing the car around without running you over?” Your eyes glanced at the knife beside your head. He apologized, tossing it into the trunk.

“No, just happy to see you.” A mischievous grin that made your knees weak, his body shimmied closer until he was pressed against you, stealing another kiss. His arms stretched out to keep from bloodying you. Your fingers slid up his cheeks to return the kiss. “Thank you, dear.”

When you returned home, to his home, that is, you took to task bringing in the laundry he’d left on the line and putting away the things still on the counters from breakfast. You couldn’t resist going to the second floor room and looking down into the greenhouse. You couldn’t see perfectly well, but you could see nonetheless. Alastor didn’t want you in the greenhouse yet when he was working. He said it was the ugliest parts, the kind that would sure give you nightmares or rob you of your appetite.

Considerate. But, it only made you more curious. Would you be sick if you saw? Would you never eat meat again?

What would you do if you didn’t have any reaction at all?

You watched Alastor leave the greenhouse and lock the door behind him, so you hopped down the stairs to meet him in the hall beside the kitchen.

He’d been sweating, shirt open to reveal a thin white undershirt, and under his arm was a canvas roll. He lifted it up, “Tools. Rinsed them off but I’d like to dry them under the electric lights.” You grabbed the aprons from the wall hooks, Alastor letting you slip it over his head and tie it for him. “Why so tight?”

“I like the way it makes your waist look.” You’d seen him wear it when making biscuits. It made his shape so clear. It reminded you of watching water drip down his sides and roll off his hips in the shower.

He beamed, “I’m listening. What exactly do you like about my waist?” Sharp brows raised as that friendly tongue peeked out at you.

“Hush.” You cooed.

You stood on the long side of the table, him at the short, and took turns wiping the tools dry and checking the other’s work.

As he grabbed each one he would tell you what he used it for. Holding up the garden shears and explaining the point along the blade that had the strongest force. The advantage of curved pruning blades when used on a human body. His eyes were gleaming as he spoke, looking so lovingly at each item like it was a loyal pet.

He finally noticed you were grinning and chuckling softly, so he dropped his smile for dramatic effect, “What? What’s so funny?”

Shaking your head, you set down the next item for him to inspect, “Nothing. You’re just so cute when you’re talking about your passions. Your face lights up from the inside out.”

His breath hitched, smile actually lost as he processed every syllable. Your turn now to notice him staring as you looked up from your work. You recognized that look though, the wide eyes and serious lips. The air of the kitchen felt like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm rolled in.

Alastor set the tools back onto the canvas one by one and carried them to the counter. Before returning he picked up a small knife and set it near the edge of the table.

“Come here.” He nodded his head to space in front of him. The way he said it, that tone, made your heart begin to skip beats.

You slid between him and the table, Alastor lifting you up with a startling ease and setting you onto cool wood. Kicking your legs a little, you set nervous hands onto your lap. You wanted to touch him. To pull him by the apron straps into you.

“How do you always say the right things?” He closed the distance between you, one hand on your neck while his mouth came to your ear. “The things I didn’t know I wanted to hear?”

Swimming. Your mind was swimming. “Why is your idea of right the same as my idea of the truth?” You could feel the grin. Sighing into your ear, down your neck, his hands grabbed your hips and pulled you off the table enough to press your core into his clothed erection. Even through his pants and the apron, you could feel him clearly. When did he get so hard? You always wondered in those moments if it was the topic of discussion. Or the knives. Or your need. Biting your lip wasn’t a thought out action, but Alastor loved to see it. Rolling his hips into you in response.

“Wanna go upstairs?” you asked.

He shook his head, slipping off his glasses.

“Oh no, don’t even wanna see me?” You teased, but firm hands held you tighter to him in response.

“I won’t be letting you get far enough away from me for that to be a problem.”

When he leaned down and his lips so very gently pressed into yours, you could feel it. That missing something from before. It was in the air, it was rolling off of his body and dampening your senses. A desire, a drive that you felt that first time you had sex with him in that apartment above the theater. A motivation that was lacking last time in his bed.

His eyes were staring down into yours, waiting for your response. Eagerly you replied by chasing his mouth with yours. A chain of kisses as you tried to ever remember enjoying kissing another person as much as him.

Not a single soul. Why did it feel like this was all you ever needed? Eyes closed and lips on lips, hands in his hair, it felt like you’d been holding your breath all of your life. His body on yours was a gasp of air.

For Alastor, he couldn’t even think of breathing when around you. Let alone when your mouth was on him. Every time you touched him all he could think about was the word ‘affection’.

So when your tongue swiped up his lips, he moaned as he opened for you. Not because he was new to kissing someone with so much lust. He’d grown accustomed to the things you did to him. No, because you were a fever that had taken hold of him and your kiss the medicine that soothed his delirium.

He wondered, was that why people called it ‘love sick’?

“You really like me, don’t you?” He asked, nose sliding up your jaw.

An opportunity presented to you. A chance to spill over the edges.

You pushed it away, legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him closer.

“Something like that, yeah.”

His hands pressed flat against the table to balance the deep roll of his hips against you. One of your own fell behind you to keep from falling backwards, the other flung over his shoulder. When you moaned into his cheek he captured the sound with his mouth and slipped his tongue back into you.

You liked him. He’d known people to love and not like their partner an ounce, but the way you appreciated his quirks made his heart sing in its brittle cage. You never ceased to see him. The issue with always putting on a show is people tend to be disappointed when the actors become human again. But you never met his persona. He was knife wielding, bloodlusting Alastor from the first word. So when he was himself, you recognized him clearly. Because he was all you ever knew.

And you liked him

You appreciated him.

He dared to think maybe he could inspire more from you. A thought that made him twitch below the belt.

Closer. He needed you closer. He needed you so near to him that he’d never forget the feeling of being wanted. It’d be imprinted on his chest and his arms and his lips.

Impatient hands slipping up your sides, along your neck, down your chest. His greedy mouth suddenly understanding the same greed he once marveled at in your own kisses. Hot tongue sliding over yours, delving deeper into you with every return.

When his hands seemed to come to an agreement, they yanked you forward again. You’d fall off ass-first if he pulled you any further.

You watched with only slight horror has he grabbed the small knife and hiked up your dress in tandem. A gulp, worried the other shoe had finally dropped on a too-good situation.

“Are you particularly attached to these panties?” His eyes were looking up and over his glasses.

“No?” Did you really need panties, you wondered. Ever? Girdles we’re falling out of fashion perhaps you’d all be naked again soon enough. Maybe you two could start another Eden. A pomegranate’s juice the new red staining his skin.

Not even a tremble, his hands lifted each side and sliced them free.

“Oh?” You didn’t have a real question in mind when he tucked the panties into his back pocket. Just a need to express you saw it and didn’t understand it.

Alastor took your hand and pressed it against his hardened length, eyes locked onto yours with a sharpness to them. But when your hand took hold of him and squeezed, everything softened in his features. Funny how where one area grew stiff another melted.

He rolled his eyes closed as you finally undid his belt and pants. A struggle you didn’t see, Alastor trying to keep from pouncing on you like a horny virgin. He didn’t want to rut into you, he didn’t need the pleasure. He needed something he couldn’t see or explain. He just knew you held it behind your teeth.

When your skin pressed into his and you both moaned together he was sure you were the same. One person, split into insufficient parts. Finally lined up flush in place.

When you circled your hips against his aching cock, he wondered what you were chasing after. Was it the pleasure? He’d give it to you in spades.

He was on his knees with his face between your legs before you could close your thighs in surprise.

You needed both hands now to keep from falling back onto the table. “Alastor,” a whine.

He knew better than to talk with his mouth full, so he let two fingers work their way into you with shallow thrusts. Easing you open for him.

“Yes?” His eyes didn’t leave his fingers, glistening under the kitchen light. You hadn't thought much ahead past his name, once his fingers were in you and curling up to find your spongy and soft bundle of nerves your mind had gone empty.

“We can just fuck, if you’re horny.” You watched him watching himself.

“Where’s the fun in that?” His mouth returned to your mound, broad tongue forming a point and finding your clit.

A lazy moving tongue would be frustrating if not for his fingers punishing your g-spot. Consistency was key, and his hand was focused and skilled.

Suddenly you remembered the piano in the sitting room. That’s where you knew that movement from. That clearly practiced muscle memory.

Alastor felt confident everywhere but rarely did he feel comfortable. When your thighs came together and squeezed him at the ears, he felt positively cozy. Would you be so kind as to be his ear muffs come winter? He’d have to remember to ask when his mouth was free. How many cold nights he could now rest assured he would have warmth just a little dive of his head away.

Lowering his mouth, nose buried in your muff, he wriggled his tongue in with his fingers. Not enough, rarely was anything enough any more. He stilled his hand and prodded at your sensitive walls with that intrusive tongue, relishing the little movements you made in response. Taking his digits out entirely, he buried his wet muscle as deeply as he could reach.

The huffs of exhales you were making triggered a moan from him that you felt through your skin. His enjoyment was tripling your pleasure.

Goosebumps ran up your arms at the combine sensations of his moaning and prodding.

When his lips and tongue returned to their uneven teasing of your clit, three fingers now swiping past your inner spot with every thrust, your hands came to his head. Fingers slipping through his hair and gripping every time your body shook. Encouragement, the more you tugged the surer he was he was doing the right things.

And oh, he was. You said the right things but Alastor always seemed to act on them. Your senses lodged themselves between the even stroking of your g-spot and the unpredictable movements of his tongue. One kept the pressure rising as your orgasm climbed, the other pushed you along jolt by jolt.

Curious thing. That night in the park he didn’t have much reaction to your enjoyment, but he found himself not fully softening in his lap as he continued. Normally, unless still physically stimulated or the rare time you stirred something in him, he wasn’t very… battle ready.

But the feeling of you pulling him in by the head, fingers in his hair and thighs at his cheeks; this was different than the others. He was sure now it wasn’t just physical pleasure you wanted. His pride said it was more.

Dozens of times before— he truly was a rake in some aspects, though admittedly it was all in the pursuit of avoiding “sex”, as defined by most, not chasing it — he helped a date find release with his tongue. But it never did anything for him. They moaned and said his name and screamed. Which was lovely. Who doesn’t enjoy recognition?

When you said his name, it was heavier. It was material, it had mass and as its gravity began its pull he found his mind circling that sound. He was pleasing his darling, not placating. And it made him react in that unusually crass way.

He felt like an apex predator when killing, tearing open animals made for him to hunt. But you made him feel baser. Prey in your gentle bite.

As your orgasm mounted, you began tugging at his hair to pull him off. You didn’t need him to stop, but everything was suddenly too sensitive. It was alarming to feel your body rocking from overstimulation. A strident cry filled the kitchen as your back arched off the table. He didn’t let up, despite how much you thrashed under his mouth. Rolling pleasure, muscles electrified and shaking beyond your control.

You patted his head harshly, “Good, I’m good. Alas—tor! Fuck!”

Ah, he loved when you swore. It punctuated your otherwise preternatural aura with a touch of humanity.

He stood and leaned over your now reclining body. Your pussy still clenching and legs shaking as he admired his work. You admired his shape in his apron, his broad shoulders and sharp eyes. Caught between your legs like a lion in a mouse trap; he acted like he had no way free of you. His grin widened and he made a display out of licking each finger clean. Eyes never leaving yours.

You knew many men to squawk at going down on a woman. To balk at wearing an apron. To grimace at the suggestion of cooking a meal while their lady took a nice bath or enjoyed a coffee. Alastor seemed to not think twice about any of it. How nice it would be. To have a partner beside you, to not be the woman in the often referenced “behind every great man is a great woman.”

“Alastor, I want you.” You pulled him down by the neck and stole a kiss. When he began to stroke himself fully back to life you pressed that hand to his chest. “Not like that. Though I’m not declining the offer.”

His eyes saw something in yours. “Sweetheart, you have me. There is no part of me that isn’t possessed by you. I know we keep things relatively… tightlipped for safety but I’m your fella and you’re my gal.” His nose touched yours. “But if you want more, I’ll become more. I’ll break myself apart and make myself better.”

Your heart sank. Sitting up to command a little authority, a feat given you were sitting panty-less on a kitchen table, “Don’t you dare. I’ll always meet you where you are, got it? Don’t go… groping around in the darkness for me; trying to find what I need. I’ll always come to you. Because you’re more than enough as you are.”

A little cough to clear his tightening throat, “I’ve not had a day of darkness since you arrived.” A kiss to your forehead before a soft thumbpad wiped at the corner of your eye. “Did I make you sad?”

You wanted to say it. But not now, not like this. You didn’t want Alastor to connect love and sex. To think one was necessary for the other.

While you were coming to learn how lovely it was to pair the two together, it was a fact they were wholly independent things. And you couldn’t allow him to think they were a set.

“You’ve made me too happy. It’s absolutely terrifying.”

But Alastor had found your expressions of acceptance always tumbled the circle of Love to overlap with that of Sex. It was only in that mixed space did he find desire in pleasure.

A wicked smirk, “Let me pile on my affections and drown out your fears.” His hips rolled into you again, a surprising eagerness returned to his lap. “Can I continue?”

With a nod and a smile, “But not another word of change, buster.” You leaned back on your hand for support. Alastor was happy to return to your heat, lining up and sinking into you. An embrace like no other, one he found particularly earnest when with you.

Close. Finally. You began where he ended, a natural extension of who he was and who he could be. The things he could have. A relieved sigh he didn’t try to hide before he began moving, a moment when his tension could melt. You were both an unseasonably warm autumn day and the cool comforting shade of an unfamiliar tree. Both the heat and the relief.

He watched your body rock against the table, even fully dressed you managed to look more scandalous than any show he’d seen downtown. He was grateful he didn’t seek this comfort often in others, the way his mind melted made him feel vulnerable. He couldn’t think straight. And then you began to make those lovely little groans, high pitched and needy, and he was sure his soul was errant.

As his thrusts deepened, cock no longer kissing your cervix but ramming into you with good intentions, you dropped back as you lost the battle against his hips.

Alastor’s arms slid up our waist and pulled your arms towards him, “Too far, I can’t see your face.”

Your arms were slung over his shoulders as your back curved for him, “You don’t need to see my face.”

“Tsk, wrong.”

Your new favorite place was right in front of him, wherever his line of sight was you wanted to be in it. Nose to nose, heads tilting to recapture soft lips and softer moans.

Until the softness left, Alastor’s skin slapping against yours as he dragged those lovely sounds from you. He watched your eyes roll closed, mouth open as you moaned with the safety of the seclusion of a country home. A thought bubbled up, inspired by you.

“I want the neighbors to hear you.” That smile half cocked across his upsettingly handsome face. His hand slipped between you both to repeat the motions he learned before. Hard and fast, no choice but to raise your voice.

Your head fell back, clit still sensitive, “You don’t have neighbors!” A new moan hitting the walls.

“I do— just a few miles down the road, dear.” His mouth latched onto your neck but he didn’t suck like he wanted, he couldn’t bite. Your skin was your job, your body not his to mark. Suddenly he remembered, “Do you still have that make up? For your bruises?”

You couldn’t understand why he would bring that up while balls deep in you but you nodded.

“Would it work on your neck?” He nipped lightly.

It clicked, “Absolutely.”

You felt like a teenager again. When his tongue swiped over your soft flesh before he began to suck on the skin there you could feel the heat rising off your chest. You could feel him everywhere, and with the knowledge he wanted to hear you, you tossed your shame out of the kitchen window and relaxed into the pleasure.

As he moved up your neck he left little marks behind. There was no sense left you didn’t occupy. He could smell the soap and sweat of your skin, taste your cunt still on his tongue, your sights and sounds a decadence he couldn’t get used to. And the feeling of you… velvety walls, a feeling finer than silk as he slipped in and out of you. So incredibly hot on his most sensitive areas, pulling him back in with admirable strength.

He felt his orgasm ratcheting up but tried to hold back. He wanted more time to experience your ecstasy, to wallow in your openness. Even pressed skin to skin now wouldn’t satisfy that deep desire for this unique level of intimacy. So he wanted to enjoy it for as long as he had it.

But, he knew he should prepare. “I don’t want to dirty your dress.” A lust heavy voice penetrating the nap of your neck. He’d made a risky release before at your urging, something he often thought about when work got quiet. But he knew he needed to think clearer now.

“Then don’t.” A terrible reply but you wanted all of him, every drop of his hunger for you. “Keep the mess in me.”

“My dear,” he slowed his hips, autopilot keeping them moving at all, “I don’t think now is the time for,” you tightened around him to trip him up, which worked spectacularly. Alastor had take several seconds before continuing, “talks on family planning.”

A pang of nausea and fear, small and sharp in your abdomen. It wasn’t that you weren’t aware of biology, just that Alastor brought out your baser animal instincts, too. And before, when he came buried as deeply as he could reach, it felt like you’d actually completed some ritual. Bears hibernated, birds migrated, Alastor came in you.

You’d never let a man do that before Alastor. “I just want to… accept everything you are willing to give me.”

He bit his bottom lip to redirect some attention away from his now throbbing member, “And when you’re sure on me, I’ll always provide.”

A pout that he kissed, you accepted the terms. An argument could be made you were already very sure, but you were well aware how naive that sounded when you’d known each other for so little time. Had a coworker told you she’d met a guy and within three months was ready for… the consequences, you’d have laughed and asked if she was drunk or just stupid.

Alastor wanted to provide. But he knew you’d be the one with the raw end of the deal, he couldn’t risk coercing a decision in the heat of the moment. If your mind was half was addled as his with pleasure then you were in no state for big decisions.

Life changing decisions.

Decisions that filled empty homes.

Fuck, why wasn’t he a less considerate man?

When his kiss deepened, so did his ministrations. He was fully sheathed and so unwilling to draw back more than a couple inches you wondered if he had changed his mind. It felt like a man not wanting to stray too far from home. One hand on the small of your back, his other other on the back of your neck. When he pulled out he pressed his tongue further, only stopping the kiss when he came onto the little space of table between your thighs. Soft and swollen lips parted as his breaths ran ragged. A smile spread across your face as you watched his eyes open, witnessing a pleasured blow out of his pupils.

When he grabbed a kitchen towel and cleaned the table, you chuckled at his grimace. “See? My way is cleaner.”

He didn’t reply at first, taking the cloth and hovering over the sink before tossing it into his trash. “Only in the short term. We can finish up tomorrow with the tools?”

Your legs kicked again, not ready to slide off, “Mm, it’ll be easier in the daylight.”

“Instead,” he zipped his pants but removed the belt and set it on the counter, “Let’s get zozzled* and sway around the sitting room? Crash where we land.” (*drunk)

“I’ll pour if you get the music on.”

He turned to leave but paused, “No, I’ll handle the drinks. You always have too heavy of a hand.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining last time…”

“I’m not sure I remembered I was at home and not at a drum* last time…,” He uncorked the label-less whiskey, grabbing two glasses with one hand. “Didn’t wanna insult the pretty waitress.” (*speakeasy)

Fair. You weren’t much for drinking and always underestimated the strength of illegal hooch. Some were weak and some could kill you. But fancy Alastor had connections with the kind of people no one dared to risk harm to, so he always had the most trustworthy goods.

Good music, great whiskey, and even better company. You thanked him for being safe while working, he praised your ability to learn new skills so quickly. After a few drinks he pushed the coffee table against the wall and you drunkenly swayed around the room to something playing smooth and low. As much as you enjoyed your conversations, having your head tucked under his chin as neither of you said a word somehow filled in the little cracks of your heart more so than any talk. For him too. No tension after sex, no stress of how long he’d get to breathe before the next instance of prodding to do it again. He could smile and close his eyes and feel the room swing and sway in total safety.

A safety neither of you knew was being threatened from afar.

When you woke, Alastor was gone. A note on the table letting you know he’d run out to grab some things for breakfast. Telling you to relax and recover.

You put the furniture back, bringing the glasses to the kitchen and his belt to the bedroom.

Coffee and a slow perusal of his home. Intimate details you tried to not stare at when he was there. The rare photo of his mother, a woman you didn’t speak about, a conversation you didn’t need to have, but someone you knew existed fondly still in his life. A silent thank you to her.

No photos of a man to give thanks to you so you turned to the little curios and mementos.

Little seashells and sand dollars, a small gator’s skull. Books, about anatomy and history. Novels about crime and love and mystery. Ticket stubs for films he’d seen. Little bits of his mother scattered in. A woman’s necklace. A chatelaine* with all of the accessories and tools. (*wikipedia page)

When you felt you’d spied enough, you crawled into his side of the bed and inhaled as deeply as you could. His pillow smelled like him. You let yourself sleep off the hangover surrounded by pieces of Alastor.

Pieces you couldn’t contain. Pieces left around town as a dick* hunted for his personal monster. (*a detective, but also, a dick, fuck this dude?)

Beth, or Betty as you called her, the friend you often sang for, was cleaning up from the previous night when Brady walked in. She tried to tell him they were closed, but he took a seat at the counter anyway.

“I’m looking for a singer named Autumn. She been around lately?”

She paused, knowing the name was tied to your work. This man didn’t know you. “Whose asking?”

“The city of New Orleans”, he set his badge on the counter top.

“Is she in some kinda trouble?”

“She the kinda dame to get into trouble?”

Beth laughed, “She doesn’t try to but men, liquor, and jazz tend to make it happen. She’s okay, right?”

He took a deep sigh, trying to blink away the exhaustion and remember he needed to be someone strangers trusted. Being honest hadn’t been working and being rough barely got him a lead. “Well I was hoping you’d know. Found out someone roughed her up a bit ago and just wanting to make sure she’s okay. But I don’t have her legal name, no address, nothing to track her down.”

Shaking her head, she leaned onto the counter, “What? Some egg* forget it’s just a show?” Brady shrugged. “I can’t say. She hasn’t been by in a couple weeks.” (*man)

He asked why. Feeling the deadend approaching.

“She was just doing me a favor. Once she got a guy she didn’t have much time.”

Fighting the urge to slam his fists against the wood and sling his notebook across the bar, Brady took slow breaths. Jaw clenched as he grabbed his pencil, “That is wonderful news. Hopefully a fit guy who can… keep her safe.”

Beth laughed a little, “I don’t know about that. He’s kind of a daisy*, but real kind.” (*a non-masculine man)

“Could I get a name? Or her address? Wanna follow up. See for myself that she’s doing well.”

She tapped the bar with two fingers and winked, “Ah no can do. Flatfoot* or not, I don’t tell men where to find sleeping ladies. But her fella is in radio though. I recognized his voice right away. Popular too, really ritzy air about him.” (*cop, detective)

As he left, he slapped the notebook against his palm over and over. When he stopped to take a second to congratulate himself something caught his eye. Across the street was a park he knew well. Following the block and turning, he could see the white and green awning of the cafe he’d seen you at before.

Had he been there? He hadn’t questioned why you were alone on such a nice day. But maybe you weren’t. Maybe you’d been playing him from the start.

Enough games.

When you took the stage that evening, a Friday show with a promising crowd, you felt like solid gold. Alastor would be there to pick you up in a few hours, you had every need met. And now you had the adoration of strangers to pump up your chest.

Until you passed your come-hither eyes over the crowd and a striking ocean blue pair knocked the wind out of you.

James was standing behind Brady, mouthing an apology. You missed a beat in your routine but forced your smile back. It took a second, to slide back into the actress you were when away from Alastor. Every time it got harder and harder to fall back into that role but you managed. His eyes never left your face, and you thanked God your heaving chest could be seen as fatigue and not the sheer panic that had taken ahold of your body.

When you were on the other side of the curtain you considered rushing out the side door, into the alley and down the street. But you couldn’t. You’d successfully brushed him off for so long but now that he had seen you, had made it clear he was there for you, you couldn’t flee. Innocent people don’t hide from cops.

Feet dragging, you saw some of the dancers standing around the dressing room door. “He’s out of his gourd if he thinks I’m changing with him in there.” One said loud enough to ensure Brady heard. When you entered the room he was sitting at your make up table, legs spread and your shoes in his hands.

“There she is!” standing, he extended the shoes to you, “Don’t stare like a deer in the lights. I’m sure you knew I was coming. Slip these on, we’re going for a ride.” He gave them a shake, “You can call your mac* from the station and let him know you’ll be late.” (*man)

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

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carajilloplz · 4 months

Note

Omg can u write a fic abt Art Donaldson and Patrick trying to hit on foreign exchange student!reader, could end in fluff or smut

no bc this is literally my fantasy i’m an international student at a D1 tennis school IM GONNA GO FERAL. loosely based off of my experience with the cornell men’s tennis team but we’re not talking about that.

warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI, patrick x international student!tennis player!reader, this might be bad i wrote this over the course of like 3 days and changed the plot completely lol, smoking and drinking, oral!male and female receiving, facesitting, technically cheating? vague but everything is morally dubious with these three, unprotected p in v, hair pulling

uh enjoy ig i hope it's not too bad

Tashi? You’d known her since forever. You attended the same tennis camp when you were girls and never lost contact. Having played a few matches during Juniors, you stayed pretty close. So when you saw her on your match schedule for the upcoming month, you shot her a text saying you had to go out together when you were at Stanford for the weekend.

Your match rolled around and you were definitely focused. Winning meant you stayed at the top of your conference, which wasn’t the ATP ranking but it was still important to you. So you trained, and hard. You were a good player, quick on your feet, and the training paid off in your first doubles game that weekend. Before your game, you got to catch a wave and a smile from Tashi sitting in the stands, next to a mousy-looking blonde guy and a very cocky brunette. You noted that the brunette was more your type, but the blonde was cute enough. Must have been Tashi’s friends.

You started your match, extremely harmonious with your partner, and you swiftly caught every ball headed your way. From the stands, Art and Patrick were shamelessly throwing around comments as they saw the ball bounce back and forth.

“She has an insane serve. I heard she’s like a tennis prodigy in her country.” Art gushes, getting cut off by Patrick quickly with “I don’t know how you’re paying attention to her serve when she has such nice legs. I’d like to have those wrapped around my head soon.”

Winning the game 4-6, you were happy with the result.

You watched Tashi play her doubles match, flawlessly annihilating your teammates. When the time came for yours and Tashi’s match, you felt the playfully challenging energy in the air. Patrick and Art were at the edge of their seats, and as the game started they both were practically drooling at the match. They couldn’t decide whether to look at you, or Tashi, or the ball. Both you and Tashi were smoothly tearing each other to shreds, grunting and running around, you always catching the ball just in time.

“I don’t know how she’s doing it but I think she’s going to beat Tashi” Art mumbles, slumped into his seat as he switched his focus from the ball, to the way you moved, to your figure.

“I call dibs” replies Patrick. He was staring at you too, staring intently and admiring the way your arm smoothly hit the ball with a thwack in a way that threw Tashi off.

“Don’t do that to Tashi.” mumbled Art again, playfully hitting the brunette next to him. He didn’t even take his eyes off of you. He knew too damn well that Patrick could not care less, and didn’t know whether to feel for you or Tashi. Pat and Tashi had been having a rough time anyways, so it was really a matter of time before either of them caved.

Finishing the match, you and Tashi gave each other a friendly hug. You noticed that the two boys that had been sitting with Tashi were rushing down to congratulate the two of them.

“Great game, babe.” The brunette said, giving Tashi a small peck. You noticed that she didn’t really appreciate the gesture. The boy turned to you, “And this is?”

Tashi introduced you, explaining that you went to tennis camp together, the whole history. “And these two idiots are Art and Patrick.”

“Nice to meet you too, you guys play tennis?” you ask, intrigued but it was kind of obvious.

Art answers before Patrick can open his mouth— “Yeah, I play here at Stanford too, I’m just injured right now,” he says, pointing to his shoulder, which had muscle tape peeking from the sleeve of his shirt. “Pat’s just… there.”

“Hey! I play too, dipshit. I’m playing the Miami Open in a few weeks.”

Tashi was done with her games of the day, and said she’d be taking a short break. “I’m going to take a shower and heading to bars later, want to come?” She asks.”You can come and get ready in my dorm with me.” You nod in approval, following them as you headed to the locker rooms. Patrick and Tashi were walking together as he was clearly rambling about something that she was unfazed by.

“So they’re a thing huh?” you ask Art, who was walking next to you.

“Yeah I mean, he comes to visit every once in a while but I don’t think that they’ve quite put a label on it yet.” He answers quite honestly, “She’s a very focused person.”

“I know, that’s why it was strange to me that she was with somebody.”

Art nodded in understanding, “I know, I say the same thing and they’re surprisingly sticking it out.”

“Honestly I don’t know how she does it.” you admit. The few times you had been involved with someone it went to shit because of your schedule.

“What do you mean? I thought Tashi said you were dating someone.” Art asks, furrowing his brow.

“Oh no, I broke up with him forever ago, he was on my team before he had to stop playing because of an injury. He’s a full-on NARP now and that really got in the way.” You scoff slightly, laughing to yourself and shaking your head. “Doesn’t seem strange to me that Tash wouldn’t check my Facebook, I’ve deleted all my posts with him since.”

“Yeah she’s like that,” muses Art. “Lives in her own world and we’re all moons revolving around it.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

After changing in the locker rooms and staying to watch the rest of the singles games, you headed to your hotel to freshen up a little to head to Tashi’s and get ready.

Walking over to the dorm, you run into Patrick, already wearing what you assumed to be his bar clothes — some jeans, nikes, and a gray shirt that says ‘I told ya’.

“Hey Patrick, you heading to Tashi’s?” you say amicably, trying to strike conversation with your friend’s…? You don’t know what he was.

“Yeah, you?” he asks, pulling out a carton of cigarettes and lighting one. Pat sends the pack your way as an offering “Want one?”

“Yes please, and yeah, I’m getting ready at Tashi’s for tonight. She’d said we would go to bars?”

Patrick goes to light your cigarette and you two continue your walk towards the dorm. “I think you look gorgeous just like that, but to each their own.”

You roll your eyes and fill the rest of the walk with small talk, which to your relief was a relatively short walk so it didn’t get too awkward. As you headed into the elevator, you went to press the button and couldn’t remember what floor Tashi had mentioned. “On what floor does she live?” You ask, as the elevator comes to a close. You could feel his eyes on you. Looking back at him, you catch him staring and give him a questioning look.

“Patrick?”

“6th floor”

A moment of silence passes between you two. He, of course, breaks it. “Your accent is cute. I don’t know, it fits you.” Patrick is very clearly snaking his eyes up and down your figure, and you didn’t know whether you wanted to stop yourself. “You’re not from around here are y-”

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, Patrick, but you’re with my friend and that is not something I want to intrude in.” You snap. It felt a little mean but it’s not something you’d want to do to Tashi.

He snorts, laughing to himself and furrowing his brow, “I’m not with Tashi, if you haven’t noticed. She barely gives me the time of day unless she wants me to fuck her.”

You’re surprised at his statement, a little less so at his crass choice of words, but you realized that that’s the kind of person he was. Extremely conflicted with how to react, you noticed the lustful look in his eye and the little bite he gave the inside of his cheek. You couldn’t. You turned away and looked at the numbers of the floors go up excruciatingly slow. Pat hesitated, but at this point he had nothing to lose.

“If it raises the chances of you being interested in me, then no. For all intents and purposes I am not with Tashi.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Later that night, at some dingy college bar, both Patrick and Art were inquisitively leaning towards you and Tashi. You'd all had your fair share of drinks and there was something in the air, you didn't know what it was but it made you feel magnetic, especically towards Art and Patrick. You liked Art and everything, but you couldn’t help but notice how he would always be catching a look at Tash and sweeping in to mediate when she and Pat would begin a harmless spat. Patrick, on the other hand, had very much caught your eye. Something about him made you curious, maybe it was his nonchalance and light cockiness towards everything. But from your previous conversation, you now knew that he was clearly intrigued by you, leaning his head to the side like a confused puppy as he listened to you explain that you were an international student.

“Oh so you’re far far from home” He comments, “And you’re not from the US?”

“Don’t act too surprised Pat, a lot of international students come to US universities to play tennis.” you reply, “And yes, I’m pretty far from home”

He nods in understanding. “That’s cool, honestly. I’d love to visit and see what your country’s like.”

You smile back, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes and the liquid confidence taking over, “You can come anytime.”

Eventually, you and Patrick keep up the conversation, drinks flowing, and notice that Art and Tashi had disappeared, God knows where.

“Did they really leave us here?” Patrick asks, bewildered when he noticed that Art and Tashi were nowhere to be seen. You shrugged. “I mean, I don’t mind it to be honest. I had to head to my hotel so I would have been going back alone anyways.”

“I can’t let you do that, that’s dangerous.” Patrick said, quickly inserting himself as the hero of the situation. “I’ll take you to your hotel. Where are you staying?”

“Oh just at a Holiday Inn down the street.”

“No way! I’m staying in that one too,” he says. “C’mon I’ll walk you back.”

You don’t know if it was the drinks or the tension you still had from today’s game but somehow, you ended up making out with Patrick in the elevator on your way up to your room. Patrick’s lips clashed against yours, bringing you closely into his embrace as you two killed the time before getting to your room. You separated the kiss for a moment, looking Pat dead in the eye.

“Not a word to Tashi about this.”

“No worries baby, she wouldn’t even care. She’s probably busy doing Art right now. She prefers him.” he admits, shrugging unconcerned and leaning back in to kiss you.

Luckily, your room was one of the first ones accessible as you got out of the elevator, so you reached into your pocket as you both stumbled towards the door. You fumbled with the key for a moment as Pat left some kisses on your throat, lost in you and your every move.

Finally being able to open the door, you two connected in a kiss once more and clumsily moved towards the bed, clothes coming off sloppily. Bumping against the end of the bed, you and Patrick fall onto the soft and fluffy duvet, heavenly on your tired muscles, heightening the pleasurable sensations of Pat’s lips on yours.

His kisses were desperate, frantic, rushed, matching all the possible descriptive words for the way he was reaching at all of the grippable parts of you as he sloppily kissed you, teeth clashing. He was panting, and you were also desperately clawing at his t-shirt, moving your tongue against his and travelling your hands back into his hair. There was something about how the two of you just melded together, maybe fuelled by the underlying guilt of what you were doing, but also the insatiable need to blow off some fuckin’ steam.

You could feel how he was starting to grow hard in his jeans, starting to kiss your jaw and neck.

“Let me get on top, Patrick” you gasp, out of breath, pulling him back into the kiss and rolling over so you’re straddling him. He’s reaching up to you, grabbing your ass as you wrap your arms around his neck in order to keep him close. You start rolling your hips, bringing yourself to hit that sweet spot, easily accessible through under your skirt, and moaning into his mouth at the feeling. Gripping the edges of his shirt, he follows your lead of taking it off as you remove your top as well. For a moment he stops, slowly leaning back into his elbows, taking the sight of you squirming on top of him.

“Suck my dick.” He says, something so gluttonous yet pleading in his eyes. “Please.”

You look down at him, licking your bottom lip at the mere though of hearing his moans with your mouth on him. Nodding, slowly, you start kissing at his body, making your way down and occasionally looking back up at him. He’s got his head thrown back taking in the tenderness of your touch. You get to his jeans, tented up by his hard cock and start unbuckling his belt. Making your way through his layers, you reach into his jeans and start palming him, feeling how hard you had made him feel. You hear him moan shamelessly at this, saying your name and encouraging you to continue.

He starts pulling his jeans and underwear down, barely enough for you to be able to access his cock, which you grab in your hand and spit on, beginning to pleasure him. His moans are loud as you continue, licking his tip and sending him into a spiral, moaning a load of curses and your name. As you keep going, he starts tangling his hands in your hair and trying his best to get it out of your face.

“God, baby you look so good like that sucking my cock, fuck.” He groans, throwing his head back. You look up at him, and his blissed out expression just fuels you even more, his stomach muscles contracting and his eyes scrunching closed giving you more of a reason to keep bobbing your head up and down on his cock. You gag around him, your mouth already salivating and sloppy, and you went up to take a breath.

“Want to return the favor, Pat?” you ask, looking up at him through half-lidded, pleading eyes while you kept languidly stroking his cock. He took a single look at you and nodded.

“Yeah, of course baby,” he says as you sit up. “C’mon, get on me.”

You furrow your brow— “You want me to sit on your face?” You reply with a smirk, climbing up his body

He smirks back, “How else would I return the favor?” Pat leans in to give you one, long hard kiss, the taste of himself in your mouth making his dick twitch. “Can’t wait to taste ya, babe”

You giggle, straddling him as he moves backwards a little in order to reach under you. At the first contact his lips have with your throbbing pussy, you let out a surprised moan and you grip his hair. He grabs your hips, a strong grip pulling you down towards him and making you have to find support against the headboard.

“Fuck, Patrick that feels so good.” You moan, throwing your head back and leaning into his grip. You didn’t care if he suffocated right now, at this point what was of utmost importance was the pressure in your stomach building as he continued to run his tongue along your folds, taking his time to kiss at your sensitive clit. He really did know what he was doing.

“Patrick please, shit you’re gonna make me come.” He doesn’t budge, just pulls you closer and nods his head against you, speeding up his movements and making you a moaning mess, gripping at his hair and rocking your hips against his mouth to keep that momentum and buildup in your belly. Patrick clearly senses this, moving his tongue faster and more intensely.

“Cum, baby” you feel him mumble. Immediately at his words, you feel yourself snap and a rush of energy archs your back and makes you gush all over his face. He comes up, making you straddle him, and he smiles at you with his mouth still glistening with your release, looking voraciouslt at you.

“You have no idea what you do to me.”

Patrick brings you into a passionate kiss, once again sloppily coming together with him manouvering himself to be on top of you. All of your clothes had come off at some point, all of the contact had been so frantic, truly taking your mind off of everything else as you felt him on you. He was rock hard, still aroused from your blowjob, and he started nudging the tip of his cock on your entrance. You come back to your senses, pushing him away for a moment and giving him a look, which he quickly realized what it meant.

“Fuck I— I’ll just buy you a pill tomorrow.”

This was enough for you to give him a nod and make him start sliding inside you, letting out a heavy groan as he bottomed out. You let out a tense moan, grabbing at the bedsheets next to your head, and bringing your arms around his back as he began his thrusts, breathing hard into your neck, kissing it erratically between moans.

“You’re so tight, oh my God” He groans, picking up his pace, making you a moaning mess and pulling him closer to you. He was hitting a spot inside you that was bringing your orgasm back, the pressure in your belly building again as he roughly grabbed your hips. Patrick brought his lips back to yours, sloppily kissing you with tongue to shut your high-pitched whines up. “Don’t be too loud baby, your neighbors are going to complain.”

A solution clearly comes into his mind as he sits back and turns you around to be on all fours, the sudden force on you making you yelp as he pushed you down against the pillow. He teases his cockhead against your folds, then reaches down to speak wantonly into your ear. “Now you can be as loud as you want baby.”

At that, you melt in his touch and let out a long, languid moan at the feeling of him slipping into your cunt, sopping with your arousal and absorbing his hard thrusts. You scream into the pillow as the pressure in your core keeps building and his thrusts hit the right spot that send you into a delirium. Patrick is a moaning mess behind you, the obscene combination of sounds, skin against skin and pleasurable moans making him even more aroused. He’s harsh, pulling your hips to match his pace and you feel him reach up and pull your hair back, revealing your fucked out face to him. “Make me cum again, please Patrick.” you groan, rolling your eyes backwards in pleasure as he speeds up his thrusts, bringing you closer to your orgasm.

“Fuck, I’m going to come baby—” he moans, his thrusts made more erratic at the sensation of your cunt around him. You begin to feel yourself let go as he thrusts sloppily one, two, three more times and pulls out of you, coming all over your back. You collapse under him, and he kneels back to admire your gorgeous ass painted by his work. “Patrick, you better not tell Tashi about this.” He hears, mumbled tiredly from under your messed up hair. Shaking his head and rolling his eyes (because really, you were thinking about that now?), he gets off the bed, walking into your bathroom to grab a towel for your spent, cum-stained body.

a/n: hope u enjoyed ig !! took me forever lol but if you liked this would like to request some ideas you are more than welcome to !!

#patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson #patrick zweig smut #tashi duncan #challengers

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ticktokrobotsnot · 9 months

Text

Recreational

Pairing: Carmen Berzatto x fem!reader

Summary: Two chefs, one needs a distraction and the other needs anything but.

Word Count: ~11k

Notes: This one has been stuck in my drafts for almost 6 months, google docs was my editor so if you mention any grammar/spelling mistakes I'm gonna blame Google lol.

Y/n always had the idea that life never let her be too happy. And not to be unnecessarily pessimistic or ungrateful for the good things that happened in her life, but it was really only a matter of time before the other shoe dropped. To be completely honest, if she was remotely better at anything else or something else paid more, she wouldn’t have been a chef. She thought her career as a chef was the universe having a good laugh at her, making her a part of a culture so deeply rooted in making connections which she couldn't reciprocate.

“They aren’t your friends.” The lesson was so deeply ingrained into y/n’s psyche that it was impossible for her to even spare a simple congratulatory smile after finding out her co-worker had won a James Beard award a few years prior or give that same co-worker a nod of approval when he retained a star. They were at best two instruments in the same tool kit, easily replaceable to the other, and y/n wasn’t going to offer an olive branch.

The French Laundry’s kitchen had perfected the skill to make even the best chefs throw their thousand dollar knife in a huff and quit on the spot. The head chef was a maestro of pushing buttons, ensuring a constant undercurrent of tension that never reached extreme highs because, in that kitchen, there was never a low.

That was before y/n was hired. There were chefs with better referrals, more experience, were more likable but there was something in her that put her above the rest, she didn’t crack.

She didn’t flinch when the head chef lowered himself to her level, still towering over her, and told her that she didn’t deserve to be there in the middle of a dinner rush on her first week.

Carmen kept his head down, anticipating the impending sobs and sniffles. However, as moments of silence stretched on, he resisted the unseen force compelling him to remain bowed. Slowly lifting his gaze, he noticed her studying the head chef as if extracting more from his irises than his words. Her eyes then swept over the rest of the staff before locking onto Carmen's. There, in that shared glance, he sensed her silent inquiry, a question of whether he, the second in command with a James Beard award and a Michelin star, was a coward.

He bowed down, focusing on the plate in front of him and pretending to wipe a nonexistent splatter.

The silence echoed while the rest of the chefs continued to slice, dice, and stir not sparing a glance, this was nothing new. When the head chef figured that she wouldn’t say anything back, he sauntered over to his next victim. Carmen lifted his head one more time, there was nothing he could do to comfort her if she was a mess but he already knew which chef would have to take over for her while she sobbed in the freezer. He was met with her side profile, she was smirking.

For a brief moment it felt like Carmen finally got a good look at her since she had been hired a week ago. It took a few moments for Carmen to decipher her expression. She was unimpressed with him, the head chef, and the kitchen. It wasn’t possible to be unimpressed and here she was looking at everyone like she was a parent listening to the squabbles of an irritable child, it was different.

She was a dangerous person because her small stunt inspired him to do something he had never done in the French Laundry, roll his eyes when the head chef left after his criticism. It was a small taste of delicious, slippery, freedom that was bound to kill him later. The day ended and Carmen didn’t even notice that he was walking up to her until he was right in front of her.

Y/n was expecting an apology and Carmen was expecting an opening to start talking, something had to give but it was too raw to do that here. After one more glance, Carmen started parting his lips but y/n slipped right past him and walked out.

They aren’t your friends.

Y/n had many aspirations growing up: pop-star, astronaut, scientist, and ice-cream vendor. As she got older the list matured, and consequently shortened. It didn't take much for her to enroll in culinary school, a decision made almost impulsively.

In the busy kitchen, amid clattering pots and the aromatic dance of ingredients, she watched chefs passionately invest themselves in each dish. She had heard stories from her colleagues, the heartfelt narratives that bound them to their culinary journey, and she couldn't help but feel a pang of shame that she couldn’t reciprocate. Her presence in the kitchen wasn't driven by sentimental attachments to food; she was here for a paycheck, a stark contrast to the fervor surrounding her. As she navigated the world of flavors and aromas, she grappled with the solitude of her own motivations, wondering if there was space for her in a profession driven by love, memories, and a deep connection to the culinary craft.

Unable to reciprocate the profound connections others sought, a sense of bitterness and unrest festered within her. Her internal conflict wasn't born out of disdain for those more accomplished; instead, it stemmed from a profound inability to fathom the emotional intricacies that seemed to drive others but couldn’t seem to reach her.

Y/n didn’t allow herself to confront a nuanced flaw—projecting her perception of routine loneliness onto the world, all while unconsciously imposing a self-isolation rooted in a complex interplay of guardedness and yearning for genuine connection. She kept herself busy by watching, judging, others in the hopes that eventually she would see something that clicked.

Y/n spent the next few years in relative ease even if every single soul in the French Laundry were a bunch of battered devotees, who regularly got verbally and emotionally beaten black and blue, but still came crawling back. It was almost humorous to watch all the chefs line up to leave and look like they just had their soul siphoned out from their puckered assholes.

Carmen felt like a cautionary tale to her, never getting too involved. He had crafted his own prison cell, a second in command with no real power, no life outside of work, and y/n bet he told himself that this was his peak. His self created pathetic life was so intensely interesting to y/n that she resisted asking about his life so she never made the same mistakes. But the way his focus scattered across the kitchen told her that he didn’t know why he was like this either.

He didn’t come to work on a Friday, which was a bit of a shock, and it rippled when she walked in on some janitor emptying his locker a few days later, and just like that, Carmen was gone from her life.

Months went by and by then y/n had completely forgotten about the chef that wasn’t strong enough until she saw browsing a food blog, and she found a name that she thought she would never see again. A post about a restaurant in Chicago that had served yet another "dish to die for". She refreshed the page a few more times, wondering if this was someone with a similar name but after a bit of sleuthing, a slightly blurry google review photo, it was undeniable, Carmen was indeed in Chicago.

They shared certain similarities—they had comparable resumes, education, and paychecks. Given the exorbitant rents in New York, it was likely that their living expenses were almost identical. They were both engulfed in the demanding world of cooking, leaving little time for anything else. Yet, despite these parallels, a puzzling question lingered: why did Carmen have the financial freedom to make a spontaneous departure, a luxury y/n had yearned for but couldn't grasp for years?

Y/n wished that she felt that pulling force, like seeing a familiar face after a long time bloomed an ache in her heart. She spent a few moments trying to will her heart string to pull but she was unsuccessful. She was looking for a reason to leave the French Laundry and she was hoping that Carmen’s scribble tattoos, wavy hair, nauseatingly blue eyes would make a path for her to escape, or at least reveal what gave him that final push.

She liked the restaurant that she used to work at, a local hotspot that was known for its penne alla vodka and other vaguely Italian dishes. Over there she was the hotshot young chef freshly graduating from the CIA and was leagues above anyone else. No one towered over her asking if she knew what she was doing, no one ever asked her if she remembered to stir the roux, or if she was an assistant. The only reason she left was because her student debt was closing in and she was exhausted from constantly debating if she should buy a replacement for her shitty knife or groceries for the month. Being poor was so tiring that y/n caved when someone came in with a job offer. As much as she hated the French Laundry it graced her with a different type of freedom, the freedom to not worry about if she could afford to survive.

She waited till The Beef closed to give them a call, and unsurprisingly someone picked up with a heavy sigh, “ We are closed.” and then hung up. Y/n dialed again, “I need to speak to Berzatto.”

“Yo Cousin, some chick is looking for you.” A muffled, we’re closed, was heard but y/n insisted.

“We worked together in the French L-.”

“She says she’s French or something.” And before y/n could correct, Carmen was handed the phone.

“The fuck do you mean French?” Still arguing with the guy with a gruff voice.

“Maybe it's a "pro" you sobbed in front of in France, you virgin. I don’t know your fucking life.”

“French Laundry.” Y/n interrupted and just like that Carmen was glued to the phone.

“Y/n?” Y/n ignored that he was able to recognize her voice even after all this time and how that made her almost soften her voice.

“I’m in Chicago for a few days, when can I stop by.”

“You want to come?" Carmen hastily recovered, "You can come when you can but we are doing some renovations and it's a mess-''

“I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon.” And with that y/n hung up and emailed HR that she would be out for the week because she was sick.

The Chicago air was unbearably similar to New York's and y/n was glad she didn’t have to spend too many miles on the same shitty city. And Carmen understated the “renovations”, it was a gut. The door scraped open dragging the paint cans that were leaning it. The door isn’t the working issue, it's the fact that the whole restaurant looked like it was on the verge of being classified as a collection of bare load bearing pillars and plastic tarp. Y/n was glad that she settled for sneakers because heels were begging for her to eat shit.

“Ms. New York!” The man with a gruff voice yells with laced hostility, alerting everyone.

The echoing music was promptly shot off as curious onlookers tried to decipher why an unknown woman was waddling through a battlefield of loose nails and scattered sawdust.

Y/n didn’t have to look long before Carmen came tumbling out the kitchen door, looking at her like she was glowing. Y/n wordlessly walked over to him and extended her hand and much to her shock the shake was firm, eager even, the last time they shook hands was when y/n had to take a photo with him 3 years ago for Gastronomica. Y/n was the first to slip her hand away, not remarking on his softened calluses, it seems like he hadn’t done much cooking lately.

Carmen ushered them towards the kitchen and held the door open for her, the room was empty and oddly quiet. They were holding the work outside so they could hear what they assumed would be confessions and passionate love making.

Carmen probably sensed it too because he took them to what looked like the skeletons of an office.

They both stood against the wall on completely opposite ends, their words would have to fill the gap. Carmen parted his lips a few times trying to formulate what he practiced last night but all the words seemed to die in his throat. His staggered inhale was followed by a soft, “What brings you here? I mean I’m glad you're here-”

“I wanted to know what you were up to.” Y/n twirled a strand of hair, looking into his eyes trying to relearn him again.

Carmen’s breath stalled as he fiddled with his apron to avoid eye contact. “I’m running this place now so-” Carmen’s eyebrows furrowed, “How did you know where I was?”

“I saw the restaurant in a blog and thought I would….” Y/n noticed him deflate, trying to figure out from disappointment or finally relaxing.

“I thought I would get something to eat but it seems like…” Y/n waved her hands at the bare walls, “That's not gonna happen.” She let out a soft chuckle but was a bit peeved that Carmen wasn’t doing anything but staring at her.

Y/n crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, Carmen sighed and thumped his head softly on the wall behind him. Being across from him, gave y/n a familiar view of Carmen at the end of shift, pitiful and enervated. Y/n didn’t fail to notice that his arms had gotten bigger.

“Manual labor suits you.” Carmen let out an embarrassed but bemused “ha” as he failed to stop his lips from curling up.

“Yeah, I have to do a lot by myself. Don’t exactly have the funds to be hiring a million contractors to do shit.”

“How do you afford all this?” Y/n lifted her gaze and tried to not look too eager.

"A ton of loans. We're barely holding it together," he admitted with a soft chuckle, passing some papers to y/n. As he continued, Carmen listed the financial burdens on his shoulders, payroll for the chefs, government permits, contractors, vendors, appliance suppliers,each itemized until it culminated in a big, fat, red zero that highlighted the crushing reality of y/n's shattered dreams. There was no money left; they couldn't afford to keep her. The devastating truth settled in, she couldn't afford to work here, and Carmen couldn't afford to save her.

Carmen walked over to the desk between them before plopping on his chair and balanced his head on his right fist as he looked up to y/n.

“What are you doing right now?” Carmen asked, the new view let him see more of y/n, which she didn’t know if she liked.

“I'm still at the French Laundry, it pays the bills, Carmen.” The air stilled and all the oxygen in his lungs contracted in his lungs as his name echoed in the otherwise silent room. He wasn’t Berzatto anymore. Y/n’s small smirk was enough of a reaction for Carmen to solidify that he had no clue about the women in front of him.

As she basked in the lull, she extended her leg to stretch them out to, noticing that it wouldn’t take much effort for her to put her foot on one of the legs of his chair and roll him closer. Y/n wasn’t without decency so she resisted messing with Carmen anymore. She was being stupid and immature, it wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t help her, but a part of her still yearned to inflict some measure of discomfort on him.

“Enough about me…what have you been up to?” He was finally worth talking to, y/n thought. He would finally have something of value that she couldn’t get out of any other seasoned chef, a spark behind his eyes. Maybe there was something else that gave him the power to come here, something that could move her too.

“I'm taking over the restaurant from my brother and we are remodeling and shit to make it…a spot.” He realized how stupid he sounded when he said it outloud.

Y/n’s lips quivered downward, he was taking over a family obligation. He didn’t unlock any of the universe’s secrets that he could share with her, that would make the road ahead clear. He really couldn’t help her. The crushing feeling in her chest was worsened when he carelessly tossed out, “You could work here, ya know?”

A pile of bills at home dared her to throw caution to the wind and fail spectacularly. Y/n shut down any part of her that could have been swayed and diverted instead.

“What are you serving?”

“You would be head chef, y/n.” Carmen's intense gaze made her look at him in bewilderment.

“It’s not a good fit.” Y/n pressed with a self-assured chuckle.

“Syd would be number 2 and I can focus on the business shit-”

Y/n wasn’t going to justify his ridiculous proposition with a response, so she gave him a pointed look before asking a final time, “What are you serving?”

“Whatever I want.” His eyes focused on y/n’s, almost daring her to be enticed by the freedom.

Y/n's stomach somersaulted. The room around them seemed to close in as the weight of the unknown pressed against her. Y/n grappled with the question of what she had truly come for. The initial curiosity about his past now collided with the reality that the person standing before her was somehow a deity that had broken free from the shackles of depriving the self from freedom but also a mortal with dangerous arrogance that she couldn’t replicate.

“You finished the menu?”

Carmen nodded as his eyes wrinkled.

“Show me the menu.”

“You’ll see it on opening night.” Carmen leaned back in self-assurance.

“I won’t be back.” Y/n briskly asserted as she went back to twirling her hair and crossing her arms.

Y/n heard a chuckle and a soft, “Doubtful”. Just as she lifted her head to argue, the words were gone and so was Carmen, who was at the door now, holding it open for her.

“You're the worst, you know that?” She presented him with a vicious side eye. “I came all the way to the menu, you know.” That wasn’t remotely true.

“You can see the kitchen.” His hand hovered over the small of her back before catching himself and slipping his hand back down.

Carmen gave a run down on where the stove would go in relation with the expo, being mindful of speed but also spatial restriction. Y/n walked with him wondering if she would care enough about the minutia to organize a restaurant from the ground up like this. Her fingertips grazed the silver gas stove, teh cool metal brought back memories of working in LA. His expo covered in plastic wrap was the exact one she saw in her first internship. And most damning of all, Carmen specially picked out everything; so just like y/n, he had a story to tell with each piece.

His eyes shimmered as he talked about not beating his time around the kitchen yet, and y/n felt her stomach roll over as a wave of… something rolled over her.

Eventually, Carmen led her out to the front where she talked about table choices and the lighting to match, her eye’s glazed in wonderment wondering if the version of Carmen that cared about interior design was always a part of him or if it was a new development. Just as she was about to ask, Richie interrupted her.

“We’ve held it long enough, I think we would ALL love to know who you are.” He spread out his arms and nodded like a politician who was, “asking the real questions”. Y/n went from floating around the kitchen to being slammed shut in a bird cage.

“Ms. New York didn’t give it away?” Y/n replied, doing her best to ignore the nagging whispers in her head telling her she wasn't wanted here.

“Then why are you here?” He challenged right back, pointing an accusatory finger at her before migrating it to Carmen, “Why is she here?” The urge to run away tugged at her, to a place where it didn't matter if people liked her.

Carmen squinted his eyes before letting out an exasperated sigh, y/n could tell he was used to Richie’s machinations. Looks like the three of them didn’t know why y/n was here.

“Just ignore him, that's Tina..” pointing at an older woman who looked like she was just about to leave.

“..Nat” was buried in a binder but her head still shot up and smiled which y/n politely reciprocated.

“.. and Syd '', who looked pissed that y/n was here, y/n looked at her hands clasping a notebook. Recipes…a menu…y/n tucked her lips to hide her laugh, they didn’t have a menu to show and she had interrupted their brainstorming session. Y/n made a mental note that Carmen wrinkled his eyes when he lied.

“I was just in the neighborhood, and I'm just about to leave.” She walked towards the exit, not failing to notice that Carmen was in hot pursuit.

It didn’t take a genius to know he was going to offer her a ride so she beat him to it, “I’ve taken enough of your time.”

And just as Carmen was about to say something, Y/n hid her disappointment with a smirk, “I’ll let you get back to making that menu.” Y/n caught a quick glimpse of shock before the door swung open and she walked the Chicago streets wondering if she got what she was looking for.

This place wasn’t for her at all, and no amount of small town romance novels could convince her to leave her cushy job with a bunch of pompous clowns for a DIY restaurant. Her heart quickened as she allowed herself to be momentarily seduced by the idea, only to shatter any hopeful illusions with the harsh reality that Carmen couldn't rescue her from her financial nightmare. She needed a paycheck, a big one, and Carmen couldn't give it to her; he could barely afford the stove he wanted. It was almost cruel to give her a taste, let her acquire it, and then realize that she couldn’t have it.

Y/n went back to her hotel and had the difficult choice between watching Pawnshop or Diners, Drivers and Dives when she got a text message from an unknown number.

I’m off tomorrow, let me take you somewhere other than a construction site.

Y/n let herself have one last taste of freedom and dialed the number, “Who’s this?” she asked to tease Carmen.

She could hear Carmen’s grin loud and clear as he gave her a soft, “The worst person ever.”

Y/n laid flat on her bed and made herself forget that he didn’t have a backbone, that he ran away without a word like a coward, and (most damning to her) he couldn’t save her. She pushed the part of her that screamed that she should run away before they realized they didn’t fit because right now, she wasn’t talking to Berzatto. He was Carmen. He had dreams and aspirations that were bigger than him or maybe just as big as him. He was working hard and confident; everything else he wasn't in New York.

As she confirmed a good time for tomorrow, she sat up on her bed as she said her goodbye.

“Have a good night, Carmen.”

Y/n had trouble falling asleep that night.

The week had reached its end a lot quicker than y/n thought it would. Before she knew it she had repacked her life back into her suitcase and was sitting at her gate waiting for boarding to start.

Y/n had her legs propped up on her carry-on, balancing an egregiously priced coffee in one hand and a book in the other. It’s not like the book was any good, it was an autobiography about a famous chef who had died of cancer. She recalled her outing with Carmen a few days prior.

The pans that y/n had to use in her shitty old apartment were non-stick because she couldn’t afford the non-cancer kind till after she graduated from the CIA. She remembered joking with her classmates about it while they were learning how to take apart a chicken, and everyone gasped in disgust. Y/n gave a careless grin while hiding her warming cheeks and mentally punching herself for even saying that out loud.

Her birthday came around and all of her classmates pitched in for a set of pans, non-stick pans. She laughed with her friends, went home and invited them for dinner made entirely from the pans and watched as they ate their dishes, nodding in pretentious considerment, not knowing it was made on Teflon and wondered if this is how that guy who served his customers human meat felt.

Y/n told the story to Carmen during their lunch at a Korean restaurant and felt a surge run through her as he met her eyes and instead of laughing at what was meant to be a humorous story and mumbled, “That was shitty.”

Y/n’s lips parted as her eyebrows furrowed in anger and, more embarrassingly, shame.

Before she could defend herself, Carmen added, “I wouldn’t call those friends.”

He played with the condensation on his glass, y/n knew better to look down at him playing with the wetness with his pointer and thumb.

“That’s how it is there. How was your first week here?” Y/n sipped her soup.

“I lost my knife, found it beat up on the floor. I would have quit if I could.” Carmen gave a soft chuckle and y/n hated that she wanted to know more about him.

“Which knife?”

“It was the Yoshimi.”

Y/n quirked her lips up, “I remember when you first got it.” Carmen looked up quizzically.

“It was a shit show.” The head chef was not in a good mood and Carmen pulled up, with a pep in his step and a new knife, begging to be shot down. Honestly, y/n was surprised that Carmen didn’t kill anyone that day.

Y/n’s flight had started boarding so she threw all of her stuff in her bag while fishing for her passport. In her hustle she missed her phone vibrating till she was in her seat trying to catch her breath from shoving her overloaded carry-on in the ever shrinking compartment.

You got on yet?

Just sat down, TSA sucks ass, might have to start working out bc im winded rn.

Have a safe flight.

Y/n finally made it home and just as she was about to pass out, she quickly texted a picture of her exhausted face with a cringy thumbs up, she would regret that in the morning.

Y/n fell right back into her regular rhythm, with two new additions. She had started running in the morning. The other thing was a new pen pal, of sorts.

They tried texting more regularly for the first few weeks but their schedules were too different so they had simplified it to a photo every few days.

The Bear

Y/n got the photo on her train ride home after months of “talking”, a picture of a decal on the restaurant window, y/n didn’t miss Carmen’s furrowed eyebrows and grimace from having to be out in the sun to take the picture. His reflection exposed his paint stained t-shirt and y/n rubbed her eyes to check that his arms had in fact gotten bigger.

Y/n sent out the first actual text message in months, Why The Bear?

She saw the bubbles disappear and reappear a few time before settling on,

Come and find out

Y/n snickered and the women sitting next to her gave her a side eye as she got up to leave.

I don’t want to install appliances or check the plumbing for free.

Carmen texted back uncharacteristically fast, maybe they had shot down texting too soon.

“Don't want to” or “don’t know how to”?

Y/n squinted her eyes, he should believe her even if she was lying. She texted a middle finger back. You should be so lucky to see my trade skills in action, I could have been your contractor and it's sexist that you think otherwise.

I’ll settle with you coming by as a guest.

Y/n called him, it was a split second decision that she didn’t have time to regret. He picked up just as quickly as she called.

“I’m not coming back if you guys are still building shit.” Y/n asserted as she unlocked her front door.

“We finished that a while ago, now it's real shit this time.” There was faint rustling in the background and what y/n could decipher as yelling.

“Yeah?”

“We're missing some stuff, repair guys to call, and we still have some vendors to deal with but doors open in a few weeks.”

Y/n giggled, “Sounds like you're cutting it close, Carmen.” There was rustling heard on the other end, “You can probably get all that shit done with time to spare if you don’t get distracted.”

A laugh erupted from the other end, Richie’s.

“He’s plenty distracted, got himself a girlfriend.” Y/n stomach fell to her ass as she stood in her kitchen with her work bag still slung on her shoulders.

“Really?” she croaked out. Richie must have slapped Carmen on the back because she heard him slap Richie back.

“Ignore him. Doors open on the 1st.” The line stayed quiet for a second.

“I’ll see if I can make it, but you know it gets.” Y/n wasn’t going to make it, she was taking it out of the calendar right now.

A door closed on his end and the line was disconnected.

Before y/n could chuck her phone at her couch and sleep off her day, it rang again. Facetime.

Y/n picked up and was met with a new setting. Carmen noticed her slight confusion.

“New office, what do you think?” He propped his phone up and angled his body so she would see his fully stocked bookshelf. If y/n didn’t know any better she would have assumed that he was trying to impress her.

“Dewey Decimal?”

“Alphabetical.” He pulled out a book and showed her the self-made label on the bottom that proved that it was in fact in alphabetical order.

Y/n let herself be a bit difficult, “Your handwriting leaves something to be desired.”

Carmen covered his smirk with his tattooed hand before locking into her eyes,”Why don’t you come over and help me out?”

Y/n almost let herself fold before recollecting herself, “Unless you plan on working part time for our HR department, I don’t see that PTO being approved.”

“Sick days?”

“Why don’t you come back to New York. Wanna slice oranges for our tarte á l’orange? Maggie misses you.” Y/n was referring to the kitchen’s pastry chef who didn’t miss Carmen in the slightest.

“Are you opening a restaurant?” Y/n was a bit floored that she was getting sass from a man who put his jeans in an oven and shirts in kitchen cupboards.

“Are you? Looks like your team thinks you're distracted? If I didn’t know any better I would say you're calling me to distract yourself from calling the repair guy.”

“He can wait… tell me what I have to do to make this happen.”

“I took a week off, and we live in a capitalist hellscape so I already used up my PTO for the year. Don’t worry, I’ll make it to the next one.”

“You think I'm good enough to franchise.” Carmen ran his hands through his hair as he laughed and y/n cheeks warmed as his shirt slightly lifted as he leaned back.

“No, when this one fails and you have to make it another Mcdonalds.” Carmen gave her an adoring smile that made her wonder if he heard something else.

He put his right leg on his knee and spun in his chair, thinking.

“It’s better if I don’t come, what if your team hates me or worse they love me, force me to be their leader, and kick you to the sidelines.”

“I can be on the sidelines for you.” Y/n ignored the fluttering in her stomach.

“I’ll see…”She offered.

Carmen let out a sigh and y/n almost felt bad but the distance was good. They didn’t work together anymore, they texted irregularly, they barely were face to face, and it was working for them.

She was forgetting the man who froze like a battered dog when she was being shredded in the kitchen, and she could forgive him for being selfish because now he was too far away for it to affect her. Closing the gap risked her relearning why she didn’t get close to him in the first place.

His lips parted like he was constructing the words.

“What?” Y/n was just about ready to hang up and get ready for bed.

“I just…I don’t know. I thought that I could…you would see something different.”

“It’s a restaurant, I've seen plenty of those.”

“It’s different, I swear. I worked hard on shit and it's new and different. It's …better.” A chef analogizing his restaurant to represent himself was so unoriginal y/n would have laughed in their faces if it wasn’t Carmen.

“I’ll save you a table.” He offered.

“Looks like you’ve got a lot of tables to save.” Carmen quirked up his eyebrows.

“Your sister s, Sydney’s dad, Richie’s friends, me. Are there going to be any tables left for customers?”

“I need them all there, y/n.” He didn’t need to say her name but it still reverberated inside of her sending a shiver down her spine. In response, y/n felt a warm wave of relief wash over her, knowing that she couldn’t quite explain why that felt good to hear.

“I'm nobody.” Y/n squinted her eyebrows in doubt.

There's a hint of desperation in his voice, as if he's been searching for something that y/n couldn’t figure out, “You saw me in New York and here so you're the only person who can compare the two. I don’t have anyone like that left.” Carmen rounded his eyes in closeted adoration and y/n’s throat closed up.

“I’ll see what I can do but no promises. I have to go… don’t forget to call the fridge guy.”

Y/n was a strong independent woman who built her own furniture, threw out her own trash, and even back out by putting an arm around the passage seat headrest so when she got an email the next day with tickets to Chicago, her head began to swim.

Her phone buzzed, Meet me halfway.

Y/n left him on read and gave herself the freedom that Carmen had unknowingly denied her.

–

Birthdays were never y/n’s favorite holiday, she didn’t bother taking the day off and she stopped telling people since her CIA days, so she felt a little disgusted when grown adults would make a whole situation about this day. Celebrating birthdays in a restaurant was annoying for the kitchen but celebrating management’s family birthdays made y/n nearly quit every year.

It came around like clock work, just as she forgot about it, her boss's friend's (or whoever) birthday would roll around and she had to remind herself that the only reason she still had a job here was because she didn’t break down in hysterics and the only reason she stayed was because the bill wouldn’t stop just because she disliked her job.

It had already been a month since she and Carmen last spoke, they went back to curt messages. Y/n couldn’t help herself from texting back even though she knew better. The last message was a picture of Carmen in front of a finished kitchen, he puckered his lips to hide the full grin and seeing such joy, even if it was from a photo, was infecting every corner of her mind.

The week was just as difficult as it always was, and the last thing y/n wanted to do was a large dinner like this but it was like the universe wanted to beat her numb.

Y/n forgot to mention that the HVAC system had gone down for the afternoon and it was still over 100 degrees in the kitchen. As she chopped some chives, she ignored the expo coughing, and she walked over her collapsed body when expo inevitably passed out, to grab some more butter from the walk-in.

Y/n stole a glance from the corner of her eyes, they had no expo and a full house. Y/n puckered her lips in hidden contentment when the head chef practically roared and the unconscious women to get up and y/n swallowed a laugh when he had enough and started to manage the expo.

Y/n’s eyes darted to her left and finally felt that Carmen wasn’t working there. He had long been replaced, twice over, and y/n went back to her foie gras terrines trying to figure out why it even mattered now.

As orders were being barked and a rehearsed chorus of, “Chef” played back, y/n stalled her knife noticing that the pitch was off. It was missing the bass of a chef that had left just about everything to run away and was trying to convince her to do the same.

“WHERE THE HELL IS THE CONSOMME FOR 14?”

For the first time in years, y/n flinched. It wasn’t noticeable barring the fact that her little jump made her slice her finger. Her breath picked up as the blood pooled over the chives, she grabbed her cutting board and dumped the herbs in the trash and grabbed another board. She pressed the kitchen towel deeper into her finger, trying to remember where the first aid kit was from her orientation week.

Just as y/n was about to run to the stove to cauterize the wound herself so she could keep working, someone grabbed her arm and handed her a bandaid. She looked up to give them a silent thank you but they were gone. She hastily wrapped herself up and tried to lean inconspicuously on the counter because heat was getting to her too.

A few minutes later when by and y/n had fallen back to her usual rhythm even as a waiter walked in, she had learned to ignore waitstaff when they entered the kitchen because they never brought good news. Y/n could feel a piercing glare on her back.

“You sent out a Coq au Vin, chef?” Y/n didn’t have to look up to know he was talking to her but she still met his searing glare.

“15 minutes ago, chef.” Y/n resisted wiping the bead of sweat that was torturously grazing down her face.

He stared her down like he was waiting for her to admit that she had actually eaten it, she kept her nose high and bit her tongue to stifle the grimace that was forming.

“It's missing.” An ugly pause passed throughout the kitchen, she had almost convinced herself that she hadn’t actually finished it but the shift in his gaze brought her back to reality, he remembered her bringing it to him.

In the smelting kitchen, in her cramped corner, with her chef whites sticking to her, she almost let this pathetic man think he knew more than her.

The command echoed out of her before she could contain herself, “Refiring the coq au vin.”

A familiar chorus of, “Chef” was missing its usual thoughtlessness, y/n wasn’t supposed to do anything till the head chef told her, she had given herself a command, it was sacrilege.

Y/n was never a target, she watched as others were shot down time and time again, and moved on when she saw them break down crying in the middle of a dinner rush. The most she could give them was aloofness but as she stood in her corner, drowning in orders, and having every single one sent back from expo to redo, or having to wait longer for plates then everyone else and getting reamed for her dishes coming in late, she felt the weight of the kitchen’s gaze on her shoulders and wished someone one was there for her.

She kept her face composed as she finished up the last of her orders, her vision swaying from dehydration. Just as she was about to give into the weightlessness, the clock struck midnight and the kitchen was officially closed.

She did her best to walk to her locker, and sat on a chair with her head in her hands wondering how she was getting out the door, let alone go home. Her phone buzzed in her lap and knew that it was Carmen. His restaurant was opening tomorrow and she didn’t want to hear about it right now.

The rest of the chefs filed out, each giving her a glance that told her that she had finally been properly assimilated, just five years too late.

Carmen was giving her a taste of freedom in Chicago and that fleeting freedom was too seductive to ignore. The job offer echoed in y/n head, she wasn’t a good fit with them, she didn’t want a “work family”, but the temptation was poisoning her.

She opened the text, it was a simple picture of Carmen in his chef whites, he was practicing the “look” the day before the restaurant opened. He had even slicked his hair back with pomade like he used to in New York, and for the first time in months she laughed.

The sips of warm gatorade had sobered her up enough to walk out, just barely missing the head chef on her way out the door. She performed a blasphemous act in the back of the uber, she opened the email that Carmen had sent a month ago and checked the tickets date and time. Tomorrow morning, and like the universe was giving back after being shitty today, the French Laundry was closed for the next few days.

Y/n got home, ate two day old Thai food, sat on her couch astounded by her sheer audacity as she checked in for her flight. She was sure that Carmen would have gotten the confirmation email by now but he did her the service of not mentioning it.

Y/n packed a carry-on early in the morning and got to the airport, each checkpoint moving much faster than usual. The TSA didn’t make her take off her shoes, her gate was super close, and they had upgraded her to first class because a couple wanted to sit together. All the stars were pointing to Chicago…to Carmen and she tried not to think about how she was running away from her problems just like he did.

As she reached her hotel room, she hesitated to text Carmen. Nothing felt right to say, so she gave him the best thing right now, some space. She busied herself with getting ready and watching the shopping network.

As y/n approached the restaurant, she was a bit taken aback that the line was still so long. She stood next to an elderly couple who were talking about mortgage rates going down which meant that another housing bubble was bound to burst and the economy would be in shambles. Y/n tried not to think about how she couldn’t afford to lose her job right now because she had nowhere else to go.

No special treatment tonight, Carmen wouldn’t know when she got here so he could focus on his own work. She entered the restaurant and was relieved that the host and the waitstaff were new. She was led to her table and hesitated to pick up the menu. This was a long time coming and opening it felt so empty. It was like when she submitted her last assignment for highschool, alone on a Thursday night wondering why something so big wasn’t registering.

As she digested the menu, she let her fingers trace over the faux leather and the brown stitching. She wanted to know why he chose brown stitching, or why he stuck with Seven Fishes despite the fact that he must have made it a million times in the French Laundry? Why did he choose certain wines, or why was there a donut on the menu?

It's not like she hated the menu but a horrible thought dawned on her that all she wanted right now was for Carmen to sit across from her and talk about everything that she had missed. Every detail of this restaurant that reflected a better him, and how she had so much more to learn.

Her phone burned on her lap but she didn’t text him. Instead, she watched the people murmur about work and the food and y/n couldn’t help but hate herself for her self imposed loneliness.

Y/n did herself a disservice by coming towards the end of the shift so the crowd was thinning and her cover was close to being blown. Her dish arrived and she didn’t need to walk into the kitchen to know that Carmen made this, after years of taste testing his food, his flavor was ingrained in her DNA. Y/n finished her bucatini and felt compelled to order another despite being stuffed, just to swirl the flavor around her tongue for a bit longer. She ordered the aforementioned donut, paid and left.

She stood in the crisp Chicago air, a few steps from the restaurant, grappling with the audacity that led Carmen to abruptly leave the French Laundry. Immaturely, she couldn't help but wonder why he got to leave and she couldn’t. She knew why, but she let herself fester in the pain, it kept her alive.

She was used to being alone but for the first time in her life she yearned for someone to be there for her. She had isolated herself to such an extent that she knew that right now no one knew where she was or what she was doing, even Carmen couldn’t be sure that she actually went on the flight.

She could hear the last of the customers file out and the bussers clearing tables. She felt her phone vibrate and took a few breaths before she picked it up.

How was the bucatini?

Y/n lips waivered and a pit dug itself in her chest as she tried to compose herself, but she felt her eyes watering. This wasn’t fair, he wasn’t playing fair.

She hid her face in her hands, and tried to regain some of her dignity.

She stood there for what felt like a few seconds and felt someone stand next to her followed by the familiar sound of a lighter.

Y/n bit her lips shut and stared ahead, knowing that she was stronger than this.

“I didn’t take you for the donut type.” Carmen said in between puffs, he had changed into more casual clothes.

Y/n inhaled deeply through her nose and put her arms down, the night has hidden any trace of her vulnerability. “I wanted to try something different.” Y/n tried to put more power behind her voice but it came out too soft for her liking.

Carmen studied her profile and y/n knew better than to turn away, so she faced him. Her moist eyes turned his eyes into a kaleidoscope of silvers, blues and gold.

“How did you know I was in the restaurant?” Y/n was relieved that she was able to get it all out before her voice cracked.

A silence passed through them and y/n wished they were doing this somewhere more private.

He gave her a look, I know you.

The air hung heavy with tension as Y/n responded to Carmen's humored dismissive look. "You don't know shit,", a sardonic smile playing on her lips. She nonchalantly extended her hands toward Carmen's cigarette, a move that seemed almost too casual for the charged atmosphere. She was reaching out for the small remnants of warmth that she knew she would lose in a few hours, because right now and right here, he was there for her.

Their fingers brushed in the exchange, a subtle yet palpable connection that lingered in the air. It was a moment that could have easily been avoided, but neither of them seemed willing to retreat.

As the smoke curled around Y/n, she maintained a facade of cool composure, seemingly unfazed by the intimacy of the shared smoke. It was as if the brief touch and the exchange of breath and saliva meant nothing more to her than the inhale and exhale of the smoke itself. The proding sense of sadness thumping in the back of her head telling her that this couldn’t last, they couldn’t last.

“I liked the food.” Y/n returned the cigarette. “It's different…better.”

Carmen looked at her like he had a million questions that he wanted to ask and y/n wondered if she was giving him the same look.

She leaned back, “Don’t you have an alley or something? Smoking out front is so highschool.”

“Syd threw up in the alley.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow and wondered if this is how far they would go, she would have savored him for a moment longer if she knew it was going to end so soon.

Carmen stood straight and tilted his head so she would follow him.

“They cleaned up fast.” Y/n marveled at the vacant restaurant, the lights were dimmed and Carmen led her to the office.

“I think they wanted to get out of here before the last train left.” Carmen held the door open for her and the familiar heat of his hand hovering over the small of her back was a welcomed surprise.

Despite the practicality of the situation, the impending departure and the need for a clean, cold goodbye, there was a lingering question of whether she could maintain that distance. Carmen's proximity, the heat of his touch, and the shared space was going to make it challenging to stick with a clinical farewell.

The door clicked shut and y/n let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“Do your worst. I can take it, y/n.” Carmen sighed, y/n’s stomach fluttered and she dug her nails into her palms to compose herself.

“Service was good, the waiter filled up my cup when it was halfway. The silverware was clean and rolled tight. Points off because my fork was from a different manufacturer from the rest of the dinnerware.” Y/n saw Carmen clench up for a second before nodding in concentration. It felt as if each syllable was being burned into his memory and the intensity of his gaze was making her sweat.

She gave herself the satisfaction of sitting because her feet were killing her and Carmen sat on the floor, leaning against the wall.

“The saltiness of the guanciale harmonizes with the richness of the eggs and the sharpness of the Pecorino Romano. The dish was velvety but delicate. The guanciale provides a necessary contrast in texture. Simple but precise. I think…I know that it was the best thing I’ve had in a while, chef.”

Yn was met with a humming silence.

“We can do this tomorrow, I know you had a long day.” Y/n offered.

“No…” He shook his head and his eyes were distant before landing on her’s, the severity behind them had made her sit back, “I want to hear what you have to say.”

She extended her legs towards Carmen, “You see these, chef?” Carmen hesitated to look forward like he was in the middle century and ankles were scandalous before gazing at her soft legs.

“They hurt like a motherfucker.” She flexed the back of her heel to show the blisters that had formed. “I gotta take care of this back in the hotel.”

Carmen slowly shifted his gaze from her legs to her face before wordlessly getting up and walking out. Y/n rubbed her temple and allowed herself to be selfish once more by downing Carmen’s abandoned sugar free Redbull left on the desk.

As she collected her stuff to get back to the hotel, Carmen returned with ice and first aid.

He placed everything on the floor so slowly that y/n could only assume that he was stalling.

Carmen looked up at her with his bright, almost silver, eyes and his eyes asked, Can I help you? Can I be there for you like you were here for me today?

It was like time had stopped as y/n struggled to bring oxygen to her lungs. She mindlessly nodded yes and the first touch made her heart thump against her chest. His hands were scorching against her skin and every lingering touch imprinted its memory on to her. As he iced the swelling and followed it by placing his warm hand to ease the shock in temperature, it became hard for y/n to focus.

Carmen did her the courtesy of abandoning the ice pack. She took a hollow and staggered breath, “Ask me anything.”

Carmen looked up from her, she hadn’t noticed that he had removed her heels, and asked her about every minor detail about her experience. He wasn’t aware that he was softly rubbing his thumb across her ankle, and y/n couldn't seem to move on from it.

When y/n finished her summary, Carmen’s fingers seized dancing across her skin and she regretted not talking for longer.

He didn’t let his hand leave her even as he asked, “How is work?”

Y/n grunted out in dismay and she leaned back and would have fallen backwards if Carmen hadn’t grabbed the seat between her legs. They both stared at his hand before Carmen quickly pulled back, y/n mumbled a quick thanks.

“It’s great.” Y/n sarcastically pushed.

Carmen quirked up his eyebrows in a sarcastic manner and y/n ignored him.

“It was Henry’s birthday.” Carmen hummed in understanding, birthdays were always a mess.

“You wouldn’t guess who was doing the expo yesterday.”

“I have an idea.” Y/n couldn’t deny that his smirk sent her spinning. He understood the fiber of that world so well even though he was hundreds of miles away, and she was barely hanging on to a tread.

Carmen continued, “Feel bad for the poor bastard who was his punching bag for the night.”

Y/n swallowed the burning lump in the back of her throat and kept her gaze relaxed and gave him a soft, “Yeah.”

The silence was making y/n uncomfortable so she mustered her remaining energy to give him a relaxed smile.

Carmen’s face didn’t give anything away, “How bad was he?”

“I'm here, aren’t I?” Y/n chuckled humorlessly.

“I know you're strong but I was being serious, y'know…about the job.” Carmen asserted.

Y/n softened her eyes, he was making this so much harder for her. “Noted, chef. Why Chicago?” Y/n diverted.

“Inherited the restaurant from my brother and I had to deal with it. He killed himself.”

“I shouldn’t have brought it up-”

“It’s fine, I was going to have to tell you anyway.” Y/n didn’t have to know anything, she was no one and she didn’t deserve his trust. “It was a sandwich place before we renovated it.”

Y/n laughed in disbelief, “You made sandwiches? They sell truffles in Chicago?”

Carmen smirked as he went back to mindlessly rubbing her ankle again. “Regular sandwiches.”

Y/n widened her eyes and couldn’t hold her laughter in, “Pictures or it didn’t happen.”

Carmen fished out his phone and showed her pictures of a messier restaurant.

“I get why you had to gut the place.”

“It's not that bad.” He asked humorously.

“What you have right now is more your style, I like this version better.” Y/n heart skipped a beat when his hand shifted a bit higher up her leg.

“I love the look though,” Y/n squinted at a picture of Carmen standing behind a counter at what looked like a bachelor party.

“What look?”

“You know, the rugged, tired look.” Carmen rolled his eyes. “No seriously, I didn’t even know you had so much ink.” Y/n zoomed in on a tattoo of some numbers on his biceps.

“I'll show you all of them later.” Y/n let out a laugh as she handed back the phone. She wondered if she was hiding her nerves well.

"You spend all your time at work, when do you find the time to sit in a tattoo shop?"

"Prioritizing important shit, I guess."

"If you can prioritize getting tattoos and running a restaurant, when do you have time for your girlfriend?" Subtle, passive, non-probing was what y/n was going for. She forced herself to watch his reaction.

Carmen gave a puzzled look, his scrunched up eyebrows and distant look was accompanied with a quiet, "Don't have one."

Y/n gave a casual "Hmm…you sure? Seems like you got time to kill, always so relaxed." Carmen curled his lips up and bit his lips to stifle his smile. His lips turned pale pink before returning to rose red and y/n wanted to reach down and run her pointer finger along his lips to feel his heat.

"When I have the time. The restaurant is new and I need-"

"I thought you said you knew how to prioritize?" Y/n leaned back and rested her cheek on her fist.

"Maybe if she's really special."

"And not distracting." Y/n added.

"Then I can prioritize." Carmen adjusted his posture before asking y/n.

"What about you?"

"I am a realistic romantic, so love is real but just not for me. I don't have it in me to text everyday or go to family dinners. But who knows, Mr. Right might make me less shitty and more sunshine and rainbows. "

"Your personality is fine right now." Carmen offered.

Y/n jokingly scoffed before adding, "Then maybe I just need someone to distract from my own problems."

They sat in comfortable silence, but y/n’s eyes widened as she checked the clock, “It’s late.”

“It’s only one.” Y/n gave him a look of disapproval before nudging her foot against his stomach, where it had been resting for the past hour.

“Go home, Carmen.” Carmen wordlessly picked up her heels and slipped them back on to her feet. He stood up and offered his hand.

They walked out the restaurant and y/n pulled out her phone to call a taxi.

“I can drive you.”

Y/n looked over her shoulder at Carmen checking the locks.

“If you drive me, you won't be getting any sleep.” A pause passed through them.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Y/n rushed out.

Carmen cleared his throat, preserved her dignity by not saying anything else and led her to the car.

“You know these things will kill you.” Y/n lifted a Red Bull from the cup holder and cracked it open and took a few healthy sips.

Carmen wordlessly slipped the can out of her hands at a red light, “I need it more than you.” He looked down at the lipstick mark and took a few savored sips. At the next light, y/n could see the remnants of red lipstick on his bottom lip.

They reached y/n’s hotel too fast for each other's liking. Y/n swiveled her head, Carmen was already looking at her. She was fighting heavy lids a few minutes ago but now she was sprung with energy.

Y/n looked up in feinted innocence before casually offering, “You want to come up for some tea?” The kettle in her room didn’t work, she checked this morning.

Carmen blinked a few times, wondering if he heard her right, before slowly nodding his head like he wasn’t sure it was a joke.

She unlocked her room door for the both of them and Carmen shut it behind him. With a cautious gesture, y/n extended her hand, placing it close to Carmen's body. The darkness clung to Carmen's form as y/n's fingers grazed his side, a brief but intimate contact that went unnoticed in the dimly lit corridor, to check if the door was locked.

Carmen walked over to the office chair in the corner. Y/n room was so cramped that she was still within arms distance of him as she sat on the foot of her bed.

“The Bear?” Y/n’s inquisitive gaze and playful smile made Carmen’s heart stutter as he nearly forgot what The Bear was, or what his name was.

He cleared his throat, “Berzatto…Bear. It was a nick-name my brother gave me.”

Y/n leaned in a bit closer as she scoffed, “Even the name is good. I kinda hate you a bit more.” She bit her bottom lip to stifle the laugh but was pleasantly surprised that he was bouncing from her eyes to her lips.

He parted his lips to formulate a coherent sentence but y/n extended her heels to the legs of Carmen’s chair and pulled him closer. The look of his thoughts scrambling right in front of her was making it difficult for her to be restrained and poised. “Sorry, I couldn’t hear you.”

His grip on the arms of the chair was telling her that she was headed in the right direction. She kept her hold on Carmen’s chair, as she softly assured, “I have to go back soon, so I’m trying to soak it all in right now.”

“You're leaving?” Carmen mumbled, sharing his attention between her eyes, lips, and her leg. He let his legs relax, which made them meet with y/n’s legs.

“I hate Chicago.” Y/n leaned back. “And I don’t really belong here. My whole life is in New York, and I don’t want to change everything just for-.”

“Come work for me-”

A swift pang of anger rippled through her, he didn’t need her. “You’ve got your plate full, you don't need a distraction.”

“But you do.” Carmen placed a warm hand on her thigh and the heat made her breath heavy, y/n knew where this was going but she wanted it to last as long as it could because she knew that once the sun rose, they were done.

“It’s going to be messy.”

“It won't be.”

The room held its breath as they teetered on the edge of something undefined. The impending dawn loomed, casting a shadow on the delicate illusion they had woven. “I don’t want something serious.” Y/n argued.

“And I dont have the time for something serious.” As Carmen leaned forward, pushing his hands high up her thigh.

As y/n searched for any other reason no to do this, Carmen’s cerulean eye’s hazed with lust seemed to have the opposite effect. Any reservations, logic, or inhibitions that could have prompted her to stop were forcefully pushed away amidst the intoxicating allure of Carmen.

Y/n didn’t know who leaned in first but it didn’t take much time for both of them to topple in the bed. In between huffs and shirts flying off each other Carmen whispered into her lips, “Just pretend it’s real tonight.”

Y/n reeled her head back a second, but Carmen's intense gaze and his trailing hand convinced her otherwise. She leaned back in, hooking her legs around his waist pulling him closer.

Carmen stalled his kisses down the column of her throat, “I thought you wouldn’t come.”

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” Y/n twisted her hips and in a flash she was straddling him.

She sensed the subtle shiver that ran through him, his unsteady hands finding a resting place on her hips, torn between the desire to reciprocate from below and allowing her to continue her torture. Taking charge, she decided for both of them, lowering herself down to grind against his jeans.

Carmen’s mind went blank and the last thing he saw before he lost all sense of restraint and reason, was y/n’s eyes sparkling.

You can read more of my stuff here

End Notes:

I love reading your comments, and that's what motivated me to finish, so share your thoughts bc I want to hear them.

I currently have like 10 half baked drafts and they all suck so this was the sole survivor. This one is kinda self indulgent because I hate my job so much but sometimes no matter how much something makes you miserable, there isn’t a way out, so you have to find something to distract yourself from the dull pain.

I tried to keep it as realistically healthy as a relationship with Carmen can be because that man just needs some space to grow. Honestly, I'm not sure if they'll ever meet again, or maybe they might meet up more now. Im really not sure.

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ibetonlosinghuskies · 3 months

Text

patience and pleasure pt 6

summary: as paige packs to move to uconn, she starts to doubt herself. grasping for a sense of security, she goes to the one person she knows can make her feel better. azzi.

disclaimer: as always everything i write is fictional!

warnings: fluff, angst, emotional distress, mild anxiety mention.

word count: 4.6k +

author's note: ik this probably isn't what you were expecting lol, very sorry. i will be giving yall what you want very soon.

~flashback to july 2020~

paige's pov:

i can't believe i'm doing this.

playing at uconn has been my dream since i was a kid, but now that it's finally happening i feel paralyzed. packing my stuff made things feel final.

i'm really leaving minnesota. everything i know is here.

who's going to build legos with drew? who's going to make my parents coffee in the morning?

my hands shake as i fold another shirt, memories flooding my mind. friday night games, late-night drives with the team, sunday morning cartoons with drew.

what if i'm not ready? what if i can't handle the pressure?

i'd been doing a good job keeping all this to myself. putting on my best smile for every interview, every photoshoot. i had a good enough support system too, my family, friends, fans. but behind every "congratulation", i felt their expectation. a standard of perfection only a prodigy could fulfill.

what if i let everyone down?

i can't let them see me crack.

it's not like i'm not grateful for the opportunity. this is all i've worked towards for years. it just hurts to leave everything behind, especially for a future i had no control over. i felt safe here, in this moment, i'm full of potential.

the weight of my potential weighs heavily on my shoulders, keeping me up at night.

i sink to the floor, surrounded by half-packed boxes. part of me wants to unpack it all, to pretend that time isn't moving forward.

my eyes snap up when i hear a knock at my bedroom door.

"hey kiddo," my dad says warmly, leaning against the door frame.

"hey," i reply weakly, putting on a smile. i feel his eyes scan my face, his expression warming with sympathy.

he knows my smile is fake.

"already packing? you don't leave for another week, it shouldn't take you that l—" he stops mid-sentence looking at my closet. "but with that shoe collection maybe you should've started a month ago," he teases, trying to make me smile.

"i just want to be ready," i say, sounding more insecure than i expected.

"it's okay to be scared, you know?" he starts, his voice gentle. "i know this is a big change."

"i just don't wanna disappoint anyone," i stand, continuing to pack my stuff, eyes glued to the floor.

"you could never disappoint us," he assures me. "we're all so proud of you, no matter what."

a mix of gratitude and homesickness rushes over me. i crumble over his words, a few tears escaping my eyes. walking slowly, he grabs me in his arms. we stand there for a moment, the heaviness of change lingering in the air.

"you know," he says suddenly, "i think azzi's still in town at her grandparents. why don't you give her a call?"

he's right, i usually visit her around this time of year. the thought of azzi brings a small smile to my face. memories of our summers spent together fill my mind—trips to the fair, month long sleepovers, sleeping in her clothes.

"not everything has to change, paige," his voice knowing, eyes gauging my reaction.

if anyone could understand what i'm going through, i'd be her.

"yeah, i'll give her a call," i nod, trying to shake my heartache.

"good," he says, walking to my door. "don't forget to leave some of your shoes behind. we don't need the whole state of minnesota wondering why there's a shortage."

i roll my eyes, laughing. "i'll think about it."

he gives me one last warm smile before closing my door. i take a deep breath, reaching for my phone.

azzi's pov:

i'm sprawled across my bed, scrolling through my phone when it starts buzzing. paige's name lights up the screen, and i can't help but smile.

"hey p," i answer, my smile showing in my voice.

"hey az," she replies, and immediately i know something's off. her voice is quieter than usual, lacking its usual charm.

"you okay?" i ask, sitting up straighter.

there's a pause, i can almost feel her forcing a smile through the phone. "yeah, i'm good. just...packing."

packing. right. she's leaving soon.

i'm hit with a wave of anticipatory grief. i've been trying to avoid thinking about what it's gonna be like when she leaves. we'd fallen into such an easy routine. she's spent countless summers at my grandparent's house, becoming part of my family.

"how's that going?" i ask, trying to sound hopeful.

"it's...going," she laughs gently. "it's just a lot, you know?"

i do know. the spotlight she's received these past couple years has been intense, but paige made everything she did look effortless. her confidence carried off the court, giving her a new charisma.

she was so easy to love.

"yeah...it's a big change," my voice matching her quiet tone.

there's another pause, the soft hum of the phone. i listen for her breath, a sigh, some background noice. but nothing. i feel her worry through the phone.

"can i come over—"

"you should come ov—"

we say at the same time. "i'll pick you up tomorrow morning," i smile at the thought of finally getting to see her.

i hear her take a steadying breath, "okay," her voice sounding a bit lighter.

my mind starts to wander. what if i don't see her again for years after this? all this time, and i never thought i'd have to confront my feelings for her.

"hey, i'll call you later, okay?" i'm sad to end our call, but i didn't have time to waste.

"uh yeah," she says, sounding a bit disappointed. "talk to you later."

i hang up the phone, my mind racing, filled with all of her favorite things. that minnesota lynx jersey she loves, her favorite snacks, the lego sets she builds with drew.

i can't let her leave without knowing how much of me she's taking with her.

i start in my closet, sifting through my clothes. my fingers brush against the fabric of my favorite hoodie—the one paige always steals when she's here.

i pull the hoodie closer to my chest, hoping that, for a moment, i could capture the warmth of her hug. a mixture of my perfume and her shampoo. i swear no matter how many times i wash the damn thing, it always carries a piece of her. like the intricate stitching holding the fabric, our bond sewn into the core of who we are.

i run my fingers along the seams—strong, resilient, trustworthy. i guess some things are too deep to be washed away. maybe it'll remind her that no matter how far she goes, a part of us will always be intertwined.

she should have this. it's practically hers anyway.

next, i move to my bookshelf, scanning the titles. my eyes land on one of my favorite john green books, looking for alaska. every once in a while she'd ask me to read it to her so she could fall asleep. paige always claimed my books were boring, but sometimes i'd catch her leaning in, eyes wide and attentive, consumed in the story. maybe she'd finally get around to reading it herself.

lastly, i grab some scissors off my desk and head for my front porch. the old basketball hoop stands sentinel, a silent witness to countless hours of our shared passion. i run my fingers along the worn metal, remembering all the times we'd scrimmage until the streetlights flickered on. our laughter and trash talk echoing through the quiet neighborhood.

i tilt the hoop towards me cutting off a piece of the net. the frayed edges feel like memories slipping through my fingers.

she was my champion first.

before the world knew 'paige bueckers', i knew paige. the slight competitive spark she'd get in her eyes before every shot. her confident sway as she played, turning my front porch into an arena.

everyone is finally gonna see in her what i've known for years.

back in my room, i surveyed my collection. each item, a different memory. i reach under my bed, adding the final touch to my gift—an old lego set paige and i bought together a long time ago. i put off building it with her, claiming we should save it for a special night.

there is nothing more special than tomorrow night.

i want everything to be perfect. i find myself frantically cleaning the house at 2 am, as if paige hasn't visited countless times. i organize my bookshelf, fold clothes, anything to keep my hands busy and my mind from wandering to her.

my exhaustion finally takes over and i lay sprawled across my bed. i try to sleep but she's all i dream about.

except these aren't the usual dreams.

a sequence of different visions flash through my mind, in each of them i'm losing her. we're on a basketball court, but something's off. paige is wearing a uconn jersey, looking different in a way i can't quite place. older, more independent. i'm still in my high school uniform. we're on opposite sides of the court, the air between us heavy. i call out to her but no sound comes out.

i want to tell her something. but my throat tightens, restricting like it's trying to hold her too.

i wake up before the sun, in a cold sweat. it felt so real, almost predestined. a heavy ache in my chest lingers, still unable to articulate what i need to tell her. the thought of my nightmares becoming real ignites a motivation in me to figure it out. fast.

i close my eyes again, hoping for dreamless sleep this time.

tomorrow, i'll find the words. i'll make sure i do.

paige's pov:

the sun peaks through my blinds, waking me up earlier than usual. awaking to the sight of half-packed boxes leaves me disoriented. but my heart flutters when i check my phone to find seven unread text from azzi.

i'm gonna miss stuff like this the most.

glancing at the time, i start to pack a bag to stay the night. she technically didn't say i was sleeping over, but i know us well enough to know that i will.

i start throwing things into my bag—my favorite hoodie, some shorts, and a pillow. then i pause, remembering the last time we hung out at her grandparents' place.

everything i needed was already there.

i empty half the bag, smiling to myself. the hoodie she'd always let me wear, my toothbrush, that book azzi's always bugging me to read, even my favorite pillow. they're all still at her place.

i'm reaching for my phone to tell her i'm ready when i hear my doorbell. smoothing out my hair, i nearly trip down the stairs running to answer the door.

i take a quick breath. even after all this time, i still want to look good for her. the moment i open the front door i'm met with azzi's smile, carrying two coffees in her hands.

everything i need is right here.

"i'm surprised you're not still in your pajamas," she smiles, handing me a coffee.

"what? no, of course not. i've been up for hours," i lie, letting her roll her eyes at my comment.

"mhm," she turns walking to her car.

i glance at her while she walks, her attitude showing in her posture. within just a few seconds, i already feel lighter.

the drive there is both long and short. as we pull up to her grandparents' house, i feel a wave of nostalgia. how many summers have i spent here? how much of me will i be leaving behind?

azzi's grandma is already at the door as we get out of the car. "paigey!," she calls out, her voice warm and welcoming. "how's our little superstar?"

"hi grandma fudd," i mumble, as she pulls me into a hug. i feel like a kid again in her arms.

"look at you," she says, holding me at arm's length. "more beautiful every time i see you."

i blush bashfully at her compliments. "hey, what about me?" azzi pouts from behind us.

"oh hush, you too," she pulls azzi into a deep hug. "i'm glad you finally came, paige. i was worried you weren't gonna make it this year. azzi here hasn't stopped talking about you since your last visit."

i shoot azzi a look, raising my eyebrows at her. she blushes, looking away.

once inside, memories pass me by like a warm summer breeze. the creaky third step on the stairs, the faded marks on the doorframe where azzi and i measured our heights every summer. old family photos lining the hallway, many of which include me.

azzi leads me up to her room, her hand gently tugging at mine excitedly. i let her lead like it was my first time in this house.

as we enter her room, i can't help but notice how clean it looks. her bookshelf organized by size and color, desk clear and neat. i almost miss the messiness of it all, the way her personality leaked all over her bedroom walls.

had she cleaned everything for me?

i scan her bedroom walls, all of which are covered in photos of us. photos from practice, summer trips to the lake, championship games.

her bedroom a museum of us, a bold testament to our bond.

"you kept all of these?" i asked softly, touching the corner of a photo from years ago.

azzi shrugs, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. "of course," she clears her throat nervously. "only because i look so good in them," she laughs failing to hide her affection.

i turn to her, ready to tease her about being sentimental, but the words die on my lips. she's holding something behind her, smiling with her eyes.

she takes a deep breath, bringing her hands forward slowly. in them is a carefully wrapped package, similar to the half-packed boxes littering my floor at home.

"i, uh, got you this. well, more like...put together." she hands me the box.

my fingertips brush against hers, heart racing as i look up into her eyes. "az, you didn't have to—"

"just open it, p," she interrupts, her voice soft and eager.

i unwrap the box, finally catching sight of its contents. it feels like all of the air has been sucked out of the room, it's all too much for me. her favorite hoodie, a worn copy of looking for alaska, a piece of frayed net from the hoop on her porch. and...is that the lego set we bought a long time ago?

all pieces of us, delicately put together in a small brown box.

"az..." i whisper, blinking away tears.

"i wanted you to have a piece of home to take with you," she explains, her eyes seeking my reaction. "so you didn't forget me—us."

i look up at her, my vision blurring the edges around her face. a warmth in my heart builds, surrounded by fragments of us. the finality of it all finally hit me.

how can we pack all of us into a box? years spent together, inseparable for the longest time, just to be neatly packaged in a cardboard box.

there's still so much i want to take with me. how do you package the sound of azzi's laugh? the feeling of her hand in mine? how do i fold up the comfort of her presence and tuck it neatly into a suitcase?

our friendship is a living, breathing thing. packing it away feels inhumane. she will never be a cardboard box i push into the back of my closet, the back of my mind. azzi's warmth pulses underneath my skin. she's the movement that pushes the blood through my body.

i realize something now. home isn't minnesota. it isn't my house or even this one.

home is azzi. and i'm about to leave it behind.

the weight of this box, however light in pounds, pulls me to the floor. my knees buckling underneath me, unable to form a coherent sentence. i'm drowning in a sea of emotions, waves of nostalgia and fear crashing over me. i cry, clinging to the box, like a life vest. my breath comes in short gasps, like i'm barely keeping my head above water.

i hear her call my name, but i can't respond. her voice feels far, muffled by my own emotion. i want to reach out, to tell her i'm okay, but my body won't cooperate.

azzi's hoodie wraps around me like a buoy, keeping me from sinking into the depths of my fears. the book, a raft of memories. the piece of net becomes a rope, pulling me to the shore of home—to her.

i can feel her worry radiate off her in waves, matching the momentum of my fear.

azzi's my anchor, solid and hopeful, grounding me in this storm. her hands cup my face, holding me like water, wiping away the flood.

her touch is gentle, safe. i lean into it instinctively, she always knows how to bring me back to myself.

looking up, i meet azzi's gaze. her eyes are a mirror of my own—a mix of worry, empathy, and something deeper. something that's been left unspoken between the two of us for a long time.

i feel her eyes search my face, a warmth that cuts through the chill of my tears.

azzi's looking at me like i'm her anchor too like she's just as terrified of drifting apart.

"paige, look at me," she says softly, also crying, wiping away my tears before her own.

i force myself to focus on her face. the wetness of her eyelashes, the trembling of her breath, her flushed cheeks—anything to slow my thoughts.

she sits on her knees, catching my tears in her palms. "you're not losing me, okay?" her voice reassuring, but also breaking between her tears.

"okay," i mumble sniffling. before i can thank her or apologize, she pulls my forehead to her lips. they tremble softly against my skin, her sadness showing but insistent on soothing me first.

azzi pulls my head into her chest, stroking my hair gently. i wrap my arms around her waist firmly, thinking that maybe if i hold her tightly enough, i can keep her here—in this moment, forever.

my tears begin to settle as i focus on her heartbeat, trying to memorize it. each beat a resilient promise, a faint whisper of trust, something to hold on to.

we stay there for a moment before azzi pulls back, staring at me with such a tenderness it almost sets me off again.

my eyes fall on the lego set peeking out of the box, and i can't let but let out a shaky laugh. "you're finally letting me build this," i smile, "it only took me almost moving away, huh?"

azzi's face breaks into a small grin, relief showing in her eyes. "like i'd trust you to build it on your own. someone's gotta make sure you read the instructions."

"hey!" i gasp in mock offense. "instructions are for people who don't know what they're doing, i'm a professional lego architect."

"oh we'll see about that," she jabs, opening the box.

azzi's pov:

as we build the lego set together, i can't help but steal glances at paige. i read the instructions to her but she's definitely not listening. already working at the pieces, her focus is unbreakable. her tongue pokes out slightly as she concentrates. it's so quintessentially her, it makes my heart ache.

the day passes by in a blur of laughter and shared memories. it isn't until i notice how dark my room has gotten that i realize we've spent hours on my bedroom floor.

"see, i don't need instructions," paige says, proudly showing off the part she's assembled.

"yeah, whatever," i laugh, admiring her confidence.

we're interrupted by a soft knock at my door, the scent of fresh-baked cookies wafts from behind the door. i open the door to my grandma, always the perfect host, holding a plate of chocolate chip cookies.

she smiles warmly, "i thought you two might want a cookie break."

paige lunges up from the floor almost pushing me over, reaching for the plate. "you're gonna have to send some of these to connecticut," she says, between mouthfuls.

she laughs at her comment, "i wanted to give you this also," in her other hand she hands me an old film camera. "maybe you can capture something special," she smiles before closing the door.

"your grandma makes the best cookies," paige's voice muffled under the sound of her chewing.

before she can react, i snap a photo of her. the camera clicking in a way that makes me giggle.

"hey, i wasn't ready!" she snatches the camera out of my hands. "you're always the model anyways," she says, snapping a photo of me.

i give her a fake smile, still reaching for the camera. "happy now? give it back," i laugh, chasing her around my room.

"not until you give me a real smile," she holds the camera above her head.

"that's not gonna work, we're the same height, stupid," i reach for the camera nearly knocking it out of her hands.

"one picture, with a smile," she takes the camera up to her eye to look through the viewfinder.

i give her another impatient smile. she kneels down dramatically, shifting back and forth while snapping photos.

"okay, my turn," i reach for the camera again.

"these aren't real smiles," she pokes my side, making me giggle. "see there it is, hold still."

i drop my smile and pout dramatically. paige moves the camera away from her face and lunges towards me, jabbing at my sides. "stop, paige," i giggle, swatting at her hands.

she dodges me, her fingers continue relentlessly. i push her onto my bed, using my body weight to keep her still. we fight for a moment squirming around my mattress before i pin both of her wrists down. satisfied, i grin down at her. our laughter comes to a soft stop and we're both breathless.

"see, was that so hard?" paige tilts her head to the side, still out of breath. she attempts to reach her hands up again but i tighten my grip.

"oh, whatever," i roll my eyes, leaning closer to her, my hair draping over her face.

"can i tell you something?" she starts, her voice sounding a bit more serious.

"hm?" i respond, still satisfied i could hold her still.

paige hesitates for a moment, her eyes searching mine. "i've never actually had my first kiss," her cheeks flushing a light pink. "i thought i would've by now, before college, you know?"

i loosen my grip on her wrist, "oh, i had no idea. i figured plenty of guys would be lining up to kiss the paige bueckers," i tease.

"i guess," she looks away bashfully, "i just want it to be with someone special. someone i care about," her voice lowering to a whisper.

there's a silence that hangs between us. i feel my heart pounding in my chest. "like who?" i ask quietly.

i need to hear her say it.

her eyes flicker to my lips briefly before meeting my eyes again. "like...you," she says nervously, almost asking it like a question.

was she saying what i think she was?

"really?" i lean closer to her, my eyes wide and hopeful.

she lets out a nervous breath, her eyes intently locked on my lips. "yeah," she whispers, blinking quickly.

before i can overthink it, she leans in, closing the gap between us. her lips meet mine softly, and my hands reach for her face. i feel a nervous tremble in her lips, soft and warm. the pure flavor of her lips, tasting like vanilla and chocolate. her hands move to my waist, her thumb swaying slightly. we move slowly, gently, not wanting to rush this moment.

our kiss is tender like a warm summer night. her lips move sweetly and determined like she's thought of this before. her hands stroking softly saying "i've wanted this. wanted you."

when she pulls back i feel a new kind of emptiness. how am i going to live with the absence of her touch? she's opened a crack in my heart, long enough for the light to come in.

kissing paige was like sunlight embodied.

we stare at each other for a moment. caught in this new in-between.

what do you say after you kiss your best friend? how do you tell her it was your first kiss too?

"i'm glad it was you," she smiles, sitting up.

"yeah, me too," i murmur, my voice full of emotion. i lean to the side, still dazed from her touch.

"it's getting late, we should probably—" she starts.

"yeah...um," i respond uneasily, standing up to walk over to my closet. i grab one of my old t-shirts and a pair of shorts. "you can wear these to sleep in."

paige takes the clothes from me, her fingers brushing against mine. when we touch this time, it feels different, heavier. she heads to the bathroom to change, and i let out a breath i didn't know i was holding in.

even being just a room over, it feels like she's slipping through my fingers. i'm reminded of my nightmares from last night, paralyzed by the thought of losing her.

i need to tell her.

i grab a piece of paper and pen off my desk, my hands quivering slightly as i start to write.

the first part of the letter flows easily. but as i continue, i feel a shift. the truth hanging in the space between my pen and the paper.

she deserves the truth. and i owe it to myself, to finally tell her.

my heart races, searching for the right words as i continue...

i reread the letter, feeling vulnerable under my own words.

what if this ruins everything? what if she doesn't feel the same way?

i glance at my bedroom door, knowing paige could return at any moment. the panic sets in and i make a split-second decision. my hands shake as i tear the paper in half.

the first part, full of friendship and encouragement. it's a bit more sentimental than usual but not enough to make her suspect anything. i fold it neatly, placing it atop the other objects in the box. it's safe, expected.

the second part, my true feelings for her. i can't bring myself to throw it away, but i'm not ready for her to read it either. i tuck the small slip into the final pages of the last chapter of the book i'm giving her.

maybe one day i'll find the courage to tell her. maybe someday she'll finish the book and know how i really feel. but for now, this feels safe.

i don't know if i'm hoping she finds it or not.

as i hear the bathroom door open, i quickly close the book, sealing my fate. my heart pounds with the weight of my unspoken words.

my thoughts cease when i see her in my clothes. she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, looking unabashedly herself. for a moment, i see our future. imagining our closets becoming one, holding her as she falls asleep, an endless sleepover.

how am i supposed to let her go?

she catches me staring and smiles softly, a knowing glint in her eyes that makes my heart ache. without speaking, we settle into our usual routine. i let her sleep on my favorite side of the bed, she shifts around, trying to get comfortable. eventually, she turns on her side, her back facing me.

right before i drift off to sleep, i hear her call out to me. "azzi," she whispers softly into the dark.

"hm?" i answer, struggling to keep my eyes open.

"can you hold me?"

her voice gentle and vulnerable, as if i could hold every piece of her together. "of course," i wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her in closer. she sinks into my touch, her breath slows.

she drifts to sleep quickly in my arms, our heartbeats syncing. the weight of our unspoken words between us, laying heavily on my chest, pushing me towards a deep sleep.

i dream of never having to let her go.

#Spotify #pazzi #pazzi fic #pazzi fics #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #i bet on losing huskies

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skyview-temple-spring · 5 months

Text

skyward sword dash board simulator! only like three months late to this trend

🌅skychild

hey guys can someone remind me the wing ceremony is in like two hours. im just gonna take a quick nap

🟦bigbluebird Follow

link the wing ceremony is happening

🟦 bigbluebird

LINK THE WING CEREMONY

🗡️why-fi Follow

skyloft heritage post

🌅skychild

I made this two hours ago???

🌅skychild

SHIT THE WING CEREMONY

1,506 notes

🌅skychild

I'm trying to prove a point

🏋️fledglingwarrior

I think you're the only person having this problem

50 notes

🏋️fledglingwarrior

does anyone know if you can get addicted to stamina potions?

2 notes

🌃knight-shift

what happened to normal, good natured usernames. now it seems like everyone is named something like pumpkinplower or remlitgirldick

🎃pumpkinplower Follow

I'm just trying to find someone to help me out on the farm :(

🌃knight-shift

KINA IM SORRY I DIDNT MEAN YOU

800 notes

thegroosinator reblogged bugenthusiast

🌅skychild

she skyward on my sword till I strike

✨sword-of-a-big-dealdeactivated18112011

blocked.

30k notes

🌅skychild

Hey guys I didn't want to do this but this is a call out post for @/sword-of-a-big-deal. It started like two weeks ago when that weird tornado happened. @/knittinggoddess can back me up she has screenshots (she didn't deactivate she's just been gone for a while)

~keep reading~

0 notes

🌅skychild

IMPORTANT impr1s0n3d changed its username to bringer-of-demise!! plz block it don't engage

✨sword-of-a-big-dealdeactivated18112011

umm his pronouns are he/him now please stop using it/its :/ and the rumors he was the one that got the Sealed Temple site shut down are literally false???

15 notes

🌅skychild reblogged

✨sword-of-a-big-dealdeactivated18112011

how about you suck my DICK

🌅skychild

dude she didn't block you for your weird ass parasocial relationship she blocked you because you killed people

6 notes

💌 night-in-armor

she liked my post about how the wing ceremony was rigged this year... should I message her...

#personal post #vent #vent post #vagueblogging #don't reblog

0 notes

🧵knittinggoddess reblogged skychild

🏋️fledglingwarrior

til that remlits attack you at night because of their proximity to demonic energy. Which means there must be a demon on Skyloft. Sleep well!

🙀bats-and-cats Follow

This is false. Remlits are hostile at night because they're predators and do the majority of their hunting then. There are no demons on skyloft

🌅skychild

net zero information. love this site

🐈is-the-remlit-cute Follow

Idk what @/bats-and-cats is talking about. Remlits have been proven to be more hostile when exposed to demonic energy, ESPECIALLY at night. normally they're very docile and only attack if provoked, which prolonged exposure to demonic energy can cause

🌃knight-shift

So there's a demon on Skyloft?

🌅skychild

yeah at ur mom's house lol

#prev you're one to talk #or was that bruise on your neck from 'falling down the stairs' again?

716,021 notes

#skyward sword #unreality

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josephquinnswhore · 1 year

Note

Can I request a fic where Ellie and Joel are traveling to Wyoming but before leaving they go to a store to pick up supplies

And Ellie asks why they are there and he’s like “I have to stock up for my family “ ( cause he left for supplies “ and she’s in shock he has a family but when they get there, they notice that the house has been raided and there are dead raiders in the house

So Joel starts to freak out and can’t find his wife and kid but then ellie finds them in a hidden shed

And when Joel rushes to them, he’s worried about the blood on her but then she’s like “ it’s not mine”

Sorry for it being so long , and it’s totally fine if you do not want to write it :}

A Mothers Strength

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader.

Summary: you and your baby aren’t where Joel left you, instead there is a trail of blood and two bodies he doesn’t recognise.

Word Count: 3.1k

Content Warning: typical tlou violence, reader bashes someone’s brains in, (out) Joel has a mild panic attack.

Note: I’m gonna make this so angsty lol. Thanks for the request I love you anon 🫶🏼🥰 this is one of my new faves!!!!

If there’s one thing Joel taught you; it’s not to panic, to think rationally and do what you have to do to protect yourself; to make sure you were the one that survived, no matter what that entailed. Joel was gone, he had gone to do one last trip to the Boston QZ, he had gone to trade some pills and alcohol for a car battery, he had found a truck a while back but the battery was busted, he claimed Tess knew someone who had one, he hated leaving you, and your 6 month old daughter. But he knew if you had a car, it would ensure safety compared to travelling on foot. That was 5 days ago, it wasn’t unlikely that something had happened, trading in itself was a danger that set you on edge, let alone travelling by himself back and forth with one measly gun and a whole city worth of infected, however many were out there, you would imagine it’s a lot. You had to learn to fight while you were pregnant, you couldn’t be in the Boston QZ and be pregnant, they wouldn’t allow it. Joel helped you escape and you’d been travelling since, looking for a safe haven and trying to find Joel’s brother Tommy. You’d learned you were capable throughout your pregnancy at taking out infected. Very capable.

Unlike Joel however, you had never had to face up against something even worse, other people. Joel had told you stories of when the infection first began, the things he did, the things he and Tommy did to survive, it was essential, survival of the fittest and you had never reprimanded or judged him for it once. Now you were finding yourself in a situation where you would have to find yourself in Joel’s shoes, you would have to find the strength to take lives of people if necessary, to protect you and your daughter. Joel had boarded up the windows and doors before he left, which apparently only made the raiders more suspicious, their murmurs outside becoming louder and more aggressive as they tear down the planks of wood, two voices of men can be heard. You load your gun quietly and hold it to your chest, your uneven breathing causing you to shudder through your nose as you purse your lips. You take one last look at your sleeping daughter in her small hand-woven basket, blue blankets keeping her warm as they wrap around her. “I love you, so much.” Worried you’d never get another chance to tell her again. You slide the basket under the bed out of sight.

“Hey, did you hear that, there’s movement in there. We’ve got company.” One man laughed as their voices became clearer you realised the protection Joel had set had been torn down; it was up to you now, to protect your family. “What if it’s an infected man?” The other man voices reluctantly as they turn the knob and swing the door open. You tiptoe behind the door, hoping that your daughter would stay quite long enough for you to eradicate the intruders. You held your breath as the door opened and you shot the first man in the head, his body dropped to the floor with a thud, the blood seeping through the cracks of the old wooden floors. The gunshot had rung through the room, you could hear the muffled sound of your daughter crying, her wailing drew the attention of the second man who had just growled, “fucking bitch!” As he charged towards you, he had tackled you to the ground, overpowering you easily as he knocked the gun from your hands, he’s heaving from the struggle, his gun pointed at your head once he’s got you still enough. “Gunna fucking kill you then that annoying fuckin kid.” Adrenaline kicked in at the thought of something happening to your daughter, you struggle underneath him and grunt, bringing your knee up to his crotch which he groans at, “you fucking whore, gonna make you pay for that!” He’s holding the crotch of his jeans when you find a baseball bat hidden in the corner that you’d stashed days ago for an emergency in case you’d run out of bullets, you hurry back wards and grab the bat, standing to your feet and before the man can react, you bring the bat down onto his head, he falls to the ground holding the back of his head to try and protect himself from the blows.

You’re seeing red, yelling over the top of your screaming daughter, rage overcoming you as you repeatedly bring the bat down over and over again. You only stop when your arms begin to ache with a weakness that makes you drop the bat, his brain and blood is coating the floor in a slick that you almost slip on as you step over him. You bend down and reach for your daughter, taking her out of the basket, shushing her, “shh, I know baby, it’s okay. Mama’s got you.” Rocking her back and forth until she calms down. You set her back in the basket once she’s settled, you begin to rip up the floorboards in which have your supplies hidden beneath them. “Well, we can’t stay here now can we?” You tell yourself. You pack your bag full of the supplies, food and batteries weigh the bag down heavily on your shoulders, let alone trying to carry your baby in her wooden basket that’s heavy enough without a baby in it. With one hand, you somehow manage to pick up your gun, turn the safety off and stick it in the back of your jeans. You have to walk over the two dead bodies that have begun decomposing, you couldn’t stay here, not with the smell and mess to clean.

“Alright little one. Let’s find somewhere safe to stay till your dad comes back, huh?” As you take your first step out of the house that was meant to protect you; you wonder if you’ll be able to find somewhere safe, if Joel will be able to find you. You just had to hope he would.

“My pack is heavy Joel, can’t we rest?” Ellie grunts in discomfort as she shuffles the heavy backpack in an attempt to try to get it to sit more comfortably, it doesn’t.

“We ain’t stoppin’ till I say. Ain’t got long left to go so stop complaining.” Joel’s fast on his feet, even though the sun is baring down on him without mercy, he’s sweating in his long jeans and blue flannel shirt that’s well outworn and a size too small, his stomach less toned than it used to be, it was a ‘dad bod’ as you had called it, the sleeves are rolled to his elbows. The skin of his face, the back of his neck and arms are well golden now, after hours of travelling in the sun, the damage had been done and his skin was already tanned, he would have to invest in a hat, like you’d always scolded him about, was was sure you would again, after seeing how burnt he was.

“Ain’t got long now, just a few minutes up the road.” Joel clarifies, they walk along the empty tar road, the green grass is long overgrown, well over a foot taller than Joel, his eyes scan the area for raiders as he knows from past experience that they like to lurk in the tall grass and try to ambush you. It happened one time in this area and he hoped you’d never have to protect yourself like how he has, or does. “What are we doing here?” Ellie asks as Joel’s body had subconsciously led him to the small dirt pathway that led to an old house, the paint was faded green and peeling from the wood that seemed to be rotting. “My family are here. Had to trade something before we left for Wyoming.” For the first time ever, Ellie was speechless, Joel had a family? “What’s their names?” It didn’t take Joel long to notice two sets of footsteps, large, around the same size as his own in a boot print, he knew it wouldn’t be infected, it had to be raiders. “Quiet, get behind me.” Joel growls as he reaches for his gun from the back of his jeans, pushing Ellie behind him with the other arm, he walks forward and sees the wooden planks he’d hammered to keep the building closed, were now on the ground, some snapped in half, the front door was open and the silence was eerily quiet, Joel didn’t like the ache that formed in his stomach, the guilt, the fear.

“Fuck.” He breaths, pushing forward with his gun in front of him, the first floorboard he steps over, because he knows it creaks, “stay here. You hear me? Do not come in here.” Ellie nods, seeing the colour falling from Joel’s face and his orbs are blackened, his exterior is hardened and he’s never seen Joel look so fierce, she almost cant recognise the man in front of her, compared to who he was only a few seconds ago. Joel pushed forward, the dining room was clear, everything seemed to be in place which was odd, as he walks through the hallway he checks the first bedroom which is clear, again seemed untouched which he thought was weird, if it was raiders, why didn’t they raid the house? The boards along the windows had all been torn down, the windows open wide and giving the outside world a look into the house. His heart hammered in his chest as he approaches the bedroom door, where he left you, told you it would be okay, that you would be safe. He almost can’t find the will to turn the knob, scared of what lies inside the room.

When he turns the knob, he’s not expected to be hit with a stench so foul he’s taking a few steps back, he almost pulls his shirt over his nose just to try to mask it, he pulls out a bandana and secures it around the back of his neck, giving him some relief from the smell, but not much, it was a stench he knew too well; decomposition. His body is shaking as he bursts through the door, expecting to find his wife and infant daughter, he finds two bodies he can’t recognise, one with a single bullet wound to the head, the other.. was probably the cause of the smell. His brains were splattered along the floor and upside of the wall, blood was stained and now black as it leaks through the already damaged floorboards, your baseball bat sits a few feet away with a huge chip out of the wood, a giant crack through the middle and brain matter and blood splattered up to the handle. He almost lets a breath of relief escape him, seeing the floorboards pulled up and supplies all gone he can almost conclude that you survived and escaped with the supplies, but where were you? Where was your daughter?

“God damn it where are you darlin’?” He says to himself. When Ellie calls out to him. “Joel! Joel? I think you should see this.” Joel steps over the bodies and closes the door, leaving the bat behind. He meets Ellie at the front door and follows her concerned eyes to a shed about half a mile away from the house, a light shimmering from inside the shed caught their attention. “Get out your gun.” Joel instructs coldly. Ellie doesn’t ask about his family, although she can piece the puzzle together, there was something in there that Joel won’t talk about. Could it have been? She doesn’t want to ask.

“Keep up kid.” Joel quickens his pace to a jog and Ellie stays beside the man, she suddenly forgets how heavy her pack is, and Joel ignores the way the battery digs into his back as he runs; but he’s frantic now, wondering what’s happened to you. He can’t, he refuses to lose you and your baby after all he’s been through since this shitstorm started. The gravel crunches underneath their boots as they run towards the shed, the light shutting off when they get within 50 yards. Someone is definitely occupying this shed.

“Stay behind me, got it?” Ellie only nods, she starts to panic at the thought of approaching this shed, she knew nothing good could come of it, seeing the look on Joel’s face scared her. What the fuck was in that house?

You hear it before you see it, the crunching and shuffling of someone coming in your direction, you had to cut your baby feeding off your breast short, lying her down and rocking her basket for a few seconds so she’d settle and quiet down. You pick up your gun that’s set on the work bench beside you and try to peek through the small hole in the wood, to add to your terrible day- two blurred figures ran towards the shed, arms outstretched which you figured must be guns. Fuck. You look back towards your fussing baby with tears in your eyes, maybe your luck has run out. You weren’t going down without a fight. Your adrenaline was still at a high from the fight before, your body still aching but prepared to gauge out eyeballs if that’s what it took to protect your daughter. Where in the world was Joel? The shed door creaks open, it’s a decent sized shed, although you knew there were only so many places you could hide. You heard a voice, a female, she sounded young, but you can’t underestimate anyone these days, anyone and everyone is a threat. You shimmy your daughters basket under the work bench, where you’d pulled a blanket over it to give her a better chance of not being seen.

You creep behind the work benches, hearing their footsteps you can calculate where they are, you’re going in blind, you don’t know how many people they could have hiding around the area, and that’s what worries you. You see a spanned on the ground and throw it, it lands about 8 metres in front of you and it catches their attention. “Did you hear that?” The girl says, her footsteps are fast and then stop. You hear hushed whispering of a man, but you can’t hear what they’re saying. It’s quiet now, they’ve gone opposite ways around you to try and box you in, one is heading straight for the direction of your daughter, by the heavier footsteps you’re assuming it’s the man’s

Fuck it.

You rush back to your daughter, knocking over some things in the process that gain the attention of the two people, you’re sitting in front of your daughter, the cloth barely holding up, you sit with your gun in front of you, your body aching and you weren’t sure if you’d make it this time. You see the girl first, she’s holding a gun towards you and she’s scared, she doesn’t shoot. It’s obvious she’s never held a gun before and you don’t want to shoot a child. “There’s someone over here, she has a gun.” She says in a panicked state, the man comes running over from behind you, seeing you covered in blood and arms shaking, his eyes are scanning and he can’t see your daughter. “Put the gun down,” he warns the young girl, he approaches you, puts his hand over your gun and lowers it. “It’s me darlin, it’s just me. Where is she? You’re covered in blood.” The panic in his eyes and voice is evident, his body tense as he kneels down to you. You don’t say anything, you just pull down the cloth that’s behind you, exposing your fussing daughter in her basket, in the same blue blanket Joel had wrapped her in a few days ago.

“S not mine, the blood.” You’re trembling as you feel the adrenaline leave your body, you were exhausted, eyeing the young girl that was standing there awkwardly. Joel picks up your daughter, rocking her with tears in his eyes, “hi baby girl. It’s your dad, I’m so sorry I left you behind, promise I won’t ever leave you again.” Joel turns to you, “cmon darlin’, we gotta get you up.” Joel helps you up, you stand on wobbling feet like a newborn foel. He sends you a concerned look and you turn away, “I’m fine.” You lie, he notices but doesn’t protest, he’d get to the bottom of it later.

“This is Ellie, she’s comin with us. Ellie this is my wife and daughter.” The girl awkwardly waves and you mutter, “hey, sorry bout the gun kid.” She shrugs, “no big deal. You seem like you’ve had a worse day than mine.” You just shrug in respond, not wanting to talk about it.

Joel makes quick work of putting the new battery in the truck and it starts, having half a tank of fuel your luck is beginning to change. You pack the supplies into the car and Joel begins to drive, it doesn’t take Ellie long to fall asleep in the backseat. Joel’s hand rests on your leg, trying to offer some comfort. “We don’t have to talk about it, jus know I’m here for you.” You look away as you start crying, tears just fall one after another. “Said he was gonna hurt our baby, I just lost it Joel, I blacked out I just- I had to protect her. I don’t even feel guilty, that’s the worst part. I took a life so brutally and I don’t even feel bad about it.” You look to Joel and his eyes are soft, the wrinkles on his head are prominent as he frowns softly. “You did what you had to do darlin’. You kept our family safe. He was a bad man, he got what was comin’ to him. You don’t ever feel bad for protecting your family. You won’t ever have to do it again. I ain’t ever leavin’ you two again, I promise you.” Joel’s own eyes start to blur as tears fell from them, from fear and relief. “Joel?” Your voice is quiet as he looks to you, “are you okay?” He sighs, trying to even his breathing. “I saw the windows and the door open and I just thought the worst, then I smelt the blood and I was terrified that I was goin to find you and-“ he chokes up, unable to finish the sentence, he thought he would find you and your daughter dead. “We’re okay Joel. I fought, just like you taught me to.”

“An now I’m never gonna leave again, can’t risk losing you two, not after everything.” “I know Joel, I believe you.” There’s a moments silence between you when you notice how burnt he is. “You’re sunburnt.” You deadpan, unamused. Joel looks bashful as he rubs the back of his sunburnt neck, “I know. Promise I’ll get a hat soon.”

#pedro pascal #joel miller #angst #tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x you #Ellie Williams #mum x reader Joel miller #dad joel Miller

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bloodymiso · 3 months

Text

★ dude, its just groceries — various x gn reader

how do they buy groceries? do they go to the convenience store every weekend and buy in small batches? or do they go to a big grocery like every 5 months and hoard?

notes: this has been in my drafts for a while lmao | mentions of food(duh), mention of a doctor’s appointment, one or two swears

— in small batches

convenience store lunches, little trips every saturday, small fridge in a small apartment—that was their life. coming home after a long day of work, popping by the tiny store outside your home to grab a sandwich or two and boom! dinner was that easy. living with a little store outside their home was literal heaven.

“awh shucks, we’re out of pudding..” they pout as they turn to you on the bed, upside down and legs on the headboard.

“do we even have anything for dinner?” you ask, turning your head to them as they shook their head. you both pause, a knowing look evident on both of your faces.

“convenience store dinner! last one there pays!” you say as both of you shot up, racing to get to the door as you fought to open it. they sneaked under your arms and through the door , once you got out, they were halfway to the elevator. (or to the store.)

“you little—augh!”

VENTI, ga ming, kazuha, kaveh, GOROU, hu tao, & heizou

— lmao what’s groceries?

uh..doing their own groceries? hell no! they usually just order online. if they’re rich enough, maybe their assistants will do it for them. either way, you have never seen this brat even hold a shopping bag.

“what the..oh my god we’re out of rice!” you said in shock, gawking at the empty cabinet in your kitchen you often held for rice.

“oh really?” they acknowledged before quickly calling someone on their phone. “hey man, could you get us some rice? we’re out lol.”

like..bitch what?

CHILDE, scaramouche, DILUC, furina, navia, AYATO & NINGGUANG

— they hoard

“hey, let’s go to the grocery.” and you end up coming home with 6 bags chock-full of food and supplies to last you pretty much half a year. they were always ready for something bad to happen, an apocalypse, or maybe a shortage in supplies and sure, that was a good thing, but not when they were so strict about it..

wanna get spinach for some lasagna? nope, but we have kale in the fridge! some spices for curry? nope, but we have pepper! it was frustrating, really.

eventually they gave up and joined you on small grocery trips here and there. they had to admit, it was nice only carrying one or two bags home.

“see? now whenever you’re craving something i can just make it.” “don’t mention my cravings.”

WRIOTHESLEY, arlecchino, arataki itto (hear me out), cyno & EULA

— in scheduled visits

“can we go to the grocery today?” you ask, bored out of your mind as you placed down your phone. “we aren’t scheduled for a visit till friday though..” they say, as if replying to a question about a doctor’s appointment.

you didn’t know if it was because of their almost insane sense of orderliness, or because it was how they went for groceries with their parents when they were younger, but god did they stick to their schedule. it was a good way to make sure you wouldn’t use too much money in a week but sometimes, boredom takes the best of both of you.

“fuck it let’s go to the grocery.” they say, standing up from their chair as you stopped tapping your finger on their desk. the shock on your face made it seem like you just figured out the answer to the bonus question on a math exam, but you shrugged it off and reluctantly joined.

ALHAITHAM, GANYU, keqing, kuki shinobu, and.. yeah

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seventeenreasonswhy · 1 month

Text

Same Team! A YJH Office Romance Pt. 6

Idol!Jeonghan x ProductionStaff!Reader

You’re serious about your job, but not as serious as Yoon Jeonghan is about flirting.

~3k words

Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Series Content: slooowwwwww burn, fluff! but with tension!, cute flirting!, will-they-won’t-they vibes!, did I mention tension!?, some alcohol consumption, appearances by all of the members, reader is shy and gets flustered easily!, jeonghan is jeonghan-ing!

My Masterlist

Author’s Note: The plot thickens!! Thank you for everyone who has read this far! I can’t stop thinking about these two! I just love a mischievous king and a buttoned-up queen! This part is kinda long, but we get a confession!!! The tension is palpable!! Thank you so much for reading!! Mentions of S.Coups and Dino in this part. (Also, sorry for portraying Dino as a lowkey alcoholic, I know he does other things besides drink! Lol).

Taglist: @yeoberryx @clownprincehoeshi @soffiyuhh @wonwoos-wineparty @hamji-hae @junniesoleilkth (let me know if you want to be added!)

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+

You weren’t exactly avoiding Yoon Jeonghan... but you weren’t not avoiding him.

Ever since he’d given you a ride home, you would jump at any tasks that required you to go somewhere far away from him—on errands for other members, early subunit shoots that lasted most of the day with a team he wasn’t on, staying late to break down equipment... anything that made you too busy to stop and give him the chance to talk with you again.

There was no denying it, you had a full-blown crush on Yoon Jeonghan. And you were doing everything in your power to make it disappear.

I feel like a teenager... you thought as you sat at your desk, searching for food options in the area of an upcoming GoSe shoot—the crew and the members were going to be there all day and you had been tasked with finding lunch options.

Paris Fashion Week was only a little over a month away, and you couldn’t get the image of Jeonghan leaning forward against his steering wheel and asking you to hang out again... Guilt suddenly rushing through you at how you’d been avoiding him...

You replayed that whole night pretty often in your head, actually. The moment he invited you out with him and Joshua and Dino, the way he draped his arm so casually against the back of your chair, the way he looked driving you home, him saying that you seemed trustworthy... You would catch yourself spacing out, rerunning the moments play-by-play in your head, only to come crashing back down to reality.

“What are you spacing out about?” Jiyeon’s voice came from behind you. She had been a little nicer to you since Jeonghan called her out that one time. But she was still a pain to deal with.

“Nothing,” you said quickly.

“Well, they’re asking for you downstairs.”

“Who is?”

“Dino wants you to film a challenge of him and Seungcheol,” she said with a noticeable roll of her eyes.

Oh, good. You were relieved that Jeonghan wasn’t involved. You had been behaving so awkwardly around him. When you couldn’t avoid him, he always greeted you. You either bowed, even though he’d made it clear you didn’t need to, or you just completely froze. You were so embarrassed—you had been working together for months! Also, nothing had happened between you two!! These were things you yelled inside your own head, but it was pointless. Every time he walked through the door, it was like the floor had disappeared and you were floating through space, totally unaware of how to behave or what to say to him.

You knew that you weren’t like this around the other members—if anything, you’d gotten more comfortable around them. You’d even gone to drinks with Mingyu, Dino, and Minghao a couple of weeks ago—your second time spending casual time outside of work with the members. It had been nothing like the time you went out with Jeonghan. You’d felt relaxed enough to get tipsy and ended up having a fun time. You weren’t preoccupied with how you were coming off or whether you were saying the wrong thing around most of the members anymore. You’d even started drunkenly arguing with Minghao in Chinese, which Dino had embarrassingly caught on video.

Deep down, you knew you were being obvious and idiotic about this stupid, dead-end crush. You were both adults! And you worked together! You could be friends!! Why was this so difficult!?

The lines of text in your contract kept flashing before your eyes, despite how much you told yourself this was going nowhere.

Romantic relationships between employees are strictly prohibited and will result in the immediate termination of your position.

You tried to repeat this to yourself like a mantra until you realized that you were being completely delusional. Jeonghan has never said that he wanted to form a romantic relationship with you. You just got drinks the one time and got a ride home with him. He was being nice for your birthday, that’s all.

These were the thoughts rushing around in your head when Jiyeon snapped her fingers in front of your face.

“God, wake up! Did you not hear me? Dino asked specifically for you for some reason, so hurry down there!” she said, annoyed.

“Sorry!” You said frantically as you rushed downstairs. Jiyeon was being annoying, but you knew she was right: you were here because it was your job. You needed to stop spacing out and focus on what you were paid to focus on: helping the members with their content.

“Nunaaaa!” Dino said as soon as you entered the practice room. He and Seungcheol were going to do a cutesy challenge together. A favorite fan combo: the youngest and the oldest.

“Dinoooo,” you said in a silly voice. You and Dino had become friends at this point, which made you feel so relieved. He was like your cute little brother who came to you for advice, not to mention for help with his English and his dance challenges. You turned to see Seungcheol sitting against the wall, looking at his phone. He looked up and smiled at you. Seungcheol was easy to talk to. He was committed to being professional, which you appreciated, and you’d gotten to know him a bit more than some of the other members since he often spoke with the staff and was more involved in some of the content and scheduling. He really acted like a leader, on and off camera. You bowed slightly at him.

And then you saw someone sitting not too far from him—a designer bucket hat covered most of his face, but you would recognize those lips, that hair, that frame... you would recognize Yoon Jeonghan anywhere.

“Ah, hello,” you said, switching to a more formal voice and bowing.

“Y/N-nuna, why are you getting all formal with me!? Just say hi!” Jeonghan jokingly chided you and you felt like your chest was going to explode.

“Sorry,” you said, still using the formal language, “What are you doing here?”

“Ah, he won’t leave me alone about getting something to eat,” Seungcheol said, standing and putting his phone away.

“I’m hungry!” Jeonghan whined in a cute voice. God, you both loved and hated it when he did that. He was too good at being playful—he was able to get almost anything he wanted out of the staff, you included of course.

“I have to go to the gym first!” Seungcheol whined back. “Let’s get this over with.” He turned back to you, and you took out one of the many phones that the staff shared for this kind of thing. If the members kept everything they filmed on their own phones, they’d be overheating so much they wouldn’t be able to communicate when needed. So there were a handful of phones that were used for challenges and other random stuff, most of them only had social media apps installed.

“I’m just here to watch,” Jeonghan said, and he went back to leaning against the far wall of the studio.

You looked at him, and he lifted his head slightly to reveal a devilish grin underneath his bucket hat. He was looking right at you.

How am I supposed to keep my hands steady to film this challenge while you’re here?? You thought desperately.

“Okay, let’s get this over with,” you said quietly. The challenge was an easy one, it only took a few takes—mostly because Seungcheol kept cringing at himself, which made Dino and you laugh, and then made Jeonghan laugh. You felt the tension start to mercifully dissolve.

“Let’s go eat!” Jeonghan said as soon as you decided on a video that would work. “Nuna come with us!” He looked at you so decisively that it took you a second to understand.

“Ah, yes,” Seungcheol said, giving you an unmistakable expression of relief, “you take him! I have to go work out first.” What is he, our shared toddler? You thought, even if you were already starting to get excited and nervous at the thought of eating with Jeonghan.

“I want to come!” Dino said. Okay, probably for the best, you thought. But some small part of you was... disappointed? This is getting out of hand.

“I can’t!” you said reflexively, your heartbeat in a frenzy. Your face had flushed as soon as you saw him, but you could feel it growing a deeper and deeper shade of red.

“What do you mean, ‘you can’t?’” Dino asked.

“That’s right,” Jeonghan said, “I thought nuna liked hanging out with us.” He was looking right at you again, standing now as Dino and Seungcheol gathered their things.

“I can give you a ride home again,” Jeonghan’s voice was lower, and more direct. You looked at him, and realized how close he was... He was looking at you so expectantly, one corner of his mouth turned up into the sexiest smirk you’d ever seen.

Jesus.

“Okay, let’s go,” you said, finally relenting. “But I’m not drinking!”

“Ugh, no fun,” Dino said as he walked ahead of you, leaving you and Jeonghan trailing behind.

“You don’t have to drink,” Jeonghan said, clapping you on the shoulder. You practically jumped at the sudden touch, and you swore you could see Jeonghan laughing to himself out of the corner of your eye. “I’m just glad you’re not ignoring me anymore.”

Your head snapped toward him at his words, purred out in a low voice right next to you.

“I haven’t been ignoring you,” you said futilely.

“You’re such a bad liar,” Jeonghan chuckled at you, his smirk still glued to his face as his dark eyes roved over you. “It’s so cute nuna.”

This was a bad idea, you thought. Your nerves couldn’t handle going out to dinner with Yoon Jeonghan.

He smiled beside you, his own chest thrumming quietly with relief.

***

The place was fashioned in the style of a Japanese izakaya, tucked away on a side street, on the basement level of a narrow building. There was almost no one there. You wondered how the members knew which places would be quiet and deserted. It must be knowledge that grew over time when you’re famous. It was probably second nature for them.

“Let’s drink beer!” Dino said excitedly, waving the bartender over as you sat between him and Jeonghan at the sleek but cozy dark wood bar. The bar stools were crammed together in the small space, and you felt your leg almost touching Jeonghan’s.

Once again, you wondered how you ended up here. How did you end up getting invited out like this? Why had Jeonghan been looking at you so much? Why had he clapped you on the shoulder?

You were deep in your thoughts, pretending to look at the menu, when you felt Jeonghan’s thigh press gently against yours. Your head jerked in his direction by reflex, but he was just smirking to himself and pretending to look at the menu. You tried to pull your thigh away, but he kept pressing his leg further toward you.

You let out a nervous laugh involuntarily.

“What?” Dino said, having completely missed your little vying-for-territory exchange.

“Nothing,” you said, your heart hammering out of control.

“Whoa, you’re already red nuna,” Dino said, “we’re not even drinking yet.”

“I overheat easily,” you said, trying to cool off your cheeks with the back of your hand. Jeonghan was leaning on the bar now, giving his order to the bartender.

“Two of these,” he said, pointing to the menu, “one for her and one for me.” You could only stare at him.

You may have been inexperienced in the romance department, but you weren’t an idiot. He was definitely flirting, and it was driving you insane.

You tried to maintain your composure, focusing mainly on having a conversation with Dino. But occasionally, you would feel Jeonghan’s thigh pressing against yours, making you stutter or blush and snap your gaze in his direction—only to be met with his typical smirk. You nervously downed more and more beer, Dino at least two glasses ahead of you.

“I have to piss,” he said suddenly, his face beet red.

“Uh oh,” Jeonghan said, “Dino’s drunk.”

“I’m not drunk!” Dino said, “you’re drunk...” and he staggered off toward the bathroom.

“Should we—” you started to get up to follow Dino, mostly because you didn’t want to be left alone with Jeonghan, but also because he really did seem wasted.

“He’s fine,” Jeonghan’s hand closed around your forearm, gently pushing you back down into your seat. You were so close to him that you could smell his perfume. He was looking right at you—staring at your face again. You felt yourself start to panic and looked away.

“Nuna’s so pretty,” Jeonghan said softly, and you turned to stare at him, incredulous.

“Stop making fun of me,” you said, your heartbeat skyrocketing to dangerous levels.

“I’m not!” his eyes got wider, and he straightened up a little in his barstool.

“Then what are you doing?” you asked, your tone coming out more bristled than you meant it to. Jeonghan paused, his face falling ever so slightly.

“Ah, nuna do you hate me?” He was using a playful tone, but you weren’t sure if he was asking as a joke or not.

“No!” you said firmly, now feeling panicked for an entirely different reason, “not at all!”

“Then why were you ignoring me?”

Is he drunk? You wondered as you watched his face fall into a full-blown pout. He was leaning kind of close to you... Did I hurt his feelings? You couldn’t help but wonder. He was playing idly with the edge of a napkin, glancing in your direction... and reality started to settle in your chest.

Holy shit, he’s not kidding. You thought.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little excited by this. You tried to calm your thoughts, already careening out of control. Was he interested in you? Was he messing around? Did he do this with new staff? It’s not like he got a lot of opportunities to flirt or even talk to women outside of the staff or other people in the industry... Was he just being playful? Your mind was so muddled with all of the possibilities, overwhelmed by any one of them... but you did your best to breath steadily, finally facing him and gazing directly into his beautiful, dark eyes.

“Yoon Jeonghan-shi.”

You had never used such a straightforward tone with him, and he stopped playing with the edge of his napkin—staring at you instead, stock still. His gaze was expectant, and you held it for a long time. You’d said his name so seriously, but now you weren’t sure how to ask what you wanted to ask...

“I’m bored!!” Dino came crashing back to where you were sitting, throwing one arm around Jeonghan’s shoulders.

Your timing!! Dino!!! You couldn’t help but scream inside. Jeonghan looked visibly annoyed, which you hadn’t seen before.

“Ya~!” He said in a raised voice, and Dino stood up straighter. He looked at Jeonghan, then at you, then back at Jeonghan.

“What’s going on here?” he asked. Even wasted, he could’ve cut the tension between the two of you with a knife.

“Nothing,” Jeonghan said before you could interject, “nuna and I were just chatting.” He looked at you seriously, and you understood that you should keep... whatever that was between the two of you.

“You both look like someone died, snap out of it!” Dino yelled, “let’s go to karaoke!”

“Let’s get you a car home,” Jeonghan said, pulling out his phone.

“I’m fine!” Dino insisted, but he was literally hiccupping like a cartoon. After some bickering, Jeonghan convinced him to go home—almost actually pushing him into the car.

The two of you were left standing on the deserted street, the warm glow of the izakaya’s lights hitting your backs. Jeonghan looked away from you, but you could tell the vibe had shifted. You were both a little tipsy...

“I’m sorr—”

“Nuna—”

Just as you were about to apologize for what happened inside, Jeonghan turned to you and spoke in a deeper, softer voice than you usually heard from him. You froze, licking your lips out of nervousness and feeling hesitant to continue.

“Nuna,” Jeonghan said again, then stopped. He exhaled sharply from his nose and looked across the street. Whatever it was that he wanted to say was not coming easily to him, which made your heartrate accelerate at an alarming pace.

“...Yes?” you asked, feeling awkward and exhilarated at the same time.

You stood there, until Jeonghan turned directly to you—staring right into your eyes.

“I think you’re beautiful.”

All you could do was stare at him in stunned silence.

“I think lots of things about you, actually. I want to talk to you. I want to spend more time with you. I think about you when we’re not at work. I wonder what you’re doing, who you’re with, what your house is like, what you do for fun... I try to find you when we are working. I wonder what you think of me. I get sad and frustrated when you avoid me.”

He was stepping closer and closer to you, as this stream of words that you could barely understand or believe came pouring out, all while he held your gaze.

“I don’t think I can say that I have feelings for you, but I am very interested in seeing you.”

He looked at you, the air between you now full of anticipation. You didn’t know what to say, or even what facial expression you might be making... This was... was this really happening?

“Is this really happening?” you barely whispered.

Jeonghan smirked, and your heart felt completely overcome.

“Jeonghan-shi...” you said slowly, “... I'm...” But the words couldn't come. Your heart was threatening to burst out of your chest, and your legs were threatening to give out...

"I'm sorry—"

#seventeen #svt #seventeen kpop #jeonghan fanfic #jeonghan fic #yoon jeonghan x reader #yoon jeonghan #seventeen yoon jeonghan #yjh fanfic #jeonghan #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fic #seventeen x reader #jeonghan x y/n #jeonghan x reader #svt yoon jeonghan #jeonghan fluff #jeonghan seventeen

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as-is-above-so-below · 1 year

Text

The Captain - Simon Riley x Sniper!Reader, Wife!Reader

Part 6: Darling

summary: Ghost’s sniper wife (reader) joins Task Force 141 on an op, against his wishes call sign: Freyja warning: implied sexual content, MDNI Note: PART 6 HAS ARRIVED! Thank you for all of your support! A special thank you to @lethalchiralium and @peachesofteal for workshopping with me, per usual, and being my beta! Enjoy and blessed be! (p.s. ghost drinking an orange sodie lol) << Previous | Next >>

Simon could hear his daughter’s screams as he came up the walkway to their front door, duffel slung over his shoulder. He had returned from a month-long deployment an hour ago and only allowed himself enough time to debrief and return his weapons once on base before hopping in his car and heading home.

He entered the house, still in full gear (mask and all), to find his heavily pregnant wife pacing the living room, their crying daughter in her arms. Her eyes and cheeks were red when she turned to the door, sobbing in relief at the sight of him.

“Oh, sweetheart. What’s going on?” he asked, dropping his bag by the door and going to her.

“She has a-a cold.”

“I can see that.” He wiped at the snot and drool on Joanie’s lip with his glove. “Where’s Roach?”

“He went to pick König up. You didn’t see him?”

“No. Must’ve just missed ‘im.” When Price handed out assignments for their most recent deployment, Roach had offered (more like decided) to stay with Freyja for the duration of his absence. With König also deployed, it made sense for him to help her with the baby and housekeeping while Simon was gone. Better than staying on base – alone – for a month. Knowing someone was in the house with his family made him feel better about leaving for such an extended period, especially with his track record. The last time he had left the country, leaving his pregnant spouse behind…

Simon rubbed his daughter’s back, his heartstrings tugging at the thought of her being in pain. “Give ’er here, I’ll take a turn.”

“Si, no, you must be exhausted-”

“I am exhausted, which means I’m in no mood to argue. Go to bed, love, please.”

His pleading didn’t seem to affect her as she went back to doing laps around the couch. “The doctor said there’s nothing we can do. It just has to pass. I’ve tried everything. Chest salve, shower steam, saline – nothing’s working. Every-Every time we put her down or sit down, the screaming just gets worse. Can’t stop…moving, and your son is kicking the shit out of me-”

This was ironic, considering how Joan only kicked when Simon or one of their friends spoke or touched her belly. Now, their son only ever kicked for her.

“Freyja.”

She stopped her rambling and found he had stepped into her path; he firmly held her biceps and dragged his hands up and down. Freyja sniffled as another tear slipped down her cheek. No singular word could describe how she felt (and probably looked). Drained, fatigued, beaten, dog-tired; none quite did the trick.

“You look like shit. You need to get some rest.”

“No, Simon, please just go to…bed.”

Soon as Ghost took Joan and returned to massaging her spine, her wails simmered to quiet whimpers as she cuddled into him. She dropped her head onto his shoulder, little fingers hanging from the collar of his shirt to the top of his vest. Their baby was getting big, her senseless baby talk beginning to lean more toward coherent vocabulary. When Joanie cried a soft “Dada” against his neck, Freyja started to sob harder, the heels of her palms dug into her eyes.

Shit. “What’s wrong? She stopped screaming bloody murder. That’s a good thing.”

“I’ve been trying to calm her down for hours! You come home, and after five minutes, you’ve fixed it. She hates me! She fucking hates me!”

“Frey, look at me.” He stopped comforting Joan for a moment to tilt his wife’s chin up, forcing her to listen to him. When she did, he took his hand back. “Babies see their mothers as an extension of themselves. She knows your heartbeat and breathing sounds; she gets food from you…”

“Who told you that?”

“…I read about it.”

Freyja softened, tears no longer flowing freely. “You read parenting books?”

“Of course I do. I want to be the best for them and you.” He pulled her into his chest with one arm, his covered lips pressing into her hair. “You are her mother. I could never take your place. You’re her home. But I’ve been gone for a month, and I’ve never been away from her this long. There’s something to be said about missing her dad and wanting some comfort.”

When Simon brushed her tears away, she turned to kiss his palm, then rested her cheek there. Freyja didn’t know how, but her husband sure had a way with words, always knowing how to make her feel better.

“Better?”

“Mhm,” she hummed and, before she could reach to pull his mask up, Joanie whined in frustration, kicking her legs impatiently, about to start up again. Simon chuckled and let his wife go, his heavy boots thunking against the hard floor as he began what would be a long night of getting his steps in.

“Good. Now do as Daddy tells you and go to bed. Don’t make me tell you again.”

Coming up on the end of her pregnancy, the ‘waddling’ stage was in full swing. If Freyja thought she was big just before Joan was born, she was almost certainly a whale now, and she was losing energy much faster than before. This time around, though, they were sure to schedule a c-section for the week before her due date. The OB didn’t put up much of an argument with her medical history and Joan’s early arrival.

Her phone pinged again as she rounded the corner toward her husband’s office.

And again.

Joan’s irritable whines became more evident as she closed in on her destination. “Si, I can only move so fast.”

“Oh, thank god.” Ghost detached Joan’s iron grip from his mask while she was distracted. She continued to kick her little legs against him, trying to get away. “She’s antsy. I can’t get her down for shit. She’s sick of me.”

He wheeled his chair around the desk and tugged her missing sock back on (to her protest) until he reached the other side and placed her feet on the floor. “See? Mum’s here. Go see her,” he cooed, her tiny hands gripping his thumbs for support.

“Dad Ghost” as she had lovingly coined Simon in his work attire, was a walking contradiction. An arguably massive man, a masked mystery to majority of the population on base, snapping otherwise cocky and egotistical soldiers back in line. Still, no one dared to laugh as he screamed at them for poor technique or a lackluster performance with a blonde baby on his hip or strapped to his back. It never failed to make her want to giggle, hearing such a soft, gentle tone from the big scary skull plate affixed to his balaclava.

Freyja was halfway across the room when he stood their daughter between his comically large boots. “She won’t go that far,” she admonished. “If you give her too big of a task, she’s not going to even try-”

As if sensing her mother’s doubt, Joan took a steady step forward, still holding Simon’s hands in deep concentration. Then another, and another –

Until he couldn’t stretch forward anymore, and she let go, hobbling towards Freyja until she stumbled at her feet, letting out a soft baby grunt.

They both stared at each other in silence, eyes wide and mouths agape in shock. Neither spoke for a good minute, until Joanie pulled herself up again by Freyja’s cargo pants, babbling, “Mum mum mum mummm”, gnawing at the thick material and looking up with big, brown eyes.

“Did she just…?”

“I told you, she’s bloody brilliant.” Simon shot up to scoop the baby and place her in his wife’s waiting arms.

“My big, smart girl! I can’t believe it!” She squealed and giggled as Freyja peppered her face in fat, wet kisses and gently shook her. Ghost joined in, playfully nibbling at the rolls on the other side through the black material covering his face. Joanie smacked them both away, screaming with joy. Amongst all the commotion, Price stopped in the doorway on his way to their brief (which they were about to be late for).

“What’s going on here?” he asked, fists on his hips in faux anger. “I thought we had an understanding! No fun at work without Granddad.”

“We officially have a walker on our hands!”

Price gasped and crossed the room in an instant. “And I missed it?!” He shoved the stack of mission folders at the lieutenant and stole his granddaughter from her mother, hiking her high up on his waist. “You walked without me? I’m offended, little miss, but I’ll settle for a victory lap.”

He plucked his green bucket hat off the top of his head and dropped it onto hers, earning a high-pitched shriek of delight when it covered her face. “Let’s roll, everybody. We’ve got a meeting to get to,” he commanded before marching down the hall. “Oi, lads! She walked!”

A chorus of cheers broke out in the distance, followed by a wall-shaking group chant, “Joanie! Joanie! Joanie!”

Freyja just stood there, pouting, arms crossed atop her belly. “Just once, I’d like to celebrate our baby’s milestones in peace.”

“You know that’s not possible, love.” Ghost chuckled next to her, offering a single pat to her ass as they headed to the briefing. While neither of them would be going, it was their job to know what was going on during their impending absence. The ruckus started to die down when the couple sat, and the others followed suit. Soap placed a mug of peppermint tea in front of her, which she thanked him for, and Laswell, Gaz, and Soap filed around the table.

“Kӧnig and Roach should be here shortly,” Price said, bouncing Joan on his lap as Ghost passed out manila folders.

Gaz checked his watch with a furrowed brow. “It’s five past. Maybe they forgot?”

“Just give them a few minutes. I’m sure they’ll be here.”

“His office was closed, so he’s definitely in there. I can go grab ‘im. It’s no trouble,” he offered, the metal legs of his chair scraping against the floor as he stood up.

“Be my guest, Sergeant,” Freyja hummed, making eye contact with John as she sipped her tea, hiding her mischievous grin behind the cup. She waited for an appropriate amount of time, about how long it would take to take ten paces up the hall before she held up five fingers.

“You’re a demon.”

“Five, four, three, two…”

“Verdammt nochmal!”

There’s a loud bang, eerily similar to the sound of a six-foot-six body slamming into the floor. Boots thunder against the ground until Gaz appears in the doorway again, eyes wide and blushing like a madman.

“Genau deshalb habe ich das Militär verlassen, keiner von euch hat den Anstand, verdammt noch mal anzuklopfen!”

“Didn’t knock, did you.”

“Nope.”

“How bad?”

König stomped into the meeting, red as a tomato as he jerked his long, tangled (read: freshly fucked) hair into a knot at the base of his neck before slipping his hood on. Roach walked in behind him, grinning like an absolute idiot (read: clearly the one doing the fucking), albeit a bit flush, and his clothes untucked and wrinkled as he plopped beside John.

“At least I didn’t get knifed this time.”

“Der Tag ist noch jung, Unteroffizier.”

“I don’t know what that means, but it sounded like a threat.”

“It was,” Freyja sang, her body shaking as she attempted to withhold laughter.

By the time Price had finished divulging the details of the op scheduled for the end of the month (which was also around the time of her c-section, which left Freyja and those deploying disappointed), Joanie had escaped his hold to crawl across the table and landed in her mother’s lap. She sat back against Frey’s round belly, happily gnawing on a teething ring while the captain combed her fingers through her soft, blonde curls.

John cleared his throat and leaned back, tipping the chair on its back legs. “So…In a shocking turn of events, Roach is the top–”

“WHAT DID YOU SAY, CAPTAIN?!” Soap screeched after choking on his coffee, leaving a stain on his shirt as it dripped from his nose.

“Oh, mein Gott…”

“I don’t know. What did I say, Sergeant?”

Across the table, Roach held his lips between his teeth as he wheezed, quickly signing, “Only for my king.”

“PLEASE PLÖTZE! Stop talking!” König, finally deciding he’d had enough, shot up from his seat and practically sprinted out of the room, almost bonking his head on the door frame on his way out. A moment later, he stormed back in and snagged his forgotten file awaiting him in Roach’s outstretched hand before turning back out.

Biting his lip, Soap muttered, “Interesting…” to himself, eyeing the Austrian’s retreating form before flicking back over to Roach. The Brit was already looking at him, probably having heard him being sat next to him. He winked with a devilish smirk, and practically purred, “S’alright, happens tae th' best o' us.”

A few days shy of their next mission, and the birth of the newest Riley, the gang gathered around their living room for one last game night before Roach, König, Soap, and John departed for another mission. Roach and König were less than pleased to be missing the birth of their godson, but it couldn’t be helped.

Kyle placed a red eight down on the stack of cards, ending his turn. “C’mon, mate, what’s the wildest thing you’ve done on a mission?” he prodded, raising a brow in Simon’s direction. “You know all our stories. It’s only fair.”

The two shared a knowing look, and Freyja giggled once before Kyle interrupted, “Besides that, you heathens.”

Simon pressed against the kitchen chair he had dragged in for himself, seriously considering what he would consider the most outlandish activity he had partaken in outside of combat. Particularly, that didn’t involve screwing his wife in places they shouldn’t, like public places, sniper lookouts, cars, or supply closets…

Before he could drift too far, he caught the saucy side-eye his wife was throwing him from her deep armchair.

“No.”

Soap peeked up from his hand with a quirked brow. “Does Ghostie have an embarrassing secret? Now we have to know!”

“It’s not a secret, and I’m not embarrassed by it just because I don’t flaunt it around,” he said, shot back the rest of his whiskey, and replaced his mask. Simon didn’t always wear it with their friends; he just so happened to feel inclined to it that night. There was no rhyme or reason as to when he needed the comfort; the urge just came and went as it pleased.

He tried his best to sound completely disinterested, hoping the discussion would blow over as he threw down his card. “Blue.”

Unfortunately, his plan did not work, and all interest in their game of Uno was lost. Kyle threw his hand down on the table, completely giddy. “WHAT IS IT?! TELL US!”

Simon groaned, throwing his cards at his wife, who simply laughed. “See, look what you did.” He sighed and begrudgingly unhooked his mask from behind his ears, tossing that at her too. After a beat, he let his tongue loll out, revealing a silver ball.

Several (if not all) of their jaws dropped, save for Freyja’s, who was utterly thrilled that this was happening.

Johnny was the first to speak. “Is…that…” he stuttered, staring unabashedly in disbelief.

He snapped his mouth shut again once everyone had had a decent look. “Alright, can we move on please–”

The Scot pounced across the space, clearing the coffee table as he knocked Simon out of his chair, taking them both down into a heap on the floor. They wrestled as he tried to dig his fingers into Ghost’s mouth and pry it open again. “LEMME SEE!”

“JOHNNY!” Simon roared, bucking and thrashing his hips in attempt to get the man off, but he quickly scooted up until he sat firmly on his chest, knees pinning his shoulders as he yanked the piercing back out.

“Awe, so that’s why you’re always fuckin’ like horny teenagers! Oh, ah bet that feels good on your cu-”

“SHUT UP, SOAP!” “THAT’LL DO!”

Freyja whipped her slipper at Johnny’s head, which he swiftly dodged. Meanwhile, Gaz was face down on the floor, having a fit and struggling to breathe. Price looked like he would actually rather die than endure another moment of the scene unfolding at his feet. Kӧnig was carefully weaving between people and furniture to remove Soap before he got hurt, and Roach stayed in his spot, mouth open in silent laughter.

Thank God Joanie was a heavy sleeper.

“Are you gonnae sit there ‘n tell meh that a’m wrong? A husband should always eat arse!”

“JOHNNY, OH MY FUCKING GOD!”

Kyle finally caught his breath and cut back in, “But does it WORK?!”

Everybody froze, including Kӧnig, whose hands looped under Johnny’s armpits, about to extract him. From underneath him, Simon glared up at his wife (who started this whole fucking mess). “Freyja–”

But Freyja, being the brat she is and loving the chaos, “…It works.”

Simon covered his face with both of his now freed hands, so utterly sick of her shit as the sergeant shook his shoulders, he and Gaz both screaming like madmen. Kӧnig still hovered over them, ready to remove Johnny if Simon called for it, his red hair up in a neat top knot at the crown of his head. A few strands hung loosely by his ears and at the peak of his forehead, framing his pale skin.

“AAAAAYYYYYY, SO YOU DO GIVE GOOD HEAD!”

He removed his shield at that, looking up at Johnny with a confused expression. “Who said I don’t give good head?”

Price flinched with a crinkled nose and grabbed his hat from the back of the couch. “That’s my cue.”

“Scary guys either have monster cock or scary good head,” Kyle stated as if it were pure fact.

“But he has both.”

“I can’t fucking take this.” Simon finally shoved at Johnny and the Austrian lifted him with ease, standing the Scot back on his feet.

Soap dusted off his pants. “Damn, you’ll have’ta get one’a those, Köni,” he teased and turned to face the giant, looking up at him with a boyish grin.

König’s skin, ever the shy one, immediately painted itself a rosy hue, unable to be hidden by any hood or mask. Even Roach was taken by his brashness and turned a little pink himself, choosing to sip his drink. König was, unfortunately, frozen in place, wide eyes staring down at Johnny’s proud face.

Three seconds pass.

Then two more.

Then three again.

“OH MY GOD, THAT WAS THEM?! The threesome you told me about a few weeks ago, was them?”

With nowhere else to go, König collapsed onto the couch and pulled the neck of his sweater over his face. “Verdammter Himmel, Johnny…” If he could crawl into a hole and die, he would.

“What can ah say? M’services are world-class.”

“Can confirm,” Roach added, having put his glass down so he could use both hands to talk.

Johnny raised a brow and dragged his eyes from Roach’s shoes, slowly up his shins, then his thighs and chest before settling on the challenging smirk on his freckled face. “‘S that so?” he asked, stepping into the space between Roach’s knees and the table.

Roach simply nodded, looking up at his boyfriend through hooded lashes, resembling a lovesick puppy with shocking accuracy. He knew exactly what he was doing, too, the tip of his tongue poking out between his teeth. Roach was a…talented flirt, to say the least.

His glass was carefully removed from his hand and placed on a coaster. Without a second thought, Soap wrapped his fingers around Roach’s wrist, dragged it behind his neck, and tossed the man over his shoulder. Gaz gaped, completely dumbfounded into silence – flabbergasted, if you will. He paused in the entryway, looking over his opposite shoulder.

“You comin’, Kö?”

König, still tucked away in the corner of the couch, peeked out from the cocoon he had created with his sweater. Even his forehead was tinged red, still. He openly stared for a bit before mustering up enough courage to rise again, and in an impossibly meek voice for such a large man, replied, “...Yes, sir,” and loosely tangled their fingers together.

Kyle threw his hands up then dropped them onto his head, dragging his cap back a bit. “WHAT IS GOING ON?!”

Freyja offered a sympathetic pat, her bottom lip jutted out. Poor Simon, who had returned to his seat, covered his mouth with one palm as he tried to contain his chuckles. He pulled his mask back on after retrieving it from the floor.

“Don’t worry, Gaz,” she said and poked his cheek. “We’ll find you a nice girl.”

“I GET AROUND FINE!” He swatted her hand away, glowering at her. “You’re all just a bunch of slags!”

He jumped up, abandoning his beer and putting his hat back in place. “Where’s my niece? I need to restore my innocence,” he grumbled, trudging upstairs.

“Simon, did he just call us sluts?”

“Yes, darling.”

taglist: @esthervalea, @miss-leto, @sweetestcowboy, @blueoorchid, @apocalypticseagull, @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction, @covenlovenn, @330bpm-whiplash, @gnoccheyy, @jaggernauticals, @dwkfan, @untoldshortsofthefandomsdoms, @bobfloydsgf, @maviee, @thomaslefteyebrow, @kyovy, @prodyng, @scout-fang, @avalkyrieofparis, @misshoneypaper, @berryjuicyy, @voteforpedropascal, @beakami, @addictedtothefictionalworld

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loquaciousferret · 1 year

Text

Partners

Summary: After a difficult 6-month partnership with Agent Peña, the tension unravels itself in an unexpected way.

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Content Warnings: 18+ ONLY, smut, degradation, sexism, physical violence, rough unprotected sex, powerplay/ light dom/sub dynamics, male-receiving oral sex - rough. sir!kink, semi-public sex (private but in an office/public place), maybe more PLEASE read at own risk.

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: You guys ATE up my mean!Javi last time and made it my most popular fic so far! (nearly 900 notes is absolutely crazy and also over 100 followers thank you so much). He is so much worse in this LOL

@silkiers @tightjeansjavi

“You don’t outrank me!” You yelled at Agent Peña, and the way his eyes darkened when you pointed this out honestly terrified you.

“Maybe not.” He says through gritted teeth. “But this is my fight.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “It’s everybody’s fight. We are partners, Javier. Equal partners. Stop acting like you are the only person with a stake here!” You respond, exasperated. Since you joined the team in Colombia as Javier Peña’s partner 6 months ago, this must be an argument you have had over a dozen times.

“If you had just obeyed orders they never would have gotten away!” He yelled, closing the distance between you in the already narrow corridor and stabbing a finger towards you accusatorially. “It’s your fault.”

“Get it through your head! There is no “obeying your orders” Javi.” You say through gritted teeth, before your voice raises to a yell, “You are not my superior. Get used to it!” You are enraged by his constant disrespect.

“Well I should be, though.” He seethes.

“What?” You snap.

“How many arrests do you have since you got here?” He challenged.

You scoffed and put a hand on his shoulder to push him out the way and rejoin your team, but he stood firm, not letting you past.

“How many times have I saved your ass in the field? Have you ever done it in return?” He continues.

You exhale with exertion as you continue to try and pass him, but he is steadfast.

“Answer me, hm? You really think you’re my equal in this job?”

“I’m not doing this, Javi. I’m not in competition with you.”

“Right. Because you know yourself that you can’t be.” He sneered.

“Stop it.” You urge him, your frustration growing by the second. “I earned my right to be on this team the same way you did.”

“Oh now that’s funny.” He scoffed, “I know who your father is. You don’t think him being head of internal affairs has anything to do with your appointment here?”

“How dare you.” You say, seething with anger at his insinuation. It's not like it isn't one you've heard behind your back, but it's the first time someone has thrown it in your face. “I didn’t even tell my father I was applying for this transfer. He has nothing to do with it.”

“Ok.” He stares at you with a dark look in his eyes. “Then who did you fuck to get the job, then?” The way the word rolls of his tongue makes it sound more vulgar than you could imagine, and before you can take a moment to stop yourself, Javi gasps in shock as your right hand connects with his cheekbone with an amazing amount of power. You just slapped your partner.

“You fucking bitch.” He spits.

For a second you honestly thought he was approaching you to hit you back, but even more strangely, he is connecting his lips to yours. To your own surprise, you are kissing him back. Roughly, and desperately, and it's as if all of your anger and disdain towards him has transformed into lust with the snap of a finger.

He was ripping at the buttons on your blouse as you fumbled with the straps and buckles on his tactical vest on instinct. Had this been it all along, and you had been totally blind to it? Was all the tension between the pair of you just sexual frustration this whole time, and once it was out your system your partnership could be amicable?

Who knows. But at this point it was worth a shot. It couldn’t make your working relationship any worse, as there was no way further down from where it already was.

He pushed you back against the wall where you hit your head roughly but neither of you acknowledged that.

“You’re gonna forget I’m not your superior when you’re on your knees, calling me sir, and begging me to fuck you.” He hissed into your ear and you froze up under his touch. He noticed, and you felt his lips tug into his signature devilish smirk as he continued to kiss you harshly, dominating with his tongue, controlling the pace of it all.

With your shirt fully unbuttoned he began to make his way down your body, leaving your lips to attach his lips to your neck, collarbones, lower to the curve of cleavage peaking out over your bra. You cursed yourself for wearing a sensible one, not planning on having it on show, but Javi clearly didn’t seem to care, groping you harshly through the fabric cups before slipping a hand inside one and freeing your breast from the top. As your breast sprung out of the fabric, your nipple hardened in the cold air and he flicked his tongue across it, sucking lightly. You gasped and bit your lip to stop yourself from moaning at the sensation. You figured that adrenaline and sexual frustration were adding to why you felt so sensitive under Javi’s touch, or at least that’s what you would tell yourself to explain why he was having such a dramatic effect on you.

As you got his tactical vest unfastened, you pushed it off his shoulders and it fell to the floor with a loud clatter.

He hissed at you to be quiet and it snapped you back to the reality of the situation. What were you doing? Were you really about to hate-fuck your partner just a few yards away from your entire team and a considerably large section of the Colombian police force and army?

You must have pulled away from him subconsciously as these thoughts ran through your head because the kiss broke and Javier was looking at you, his eyes questioning you. You considered him for a moment, and noticed how his expression had softened from before. Somehow this made you give in to your desires once again and you were reaching out for him, clutching his broad shoulders and pulling him back towards you.

He smiled. This was all the permission he needed to have his way with you now. He had backed off and you had re-initiated.

Javier had known all along that his attraction to you would be a thorn in his side whilst working together. It made him question his own judgment, it made him hesitate. It numbed his instincts in the field.

This was the tension relief he had needed for the whole 6 months you had been here, tormenting him with your mere presence. Your shiny hair. Your delicious scent. The way sweat would bead in the valley between your collarbones, inviting him to lick and suck and taste every inch of you. Now he was finally getting his chance. And you wanted it too.

You, of course, were oblivious to his thoughts and distracted from your own by his lips which were attached to your neck, sucking and nibbling lightly, making you gasp, whilst you worked at the buckle on his belt and then unzipped his jeans. He had a stiff erection that somehow both thrilled and alarmed you due to its size.

At this point he made good on his earlier promise and shoved you roughly to your knees. You gratified his silent command, wrapping your lips around the head of his hard cock. You took him further into your mouth, ever so slowly, retaining eye contact with him as he slid along your tongue and into your throat at a torturous pace for him. When you pulled away just as slowly, slipping him back out your mouth and teasing the underside of his shaft with your tongue as he glided across it, his patience snapped. In a moment he was grabbing both your arms, hauling them up and pressing them against the wall, pushing you back into it until there was not an inch of space between you. You kept watching him, expectantly, and then you opened your mouth widely and let your tongue drop out just slightly. He groaned at the sight and slammed nearly his entire length into your mouth. His pace was aggressive and you felt tears welling in your eyes after just a few of this thrusts as he fucked your throat.

"We're done doing things your way, you understand?" He grunted.

You watch his expressions, unable to respond. A vein bulges in his neck and a few of his curls are beginning to plaster themselves to his forehead with sweat.

"I asked you a question, agent. Do you understand me?" He repeated, partly through gritted teeth as he concentrated on not completely losing himself in the sensation of you letting him fuck your throat so well.

With great difficulty, you nodded your head slightly and hummed a response. The vibration of the movement and the sound had him grunting again, faltering inside you for a moment.

You could feel spit dribbling down your chin, your neck. You knew you must look absolutely wrecked and once again you considered being caught in this compromising position with Javi. Only this time, the thought didn't fill you with anxiety. It sent a pulse straight to your dripping core. The fear was turning you on.

He pulled out with no warning and you felt yourself reaching out to take him in your mouth again almost involuntarily. He removed one of his hands from their grip on your wrists and held your hair, tugging you back away from him and holding your head firmly against the wall.

"What a greedy slut." He taunted, his eyes watching you practically penetratingly.

You whined and he smirked. "Tell me what you want."

"I want you to fuck me." You say breathlessly.

"Oh I will, pretty girl." His thumb is tracing your lower lip and gathers some saliva still dripping from his rough treatment of your mouth. He spreads it around more down your chin.

"But you'll have to ask me nicely." His tone is menacing.

You shake your head at what he is asking for and he laughs, dropping your hands quickly and pulling back from you, beginning to tuck himself away and reaching for the zip on his jeans.

"No!" You protest. "No, I'm sorry. No, please."

He pauses, waiting for you to give him exactly what he wanted.

"Please, Javi, I want you to-" But this wasn't enough and he resumes his actions, slower this time but still continuing to adjust himself in his jeans and tidy himself up. You whine again in frustration. You are already begging more than you want to. But you understand that he isn't going to indulge you until you submit even further.

"Please, Sir."

He finally stops preparing to leave you there and you can see satisfaction written all over his expression. You had given in to what he wanted and you knew you would never live it down, but your desire overruled this logical thinking part of your brain.

"Please, what?" He says, already with his cock out again, stroking it slowly in front of your face.

"Please, Sir, I want you to fuck me. I want you to use me."

"Yeah, that's right." He growls, gripping your shoulders and dragging you back to your feet.

He rips your pants and underwear down your legs hastily, throwing them aside and lifting you up, wide palms spread under your thighs, strong arms hoisting you up to be in line with his hips.

He plunges his erection inside you with absolutely no preparation. It would have been more painful if you weren't so wet and turned on, ready for him to take from you what he wanted. A strangled sound escapes you, something desperate and shameless, between a moan and a cry.

"Be fucking quiet." He hisses.

He is bouncing you on his cock, your body dragging up and down the cold wall. Your hair is becoming more untamed by the second. He doesn't take his eyes off of you, never checking out and focussing on his own pleasure, rather constantly observing yours. The way you bit your lip and screwed up your face in pleasure and pain was driving him crazy.

"This why you've had such an attitude all along, needed me to put you in your place, huh?" He growls in your ear.

You have never liked this kind of talk. But now, with Javi, it is turning you on more than you have ever imagined.

You nod and he tuts at you.

"What do you say when I ask you something?"

"Y-yes, sir." You gasp.

His pace is punishing and the angle is allowing him to reach the deepest part of you, every single thrust was overwhelmingly powerful in its effect.

You braced yourself with your hands on his shoulders and found the confidence to roll your hips against him in the rhythm of his strokes, finding just the right way to stimulate your clit. Whimpers escaped your lips rapidly and he was no less vocal, grunting and panting into your ear.

You felt your orgasm approaching you quickly and began to clench around him as the knot built inside you.

"Oh, god, that's it." He praised. "That's my girl."

Whether it was his words or the sensation of his lips and moustache tickling your ear, you weren't sure, but suddenly you were coming undone around him. You lost your grip on his shoulders and slumped slightly but he tightened his hold on you and picked up his pace, desperate to earn his release whilst your walls were still clenching around him following your orgasm.

Barely a couple of strokes later and he was releasing inside you, guttural sounds escaping him. He stayed still for a couple of moments afterwards, panting while he caught his breath. Unexpectedly, he plants a gentle kiss on your forehead.

He helps you down slowly onto your feet and laughs quietly when you stumble a little the first time he tries to let go of you. That's what snaps you out of your post-orgasm haze and you shoot him a glare as you hurriedly get dressed again.

With your back to him, you finish buttoning your shirt. "This changes nothing."

"We'll see." He challenges, taking his cigarettes from his jacket pocket and balancing one between his lips. You shake your head, one more icy look sent his way for good measure, and then you return to your department, trying not to think about all the ways in which this event could come back to bite you.

#javier pena #javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfic #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena smut #agent pena smut #agent pena #narcos #narcos smut #narcos fanfiction #narcos fic #narcos fanfic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena x reader smut #javier pena x reader fanfiction

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conflictofthemind · 4 months

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Not only do Robin and Will (and Mike!) have scenes together, they have a plot where the three of them visit Castle Byers in the Upside Down and here's all of the proof:

I originally posted this on twitter a month ago, which got a lot of backlash as well as prompting a certain someone to lie directly to my face about it. Now that I've been vindicated so much in the last few days, I want to share this mini-theory that I'm mostly convinced of at this point.

1.Let us go over the filming timeline: February 15th (left), Robin and Will at the McCorkle farm. Take note of the outfit that Robin is wearing here. February 20th (right), fans stumble on an Upside Down Castle Byers set in the woods.

February 22 (left), a pap reveals they were filming at this location the past week, and likes a comment saying one of the figures in the red picture was of Noah/Will.

March 1st (right), Ross Duffer posts what is (possibly) weeks 7-8 of filming, including a picture of Castle Byers in the Upside Down with the prominent American flag.

March 13 (but not really), we get a hidden shot from Episode 4. Oh, and an iPad in the corner that says this was actually February 13 - the same week they were filming with Maya/Noah/Finn at the farm.

Oh, but zoom in. Enhance image. What is that? It's the unknown!

A flag.... the body of a person with a dark coat and a white t-shirt.... possibly in the mirror view of a car or some kind of framing device. Now what did they film in the same week(s) that looks like this? Just Castle Byers and Robin.

2. Aaaaand then we get a little bit into Lovers Lake gate (literally).

The official version of the map, that could still be incorrect tbf, has Lover's Lake placed near the farms on the outskirts of town. There is also a fan-made map referenced from the actual show, which is different but still places Lover's Lake next to some farms and specifically Eugene McCorkle's farm.

Then we have this classic BTS photo from Ross of (possibly lol) Weeks 5-6 which would include the week of February 13 and 16th where we know they were filming at the farm.

What this all means, I won't speculate on too much, but I am fairly sure we are getting a mission with Robin/Will/Mike as they venture into the Upside Down (maybe Mike drives them himself) through a rift that has strategically opened near the farm because of it's position near the Lovers Lake gate. I think it's possible that they are investigating Will's memories, and trying to induce them to come back. The opening scene as we all know happens at Castle Byers. Will wants to go for his own self-development and discovery, Mike tags along because that's his boyfriend bestie, and Robin tags along after developing a soft spot for Will and to get a glimpse at how the two interact.

3. Where are the others at (why only them three)? Also in episode 4, we have Nancy, Jon, Dustin and (probably since it's his car) Steve as a group all travelling from the McCorkle farm into the Upside Down. Perhaps they split off into their own missions, or something goes awry and this is the reconnaissance team sent in to find RoWillMike.

The one thing I do have extra confirmation of is that Millie has not been involved in any of the farm scenes, even the ones filmed in April. There is no way El is involved in this plot. Millie was also on a filming break during most of February.

The others all likely have a plotline together (Lucas/Erica/Joyce/Hopper/El). Vickie couullldd be there though?

Fin.

#now that i dont have to explain WHY i think theres a team up this is much easier lol #robin buckley #will byers #mike wheeler #byler #st5 speculation #basically: skittles squad is real

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oillipheist9000 · 8 months

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Heyy

So, this is mostly just a fun timeline I made with little research backing it, but I thought it might be cool to share?

It goes through what historical events happened throughout Alastor’s life that might have impacted him and sets the stage for what his life might have looked like. It does hinge quite a bit on US history, so I will also touch on parts of that for our friends who aren’t from the US and don’t know : D

Now keep in mind that this is more of just a list of fun facts that i’ve shoved into a readable outline, than anything put together lol.

Alastor is said to be in his 30’s or 40’s when he died in 1933, this puts his year of birth at a rough range of 1890-1900. For the purpose of this timeline, I will be assuming that Alastor was born in the year 1902 because I want to. This would make him 31 at the time of his death.

In 1892, the supreme court ruled on Plessy vs Ferguson, which was what established the idea of ‘Separate but Equal’ <- (i'm assuming people know what that is and stuff, if you don’t know, feel free to ask, I can give more of a history lesson)

From 1900-1909, education past the 5th grade did not EXIST in New Orleans for black children. This is a large part of why I believe a birth year of at least 1900 would be more accurate for Alastor, as he would have been 7-9 (2nd-4th) when middle school (6th-8th) became available to him.

In 1917, McDonogh No. 35 High School became the first public high school for black teens. Alastor would have been 15 in my timeline. This means that he would have likely been out of school for a year under the assumption that he wouldn’t be able to go anymore. (There were a couple private schools, but those were Expensive!!)

1920: KKK reemerged in Louisiana <- (again, assuming people know the history on this, if you would like a quick history lesson, lmk!!)

In 1921, Alastor graduated! Yay!! He is now 19!

Now, a fun fact! Throughout all of this, radio has not existed as a Thing in New Orleans. Alastor would not have grown up listening to the radio. It would have been new tech for him!!

In 1922, the first radio station came to New Orleans!!! It’s called WWL and it runs … drumroll please … ADS!!! In an attempt to raise funds for Loyola University! Exciting, right? : D

By 1927, the Federal Radio Commission was established in an effort to help organize airwaves, which had become messy and disorganized from the abundance of unlicensed, random people broadcasting.

1933: Alastor dies D:

Also 1933, oddly enough, A newspaper somehow managed to get radio stations in New Orleans legally banned from airing news from the last 24 hours?????

An interesting note. This ban went through in the summer. Deer season is in the winter (Dec-Jan), so it was either banned 6 months before or 6 months after Alastor’s death

1934: FRC is replaced by the Federal Communications Commission

This is pretty much all I have. I also am including some of the links to sources that I thought were interesting. Super open to discussions and questions lol. Hope someone enjoyed reading all this lmao

And also @nunalastor cause you seemed interested and I finally got everything together lol

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor

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hannie-dul-set · 1 year

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HOME FOR THE BITCHLESS [5].

SYNOPSIS. wherein your friend offers a room for you to crash in while your dorm is being renovated, but fails to mention that your new housemates don’t know how to talk to women (oh, and they also have an ongoing bet about you, too).

PAIRINGS. choi soobin, choi beomgyu, lee heeseung, park jongseong, sim jaeyun, park sunghoon x female! reader. GENRE. housemates! au, rom-com, sitcom, reverse harem time baby. WARNINGS. swearing, someone cries again, mentions of bullying, mentions of sex. WORD COUNT. 3.9k

TAGLIST. @cerealdreamwriter @tyongff-ff @dinonuguaegi @certifiedmoa @blueberrgyuu0 @primantha @blu3bell4 @nunugget @hoshi-is-ult-bbg @captivq @tocupid @seosalad @ddazed-lhs @gyuszie @mifuyuyo @error-cant-function @twocupsofsuga @flowerbe0m @dangerousconnoisseurbanana @laviesm @keikeu @elavin @chaemmie @rikisly @satsuri3su @gyugyubin @junhuicosmo @skzenhalove @luvkpopp @yansbolobao @emer-syn @eggomi @drunkinjake @soobiverse @deobitifull @haechanspudu @yawnzzn27 @7myoi

NOTE. this is the soobin chapter. before anyone says anything, i also used to be a loser in high school so i am very qualified to write about this. anyway, please let me kmow what you think so far! ty for reading!

MASTERLIST | NEXT >

CHAPTER 5 — staring contest of death.

SOOBIN HAS ENCOUNTERED A PROBLEM. It’s quite a big problem— one that completely ruined his summer morning routine that usually starts at one in the afternoon. But it’s already 2 p.m. right now and he’s still laying on his bed, half of his head peeking out of the blanket as his eyes run over the text he received this morning over and over again from a group chat that’s been dead for a good three years.

[Shin Jaeyul: hey class of 20XX! met up with jindo and the rest the other day and we thought it would be great if we can all get together again! hope you’ll all be available for the reunion. i’ll send the details after this message but it’s gonna be held at seonghee’s family’s hotel so feel free to bring a plus one lol.]

[Shin Jaeyul: What? ANSAN HS BATCH 20XX REUNION. When? This Saturday, 6:00pm. Where? Chatoyer Hotel, Sapphire Ballroom Function Hall

“Just don’t go, man. It’s not like your attendance is graded.”

When Soobin finally gets the energy to come downstairs to eat, he shows the text to Beomgyu for a second opinion. They’re eating yesterday’s leftovers on the patio outside the dining room. It doesn’t take long for the rest of the boys to congregate on the lounge chairs.

“But a reunion sounds fun!” Jake throws in his opinion. “I met up with my high school buddies at Crown Towers when I went to Melbourne the other day.”

“They weren’t your buddies. They invited you so you can pay for all their drinks and ditch you,” Heeseung tells him.

“Hey, Matthew was there and he was glad to see me.”

“Matthew borrowed eight hundred dollars from you last month and never paid back.”

Jake simply shrugs and snatches a cold slice of pizza from the table. Soobin gives him a look of remorse. “Anyway,” Jay jumps in. “Hyung, you should go if you want to and don’t go if you don’t want to. What do you want to do?”

Honestly, if Soobin can help it, he’d never want to see anyone from his old school ever again. And he’d rather stay at home and watch the latest episode of JJK on Saturday night (and every other night, for that matter). “But...it’s kinda rude if I don’t reply, right?” is what’s holding him back. The group chat has been buzzing every minute, messages of ‘see you there’s’ and ‘I’m so excited’s’ popping up one after the other. Only a few others including him haven’t replied yet. “What excuse should I make?”

“Tell them you have a family reunion to attend,” Sunghoon suggests.

“That’s lame. They’re gonna make fun of him,” Beomgyu scrunches his nose. Sunghoon defends with “what’s so wrong with a family reunion?!” but Soobin is inclined to believe that Beomgyu would be right. He didn’t exactly have a pleasant high school experience.

It’s not that he was actively bullied, or anything. He just didn’t have a lot of friends. And not a lot wanted to be his friend save for the members of the manga club he was in— but that didn’t really contribute to his position in the adolescent food chain. It’s not like he was sociable, either. He still isn’t. He was just lucky enough to get adopted by Beomgyu and managed to get along with the rest of the guys after a good two years of living here.

“Oh, then dude, you have to go!” Beomgyu exclaims. “If you don’t go they’re just gonna talk shit about you still being a loser.”

“I am a loser, though?” he says.

“Yeah, but you’re tall and good looking and hot and that’s enough to get them to shut the fuck up if you show up and dip after thirty minutes. You know what, give me your phone. I’ll handle this.”

“No, wait—”

Beomgyu snatches the phone from his hands and plops down on the chair right across from him, the other four quickly running over and looking over his shoulders. Soobin’s heart races. This doesn’t seem like a good idea. He is right. It only takes a second before things spiral into disaster.

“Don’t say that. You gotta sound cooler.”

“Dude, that’s gonna get him bullied. Let me do it—”

“Give it to me!”

“You’re all useless, let me take over!”

“Wait, let me make one last revision—”

“No! What are you all doing?!”

When Soobin finally manages to steal his phone back, he nearly passes out when he reads the message he— his friends— just sent to the group chat.

[Count me in. Do I have to wire double the money if I bring my girlfriend? Nevermind, I’ll just send thrice the amount. Thanks :)]

Horror washes over his face. “I added the smiley face,” Jake proudly announces. Holy fuck, he wants to crawl back into his bed and never wake up.

“Who sent that I’ll be bringing my girlfriend? I don’t have a girlfriend! Why did you say I’ll be bringing my girlfriend?!”

His phone vibrates mid-fit and he’s greeted by a reply saying that they’re so happy he’s coming and they can’t wait to see him again. Soobin is not happy nor is he excited. “We can just get you one,” Beomgyu says, as a matter-of-fact, as if you can just purchase a significant other from a gas station vending machine. His face wrinkles in distress. “When’s the reunion again? Saturday? Jakey, do you have any rich heiresses that can pretend to be Soobin hyung’s fake girlfriend for a night?”

“I’ll call Mirae noona, but hyung, are you alright alright with someone fifteen years old—”

Soobin winces. “Please don’t call her.”

“I can try asking Hina,” says Jay. “I don’t know if she has me unblocked yet, though.”

Heeseung narrows his eyes at him. “Isn’t she your ex?”

“Jay dated someone?” Sunghoon gives Jay a mildly offended grimace. “The fuck? Why don’t I know this?”

“He’s always dating someone. But he also gets dumped after three days so I’m not sure if they even count.”

Before they could further into Jay’s questionable dating history, the conversation gets cut short by a groan from Beomgyu. “Wait. We literally have a girl living with us right now.” His words send a signal into all their ears. It takes a moment for it to settle, and when it does, it’s like a thinly stretched rope snaps in half in the air.

Oh.

Right.

You.

“Are—are you sure about that?” Sunghoon is the first to crack the tension-filled silence. “Don’t we have other options?”

Soobin hears furtive whispering and nodding from Jake that somehow involves your name and the phrase “that’s right, she’s a girl, yes,” but chooses to ignore it and instead starts dreading the near and impending future. “It’d be better if it’s someone Soobin hyung already knows,” Beomgyu replies. “Hyung, what do you think?”

He thinks this is insane and bonkers and absolutely fucking impossible to pull off because he can’t even look you in the eye without sweating his skin off. How in the fuck he supposed to fake date you? To stand next to you? To call you with so much affection in front of numerous people he finds extremely uncomfortable to be with? To look at you? To h—

Oh god. He doesn’t have to hold your hand, does he?

“Hey, I don’t think this is fair. That’d mean Soobin hyung will technically—”

“This won’t count towards the bet,” Beomgyu says, then looks at a now red-faced Soobin. “You don’t mind right?”

Shit, he’d have to, right? But he can’t even look at you without his palms leaking like a faucet and stuttering like a broken machine. This is insane. He can’t do this. He can’t and won’t do this or else he’d actually have a heart attack and die.

“Hyung?”

“Is— is this all really necessary?” he finally sputters out.

They all look at him. “But we already sent the message.”

Right. They did. Soobin’s face falls defeated and he sinks back into the chair. “I’ll go grab her,” Beomgyu announces, and the gazes shift from him to their friend who has now risen from his seat and is walking back into the house because since when was he close enough with you to do that? You two usually bicker and argue and Soobin has seen the murderous intent in your eyes whenever Beomgyu tries to provoke you. Sure, the amount of daily arguments has definitely died down as of late and it’s mostly one-sided now, but if there’s anyone close enough to disturb your weekend for something stupid, it’d be Jake.

But they say nothing about it and watch as Beomgyu disappears inside and comes back out a minute later with you in tow, pulling you into the patio by the arm you as you grumble and groan, begrudgingly forcing your legs to follow him. “Seriously, what do you want? I was having a nice nap, you bastard. Where are you taking me? Hey, answer me. Are you still mad about the—”

When you finally notice the rest of their presence, you stop complaining.

“What’s this? Are you having a cult meeting?”

Jake greets you with a smile. “Take a seat! We’ll explain everything.”

It’s almost impossible to glean anything coherent when there are five-ish boys talking at the same time, but you seem fine, nodding along to whatever Beomgyu and Jay are currently rambling into both of your years. Soobin grows increasingly worried by the second. “I’m so sorry. You really don’t have to do this.”

He hopes you don’t want to do this. Knowing how you practically terrorized him a few weeks ago for accidentally taking a bite out of your ice cream, you probably didn’t want to deal with him either. Yes. This is good. Soobin can just ignore the group chat and ghost his old classmates on the day of the event, so this is—

“I’m down,” you finally say.

—what?

“You’re— you’re down?” he stutters out. He must have heard wrong, obviously. Haha, there’s no way you would—

“Yup. It’s this Saturday, right? I’m pretty sure I’ll be free, so it’s cool.”

Well, shit.

He’s fucked.

“Why do I feel like you’ve done something like this before?” Beomgyu shoots you a glare of suspicion. You grin. “Of fucking course you have.”

“Sunoo paid me a pretty convincing fee for me to sit pretty at his sister’s wedding,” you explain before shifting your gaze to Soobin, a smile playing on your lips. His fingernails dig into his palms. “Obviously for Soobin, I’ll do it for free. But we have a problem.”

His eyes flit away not even a second after, chest tightening on the spot.

“Yeah. I think we need to work on that.”

Thus begins the series of daily staring contests between the both of you for the next four days until Saturday. It scares the shit out of him when you bang on his door at random times of the day just to torment him with your very existence. Soobin knows you’re doing this to help him. He knows, he really does, but he’s not very good at maintaining eye contact without his heart racing at an unhealthy rate and without sweating profusely. His longest record has been ten and a half seconds before his face explodes like a volcano.

“I’m sorry. I don’t think this is gonna work.”

Soobin’s muffled voice is weak, red face buried into his palms as you both sit cross-legged on his mattress after another failed staring contest. The rows and rows of anime figurines he has displayed next to his bed are all staring at him in disgusting judgment. It’s now Friday. The reunion is tomorrow, and he can’t even look at you— much less pretend like you’ve been dating for the past six fucking months.

“No! You can do it, Soobin! I believe in you! Let’s try one more time, okay?”

You grab his hands, pulling them away from his face and they settle on his soft blankets, yours over his, and he starts silently freaking out because shit— holy shit, you’re squeezing his knuckles. It’s barely any pressure, but he feels it shooting into his throat like a silver snake choking him with ten pints of venom and that’s not even the worst part because you’ve decided to start looking him in the eye again.

He rasps out a little noise and tilts his head down to the right. You do the same. He shifts his gaze to the left. You do the fucking same, chasing after his eyes relentlessly like a god damned predator on the hunt and he can feel his palms sweating pathetically into his blanket while you’re still locking them in place.

“Okay,” you breathe out, leaning back and he finally feels the blood circulating into his fingers. “What if we follow Jay’s suggestion instead and have you wear sunglasses the entire time?”

Honestly, it’s about time you gave up on him.

Your eyebrows are scrunched, deep in thought. Soobin can look at you right now because you’re spacing out and not attacking him with the depth of your stare. He’s not used to attention in general, so something about your pretty eyes with pretty eyelashes and prettily focused expression looking directly at him just renders him completely useless. It’s fine when you’re absentmindedly looking at the posters on his wall, still in the midst of weighing your options. It’s fine because you aren’t focused on him.

“But the event is indoors and in the evening, so that won’t make a lot of sense.” And his composure immediately topples down when you flit your gaze back at him. His breath hitches in his throat. “Soobin, do you have any other ideas?”

He grabs the nearest pillow and squeezes it to his chest. “Do— do we have to do this? Can’t we just show up and leave after ten minutes?” Better yet, he just doesn’t show up at all. But you’ve been putting in so much effort these past few days, so he doesn’t want to cancel out of nowhere.

You frown. “Eye contact is the first step to selling that we’re a real couple! Even if we stay for only ten minutes, they’ll get suspicious if you can’t even look at me,” you tell him. “Soobin, let’s keep trying. C’mon.”

Soobin is trying. He really is trying his best but one more round and he feels he might actually rupture a brain vessel. “Alright,” you exhale. “Nevermind. We’ll handle it somehow. I’ll head back to my room now so you can rest up. See you tomorrow.”

It takes no time for you to get off his bed and start walking to his door. His stomach sinks, watching your back as you reach out for the doorknob and Soobin feels like he had just disappointed you.

He moves before his mind can think. Before he knows it, he’s out of the bed and is holding your wrist and pulling your hand away from the door.

You look at him. He looks at you, drenched in the color of panic and confusion and at the same time a shade of earnest emotion. It stays like this for a good couple of seconds, until your lips curl into a smile and your free arm reaches up to his head, fingers dipping into his hair for a light pat.

“Thirty seconds. Good job. See you tomorrow.”

Now you completely understand why Soobin didn’t want to attend this dumpfest.

The hotel function room is fancy. Truly fancy. But the elegant crystal interiors and decor can’t hide the scent of pretentious obnoxiousness in the air, and the music siphoning through the speakers can’t drown out the sound of shit and crap and trash being exchanged between alleged old friends and classmates. It’s gross. The only saving grace of the night is the wine you’re swirling in your hand, regulating your slowly thinning patience at the scene before you.

“Soobin, buddy! Oh man, I didn’t think you’d make it!”

Here we go again. This is the what— fourth, fifth person? Soobin greets number five with less enthusiasm than the newcomer. He’s already worn out, poor boy. You prepare to intervene when you get an opening.

“Jaeyul,” Soobin says. “Hi.”

“It’s been a while, aye? You look great, man! What’s your glow up secret? You gotta tell men dude.”

Another patronizing comment from a mediocre looking male at best. They’re really lucky Soobin is an angel. You can see the discomfort in his smile when the Jae-something bastard hooks him by the neck, tugging your beanpole down because he’s at least four inches taller than his snotty ex-classmate. He looks even more uncomfortable than the time he got an unsolicited view of your red underwear. If it were you, you would’ve already kneed him in the balls to shut up his endlessly chattering mouth.

The guy’s gaze finally lands on you, tucked quietly behind Soobin’s shoulder. Took him long enough, honestly. You’ve been giving him the nastiest stare you can muster for the past five minutes, it’s honestly amazing that he only noticed now. “Who’s this?” he asks. Now, he’s just blatantly checking out someone else’s (fake) girlfriend. You hold back a scoff, but a sneer manages to slip out.

Soobin straightens, ready to repeat the script he’s been cycling through since the beginning of the night. “O-oh, this— this is—” But he seems to be a lot more nervous now. You decide to take the reins and give him a break.

“I’m his girlfriend,” you give Jae-whatever a smile, stepping forward to hold onto Soobin’s arm, who in return flinches at your touch. “Hi. I hope you don’t mind me intruding on your whole reunion. It’s just that I can’t bear to be apart from my Soobin for too long, you know?”

You’re hoping that your sickeningly sweet tone disgusts the living hell out of him and drives him away, but for some reason he lacks the social awareness to do that. “No, not at all. In fact, completely understand. I’m a taken man myself, you know?” That makes this situation a million times worse. He momentarily shifts away from you and directs his next words to Soobin. “Do you remember Bitna? We started seeing each other a few months ago.”

You can feel him stiffen next to you. “Congrats. I’m happy for both of you.”

“Didn’t you used to have a crush on her? I remember you’d give her chocolates every valentine’s—”

The twitch in his grin doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Alright, enough of this bullshit. You’re done humoring this bastard.

“Oh, sorry!” he turns to you again. “That was tactless of me, oh no. I apologize.”

You press your lips together, still smiling. “It’s fine. I wasn’t really paying attention to the bullshit you’ve been tirelessly spouting. I was wondering when you’d shut your trap and finally fuck off.”

Soobin snaps his head towards you, eyes wide in alarm. His dear old friend looks equally shocked. You hum and maintain your expression, pressing yourself closer to Soobin. “Is Bitna the one looking at us right now? Oh dear.” Shot in the dark, but you hit the mark anyway. “Anyway, if you’ll excuse us. My boyfriend and I will be heading back to our suite now to have absolutely brain-shattering, mind-numbing sex for the rest of the night that you—from the looks of your girlfriend over there— won’t be having for the rest of the week if you’re lucky enough to salvage your relationship. It was nice meeting you!”

You can see Bitna stomping her way over to her boyfriend, carrying a palpable dark force in her wake, so you quickly tug Soobin away by the hand and make your quick exit out the function room and into the elevator. You’re aware of how Soobin is currently looking at you like you’re insane as you press on the lowermost button on the panel. His eyes are practically drilling into the side of your face.

“This— this isn’t the way to our room.”

“I know,” you reply, watching as the doors close in front of you. Jay booked a room to sell your whole schtick a little further, but looks like you won’t be able to use it. “We’re not going to our room. That is unless you actually want to follow through with what I said earlier?”

When you turn to look at him, he’s already drenched in pink. You hold back a laugh. They make it so easy for you to mess with them. “I’m joking. I doubt you’d want to spend a minute longer here, so let’s just dip. These clothes are getting stuffy.”

Somehow you found yourselves at the 7-Eleven outside your subdivision, overdressed and sharing a pint of ice cream and two beers under the empty store’s fluorescent lights. You stuff a spoonful into your mouth and let your gaze linger on him for a while. Soobin has his head down, quietly staring at the top of his beer can. With a face like that, you think he’d be more confident and outspoken, but it’s almost funny how he’s trying to scrunch up his large frame in the tiny seat in front of you.

Look, you’re simply tapping an index finger on the back of his hand and he immediately flinches and draws it back. He’s so shy, so timid that you can’t help but grow soft on him.

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing he says since you left the hotel.

You rest your cheek against your palm. “For what?”

“I mean, it’s just that— you spent the past four days making sure I didn’t mess up our whole act, but I messed it up anyway and we ended up leaving early. I’m sorry for wasting all your time and effort like that. I’m—I’m really sorry for being so hopeless and pathetic and—”

“Hey, don’t say that,” you cut him off. “If there’s anyone that’s pathetic, it’s that Jaeyun? No, Jaeyun is Jake. It’s that Jae-something bastard who’s pathetic. I mean, was he not loved enough as a child? Does he have a disease that makes everything that comes out of his mouth unrecyclable trash? Anyway, if anything, it should be me and the rest of the boys apologizing for forcing you into this. I’ll help you guilt trip them later when we get—”

You stop. You stop because you notice how his eyes are getting a little red, and how they’re getting a little glassy, and how he’s nipping at his bottom lip that you’re afraid it might start bleeding.

“Oh. Oh no. Soobin, please don’t cry.”

And he starts crying. Well, fuck.

You hastily get out of your seat and plop down right next to him, letting his head drop down to your shoulder. He continues sniffling as you switch between rubbing his back and giving him pats on the head, staring blankly at the empty aisles because the last thing you expected to do today is comfort a grown man in a dingy convenience store while you’re in high heels and a strappy dress.

“Let’s have a movie marathon with the boys when we get back, okay?”

At least you’ve gotten better at consoling people. It seems like a useful skill to have for the rest of your stay.

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