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nolita-fairytale · 2 years ago

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comfort & chaos (carmy berzatto x fem!reader) chapter one: october 2019

summary: the five times carmen berzatto fell in love with you a little and the one time he finally told you: carmy, the recently promoted chef du cuisine at the best restaurant in the world, has no idea what he's in for when he accidentally spills his drink on the recently hired patissiere. (prequel to make my heart surrender)

warnings: swearing, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns, drinking & smoking, suggestive language. eventual smut.

word count: 4.5k

listen to: dover beach part 2 - baby queen | alaska - maggie rogers | less than i do - the band camino | 2 / 14 - the band camino

a/n: i'm back back back again! this is six part series will be a snapshot of carmy x reader's relationship in nyc that span across a three year period. i'm really looking forward to writing their friendship & so much repressed sexual tension it's not even funny. this is the first story i've published without it being almost or fully written so updates will maybe be more sporadic this time.

October 2019

“i was hoping somehow we'd end up together, outside, past midnight, and smoking cigarettes. the wallpaper inside my brain is decorated with your face. i'm lonely for you only, and i'm trying to convince you that i'm something you could love.” – dover beach (pt 2)

He hates you.

You’re absolutely sure of it.

You can see it in the way his body stiffens as you walk by – in the way he hasn’t stopped sending you long, piercing glares across the kitchen – in just how bright red his face turns when you catch him doing it.

And for what? For being excellent? For being good enough to get a job after staging that one night?

Fuck that, you think to yourself.

You find Carmen Berzatto infuriating, and it begins to dawn on you that you may have had one too many gin cocktails to stomach the fact that you have to be here tonight.

Here, at his promotion party.

Here, at this stupid fucking bar that you hate.

Here, because he’s sort of everyone’s boss now… and it’s something you’re just going to have to live with.

It hadn’t come as much of a surprise. There’d been talk of a leadership change (and Carmy filling the CDC position) when you had first started working here, but having a head’s up didn’t really help you now. You just hadn’t pictured having to go out for drinks to celebrate the man that seemed like he could barely stand being in the same room as you. But your friend Liz, one of the chef de parties at the restaurant, had insisted you come with, since she hadn’t wanted to go alone. You understood why you both had to go, so you’d invited your other best friend to help the both of you get through.

You thank your lucky stars that your direct report is the head pastry chef and not Carmy. Using your boss as a buffer, you had used every excuse in the book to avoid interacting with him.

Sure, he was brilliant.

Sure, he was a wunderkind who had just gotten back from a three month stage at noma right before he was hired here.

Sure, he was kind of a total asshole.

“Fuck that, man! C’mon. Just one shot. It’s your big night, motherfucker!” Nate calls out, practically shoving a shot into Carmy’s hand.

“Oh, I- uh, I’m good, man,” Carmy stutters, trying to find an excuse not to take the shot.

Truthfully, he hates shots… and he’s not much of a vodka drinker either.

He’s just not in the mood to get hammered either, his thoughts consumed with tomorrow, his first day as chef du cuisine, going perfectly.

You watch the uncomfortable interaction, almost feeling bad for the guy. Nate and the most recently promoted sous, Tim, are trying their best to corral Carmy into taking the shot as you walk by. You can see the uncomfortable look on Carmy’s face as he declines Nate’s offer for a second time.

In fact, he seems like a different person tonight. He’s… boyishly awkward, almost, and you wonder if he’s maybe not so great in social situations. As you pass by, drink in hand, you hear a cacophony of sound. Carmy’s trying his best to dodge his friends’ next attempt, and before you know it, Nate’s practically pushing him towards Tim, sending Carmy backwards, tumbling right into you.

You feel the wet liquid of your gin and tonic, along with the shot of vodka that’s flown out of Carmy’s hand spill all over your shirt. The shot glass shatters as it hits the floor, and the sobering feeling of ice cold liquid soaking through your shirt causes you to shriek.

“Shit! What the fuck, Carmy!” you yell, angrily, as you push him off of you.

At this point, you could care less that he’s everyone’s new boss, and the drama of it all has caught the attention of almost all of the other restaurant staff that have come out tonight. Your friends rush towards you, searching for as many napkins as they can grab.

“Fffffuck,” is all he says back and you can’t believe he’s yelling at you right now. You watch as his face changes quickly, from angry, to thoroughly shocked as he begins to stammer through an apology.

“I-. I’m sorry I-. I didn’t mean to-.”

He scrambles to help you, with one cocktail napkin as you push him away, your friends rushing to your side.

“No! I don’t want your help,” you grit through a clenched jaw.

“Shit, your shirt is ruined… C’mon,” Liz says, as she ushers you away shooting a glare in Carmy’s direction.

“Damn, man. You could just ask her out,” you can hear Nate say, even though you’re too preoccupied with examining the damage of your totally soaked through t-shirt.

So much for a chill evening.

“Oh shut up, Nate,” Maya snaps at the sous. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” You nod, following her as she leads you away towards the bathroom.

Back at the bar, Liz is trying her best to remedy the situation, trying her best to clean up the mess you left behind. She watches Carmy closely, trying to figure out whether she’s going to pay for this tomorrow. But instead of being angry, he just seems embarrassed… remorseful, even. There’s a small part of her that feels bad for the guy as it becomes clearer that he may just not be great in social situations.

As soon as you get to the single-room bathroom, you're swearing loudly and stripping off your shirt. It’s completely see through and you know you’re going to smell like a distillery until you can get home to shower.

“I told you. He hates me,” you pout, examining your reflection in the mirror, a scowl glued to your face. You dap a few dry paper towels across your chest.

“I think it was just an accident, sweetie,” Maya says, sympathetically, as she tries her best to console you.

“Yeah, I know,” you admit in defeat.

As much as you’d like to blame this on him, you know it wasn’t his fault.

“Sorry I asked you to come tonight. If I knew it would be this much drama-,” you begin, before being promptly cut off.

“Oh no, I’m all here for this drama,” she laughs, causing you to shake your head and lighten up a little about the situation.

As angry as you’d like to be with Carmy, you know that the truth of the matter is that he hadn’t meant to spill his drink all over you. You should be mad at Nate and Tim… but it just feels easier to be mad at Carmy considering.

“Incoming!” you hear a voice say as Liz arrives. In her hands, she holds what looks like a white t-shirt, neatly folded up, that she hands to you. “Anyone in need of dry clothes?”

“Oh thank god,” you sigh with relief, glady taking it.

“Good on you for having an extra,” Maya says.

“Well, it’s a restaurant. You never know when you’re gonna need a change of clothes,” Liz shrugs, a glimmer in her eyes that Maya notices, as she says it. You find it a little strange that she seems to be watching you for a reaction, but you brush off the look she sends you, as you slide the dry t-shirt over your head.

The t-shirt isn’t much bigger than an oversized fit you’d buy for yourself – which makes sense because Liz is a bit taller than you. The cotton fabric hangs loosely over your form as your eyes flicker over to your completely soaked through shirt that lays crumpled up on the bathroom sink.

“Well, ladies. We did our best,” you resign yourself, as you notice your still-very-wet bra begin soaking through the white t-shirt.

“C’mon. Let’s see if we can get some more paper towels. Or uh.. See if the kitchen has a towel we can use,” Liz says, nodding her head towards the door.

“We’ll be right back,” Maya reassures you, empathy in her eyes.

You watch as Liz follows her, leaving you alone in the bathroom.

It doesn’t take long for the door to the bathroom to swing open again, which surprises you. You gasp as soon as you see who's come through the door, and you’re crossing your arms over your chest which may only make the wet bra, white t-shirt ordeal even worse. A very flustered Carmy stands in the doorway, his mouth hanging open as if he hadn’t expected you to be in here.

“There’s uh… someone in here,” you scoff, unable to hide the irritation in the sound of your voice. You hug your arms closer to yourself, almost as if to cover yourself up.

“No I-, yeah, I know I just-,” he stammers, his eyes shifting to the floor. He feels like he’s walked in on something he shouldn’t have, and he can feel all the blood rushing to his face, instantly regretting his decision not to knock first.

“I actually, uh… I came to apologize,” he manages to get out, his words quiet. He says it as if there’s an unintentional question mark at the end of his sentence. You can see the way he runs his eyes back and forth, trailing over the fancy floor tile, searching for the right words.

“I didn’t mean to- I just-. Sorry…”

His demeanor surprises you. At work, Carmy’s this confident, commandeering, talented chef, but tonight, he seems anything but.

Nervous. Shy. Like a fish out of water, even.

You take a breath, trying your best to relax.

You can feel some of your guard coming down as you begin to accept he really hadn’t meant to spill his drink on you. But you’re not eager to forget the fact that he’s been kind of an asshole to you since you started working here. Unsure of how to respond, you give literal effort to replying with a:

“It’s fine. Thanks.”

He knows you don’t mean it.

In fact, he can hear how painful it is for you to get out those words.

You wait for him to leave, but Carmy continues to stand in the bathroom with you, awkwardly. But he doesn’t say anything, so you figure that the least you can do is deflect a little with humor.

“I’ll uh-, invoice you for the therapy session,” you say, trying to eliminate any malice in your tone so that he knows you’re joking. “Walking home in a wet shirt on the streets of NYC is gonna be… fun.”

“Oh uh…” he trails off, his face turning a darker shade of red.

“I’m kidding,” you state, searching his face for any kind of expression.

This man is impossible to read, you think to yourself.

His eyes are still glued to the floor as he begins to move, mumbling something you can’t quite hear in response to your failed joke. Carmy slides out of the denim jacket he’s wearing, before taking hold of it, extending an arm out to you.

“Sorry um-. Here,” he says nervously, and it’s the first time he’s allowed his eyes to meet yours. “You can uh-. You can wear this. For your walk home.”

Well, that wasn’t what you were expecting.

And had his eyes always been that blue?

Your face softens.

You take the jacket hesitantly, holding it in your hands. This time you mean it when you say:

“Thanks.”

“Least I could do,” he shrugs, daring to meet your eyes with his again.

You slip the jacket over your shoulders as the two of you stand a few feet apart. The air feels thick, and at this point, you’re not sure how to feel. Even though your bra has continued to soak through the white t-shirt, the way his denim jacket feels wrapped around your shoulders feels like an added layer of protection.

“After uh-. You know I-,” he stumbles through.

“Yeah. No I uh-. Thanks, again,” you repeat, cutting him off.

Might as well put the poor guy out of his misery.

“Anyways, I’ll make sure to get this back to you,” you interject, your voice much more reassuring this time.

“Yeah,” he nods.

You swear you can almost see the corner of his lips turn up, but you’ve never really seen him smile, so it’s not like you have much to compare it to. Carmy excuses himself, and you watch as he leaves, genuinely grateful for the peace offering.

The way that Carmy’s jacket hangs heavily around your shoulders makes you wonder if it’s real denim. You notice that it smells like him too: a faint scent of cigarettes, Old Spice deodorant, whatever scented laundry detergent he uses that feels familiar.

You and Carmy don’t speak again, save for a few short exchanges at work, but he’s been on your mind. Your interaction the other night had left an impression on you – albeit a strange one – and you’re not sure why you haven’t returned his jacket yet.

It’s not till a few days later that you speak again, leaving another strange impression on you. You head into the walk-in to get a few quarts of heavy cream and as you pull the door open, you find a flustered Carmy standing there. He’s got his hands on his hips and eyes glued to the floor with an exasperated look on his face as he watches the plastic storage containers he’s just thrown clamor across the floor. You gasp, shocked by the loud sounds, and Carmy knows he’s not alone.

As he turns to you with a glare on his face, you notice that Carmy’s eyes are puffy, his cheeks flushed red, and he looks sick as a dog.

His eyes are wide with embarrassment for a moment, before returning to their normal, stoic focus, hardened by a less than positive interaction with the exec chef.

“Sorry,” he mutters, uncomfortably. He gestures towards the storage containers on the floor, before running a hand through his neatly slicked back hair.

“It’s uh, you’re good, chef,” you say, trying your best to put your wall of professionalism up.

You had witnessed the demeaning encounter from the exec chef – everyone had. It had been impossible not to. He’d practically breathed down Carmy’s neck, taunting him for his lack of focus today, that he’s a little bitch for letting allergies get to him.

To say that the man was emotionally abusive would be an understatement.

You should leave – turn and go, and pretend that this never happened – that you’d seen nothing. But instead, you stay.

“You good, chef?” you ask softly, a hint of concern in your voice.

He sniffles again, the searing headache that robs him of his focus only burning brighter after what just happened.

“Yeah, no. I’m fine,” he snaps, refusing to look at you.

You wait for him to say something more, only he doesn’t. You can see he’s not feeling well and that he must be feeling worse after his metaphorical public stoning in the town square. He’s not sure what the hell it is you’re waiting for, and he just needs another fucking second to himself.

“Why are you still here?” he grits through teeth, his eyes fixed to the floor.

You open your mouth to say something, but you’re honestly not sure why you’re still in the walk-in with him either.

Maybe because you know that the exec chef is a total monster.

That he shouldn’t have talked to Carmy like that.

That you can understand why he’d be upset.

“Chef!” he says, raising his voice a little louder and flinging his hands towards the door. “Will you just-?”

You nod, a feeling of embarrassment filling your chest, as you realize he wants you to leave. You hurry out of the walk-in, closing the door behind you as you escape, your heavy cream quart containers in hand.

“You good?” Liz asks, as soon as she sees you come out of the walk-in. She’s passing by to bring a few deli containers over to the dish station.

“What?” you ask back in surprise, unaware that you look visibly shaken up.

“You look… flustered is all,” she points out.

“Oh. Yeah. I just uh-, Carmy’s in there. Throwing a fit. He just uh… snapped at me is all. But what’s new?” you reply, trying your best to shake it off.

She rolls her eyes in response, “Yeah, he can be like that. Thank your lucky stars that you don’t have to work under him.”

You let out an annoyed exhale. It’s a funny feeling – one that leaves you a little confused: one minute he’s this chivalrous guy that’s handing you his jacket to wear home and the next he’s practically tearing your head off to get out of the walk-in. You can’t quite figure him out. He’s so hot and cold, you’re not sure what to expect from him anymore.

As you and Liz are about to part ways, you remember that you have to give her back her borrowed shirt.

“Oh!” you say, calling her attention before she returns to her station.

“I have your shirt, by the way,” you say. “From the other night.”

“Oh,” she says, her eyes lighting up. “Okay weird timing considering he’s being such an asshole today but uh…. Yeah. The shirt’s... not mine. I forgot to tell you.”

You send her a puzzled look as she shrugs.

“I didn’t think you’d take it if I told you but… it’s Carmy’s. He pulled it out of his bag when he spilled the drink on you,” she informs, waiting to gauge your reaction.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“You were so mad at him that I just figured-, it doesn't matter. He pulled it out of his bag to give to you. I think he felt really fucking bad, babe,” she interjects, revealing the truth.

Well now you’re really fucking confused.

And after your little interaction with him in the walk-in, there’s no way you’re going to bring it up to him today.

“Oh. Yeah um, got it,” you reply, feeling even more confused than when you started the day.

You show up to work the next day with the t-shirt and his jacket tucked into a canvas tote bag you plan on giving to Carmy. You’d decided to wait till you had them both, and you’re also hoping that he’s in a better mood today.

Only, Carmy’s not here today.

“Yeah, he’s out sick. Looks like those allergies turned out to be a nasty head cold,” your general manager had informed you when you’d asked about where Carmy was. “Looks like Tim’s filling in today for him.”

“Got it. Thanks, Kate” you’d replied.

Later on your mid-shift break, you’d then mustered up all the courage possible to ask if anyone had checked in on Carmy. Kate, your GM, had answered no, and had been more than happy to give you his address so that you could do so. You’re not sure why you feel like it’s the right thing to do, but between his act of kindness at the bar, and his outburst in the walk-in yesterday, you figure it wouldn’t hurt to show him a little kindness. Not that you feel like you owe him or anything.

Maybe you just want to give him his clothes back and be done with it.

Maybe you’re also deeply confused about who the hell Carmen Berzatto really is.

Maybe the mystery of it intrigues you a little more than you’d like to admit.

Dinner service flies by quickly – a string of non-stop orders helps the time go faster. Carmy’s apartment is on your way home, so it’s a no-brainer to make the trip. You stop on your way at a deli nearby, picking up a quart of matzo ball soup, before heading over to his apartment.

When you get there, you knock on the door three times, anxiety beginning to flood you.

What if he thinks this is totally creepy – that you just got his address from the general manager? What if he thinks you’re stalking him? What if he hates the fact that you’re even there in the first place?

You wonder if you should just leave the soup at the door and run as fast as you can so that, by the time he answers the door, you’re gone.

Just as you’re bending down to place the quart container down by his door, the door swings open to reveal a very congested Carmy. His curls seem wilder than normal as he looks genuinely surprised to see you crouching in the hall of his apartment.

“Hi!” you practically shout, taken off guard as you rise to your feet.

“Yo,” he says, blinking a few times to make sure he’s not dreaming. “What’s uh-, what’s going on?”

It’s weird – seeing Carmy outside of the restaurant, outside of his chef whites. His usually slicked back, out-of-his-face hair falls in the messiest most unruly curls around his face in a way that's surprisingly unkempt. He’s… almost human-like.

“This is for you,” is all you manage to say, handing him the quart container.

“Uh… thanks,” he trails off, taking it and checking out the matzo ball soup.

You’re not sure where to begin, how to explain why the hell you’re here, so you just start talking.

“I uh… your place was on the way home,” you begin. “I hope it’s okay but I got your address from Kate. I actually used to go to this deli all the time when I was a kid with my parents and I forgot that it was in your neighborhood so I just figured that I should pick something up on the way over since I heard you were sick and uh-.”

Carmy shoots you a look and he almost looks amused.

“... I’m rambling, aren’t I?” you ask, a light blush running across your cheeks.

“Yeah,” he nods, a dry laugh following.

You wait a beat, collecting yourself. You’re not sure why this is so weird, but it’s so weird.

“I came by because…” you start, digging through your canvas tote bag that’s draped across your right shoulder. “... I wanted to return these to you.”

You hold out the jacket and t-shirt folded up together to Carmy, his eyes following them.

“Liz told me that the shirt was yours too. I just-, I know we don’t always… that you don’t-, I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I know it’s kind of weird at work sometimes but… I guess I just wanted to say thank you. For these. Hence the soup,” you finally explain.

“No problem,” Carmy nods, taking them in his empty hand, before disappearing momentarily to place them somewhere inside of his apartment.

You’re only a little disappointed by his short response, yet you’re not sure you expected anything else. He returns only seconds later.

“It’s uh-, Cool jacket,” you say. You can’t tell whether you’re making small talk or just saying something out of discomfort, but it seems to pique Carmy’s interest.

“It actually reminds me of the denim jacket that John Lennon used to wear ”

“You know denim?” he asks, and you could swear that you see his eyes light up for a moment.

“No, but I know music,” you reply.

“Uh I mean. Yeah. It is…” he says, with a nod, a hint of excitement in the words that follow. “Not the actual one he wore but… it’s a 1950s selvedge Wrangler. Just like Lennon.”

So he wasn’t just a fine-dining robot.

“Wow I didn’t know you were into all that,” you say, feeling some of the tension between the two of you melt. “Denim, I mean.”

“Something I picked up from my brother, I guess,” he shrugs, shyly.

“That’s funny,” you chuckle.

“Hm?” he hums in response.

“Just… the thought of you having a brother,” you clarify, jokingly. “Thought you were like… grown in a lab at noma or something.”

And Carmy almost smiles, you think.

“Nope. Just Chicago,” he replies, enjoying the act of sharing something with you.

“Ahhh,” you sound, following it up with another small laugh. “Well, I’ll let you get some rest. Enjoy the soup.”

“Yeah, uh. Thanks for this,” he says, holding up the brown bag.

“Of course,” you reply, turning to go.

But you don’t go yet, not ready to let go of the momentary connection you’ve built with Carmy

"You know it doesn’t have to be like this,” you say, turning back to him. He's staring at you, just like he does in the kitchen. It’s another long, languid look that makes you realize that maybe they haven’t been hate-glares after all.

“We don't have to do this... start over every time we see each other.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree with a nod. “I mean, I've already worn your clothes so… it’s a rather… intimate thing for us to just be strangers….”

He listens attentively.

"We could… coworkers… friends, even,” you suggest, hesitantly.

“Me and you?” he asks, a puzzled look on his face. You’re not sure if he’s surprised by what you’ve said, or if he’s about to laugh in your face.

“If you want,” you nod in response.

He waits a beat, and you watch his facial expressions soften a little as he finally says, “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

You smile at him, the man you thought hated you, wants to be friends with you. You get a wicked idea, letting out a chuckle before continuing.

“Great. There’s just one thing,” you begin playfully.

You can’t help yourself.

“Hm?” he hums.

“It’s just… I haven’t made my mind up about you. So you should consider this your trial period, buddy,” you tease.

He lets out a dry laugh, “Like a stage?”

Of course it’s all kitchen-related for him.

You laugh in response, “Yeah, like a stage.”

“Heard, chef.”

“Goodnight, Carmy.”

Carmy’s never had someone joke with him so sweetly. Between his family and, well, Richie… it’s always been callous humor and insults thrown back and forth lovingly. This feels… different: lighter.

As he watches you walk away, he looks down at the deli quart container that he holds in his hand. He’s never had anyone take care of him before – not like this – someone who wasn’t Sugar or Mikey, and certainly not his Mom. Not like this. Not without asking for anything in return. He can’t seem to identify the warm feeling that rushes through him, and wonders, for a moment, if this is what it feels like to fall in love.

Not that he’s ever experienced that either.

By Saturday, he’s back to work and feeling much better (the soup definitely helps, he decides) but it’s not for another week that he musters up the courage to ask you what you’re doing between lunch and dinner service.

“Chef!” he calls out to you as you’re cleaning up your station.

“Yeah, what’s up?” you reply.

It’s not like you’ve been all buddy-buddy and friendly over the last week, but you’ve at least stopped thinking that he hates you. Sure you’ve decided to be friends, but it’s not like you’d expected wildly different behavior.

“You uh… wanna grab a cup of coffee? On the break, I mean,” he asks, his blue eyes seeming… more brilliant than you’ve ever noticed.

“I owe you one. You know. For the soup.”

You smile, “Yeah. I’d uh-, I’d like that.”

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

read: chapter two

taglist: @allthefandomstogether @gaysludge @sobshoney @harrysmatcha @starbritestarlite @tpwkkmila @cool-girl-is-hot @nunya7394 @galaxyprincess51-blog @carmensberzattos

#carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto #carmy x oc #the bear hulu #the bear fx #jeremy allen white #carmen 'carmy' berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto headcanon #the bear headcanon #carmy berzatto imagines #carmy berzatto fluff #carmy #comfort and chaos

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mistydeyes · 1 year ago

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eyes for the stars

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

summary: The 141 boys can't help but feel slightly jealous about your celebrity crush. They can't help but wonder why you're so obsessed with them.

pairing: 141 x civvie! Reader

warnings: swearing, spoilers for Euphoria!

a/n: a little self indulgent because i too have all of these crushes (love my problematic ladies, sydney and phoebe <;3)

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price: pedro pascal

The minute you laid eyes on him you were hooked. From episode 1 of The Last of Us, Pedro became your very apparent celebrity crush. Who doesn’t love a strong parental figure who will do anything for his unconventional child?

Ever the observer, Price noticed how your Instagram stories were filled with reposts of Pedro at award shows, magazine covers, and even behind-the-shoot pictures. He even noticed the growing collection in your shared home of Mandalorian memorabilia. He couldn't help but feel hurt that his partner posted a celebrity more than him.

As Gaz looked over his shoulder he commented, "Looks like a more handsome version of you, Sir." "Get back to work, Sergeant" Price commanded, before shoving his phone back in his pocket. He couldn't believe that this was getting to him.

“You have a type, love,” Price said as you sat watching another episode of Narcos. It was your turn to pick a show to binge and of course, you picked this one. Price secretly wished you spent his leave watching anything else. You were glued to the screen as you sat in your boyfriend’s arms. “I do not,” you argued, “you and he are so different.” You rolled your eyes and he let out a small chuckle.

“He’s an older man who is surprisingly resourceful and doesn’t let many people in until he’s given someone to protect with his life,” he began and you realized the similarities, “Plus, look at him. I might start shaving my beard and only having a mustache for you.”

As the realization hit you, you couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed at his observations. You paused the episode and held his face gently. "I'd much rather have this mustached face here with me than him," you said and shared a loving kiss.

Price was later happy to say that your stories of the man were significantly less than before. Good thing he didn't see your phone wallpaper was of the very famous Pedro Pascal edit (yk the one).

soap: sydney sweeney

You both were unapologetic about your love for the problematic blonde on Euphoria. Although you couldn't condone her rumors about Glen Powell, you couldn't help but obsess over the gorgeous woman. A new Syd’s garage TikTok? Queue you running around your house to find your boyfriend. You both religiously watched her in episodes of The Handmaid’s Tale and White Lotus. Don’t even get me started on when she appeared on the red carpet, your texts were flooded with pictures and emojis.

There was always one rule between you and Soap: don't watch any Sydney Sweeney movies or shows without the other. He instituted that rule once the new Euphoria season was predicted to come out. As he left for another mission for the 141, he kissed you and said, "No Sydney without me, promise?" As you gave him your pinky, you wouldn't realize you would be breaking that rule later on that year.

To be fair, no one could have predicted that their mission would have taken until the end of November. Also, it was technically Soap's fault for not binging the show before he was deployed. However, since the call to duty was ever present, he didn't want to start a show without knowing he could finish it. You waited until August to finally start it. You had been dying since the season ended in February and had blocked all spoilers.

The minute the show started, you knew you couldn't stop. The plot line between Nate and Cassie was just TOO GOOD. Hours later, you had finished and were ashamed of yourself. You just had to know how the drama between Maddy and Cassie ended. Logging out of your account, you tried to hide all the evidence before your boyfriend inevitably came home.

It was December when Soap returned, excited to be home with you and even more excited to start Season 2 of Euphoria. As you made you both some popcorn, you heard an ear-piercing scream from the living room. You rushed over to see what happened but Soap stood there with a shocked face. "Bonnie, why does HBO say you finished all the episodes?" he accused and you knew you were done for. "I-" you started before he interrupted. "You betrayed me, worse than Graves," he said almost as if he was crying. As you looked at him sheepishly he said in a soft voice, "Please tell me that the rumors about Cassie and Nate aren't true."

gaz: henry cavill

Who could compete with Superman? Certainly not Gaz, in fact, he would get a little jealous when you mentioned your little crush. You loved Henry Cavill specifically the DC Comic version of him, not The Witcher. Gaz regretted ever letting Soap get you into the new films.

For the past year, your boyfriend would not hear the end of your pining for the dark-haired beauty. You were non-stop, always talking about his latest interviews and always having his films on repeat. Gaz even had to stop you from putting a framed picture of Henry on your fireplace mantle. You finally agreed that Henry belonged on screen, not in a frame along with your loved ones and your boyfriend.

Gaz miraculously was home for Halloween, a first! You had been invited to a party by your friends and decided on a Cat Woman costume. Oddly enough, when you asked Gaz what he was wearing, he said he already had it covered. This was his chance to show you who the real hero was. You tried to find out the best you could (even looking through his search history) but you could not find what it was.

"Babe, can you at least tell me you're on theme?" you asked over the phone, it was a few weeks before his return and you were anxious to know his secret costume. "Trust me, love, you'll be pleasantly surprised" he answered and you audibly groaned at his mysterious tone.

“Kyle, are you ready?” you called, dressed in your Cat Woman costume. You loved Lois Lane but something about the powerful energy Selena Kyle had plus her sexy attire made you pick this instead. As you adjusted your all-black outfit in the mirror, you heard your boyfriend descend the stairs. You turned around to see him dressed in Superman’s signature costume. The costume was of surprising quality, perfectly defining your boyfriend's physique and making his butt look great.

“I heard there’s someone who needs a superhero,” he triumphantly said as he struck a pose. You smiled widely and took many pictures. “You look amazing, babe! This is just like the movies,” you said excitedly as you kissed him on the cheek. “Bought it just for you” he winked, “Gotta let you know who the real hero is.” You laughed and punched his arm lightly. “Let’s go my Lois Lane,” he said and you grabbed his hand, getting ready to face the world with your hero.

ghost: phoebe bridgers

Now Ghost isn't like the rest of the 141 boys, he won't let his jealousy get the better of him. BUT COME ON, you were in love with Phoebe Bridgers, the haunting singer of Boygenius whose grey hair glistened in the moonlight. You owned every single record of hers and constantly pined over the TikTok videos of her on Taylor Swift's tour. You even bought you and Ghost her matching sweatpants with bones on the front and her name on the butt. He wouldn't admit it but he did love her style. Still, he couldn't help but feel a little twinge of jealousy whenever Kyoto came on the radio.

While on duty, Ghost could feel his phone ring. He answered immediately, knowing you only called for emergencies. He was greeted by you screaming. "BOYGENIUS IS COMING TO LONDON WE HAVE TO GO!!" you yelled excitedly. Ghost mentally slapped himself, he would have to remind you that this line was only for major injuries or death. "Love, Boygenius is not an emergency," he said sternly before you responded, "SIMON, PHOEBE FUCKING BRIDGERS WILL BE SHARING THE SAME AIR AS US," you yelled back. Ghost was glad no one was around because he would never hear the end of it. "Calm down, I'll see what I can do," he said before reiterating his love for you and hanging up.

When Ghost returned home, you were in a deep depression. You opened the door and looked sadder than he had ever seen you. "What's wrong?" he asked, closing the door behind him and taking you into his arms. You let out a few tears as you sat on the couch together. He noted you were all decked out in one of your many Phoebe hoodies and shorts. "I wasn't able to get tickets," you sniffled, "they sold out immediately." You knew it was stupid but your heart was crushed. You would never get to see her live.

"Well good thing I know a thing or two about computers," he said before pulling out his phone to show you a confirmation email. Your eyes widened when you saw he had secured VIP tickets to meet the band and watch from the pit. "Happy anniversary, my love," he said and you were speechless for a moment. "Simon, I think I could marry you," you whispered as you hugged him tightly. "Anything for you darling," he said and kissed you. As you excitedly confirmed all the details and peeked at the set list, Ghost felt the need to poke fun at you. "Do you love her because she has a thing for skeletons too?" That earned him a light slap to the chest.

The day of the concert, you could've fainted upon meeting the band. They were all so much cooler than you could have ever imagined. As you talked Julien's and Lucy's ears off, Phoebe walked up to Ghost. "Sick mask dude, gotta get me one of those," she said in her deep, chill voice. Moments later, Ghost almost had to subdue you as you tried to force the mask off his face to give it to her.

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

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thesturniolos · 11 months ago

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warning signs

chris sturniolo | angst 😛

| triggers: alcohol, swearing

| long distance makes couples crumble much opposed to the closeness it apparently brings.

| tags: @strniohoeee @sturniolopepsi @estelleswrld @recklesssturniolo @realmoonee @thesturniolos @malsturns @mattslolita @mattsgirlforeva @malusokay @cabincorematt @caitifilms @celestialhacker @chrisolivia4l @sturnsclutter @sturnphilia @sturniolostuff @sturniololoverr @plasticferal @pr1ncessm1ng1 @ilovemattsturn @aesthetxcimagines @dailysturniolo @deatthmatch @justangelheree

“does it ever occur to you that-“

“don’t say it.” i pull my hand up to shade his face from my vision. although he’s my best friend, i can’t begin to talk about it. i swig the bottle and shake my head as i feel the burn fall down my throat.

he runs a hand through his hair and throws his body back onto my bed.

i look down at him to see a weak smile. it’s a smile of sympathy. sympathy that i don’t want or need to have.

“we’re fine.” i say but underneath my sharp tone there’s a slight wobble of concern. because it’s not how it was.

i look down at my phone and it flashes with a notification but i’m distracted by the wallpaper behind it.

it’s a picture of me and chris by the beach. he’s picking me up from the sand and swinging me round while we both laugh. it was the best day of my life. it was the day he asked me to be his, the day he promised me we’d be together forever.

well i believed that. after all, we’d been together for most of our life anyways - thanks to our mums being best friends since they were little, we were kinda destined to be inseparable too.

that was until he went to LA after his youtube career skyrocketed. i had never been happier for him and his brothers, knowing they were doing exactly what they’d dreamed of since we were children.

but what comes with a demanding industry like there’s is crazy fans and all around the clock non-stop entertainment.

our time together lessened and lessened as he signed up for interviews and tours and met more and more fans.

it didn’t bother me because i saw how happy he was to have been given that opportunity and seeing his smile was worth it all.

but it’s when i couldn’t see that grin anymore is when i found myself slipping into a place of darkness, like the curtains had been drawn on me.

i didn’t feel like a girlfriend anymore, i felt like a shadow. like a burden even.

even before they left for the big LA, he seemed to have become irritated by my presence, he started to go to bed early and i only saw him for about fifteen minutes when i got up and ten minutes when i got home before he found something else to do.

matt and nick saw this happening and tried to include me into their videos and podcasts but chris made it clear that i wasn’t allowed claiming the fans wouldn’t like it.

but what if i didn’t like it? did that even matter?

so now i find myself nearly 3000 miles away looking down at the bright light in my hand, wishing he was next to me and that it was like old times.

except he hadn’t texted me in a week and he’s been gone six months. that’s nearly 200 days without seeing him.

to think last year i couldn’t have gone 24 hours without a hug from him to now holding a teddy in my arms wishing it were chris.

i felt embarrassed to sit here and still think naively think we were still even a thing. because what’s a relationship without words?

i understand long distance is hard but nobody said it would do this to us, we were supposed to be forever.

i often think about the day at the beach, i wish it never happened. then i wouldn’t feel broken now.

“i really think you ought to call him.” says nate.

nate had been the triplets’ best friend too. he just like me was dropped but he still remained close with the likes of matt and nick.

“but it’s always me calling and it’s always me texting. how long do i have to fucking wait until he does that for me, nate? because quite frankly i’m fed up with being the only one who cares around here.”

there was silence for a bit and i could feel him staring at me.

a tear falls down my cheek and i let it fall onto my leg.

“i miss him so much, nate. why doesn’t he want me anymore?”

“i don’t know.” he hugs me in close and rubs my arm.

the truth is, this is the first hug i’ve had for six months.

“y/n?” the door opens and i’m face to face with the one person i need most.

“chris?”

#matt sturniolo fan fiction #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #sturniolo #comfort character #vinnie hacker #vinnie hacker imagines #vinnie hacker imagine #chris sturniolo imagines #chris sturniolo fanfic

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mattsturnioloarchive · 9 months ago

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Imagine being in a relationship with Matthew Sturniolo (Part 2)

Disclaimers: It's my first time writing, so forgive me if it's not great. Nothing written here reflects reality, so please, don't freak out. It's just something written from fan to fan. If you don't like this type of content, don't read it. This content is original, written by me. English is not my first language, so feel free to correct me on anything.

• Matt is very afraid of people in general being cruel to you, and since he's very protective, he'll be cautious about exposing your relationship on social media. But that doesn't mean he'll hide you from the world; on the contrary, he'll want people to know about you and how much you mean to him. He'll take you to dates and media events, hug you, hold your hand, sometimes give you a stolen kiss in public places. If he notices any kind of disrespect towards you, he'll step back from social media and limit contact with people, taking necessary steps to ensure you're not affected by it.

• When you two are alone, Matt is always making naughty jokes about everything and making you laugh until your belly hurts. He's also constantly acting cute and funny, using his baby voice just to see you smile. It took him a while to open up to you, but now you know that there are some sides of him that only you, Chris, and Nick know, and that makes you love him even more.

• Matt loves to show how much he cares and adores you in the smallest details. The lock screen and wallpaper of all his electronic devices are pictures of you, the two of you together, or your pet, of course. He's always buying gifts for you, caring first about the meaning and sentimental value, and never about the price. He loves seeing you wear his clothes and feeling at home in his house. He enjoys planning trips and special moments for the two of you, and loves you even more when, on some specific occasions, you take the initiative to include his siblings, or even Nate, in the plans.

• Matt loves spending time with you locked in the room. While you're lying in bed scrolling on your phone, he'll be stroking your hair. When you're reading, he'll lay on your chest trying to read what you're reading and watching your reactions. When you're watching something, he'll snuggle up to you or pull you as close as possible. And when he's gaming, he'll always keep a chair for you to be nearby and preferably with your legs on his lap or some form of physical contact.

• Matt is a traditional romantic. He'll take you to candlelit restaurants, give you flowers, take you on beach walks, prepare picnics, and go on park outings. He wants to live a movie-like romance with you because he knows it will make you happy. Matt will definitely give you a promise ring. He'll constantly plan the future with you, talking about a possible marriage, living with you until old age, children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. He'll always plan every detail of your day with your preferences and well-being in mind, as nothing matters more to him than your happiness.

Part 1

tag: @leah-loves-lilies

#matthew sturniolo #matthew bernard sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo fluff #sturniolo triplets #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo

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softspaceboibrian · 1 year ago

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Fell in Love with the Fire Long Ago || Jamie Tartt

Prologue

Pairing: Jamie Tartt x Y/N - Social Media Manager for AFC Richmond || I used she/her pronouns, but there is no actual physical description, so the pronouns can be switched with whatever anyone wants or prefers!

Summary: The first meeting.

Warnings: maybe some swear words? a lot of anxiety. I think that's it

Wc: 3593

A/N: this story is based on this idea . as always, if you want to read more, feel free to leave a comment. If you wish to be added to the taglist, let me know! anyways, thanks for reading! ALSO I'm making a playlist for this fic inspired by the chapters! let me know if you would like me to post it!

Taglist: @nicklet94 @respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog @katdahlali @sonyume @kerguelenn @janalustare @thebarisinhell99 @dancemajor1 @f1maverick @shakespeareanwannabe

The team had eventually gone to the pitch to train, while you had stayed behind. You inhaled deeply. For the moment, you were safe. You had managed to slip away and into your office unnoticed. However, after a few minutes of sitting alone in the room with your laptop’s screen casting a gentle blue light over the documents in front of you, you couldn’t ignore the unsettling sensation that anxiety was leaving in your stomach, as if a hand from within was gripping and squeezing all of your organs, tugging ever so slightly at your heart and making it drop whenever you heard muffled footsteps down the corridor, approaching, passing by, then moving away. I can’t take it anymore, you said under your breath, as if you were talking to someone that wasn’t there. Quickly, you gathered your stuff and made your way down to the coaches’ room. Was it the best place to hide? Obviously not! The room was directly connected with the team’s changing room. Still, the corridor on the ground floor wasn’t carpeted, and you could much more easily control the situation from there. Also, despite being still angry at Ted, you knew that the coaches, all three of them, would do anything just to know you were comfortable. And so, you settle down in the spare chair on the opposite side of the room from Nate’s desk. That was going to be your office for the day. You nodded, as you displayed all your documents and stationary carefully, with order, on the desk in front of you.

You looked around the room as you waited for your laptop to come back to life. You didn’t exactly love the charcoal walls with the AFC Richmond logo right in the middle of it. You often wished they would let you redecorate the space, but everyone was too afraid you would choose a wallpaper similar to the forest green one in your office. You would laugh. You were spending most of your days in your office, anyways. Except for that day. So, grey walls would have to do.

A ding sound brought you back to reality.

You immediately directed your attention to the screen in front of you and opened the notification. It was an email conversation between Rebecca, Keeley, Higgins, and you. The title: TARTT’S COMEBACK ANNOUNCEMENT. All capital letters, as if that was the most urgent thing in the world. You opened it and read through the messages. Rebecca was asking when the announcement was going to be put on the team’s accounts, because she thought it was important to do it as soon as possible. The sooner, the better, read her email, the sentence in italics, as to attract more attention. You could feel that nauseating sensation slowly remerging. You took a deep breath before moving to the next message. It was from Keeley, and she said that it would be better to just wait a while. Ted has decided to put him on the second team for now, she said was the reason she thought we should wait. But let’s hear from Y/N first, she’s the expert. The corners of your mouth turning slightly upwards, as you felt Keeley’s preoccupation and affection for you disguised beneath those words. No answer from Higgins yet. The decision was yours. You were the social media manager. You set the rules when it came to these things. That gave you a bit of relief. You clicked the Reply to all button, and started typing.

Dear all, [you always wrote that, even though it was just the four of you and there was no reason for you to be so formal.] if you want my personal opinion, I think we should kick him off the team. [You weren’t exactly sure why you were so angry. Because, in reality, you weren’t. You were sad, disappointed, but not angry. Maybe it was easier to be angry than to be sad.] On the other hand, if you want my professional opinion, then I say we wait. If it’s true that Ted has put him on second team, then there is no need to announce it just yet. It would be misleading for the fans who would then expect to see him out on the pitch already in the next match. I say we wait and, when the time comes and Ted puts him in, then I’ll take his picture while he’s playing with the team, and we’ll announce it that way.

You clicked Send. You waited. Two minutes went by. No answer yet. You could already picture Rebecca stomping down the corridor to come and talk to you, saying that she had to make the calls - not true: you were in charge of the socials, you decided. Plus, you knew that Rebecca would understand your point of view. Or at least you hoped.

Five more minutes went by. A ding. Message from Leslie Higgins, Head of Football: I agree with Y/N. You smiled. Three minutes later, another ding. Message from Keeley Jones: I second that. You inhaled deeply. You could feel a weight lift off your chest. For now, you were safe.

After scrolling on Instagram for a good ten minutes, stalking other teams profiles to get inspiration, you actually started working. You weren’t sure how, but you had managed to get so focused on what you were doing, that you got startled when the distant murmurs of the boys coming back to the changing room for lunch break eventually reached you. You looked up from your iPad, where you had been sketching the new social media campaign, only to realise that an hour and a half had gone by without you even noticing. You looked around, panicking, trying to get your mind to slow down and think of an escape plan. But when you finally settled on leaving everything there and running outside to the parking lot, the soft murmurs had become clear voices only a few meters away. You were stuck there, with nowhere to run.

So, you stayed there, paralysed in that chair, until the coaches walked in. You could tell they were not expecting to find you in there. Ted looked at you, quietly, and you knew he wanted to say something, but you never met his eyes, hoping that would be a clear enough sign to him to just leave you be. You knew you had no reason to be angry at him nor at Rebecca, but it was the easiest way to get your frustration out. And Ted himself knew that what had happened that morning wasn’t truly directed at him, that you weren’t actually mad at him. So, as he walked by, he offered you a kind smile, one that said I’m sorry. But you just couldn’t bring yourself to reply.

Beard, on the other hand, laid a hand on your shoulder as he walked by, giving it a quick squeeze, before going to take his place at his desk. Somehow, somewhere down the line, Beard had become a sort of father figure for you, the type of bond that you can only share with certain people: the quiet looks, the silent nods, quick side hugs, hands on the shoulder or the arm as a reassuring sign. And you actually loved this subtle relationship that you two had. Most people would think that neither of you wanted to have nothing to do with the other, but that was far from the truth. You had bonded over your shared passion for reading, even though you mainly read narrative books, while he generally went for autobiographies and inspirational books. However, what truly brought you closer was the fact that, despite being half his age and being born in a different country, having grown up to different music and films, you were still able to understand 80% of his pop references, and more importantly, were always asking him curiously to explain the remaining 20%.

You gave him a quick smile, before turning around and meeting Nate’s gaze. “Moved in for the day?” He asked with his newly found confidence.

A quick nod. “Yep.” You replied, popping the p.

“Still thinking about renovating this place?” He asked jokingly.

“Always.” Your subtle smile told him that, as much as you enjoyed talking with him, that wasn’t the best moment for you.

“D’you want me to go and get Sam for you?” He asked, already making his way towards the door. “I promise I’ll be discreet.” He smiled a kind and comforting smile. You nodded as the memory of him walking in on you and Jamie in the boot room came resurfaced in your head. How is this the same person you wondered.

A few moments later, Sam walked into the office, already changed in his normal clothes. “We’re going for kebabs.” He told you, the invitation implicit in the way he spoke the words.

You didn’t say anything. You just stood up and grabbed your bag, before following him into the corridor. Isaac, Colin, Dani, and a few others were standing right outside the door, almost creating a sort of barrier between the exit and the door to the changing room. You looked at them, a soft smile forming on your lips. But in your head, all you could hear was you brain telling you stop being so dramatic, he’s just a boy. And you knew your head was right, but your heart still ached at the idea of seeing him back.

You eventually started walking down the corridor, linking arms with Sam on one side, Colin on the other, as Richard told everyone that one day you all had to allow him to take you to this new French winery that had just opened in Chelsea. A night on the town, he said with his strong French cadence, it would be fun! And you rejoiced in seeing him so passionate about something. You had grown to love seeing the team being truly happy about things, about life. A nostalgic feeling, maybe, because it reminded you about how excited you used to get when Jamie used to make reservations for the two of you at those posh little restaurants that you would have only been able to admire from outside where it not for him. Let me spoil you, babe, he used to say. You missed that, the thrill, the enthusiasm, the looking forward to those kinds of things. But you pushed the thought aside, focusing on what the conversation had just moved to.

You had almost made it out the door, when a voice echoed down the corridor, bouncing off the walls until it reached your ears. “Y/N!” You would be able to recognise that thick Mancunian accent everywhere. You looked slowly at the men in front of you as you took a deep breath, gathering all of your strength, Then, you turned around, finally meeting his eyes. Oh, how you had dreaded that moment. You had imagined it several times in the private of your own house. The doorbell would ring, and you would go open the door. He would be standing outside, hood on his head, his hair – which were now longer – falling in front of his face, in an attempt to cover his puffy red eyes. It was all a mistake, he would say, almost choking on his words. I shouldn’t’ve left. I should’ve never broken up with you. You’re the love of me life. You would stay silent, letting him do the talking. He would tell you how miserable life was without you. He would tell you that, without you, life was pointless, all black and white. And when he would eventually look at you, his eyes would be filled with tears. And you would drag him in, grabbing him by the collar of his hoodie and pulling him to you, kissing him so passionately that he would need to press you against the wall to hold you up. You would kiss, you would make love, and then, naked in your bed, you would talk, for hours. But that wasn’t real life. That only happened in rom-coms. Real life was there, in front of you. And he wasn’t wearing his hoodie, he didn’t have puffy eyes. He looked fine.

You said nothing. You looked at him, you held his gaze, but said nothing. “Hey.” He said softly, in a warm familiar tone that, with the gentle smile he offered you, immediately brought back that burning sensation in the pit of your stomach. You could feel your heart beating, thumping in your ears. You nodded in return, the word stuck in your throat. You said nothing. “Can we talk?” He asked, hope plain on his face. You had almost forgotten that kind voice he usually used when talking with you, when he knew you were feeling uncomfortable, restless, nervous, when he could tell that something was disturbing you, and he wanted to make you feel better.

A part of you wanted to just run to him, immediately melting in his embrace, as he pressed his lips against your forehead. You wanted him to comfort you, to hold you, to rock you, as you finally took in his smell, one that you had loved so much, but had now forgotten. But another part, the sad part, the disappointed one, the one that couldn’t seem to forget how he had treated you in the last few days of your relationship, the words he had used, the coldness, that part stopped you from doing anything. So, you didn’t move. You stood there, surrounded by the people that had actually been there for you. “No, I’m sorry.” You replied flatly.

“I just-” He started to speak, and deep down in your heart you wanted him to talk, to say what was on his mind. You wanted to know if he was sad, if he regretted it.

But Isaac cut him off, putting himself between you and him. “She said no.”

You watched as his expression changed, as the hope on his face was slowly replaced by pain. “I understand.” He said. “I respect that.” You knew him well enough to notice the shift in his voice, the watery words that slowly left his lips. “Another time, maybe.” He added, his eyes lingering on your figure for a few moments, before turning around.

You stood there, frozen in the middle of the corridor, biting the inside of your cheek, as you watched his shoulders drop with disappointment. You had never seen him like that, and it hurt you. For a moment you thought of saying something, of calling him back, but as you tried to find the right words, his sulking figure turned right and retreated into the changing room.

Your eyes remained fixed on where his figure was a few moments before disappearing. As guilt and grief washed over you like a tidal wave, you almost forgot about the people next to you.

“That was very brave.” Sam’s voice brought you back to reality. You nodded still unable to look away, still hoping he would come back out.

“Sì!” Dani agreed. “Muy valiente!” and you could tell he was actually proud of you. They all were. In their heads, you had handled it greatly. But you hadn’t. And you hated the sensation it left in you.

Eventually, you all made your way outside, deciding to walk to the kebab place instead of driving. Fresh air is good for us, Jan Maas stated in his Dutch manner. But you knew that it was all a ruse, a way to get your head off what had just happened. They were all terrible liars.

As you got to the place, you settled in a booth, adding a few chairs so that you could all eat together at the same table. The boys immediately slipped into their usual topics for whenever they were out eating: the upcoming match; the last episode of that new action tv show that they had decided to watch together; making plans to go to the movies to watch the new Bond movie – planes that were never met due to matches and practice; someone’s latest match on Bantr; where to have the next family dinner – that was how they called the biweekly dinner the team had together. You nodded along, but your head was someplace else. You could have let him tag along, you told yourself. He’s probably eating lunch alone. You hated the idea of having abandoned him. And as the food finally arrived at your table, you felt the hunger in your stomach being replaced by sadness.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Isaac asked between bites, noticing you hadn’t yet touched your wrap.

You quickly glanced around the table, feeling everyone’s eyes on you. “I can’t stop thinking about him.” You whispered. “We could have invited him. It wouldn’t have hurt anyone.” You said, tears instantly pooling at the corners of your eyes. Breathing had suddenly become more difficult, and you felt trapped in the middle of the bench, stuck between Colin and Sam.

“You have to give yourself time.” Sam put down his food, turning slightly towards you. “If you feel like you-”

But you cut him off. “I’m not talking about me. I’m talking about him. About how you all took my side, which I truly appreciate. But now he has no one there.” You started rambling, saying how you felt terrible because it was your fault, because you shouldn’t have gotten them that involved.

“Listen, Y/N, we understand your point. But he mistreated us as well.” Colin stopped your train of thoughts. “Don’t know if you remember, but he called me a jaundiced worm.” You met his eyes. “None of us is going to hate him forever. Pretty sure no one actually hates him. But we’re mad at him. He disrespected us. Yes, we took your side, but it was also our own side, okay? So, stop blaming yourself because it’s not your fault.” There was a small pause. “We just want him to realise what he did wrong, an apologise would be great. But I promise, no one is going to treat him like he treated us.” His voice was sincere, which in a way lifted a weight off your chest.

Half an hour later you were all back at the clubhouse, and the boys immediately ran to the changing room. You smiled at them, before entering the coaches’ room and taking your seat at the desk you had claimed as yours for the day. Post-lunch drowsiness washing over you, you decide to wait for the team to go out to the pitch before resuming your work. You picked up your phone and immediately opened Instagram. You hated how addicted you had gotten to social media, especially since you spent most of your days on it for work. But still, you couldn’t help it. You scrolled mindlessly down your feed, leaving the occasional like on puppy pics, videos of animals and of your favourite celebrities – Harry Styles, Hozier, Phoebe Waller-Bridge. You read the usual inspirational quote from one of those pages that you always end up following after a breakup, those that always provide you with the most appropriate sentences to write down on a sticky note, which you would then put on your fridge or on your desk at work, as a reminder of some sort. “You need to fall in love with yourself first”. Bullshit, you had thought, as the pen traced the words on that square piece of yellow paper a few months prior, before putting it on the mirror in your bedroom. It was still there.

“It’s one of the greatest gifts you can give yourself to forgive. Forgive everybody.” That’s what read the latest post. Damn you, Maya Angelou, you whispered, as you wrote down the quote on a new sticky note.

You stared at the piece of paper for a while, reading the words over and over. Then, somehow, your phone was back in your hands. On the screen, a chat. At the top, the name read “J” followed by a white heart. You had thought about changing it. But you never did.

Before you knew, your fingers were already typing away.

I don’t hate you.

You hit send.

I just need a little more time.

Send.

Not even five seconds later, the word Read appeared beneath the two bubbles.

Three little dots. He’s typing.

The little dots go away. Then they reappear. Then, they’re gone once again.

You locked your phone and put it down on the desk in front of you.

You could still clearly hear the team talking in the other room. The coaches were still talking in their room. He had time. He could still reply.

You stood up from your chair. Maybe I shouldn’t have messaged him, you thought as you paced the room, glancing at your phone every now and then, wondering why he hadn’t yet replied. You could feel Ted’s eyes on you, and you knew he wanted to come to you, ask you if everything was alright. But you were glad he didn’t.

You kept pacing, your steps measing the length of the room, the distance between the two desks.

Then, a notification.

You immediately ran to your phone.

I know, and I understand. Take all the time you need.

You felt that all too familiar itchy feeling of tears pooling at the corners of your eyes.

The three little dots appeared once more. You stared at the screen.

I’ll wait for you.

A/N: once again, thank you for reading <3

#jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fic #ted lasso #ted lasso fic #softspaceboibrian writings

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