#actually hold on let me chuck this in my

[quietwingsinthesky]

(@transmasc-rose) Hmm... 11Simm, Simm is around for his Baking Period instead of going back to the war, and this affects our Doctor.

alsjfjglsjfk okay im assuming by baking period you mean immediately post-regeneration and what im saying is that this got wildly out of hand, here’s 1000 words of eleven & simm & amelia pond

Amelia Pond remembers, a few months ago, when it rained so hard that the streets outside of school flooded. It hadn’t been so bad, even though no one had come to pick her up so Mels had promised Rory when his dad came, “Don’t worry, I’ll walk her home.” By then, his dad’s car was already making huge waves as it drove away. Neither of them had an umbrella or raincoats, so they’d sprinted between trees and bus stops as it continued to pour down. The streets became rivers, and when they caught their breath on Amelia’s front porch, they’d turned back to look at the unrecognizable world of their neighborhood almost underwater. Mels’ cold, wet hand in hers, Amelia had watched two rats swimming across the street, scrabbling over each other with tiny splashes and biting their tails to stay together until they got to the other side.

Anyway, that’s why she thinks Mels would understand her letting the men from the blue box into her house once she saw that they were soaking wet and why Rory would probably tell her she shouldn’t try to pick up rats because they might have rabies.

“If he’s the Doctor,” says Amelia to the man who stole all of the Doctor’s leftovers, (or was it stealing when no one wanted them?) “then who are you?” She’s been thinking of him as the rude Doctor, seeing as they both came from the same box, but that might be unfair. To the Doctor. She can’t just go assuming two men from the same box share a name.

“The Master,” he tells her, shortly. Amelia squints up at him.

Amelia doesn’t care much about politics because her aunt doesn’t care much about politics. Still, there are all these newspapers that someone must have bought that sit in the lounge and they both forget to clean up.

“Why do you look like the Prime Minister?” At that, the Master grins. His teeth are too sharp.

“Because I ate him.” Amelia wrinkles her nose at him. He’s going to have to try harder. Mels is much better at scaring her than he is.

“Stop that,” the Doctor tells him. “She’s-” He looks over Amelia curiously and guesses. “…Five?”

“I’m eight,” Amelia corrects and stands a little taller.

“She’s eight, and there’s a nasty crack in her wall that’s scaring her enough. You don’t need to make it worse.” The Master huffs and crosses his arms, but he does glance down at her again. She doesn’t think he’s decided to be nice, exactly, but maybe that he’s decided even if he isn’t lying and he does eat people, that Amelia wouldn’t be very tasty. He extends a hand to pat her on the head, and Amelia bites at it. She doesn’t manage to get him, but he snaps his hand back. He grins at her.

“She should be scared. I’m surprised she’s even still here.” Amelia frowns at him the same time the Doctor does.

“What do you mean?”

“Explain that, Master,” the Doctor’s voice flips from fun to serious very easily. She likes that about him. Most adults never use their serious voices around Amelia, only the fun ones, even when they have bad news to deliver.

“You’re counting the doors, Doctor. I’m counting the bedrooms.”

“So?”

“Amelia, you said you only live with your aunt?” the Master asks, pointedly. Amelia scowls at him, even though a part of her is delighted that they were paying attention to what she said.

“Yes.”

“So, why,” he emphasizes, “are there too many beds in this house?” The Doctor stops examining the crack and turns to him. Amelia watches a wave of something awful wash over his face. It makes her squirm, and despite herself, grab onto the Master’s hoodie.

“Oh, Amelia,” the Doctor says, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” She doesn’t like it, any of it, not the crack and not the feeling in the pit of her stomach that something’s gone terribly wrong. She doesn’t know what it is, but she knows- She knows- She can’t remember why she’s crying. The Master’s hoodie is grimy enough already, so she sticks her nose in it to wipe her face clean. He smells like a wet dog.

“First things first,” the Doctor says, “whatever was in the crack is now out of the crack.”

“I know. I can smell it.”

“So, we take care of that. Amelia,” he addresses her again. Amelia pulls her face out of the Master’s hoodie to look at the Doctor. “Do you mind if I pick you up?” Amelia is too big to be picked up anymore, at least by her aunt. Still, she nods. “Good. I’m going to put you in the safest place I know.” The Doctor picks Amelia up easily, like she would pick up one of her stuffed animals, and then deposits her, without hesitating, into the Master’s arms as he protests.

“I don’t want her. Take her back.” Amy wriggles, but despite that, he doesn’t drop her.

“I wasn’t lying. Whatever prisoner zero is—I’m working on it—you’re far more dangerous.” At that, the Master hums, pleased with himself. Amelia thinks the Doctor might be even more mad than she’d assumed. “Which also makes you safe.”

The thing is, Amelia thinks, the Doctor isn’t wrong. She looks at the crack, and she looks out her bedroom door down the hall they say contains a monster, and nothing scares her.

“It’s a little early for us to adopt,” the Master mutters.

“Sorry, can’t hear you. Too busy hunting an intergalactic fugitive. You’d know all about that. Amelia, did you know he’s wanted dead or alive in over two hundred galaxies? In multiple time periods.” Amelia looks at the Master for confirmation.

“Two hundred and fifty-three,” he says.

“What’d you do?”

“Everything.” He carries Amelia out, following the Doctor, and only gets interrupted telling her a story she’s not sure she believes about taking over an entire planet when the monster shows itself.

[bacchuschucklefuck]

and! barbarian!fig! its her

[rupertholmes]

resisting the urge to buy weights rn. i need to go bear mode.

[drchucktingle]

how are you human?

so many interesting comments and thoughts on my post saying buds should consider not coming up to strangers in marginalized groups and saying 'how are you a real person that actually exists?'. i will point out this: despite my VERY gentle tone a few buds said i was having a 'meltdown' for even mentioning it

others said i was being too serious for someone who is ‘not a real person’. so if you would any more evidence of what it is like to be a buckaroo like myself there it is. every day, autistic folks who may seem ‘weird’ are bombarded with messages and comments and implications that they are fundamentally not human beings

sometimes it is outright and blatant like the comments on last post saying ‘well why are you getting mad? you are not even real’ and sometimes it is in the very subtle ways that folks use language when they talk to us. there is huge difference between ‘how do you exist?’ and ‘i am glad you exist.’

anyway, something that i think many people who have not lived this experience dont seem to understand is i KNOW the poster who said ‘how are you a real person that actually exists’ probably meant it as a compliment. that is THE POINT of why i am taking a moment out of my trot to gently and anonymously let them know how it might feel to be on other end of something like this as a queer or autistic or otherwise marginalized buckaroo. it is obviously not their intent to actually hurt someone, so i am letting them know

maybe because queerness and autism are not physically apparent it is hard to explain, but imagine going up to very tall or very short person and saying ‘cant BELIEVE you are real’ as a compliment. not a great way to treat others. on my original post, an indigenous author chimed in with their own experience and feelings similar to my own. a woman who said she was very tall told her story. point is, while i do not have their experience, what i am saying has a universal thread for 'othered' folks

point is: i UNDERSTAND there is this sort of exaggerated or ironic (or maybe even sometimes very literal) language around fandom to say things like ‘how are you a human?’ to creators, but since it is not your intent to hurt, i think you might want to know how that feels to marginalized buckaroos sometimes.

obviously you can say anything you want. i do not hold it against you. also, if you think ‘oh no, did i say something like this to chuck at a convention? i am so embarrassed' then DO NOT WORRY i promise you buckaroo you are just fine. i present myself in a way that is unusual by definition, so i have pretty thick skin about this type of thing and a lot of patience. MANY buds start off thinking i am ‘a joke’ and then become fans over time and i am glad to trot beside them and prove love is real.

however there are other autistic or queer or marginalized buckaroos with smaller platforms who hear this just as much as me, so i think it is important to say it loudly and maybe together we can work on making a very slight shift in the way we speak to the ‘others’ in our lives

we do not NEED to let subtle dehumanization slip into our language. in some cases it has been called ‘micro aggressions’ but i think buds dont often consider what that means for COMPLIMENTS. ultimately, telling marginalized people YOU ARE SO AMAZING YOU CANNOT POSSIBLY EXIST may seem very fun and silly on the surface and for some folks it probably feels that way, but for others it can feel like a reminder of the broader doubt about their humanity. you can just say ‘YOU ARE AMAZING’ without the reminder of the many times autistic or queer or marginalized folks are told in a very serious and pointed way (like comments on the last post) ‘YOU ARE SO WEIRD THAT I HAVE DECIDED YOU ARE NOT REAL’

buckaroos can take this information and apply it to their interactions, or they can ignore it, that is totally fine. we are all trotting our own trots and proving love in our own way and thats okay bud, HOWEVER i feel like it is important to at least let folks know, even if that means getting told i am having a ‘meltdown’. i think it is important to have complex or difficult conversations if it will prove a little more love in the long run. THANK YOU FOR READING BUCKAROOS. i am honored to trot forward with you can tackle this kind of thing with you, and honored you buckaroos have created such an amazing space with me to pull apart these kind of feelings. THIS IS PROOF THAT LOVE IS REAL LETS TROT

[bluetimeombre]

ׂׂૢ Hugh and you are WIRED,

You and Hugh take part in the Wired autocomplete interview

[this has been sitting in my drafts collecting dust, enjoy! Not proof read, just the vibes]

'Hello, I am Hugh Jackman,' he smiled at the camera.

'And i'm Y/N.'

'And we're doing the autocomplete interview,' he said.

You smile at how he tried his best. 'The WIRED one,' you added.

Hugh looked back to you. 'Oh yeah.' he laughed and apologised to the crew. 'I'll hold, you peel and read and I'll answer,' said Hugh, taking the board that started with him.

You leaned back in your chair, eyes peering at him. 'So, I do all the work and you sit there, ok, yeah, that's fair.'

He chuckled as you peeled away the first question.

'Is Hugh Jackman Australian?' you read, screwing up the paper and chucking it behind you. 'Um, no, he's not. It's all a bit he does, it's incredible he's kept it up for years,' you answer for him.

Hugh laughed. 'I am, I am Australian,' he insisted.

You shook your head, nudging him friendly. 'Such a good actor. Is Hugh Jackman retired?'

'No, just old,' said Hugh.

You chuckle before looking at the camera. 'He said he was retired but that was a lie,' you poke fun at the amount of times he said he'll never do Logan again... but did Logan again. 'He's a lair like I said- a good actor.'

You rip the next one off. 'Is Hugh Jackman... a good singer? Uh yes!'

'Thank you, there you go,' nodded Hugh.

'He's such a good singer,' you boast, holding his knee. 'Les mis, Oklahoma, The greatest showman.'

'That's where we met,' he smiled. The two of you did meet during the filming of The Greatest Showman.

You smiled back at you. 'We did. Yeah, highly recommend having Hugh Jackman sing to you, it's-it's magic.'

You do a couple more questions before finishing his first board and letting Hugh break it over his knee before chucking it away. 'Oh woah. You know, people would pay to have that done to them.'

Hugh laughs. He takes the board meant for you and peels the first away. 'I've got it love, let me. Is Y/N dead?'

'Starting off strong here,' you said. 'Um, only on the inside.'

Hugh chuckled. 'That's horrible,' he said through his laughter.

'Don't worry babe, I'm still here. Alive and kicking,' you mumble off.

Hugh eventually peeled away the next one. 'Ok, is Y/N in Wolverine origins.'

'No, thank god,' you said as Hugh, again, keeps laughing. 'No, I do not appear in that movie. But a version of my character does for like ten minutes. And i'm sure it was the better ten minutes of the movie.'

'I won't argue with that,' said Hugh.

'So it wasn't me but another actress playing my character.'

'Right, not confusing at all,' said Hugh. 'Just don't think about it really. Yeah. Right, is Y/N a billionaire? If she was, I would've married her by now,' said Hugh.

You laugh, rocking back and forth. 'Now I really need to reach that billionaire status,' you said.

Hugh's board was next.

'Ok, how Hugh Jackman got jacked?' you read, looking over to him. 'How did the Jackman jack?' you asked, the question coming out a bit more on the naughty side than you intended.

The both of you looked at each other promiscuously.

You held up a finger. 'Maybe I should have worded that differently.'

'Yeah,' he chuckled. 'Um, I basically was miserable for six months. No I'm kidding, a lot of training and boiled chicken.'

'Yum! How tall is Hugh Jackman?'

'6'2- 6'3,' he hummed, thinking about it.

'Do you think people are asking cause they're angry you're not 5'3 like Wolverine should've been in the comics?' you asked.

Hugh's face straightened. 'Why'd you have to bring that up?'

You chuckle, peeling away another one. 'What is Hugh Jackman.., made out of?' he laughs as you whisper to the camera. 'Boyfriend material.'

'Is that actually what it says?' he turns the board, checking it. It really did. 'Oh woah. I assume the interweb means the Adamantium in Logan?'

You snorted. 'The interweb, is that what you just called it?'

'Isn't that what the cool kids call it these days?'

You shake your head and toss his board behind you without sparing a thought.

Hugh stared after it. 'Is that how you treat all yours lovers?'

You purse your lips, trying to hold in a laugh. 'It's just a board, babe, you're the real thing.' You picked up the next board for you and handed it to Hugh who was peeling the first one away immediately.

'How is Y/N... oh it ends there. Well, that's very nice, how is Y/N?' Read Hugh, answering before you got the chance. 'She's very well, er, cause she's with me. Next one. Is Y/N single? What a good question.'

Next to you, Hugh was grinning like a mad man, or a man who knew a secret. Or just like an idiot in love. Any of them worked as you just stared back at him. 'Um, you'd have to ask her,' you said, trying to do what you did best and avoid questions.

'We are asking you, c'mon, the people want to know, are you single?' Hugh teased.

You shook your head with pursed lips. 'You know, Y/N is...' you trailed off, mumbling incoherently under his breath.

Hugh chuckled before looking into the camera. 'His name rhymes with Pugh Ackman.'

'Ryan Reynolds, of course!' you say, peeling off the next one yourself. 'Ok, is Y/N in marvel movies? um yes, a few.'

'Most,' Hugh corrected. 'If not all,'

'Yeah, i've done a few in my time,' you answered. 'Started when I was like, sixteen now i'm,' you pretend to count on your fingers, freaking out when you realised the numbers were high. 'Anyway, Hugh's turn!'

'Ok, i'll peel now,' said Hugh, giving you the board.

'Oh thank you, give my poor nails a break,' you said.

'Does Hugh Jackman... smell nice?' he leant over to you and you took an inhale.

You shrug. 'Yeah, he's alright.'

He chuckled and made a gesture at you before going onto the next one. 'Does Hugh Jackman, my name is falling on deaf ears I think now, does Hugh Jackman do all his own singing?'

'Yes, he does!' you yell. 'He's a great singer guys, no debate.'

'No cap!' added Hugh.

'Oh jesus,' you hide your face and laugh into it.

'What?' asked Hugh.

Eventually you moved onto peeling the next one. 'Does Hugh Jackman have tik-tok?'

You laugh too loudly. 'No, could you imagine if he did? I have to help him out with instagram for gods sake.'

'That's true, I do not know what the tik, nor the tok is,' said Hugh. 'Ok, last one on this board. Does Hugh Jackman do all his own stunts? No.' he threw the board.

'That was an easy answer,' you scoff. 'Do you want to tell us why?'

Hugh thought about it. 'No.'

'Alright then, my turn,' you said.

Hugh took the board before you could, not letting you hold it or do your own peeling. 'Alright, ready? Does Y/N do all her own stunts, aw, we're matching.'

You laugh. 'Um, I try to,' you answer. 'I try to, I really do but some are just too dangerous. Like I'm legally not allowed to jump from a building into a dumpster or walk away from an explosion.' You give Hugh a look, referencing that scene in Wolverine origins which he cringed at.

'Does Y/N write her own songs in The Greatest Showman? Can I answer this?' Hugh asked you.

You lean back. 'Only cause I know you're going to gush at me, so go ahead.'

Hugh got his answer ready. 'So when Y/N came on the project, it was only a half developed idea- if that. And I'd seen her at an Oscar's party and we started chatting and I asked if you were interested in this little project we were doing, you immediately came on board and started writing songs for this. I think, in total you wrote, what was it four- five?'

'Five I think,' you nod.

'Five of the greatest songs on that movie. Honestly, hearing it live and in the workshops was just, the best thing i've ever heard,' Hugh looked back at you, a loving smile on his lips.

You pout and rest your head on his shoulder. 'God that Pugh Ackman is a real nice guy.'

Hugh laughed and pecked your forehead. 'Does Y/N enjoy being in the avengers?'

'I do yeah,' you answer. 'I think there's like a lot of talk that when you stop playing a role you're supposed to come out and say you hated it, but I loved it. And I still love it. And I'll always love it.'

Hugh held up a hand. 'That being said. She would love being in the X-men more.' He waited for you to reply but you didn't and just stared at him. 'Ok, never mind. Anyway. Does Y/N drive?'

'Absolutely,' you nod. 'I've got the speeding tickets to prove it.'

'Ok, so these are your last boards,' said the lady behind the camera.

Hugh frowned. 'Oh, i'm having fun,' he said, taking his board.

You shrug. 'We'll just have to google ourselves at home more often.'

Hugh agreed and peeled the next ones, these questions beginning with 'Why'. 'Why Hugh Jackman, returned as Wolverine?'

'Good question, liar,' you said.

'Well, at first, you know, I wasn't going to, I really wasn't,' he spoke, looking to you as if cameras weren't pointing at you. 'But then this Ryan... Gosling guy? I think that's his name. He just kept asking and asking, turning up at my house, he got my number, I don't even know how-'

'Yeah, sorry about that,' you added.

Hugh laughed before carrying on. 'Eventually you know, he waved a bag of cash in my face and I knew, just to get him off my tale, I had to.'

'Yeah, that sounds like a Ryan Gosling move.'

'Why didn't Hugh Jackman win an Oscar?'

'Guys, that's mean,' you tell the camera.

'Thank you, interweb for reminding me I didn't win an Oscar,' said Hugh. 'Well, listen, when you find out you're up against Daniel-Day Lewis, you kinda know not to prepare a speech. And then when your publicist the next day calls and says yeah don't worry, you- you don't worry.'

'You were robbed for Logan,' you mused.

Hugh agreed with a chuckle. 'She's my number one fan. Why Hugh Jackman ran naked?'

You perked up. 'Hello, he what?'

The crew laugh at your excitement.

'It was for X-men two... well, I feel like every X-men movie I strip down,' said Hugh. 'Thinking about it.'

'Got to get that watch rate up,' you said.

'Yeah, exactly. So I did a scene in X-men two where I was running the corridor after just finding the metal in my body and the claws,' he explained, again only looking at you.

You nod, like it was the first time you were hearing the story. 'As you do.'

'And then I turn the corner and the entire crew of women are just there waving dollar bills and I, on reflex, went to cover myself you know and then I cut myself.'

You seethed in pain. 'And then you did it for Wolverine one and two and the next X-men movie,' you listed.

Hugh nodded. 'Then I never stopped.'

'Why would you?' you asked, raking your eyes up and down him and winking.

The last board up was yours.

'Ok, let's go,' said Hugh, scraping at the board. 'Why Y/N is famous?'

You laughed.

'Because she's fucking talented!' said Hugh, 'why wouldn't she be famous?'

You shrug. 'It was gonna happen one way or another. I became famous because I wanted money. And Hugh Jackman, one of them i've got, the other i'm still working on.'

Hugh grinned, wriggling his brows. 'Why did Y/N win an Oscar? Oh, you won one,' he joked, glaring at you as you laughed. 'Lucky you.'

You read the question again. 'I mean- that feels almost condescending you know like oh she won an Oscar, why?'

Hugh stared and pointed at the camera again, repeating himself. 'Because she's fucking talented! Why wouldn't she win an Oscar?'

'I won best actress for a movie called Room, which was very tough, very well written annnndddd I deserved it,' you shrug.

'Why did Y/N marry Hugh Jackman?' he gasped. 'You married him?'

'I have not yet, but I am engaged to Pugh Ackman, so um, please, feel free to send us gifts,' you say causing Hugh to drop the board and laugh. 'Um, I really need a new toasted and he likes watches.'

'Oh, he sounds like a nice guy,' said Hugh.

'He is, he's great.'

taglist (thank you!): @oatmilkriver, @angstdaddy, @chronicallybubbly, @white-wolf-buckaroo, @th3mrskory, @wolfyychan, @chaimshelii, @wolviesgirl @haytchee, @aoi-targaryen

[fgumi]

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ THE BETTER

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 { PAIRING; jungwon x reader, GENRE; fluff, one shot, WC; 2.3k, A/N; i almost scrapped this... i hope it's as cutie as i tried to make it... special shoutout to @hoonieyun because i finished this with her encouragement. also! tysm for 500+ followers! you guys are so kind. ilysm. }

what kind of girlfriend would yang jungwon have?

the answer seems obvious enough.

someone as kind and pure as jungwon deserved someone just as sweet. someone who smiled as brightly as he did, whose eyes sparkled like his did–someone that radiated the same loveable energy that attracts everyone to him.

but, in reality? you, as jungwon’s current (and first) girlfriend, were sort of a far cry from jungwon.

you weren’t cruel by any means, but you were blunt. you hated sugarcoating words and definitely didn’t go out of your way to make people feel comfortable. if people asked for your input, they should be expecting your straightforward, honest answers—not your fault if they didn’t like it.

if people compared jungwon to ragdoll cat—likeable, friendly, and cute—they’d probably say you’re like the black cat that’s historically considered unlucky and an omen. but, somehow, you two worked.

of course, people were always questioning your relationship.

when you two worked at the same cafe during your college years, there was a clear difference in how you treated customers. you weren’t particularly rude, just not cheerful like jungwon.

“i have two iced lattes for kiki!” jungwon happily shouted, pushing the two drinks out. the girl who picked up her shyly smiled at jungwon, only wavering when she noticed your dead stare at her. after that, she hurriedly away to her friend. you watched as they both giggled and glanced at jungwon wiping down the espresso machines.

“you’re too friendly,” you sipped your drink, glaring at the bashful girls.

jungwon smiled and turned to you with a teasing look. “it’s why i make more tips than you.”

you rolled your eyes, leaning back on the counter. jungwon placed himself next to you after throwing the rag in the bucket.

“you seem grumpier than usual,” jungwon poked at your side. “anything i can do to make it better?”

“be less cute,” you muttered, words slightly disappearing in your drink.

jungwon laughed before peaking his head into your view. you immediately softened at his pretty face.

“if i were any less cute, you wouldn’t put up with me.”

you snorted as you chucked your empty cup into the bin. you busied yourself, organizing the misplaced powders and syrup bottles. jungwon followed a step behind you, weaving from either side of you to get your attention. when he stuck his face too close to yours, you pushed him away before glancing around you.

“we’re at work,” you whispered.

jungwon shrugged. “it’s not like the boss doesn’t know. i told him that i applied because of you.”

before you could reply, the same girl—kiki—came up to the counter. you stepped forward.

“what’s up?”

she frowned ever so slightly before clearing her throat. “do you think i could talk to the other barista?”

you raised your eyebrow. “i could help you just as much as he can.”

her lips formed a straight line before jungwon cut in. “how can i help you?”

you resisted letting your eyes roll for the nth time, returning to organizing the counter.

“i was wondering if you were free after your shift?”

you barely managed to disguise your laugh as a cough. jungwon pouted at you before looking back at her. “i’m actually getting lunch with my girlfriend! she’s been wanting to try this new brunch place and i promised to take her.”

the girl blinked, disappoint clear on her face. “oh. i hope you enjoy your lunch then.”

before you could move further away, jungwon pulled you into his side with a bright smile. “we will!”

disappoint made way for shock, her eyebrows raised. she didn’t say anything more, returning to her friend who excitedly awaited for news. you could see them exchange words before glancing back at you and jungwon, who was still holding onto you. you pushed yourself free and flicked his forehead.

jungwon winced at the twinge of pain and rubbed the spot. “hey! you’d think you’d be proud of me for mentioning you within 10 seconds of the conversation.”

“i told you we’re at work,” you lightly scolded. “do you want to get us fired?”

“the boss would never fire me,” jungwon cheekily said.

you knew it was true, so you just declined to respond. you made your way around the counter, choosing to clear dirty dishes and wipe down tables. jungwon shook his head smiling and finished up the work you left behind.

“that’s his girlfriend? no way. she’s like– a bitch.”

your ears twitched. you’re used to this unfortunately. from strangers to friends to family, everyone couldn’t believe that someone as sweet as jungwon would be with someone like you—someone a little mean (though, you resent that because you’d like to think you’re nice to people… you like).

“right? i don’t get it. she looked like she was ready to rip my head off for just ordering. like—sorry for making you do your job.”

“he deserves so much better.”

you agreed. not that you’d ever voice that to jungwon again. you say again because, in the early stages of your relationship, jungwon made it very clear that it doesn’t matter what anyone else thought—you were the better everyone wanted for him. you didn’t really see it but, after seeing how upset he’d get during those conversations, you stopped bringing it up.

you clenched your jaw, fingers gripping the dirty dishes, as you walked to the back. when you returned to the front, jungwon stopped you with a small smile and covered your ears. you frowned in confusion.

“don’t listen to them,” jungwon murmured, removing his hands for your ears to tuck the stray hairs behind your ear. “you’re exactly who i want to be with for the rest of my life.”

a blush burned your cheeks. maybe, just this once, you will ignore what others are saying.

it didn’t stop there though. those types of comments followed you into your adult life.

you made quite the reputation for yourself in your office. you were ambitious from the start and managed to make your way into a team leader position pretty early on in your career. but, it didn’t come without some office rumors about your character.

y/n’s harsh. she’s so cruel. i heard she blackmailed the manager for her position. y/n will rip you apart for any minor mistakes. interns, beware. the list goes on. you felt like they were unwarranted. what else did they expect in a high-profile company? your clients expected quality work that was free of mistakes. of course you were going to point out flaws. again, was your delivery cushy and sweet? no. but, they shouldn’t expect criticisms wrapped in pretty words.

their… opinions weren’t limited to work though. when jungwon stopped by your office to pick you up for lunch, they had plenty to say.

“hey,” he greeted cheerfully, stepping into the room with that effortless charm that drew everyone’s attention. your coworkers peered from their desks curiously, wondering how you interact with this stranger.

you glanced up from your desk, surprised to see him. “what are you doing here?”

“i finished all my errands early and thought i’d take you out to lunch,” he said, tilting his head cutely. “i can wait for you to finish up!”

you nodded, glancing at the papers on your desk. “give me 15 minutes.”

he gave you a thumbs up before softly whistling, looking around the office. jungwon walked over to the wall of excellent employees and grinned at your pictures hanging. he glanced at your coworkers, some having returned to their work. curious, he peaked over one of their shoulders. they jumped a little after noticing his presence.

he smiled sheepishly. “sorry.”

within minutes, he has the whole office laughing with him. when you finished reviewing the last proposition, you were met with the sight. you smiled softly. jungwon never failed to impress you with his ability to charm people.

you got up from your desk and walked over. “hey, i’m ready if you are.”

your coworkers’ laughs died down at your presence, a couple creeping back to their desks.

“i was just telling them about the first time we met!” jungwon laughed.

your eyebrow quirked. “when you fell into the fountain?”

he nodded as he reached to carry your bag. “still hard to believe you agreed to go on a date with me after that.”

you could practically hear the gears turning in your coworkers’ heads as they processed his words.

“you’re her boyfriend?” one asked.

jungwon grinned, clutching the straps of your bag. “yup! i’m a lucky man.”

“i think she’s the lucky one,” someone muttered under their breath.

you sighed and pulled jungwon towards the elevator, choosing to ignore their comment to go get lunch faster. jungwon waved goodbye as you entered the elevator.

before the elevators fully closed, you could make out someone saying, “someone as terrible as her with someone as kind as hi–”

you shut your eyes, performing breathing exercises you learned at the company’s mental health seminar. you could feel jungwon pull you into his arms before he peppered kisses all over your face. his attacks didn’t stop until you were giggling from how his kisses tickled.

“they don’t know anything,” he said, planting a final kiss on your lips. “they don’t know about how my girlfriend is the kindest person al–”

you covered his mouth before you exited the elevator. “not so loud. can’t have people knowing i’m a softie.”

jungwon kissed the palm of your hand, clasping it with his own as you walked out of the building. after years of being with jungwon, his pro-y/n propaganda got through to you, much to his delight.

but, even after all those years, jungwon’s friends still didn’t understand your dynamic.

“okay, real talk,” jake said during a game night at your apartment, gesturing between the two of you. “how do you two even work?”

“what do you mean?” jungwon asked, tilting his head like a confused puppy.

“dude, you’re like the nicest guy i know—i’m talking nicer than the grandmas that feed pigeons—and y/n is…” jake trailed off, glancing at you nervously.

“go on. say it,” you droned with no real heat, crossing your arms.

“intimidating? but, you know, in a cool, really chic way,” jake said quickly.

jungwon laughed and wrapped his arms around you. “it works because she likes me just the way i am. a nice loser that is way too nice sometimes.”

sunghoon’s eyebrows furrowed. “blink three times if you’re scared.”

jungwon puffed his cheeks in annoyance. “she’s not scary, man. she’s the sweetest, shyest, prettiest, most lovable–”

you covered his mouth, your face burning in embarrassment. “that’s enough.”

jungwon pulled away from your hand with the biggest grin. “see?”

jake snorted and nudged sunghoon. “maybe jungwon’s the one scaring her.”

you all laughed and, tactfully, they never questioned you guys again.

sometimes, though, it still bothered you. why was jungwon—someone who was sunshine-incarnate—with you–grumpy in female form?

one night, as the two of you cleaned up after a dinner party, you asked him directly.

“why do you put up with it?” you asked, your voice quieter than usual.

jungwon looked up the dishes, bubbles somehow making their way onto his hair. “put up with what?”

“all the comments,” you said, rearranging the centerpiece. “the questions. people saying you could do better…”

he frowned and shut off the water, shaking off the gloves. “do you still think there’s better than you?”

you hesitated, caught off guard by his sincere stare. “it crosses my mind from time to time?”

jungwon shook his head, stepping towards you and pulling your hands into his. “there isn’t,” he said firmly. “there’s no one in this world better for me than you.”

you tried to pull away, feeling ashamed for feeling this way after all these years, but he held on.

“i like that you don’t pretend to be someone you’re not,” he continued. “i like that you’re honest, even when the truth is hard to hear. and i like that you don’t care about flattering others, because it means even more when you do compliment people.”

your chest tightened, his words sinking into the cracks you tried so hard to hide.

“i also like that you don’t care if people know how truly kind you are, because i know. i see it every day. i see it in the way you prepare my morning coffee, even though you’re the one that has to go to work. i see it in the way you put yourself in between the street and grandmas, in case something happens. i see it in the way you keep working after everyone’s clocked out to make sure your proposition doesn’t get rejected. i see it. i see you.”

at this point, tears blurred your vision. “but, you can do so much better,” you muttered, blinking the tears away.

“you are that better. you make me wanna be better,” he said with a grin, pulling you into a hug. “it’s okay if the world keeps talking. it gives me an excuse to fire back and talk about my super cool girlfriend.”

a laugh escaped you as you rubbed your face into his chest, a smile creeping onto your face. “you’re ridiculous.”

“and you love me for it.”

you really did. you loved him so much. but, according to jungwon, probably not as much as he loved you.

so, what kind of girlfriend would yang jungwon have?

someone who challenged him to be better. someone who didn’t sugarcoat things, who kept him grounded. someone who loved him so fiercely, even if they didn’t think they should be the one receiving his love. where others saw questions, he saw answers. you were it for him. and, hopefully, the ring sitting in his desk drawer was enough to prove it to you.

disclaimer: this, in no way, reflects the idol. this is purely fiction. ✧ comments and reblogs are appreciated! ✧ give my other works a read too! come chat! (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)

tagged; @en-dream @heeheesang @bamguetismee @httpenhoon @r1kification

[be4chywritez]

matchmaker | oscar piastri

oscar piastri x fem!reader

You needed a date for a wedding, and somehow, Oscar Piastri ended up in the role. It was supposed to be pretend—just for the weekend…

"Please," you’re quite literally gripping Lando’s arm, borderline begging. He shrugs you off like you’re a minor inconvenience. “No.”

You groan, throwing yourself back against the couch in his driver’s room, where you’ve been holed up, waiting for his PR manager to call him. "Lando, do you want me to die?"

His eyes flicker up from his phone, unimpressed. “Hmm.”

You straighten up, determined. “So let me get this straight,” Lando says, finally putting his phone down to actually look at you. There’s a flicker of amusement in his expression, which gives you hope. “Your bum of a boyfriend dumped you last week, but your cousin still expects you to bring a plus one.”

You tuck your hair behind your ear and nod.

“So you decided to recruit me as your fake boyfriend for…” He holds his hand out, and you quickly place your phone in his palm, the virtual wedding invitation already open. His brows lift as he scans it. “Three days in the Maldives?”

You nod again, putting on your best “Please do this, or I’ll die” face.

Lando gives you a flat look. “Absolutely not.” He shoves your phone back at you like you just asked him to commit a felony.

You let out a strangled groan, throwing your head back. “Why not?”

“Because, one, I have better things to do than play house with you in a five-star resort.”

“Rude.”

“Two,” he continues, ignoring you, “I’m not an asshole like all the muppets you’ve dated. Which means I have self-respect.”

You narrow your eyes. “That feels like a personal attack.”

He grins. “That’s because it is.”

You groan, flopping against the couch dramatically. “Come on, Lando! You know my family—they’ll rip me to shreds if I show up alone. And my ex is going to be there.”

That gets his attention. His lips curl like he just smelled something bad. “That dickhead? Why?”

“Because he’s the groom’s best friend,” you mutter, rubbing your temples. “So not only will I be subjected to my cousin’s judgmental stares, but I’ll also have to watch my ex parade around, acting like breaking up with me was the best decision of his life.”

Lando leans back, arms crossed. “Yeah… still not seeing how that’s my problem.”

You glare. “Wow. Remind me why we’re best friends?”

He grins. “Because I’m incredibly charming and bring joy to your life.”

You grab a pillow and chuck it at his face. He dodges it effortlessly, still smirking.

“Fine,” he says, stretching out his legs. “I won’t go. But I have a better idea.”

You blink, wary. “…I’m listening.”

Lando’s grin turns absolutely devious. “Entice Oscar.”

Your brain short-circuits. “I—excuse me?”

He shrugs. “You’re hot. Oscar’s a guy. Use your powers.”

You gape at him. “Lando—”

“He’s got the personality of a brick, but he’s a good guy. And more importantly, he’s free.” Lando pauses, then grins. “Probably.”

You groan. “You think I can just bat my lashes at Oscar, and he’ll agree to drop everything and play my fake boyfriend?”

Lando looks at you like it’s obvious. “Yes.”

You stare at Lando like he’s grown a second head. “You want me to seduce Oscar into coming to my cousin’s wedding?”

“No, no,” he says, waving a hand. “I want you to persuade him. The seduction is just a bonus.”

You groan, rubbing your temples. “Lando, be serious.”

“I am! You’re underestimating the power you have. Oscar is a man—he’s not immune to a gorgeous woman asking for a favor.” Lando leans in like he’s telling you the secret to life. “You just have to be a little… convincing.”

You roll your eyes so hard you almost see your brain. “Oscar doesn’t even like me like that.”

Lando snorts. “He doesn’t have to like you like that. He just has to like you enough to say yes.”

You open your mouth to argue but stop because, annoyingly, Lando has a point. You and Oscar have always been friendly—he’s quiet, polite, and unbothered by your chaotic energy. You wouldn’t say you’re close, but there’s mutual respect.

…Would he say yes?

Lando must see the wheels turning in your head because he grins. “So, you’ll ask him?”

You sigh dramatically. “Do I even have a choice?”

“Nope.” Lando pops the ‘p.’

You glare, but he just stretches lazily, reaching for his phone again, looking very pleased with himself. “You better pray he agrees, Norris. If he says no, I’m coming back and making your life hell.”

Lando doesn’t even look up. “Yeah, yeah. Go work your magic, bombshell.” he chuckles to himself, “Use your assets,” his finger wiggles towards your chest you give him a shove before getting up.

You flip him off as you grab your bag and storm out.

—

You’re not sure why you ever listen to your idiot best friend.

Sitting at some semi-fancy restaurant, you adjust the hem of your dress, cursing Lando under your breath. He had insisted you wear something “enticing,” which meant your neckline was just a little lower than usual, and the dress hugged your figure in a way that was definitely deliberate. You had rolled your eyes at him, but you still wore it. Because, unfortunately, he had a point—if you were going to convince Oscar Piastri to drop everything and play pretend with you in the Maldives, you needed to come prepared.

Oscar sits across from you, looking painfully neutral as he stirs his drink. He’s dressed casually, his posture relaxed but his expression unreadable. You can’t tell if he’s amused, confused, or simply waiting for you to get to the point. Probably all three.

You clear your throat. "So, Oscar."

His eyes flick up from his glass. "So, you."

You flash your most charming smile. "How do you feel about tropical destinations? Luxurious resorts? The opportunity to make me eternally grateful?"

Oscar blinks, then exhales through his nose like he already regrets being here. "Lando put you up to this, didn’t he?"

You scoff, feigning offense. "Excuse me? I am a grown woman fully capable of making my own questionable decisions."

Oscar’s lips twitch. "Uh-huh. And this questionable decision is... what exactly?"

You lean forward slightly, resting your elbows on the table. "My cousin’s wedding. Three days in the Maldives. I need a date."

Oscar stares at you like you just told him you need a kidney. "...And you’re asking me?"

"Lando said no," you admit. "But! He also said—and I quote—'Oscar’s a good guy, probably free, and susceptible to a pretty face.'"

Oscar shakes his head, muttering, "I’m going to kill him."

"Join the club." You sigh, shifting in your seat. "Look, I know this is random, but I’m in a bit of a situation. My ex is going to be there, my family is impossible, and showing up alone is basically social suicide. You’re my best shot at making it through the weekend with my sanity intact."

Oscar tilts his head slightly. "I feel like I should be offended that I'm your second choice."

"Think of it this way—you’re my best choice now."

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. "And what exactly do I get out of this?"

You smile. "A free vacation. Fancy food. The satisfaction of knowing you single-handedly saved a poor, defenseless woman from familial humiliation."

Oscar arches a brow. "Defenseless?"

"Okay, maybe not defenseless," you concede. "But I am in distress."

He considers you for a long moment, eyes scanning your face like he's trying to decide just how much trouble you're about to be. Then he sighs, leaning back in his chair. "Fine. I'll do it."

Your eyes widen. "Wait, really?"

"Yes, really. Before I change my mind."

You break into a grin. "Oscar, you are officially my favorite person."

"Don't make me regret it," he mutters, but there’s the smallest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

—

The reality of what just happened doesn’t fully sink in until you’re back in Lando’s apartment, flopping onto his couch with an exaggerated sigh. Lando, who’s mid-game, barely glances up from his controller.

“Mission accomplished?” he asks, lips twitching.

You groan, rubbing your temples. “Yes, but at what cost?”

Lando barks out a laugh. “What, he agreed? Just like that?”

“Not just like that,” you huff. “I had to work for it.”

Lando smirks. “Did you bat your lashes?”

“I—shut up.”

He grins. “See? Told you he wouldn’t say no.”

You groan, throwing a pillow at him, which he expertly dodges. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Lando just laughs. “Oh, you’re definitely gonna fall for him.”

You roll your eyes so hard they nearly get stuck. “I am not.”

“Uh-huh.”

You ignore him, crossing your arms. “This is just a business arrangement.”

“Sure.”

A pause. Then, “...Do you think he likes me?”

Lando cackles. “Oh, this is going to be interesting.”

—

The next morning, you arrive at the private airport, where your cousin has so generously arranged a jet for you. Because, of course, she has—she wouldn't be caught dead flying commercial.

Oscar is already there when you arrive, leaning against the sleek black car that brought him. He’s in a plain white tee and jeans, looking effortlessly put together, while you, in your carefully curated “I woke up like this” airport outfit, feel like you’re trying way too hard.

You clear your throat as you approach. "Ready to be my fake boyfriend?"

He pushes off the car, giving you a once-over. "Not sure I’m prepared for the mental toll, but sure."

You flash a grin. "Too late to back out now."

Minutes later, you’re settled inside the jet, the flight crew making final preparations. Oscar takes the seat across from you, stretching out like this is just another day at the office.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence, “we should probably set some ground rules.”

Oscar raises a brow. “Ground rules?”

“Yeah, you know. Boundaries. Expectations. What we need to do to sell this.”

He nods, intrigued. “Alright. Lay it on me.”

You tap a manicured finger against your chin. “Obviously, we have to be affectionate. Hold hands, sit close, the occasional casual touch.”

Oscar hums. “Got it.”

You hesitate for a split second before adding, “Kissing might be necessary.”

His expression doesn’t change, but you swear you see his fingers twitch against his knee. “Necessary, huh?”

You lean forward, resting your chin on your hand. “Can’t half-ass it, Piastri. If we’re going to be convincing, we have to be all in.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he nods, a little slower this time. “All in.”

You smirk. “Good. Now, pet names. Do you have a preference?”

For the first time, Oscar looks mildly flustered. “A preference?”

“Yeah. Babe, honey, love—what feels natural to you?”

His ears turn pink. “I—uh—does it matter?”

You grin, victorious. “Of course, it matters. We have to sell this.”

Oscar clears his throat. “I’ll—uh—defer to you on that.”

You tilt your head playfully. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

His jaw tenses as he looks away. “This is going to be a long trip.”

You smile to yourself. Oh, this is going to be fun.

—

Oscar shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the sudden deep dive into fake relationship logistics. He scratches the back of his neck. "I don't know... whatever you usually use?"

You hum, tapping your chin. "I feel like 'babe' is a safe bet. It’s cute, casual, and doesn’t sound forced. Thoughts?"

He shrugs. "Babe works."

You squint at him. "That was suspiciously easy."

Oscar raises a brow. "Would you rather I argue?"

You consider it for a second, then shake your head. "No, actually. Let’s keep this cooperation going."

The flight attendant swings by to offer drinks, and you order champagne—because if you're going to be fake engaged in the Maldives, you might as well start indulging now. Oscar, ever the responsible one, sticks with water.

As you sip your drink, you eye him over the rim. "We should probably come up with a backstory."

Oscar exhales. "A backstory?"

"Yeah, like, how did we meet? How did you fall madly in love with me? What’s our adorable, rom-com-worthy relationship story?"

He gives you a look. "Can’t we just tell the truth?"

You scoff. "Oscar, the truth is that we vaguely tolerate each other, and Lando bribed you into this."

His lips twitch. "He didn’t bribe me."

"He used me as bait," you correct, waving a hand. "Which, frankly, makes me feel like a sacrificial lamb."

Oscar finally cracks a small grin. "Fine. What’s our story?"

You think for a moment, then snap your fingers. "We met at a race. Lando introduced us. You were immediately obsessed with me."

Oscar’s brows lift. "Obsessed?"

"Enamored," you say dramatically. "Hopelessly in love. Couldn’t take your eyes off me."

He leans back, arms crossed. "Right. And you?"

You smirk. "Oh, I thought you were hot, obviously."

Oscar blinks, and you swear you see the ghost of a smirk. "Obviously."

You wave a dismissive hand. "But I made you work for it. You had to woo me. Beg me to go on a date with you. You sent flowers, love letters—"

"Now it’s just getting unrealistic," he interjects, shaking his head.

"Excuse you," you gasp. "I am 100 percent love-letter worthy."

"I don’t doubt it," Oscar says, amused. "But I’m not a love-letter guy."

You narrow your eyes. "What kind of guy are you then, Piastri?"

He thinks for a second, then shrugs. "I just say what I mean."

Something about that answer makes your stomach flip, but you shove the feeling down, refusing to analyze it.

"Fine," you say, shifting in your seat. "No love letters. But you were still the one who chased me. That’s non-negotiable."

Oscar hums. "We’ll see."

You squint at him. "What does that mean?"

But he just reaches for his water, eyes twinkling with something unreadable. "Guess we’ll find out."

The flight settles into a comfortable lull. You lean back in your seat, stretching your legs out as the cabin lights dim to a soft glow. The hum of the engine, the occasional clink of glasses from the flight attendants—everything feels oddly serene.

You glance at Oscar, who’s scrolling through his phone, his fingers moving idly over the screen.

"Okay," you say, breaking the silence. "We’ve got the basics down, but we need details. What’s my favorite thing about you?"

Oscar looks up, clearly unimpressed. "You’re making this more complicated than it needs to be."

"This is called preparation," you counter. "What if someone asks me? I can’t just sit there and say, ‘Uhh… he drives really fast for a living?’ That’s boring."

He sighs, setting his phone down. "Fine. What is your favorite thing about me?"

You purse your lips, pretending to think. "Your freckles."

Oscar blinks. "My freckles?"

You nod, fully committing now. "Yeah. It’s cute. Gives you that whole boy-next-door thing. Makes you seem less… stoic."

His expression remains neutral, but you don’t miss the way his fingers twitch slightly against the armrest.

"Alright," he concedes. "Your laugh."

Your brows lift in surprise. "What about it?"

Oscar shrugs. "It’s loud."

You huff. "That’s not exactly a compliment, Piastri."

"It is," he insists, a small smirk playing on his lips. "It’s loud in a way that makes people turn their heads. Infectious, I guess."

You stare at him for a second, thrown off by the sincerity of it. He doesn’t look away, just meets your gaze like it’s no big deal. Like he didn’t just say something that made your stomach do an actual somersault.

You clear your throat. "Not bad. We’ll go with that."

Oscar simply nods and goes back to his phone, as if the moment didn’t just knock you slightly off balance.

You shake it off, taking another sip of your champagne. You need to keep this light. Playful.

"Okay, next question," you say, regaining composure. "Do we have pet names for each other, or do we stick to babe?"

Oscar sighs like you’re exhausting him, but you catch the flicker of amusement in his eyes. "You can call me whatever you want. Just not ‘Oskie.’"

Your grin is immediate. "Oskie, huh?"

"I said not ‘Oskie,’" he warns.

"Which means I absolutely have to call you that now," you tease. "Oskie, my love, my darling, my sweet baby angel—"

Oscar groans, tilting his head back against the seat. "I regret everything."

You giggle, nudging him with your knee. "Relax, Oskie. It’s just for show."

He levels you with a look, but there’s a reluctant twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Yeah. This might actually be fun.

The moment you and Oscar step into the grand hotel lobby, the air shifts—opulent chandeliers, the distant hum of chatter, and a lingering scent of fresh lilies. You barely have time to admire the luxury before a voice cuts through.

“There you are!"

You turn to find your cousin, Jaime, impeccably dressed, exuding the kind of politeness that borders on distant. You force a smile, the kind reserved for family obligations rather than genuine excitement.

"Hey!" You feign warmth as she pulls you into a quick, stiff hug. "Long flight, but we made it."

Her eyes flicker to Oscar, assessing. "And this must be...?"

"Oscar," you introduce smoothly, feeling his presence steady beside you. "My date." The word feels foreign, like you’re testing it out.

Your cousin nods approvingly but doesn't press. "Well, everyone's eager to see you. Welcome dinner’s in an hour. Dress formal."

With a parting nod, they’re gone, leaving you to exhale sharply.

Oscar leans in slightly. "That was... efficient."

You snort. "That was warm, for them."

—

The dining hall is grand, but the atmosphere is stiff. Soft clinking of silverware, murmured conversations, and a painfully polite undercurrent. You navigate it with the ease of someone used to playing a part. Oscar, ever composed, fits right in—but you notice his occasional side-glances, quietly observing the interactions around him.

Dinner is a blur of introductions, pleasantries, and forced smiles. Your cousin’s polite but detached, and other family members either fawn over Oscar’s "charm" or barely acknowledge him. You catch yourself watching him too much—how effortlessly he handles conversation, how his fingers drum lightly against his wine glass, how his eyes flick to you in between bites like he's making sure you're okay.

And then, mid-conversation, your stomach twists.

Across the table—your ex.

Oscar follows your gaze, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t ask, but something in his posture shifts, a subtle straightening of his shoulders. You force yourself to look away, laughing at something someone else said, even if you didn’t quite hear it.

Oscar leans in slightly. "You alright?" His voice is low, just for you.

You nod quickly. "Yeah. Just—family stuff."

He doesn’t push, but his presence alone steadies you.

—

By the time you make it to your shared room, exhaustion settles in. The suite is beautiful—large windows, a sprawling view of the ocean, and... one bed.

Of course.

You stare at it for a second too long. Oscar, setting his bag down, follows your gaze and huffs a soft laugh. "Guess we’re really committing to this."

You roll your eyes, flopping onto the edge of the mattress. "I’ll build a pillow wall."

"You do that," he says, smirking as he pulls out clothes from his bag.

—

After the long day, a hot shower sounds like heaven. You grab your toiletries and slip into the bathroom, closing the door behind you—at least, you think you did.

Steam fills the space as you let the water wash away the tension. You take your time, fingers combing through your hair, mind drifting—until a sharp intake of breath jolts you.

You whip around.

Oscar stands frozen in the doorway, eyes wide, mouth slightly open—because, oh god, the door wasn’t shut.

For a split second, neither of you move. Then—

"Jesus—!"

"Oh my god—!"

Oscar spins on his heel so fast he nearly crashes into the doorframe. "I didn’t— You didn’t— The door—"

"OUT!"

"Yep, leaving—" He slams the door shut behind him, making the walls rattle.

You stand there, naked and fuming, heart pounding.

He saw you.

Oscar Piastri just saw you in all your glory.

And somehow, that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is the fact that you are still fuming about it while he’s probably out there pacing in distress.

So naturally—because you are you—you decide to make it his problem.

You grab your towel, wrap it around yourself with maximum dramatic aggression, and storm out of the bathroom, still damp and seething.

Oscar, who is currently standing in the middle of the room looking like he’s processing war flashbacks, snaps his head toward you.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he mutters.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!” You throw your arms out, the towel barely hanging on.

Oscar rubs a hand down his face, still looking vaguely traumatized. “I DIDN’T KNOW THE DOOR WAS OPEN! Why are you yelling at me?”

“Because you just got a full view of me! And you—you stood there!”

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO!” Oscar yells, exasperated. “Do you think I wanted to walk in and just—just—” He gestures wildly, face bright red.

“Oh, so now you’re disgusted by me?” You slap a hand on your chest, gasping dramatically. “Wow. Wow, Oscar. First, you see me naked against my will, and now I’m offensive to look at?”

“That is not what I said!”

“Fine,” you huff. “You’ve seen mine—show me yours.”

A beat.

Oscar just stares at you.

The room goes dead silent.

Then—

“WHAT?!” His voice cracks so hard it’s almost impressive.

You cross your arms. “I’m just saying—it’s only fair.”

“NO, IT IS NOT.” He takes a full step back, looking at you like you’ve lost your mind. “Are you—are you actually insane?”

“You’re not even a little bit sorry,” you accuse.

“I AM EXTREMELY SORRY,” Oscar says, voice still too high-pitched. “But that does not mean I’m about to just—just whip it out for fairness' sake!”

You narrow your eyes. “Coward.”

Oscar looks like he’s going to pass away on the spot. “You need to calm down.”

“I am calm.”

“You are not calm.”

You huff, throwing yourself onto the bed in frustration. “Fine. Do whatever you want.”

“I will,” he says, still clearly panicked. “And what I want is to go on a walk before I lose my mind.”

You wave a dismissive hand. “Enjoy your guilt walk.”

He lets out the most exasperated sigh and grabs his jacket, throwing the door open. “Unbelievable,” he mutters as he steps out, slamming it shut behind him.

You flop onto your pillow.

Oscar Piastri has seen you naked.

This weekend just keeps getting better

.You’re already in bed when the door creaks open again. You don’t move, pretending to be asleep, but you feel him hesitating near the doorway.

A beat.

Then—

“…Are you still mad?”

You peek one eye open. Oscar is standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, looking a little less mortified but still deeply uncomfortable.

“I mean,” you say flatly. “I did offer you the chance to make things even.”

Oscar groans, dragging a hand over his face. “Can we never speak of that again?”

You roll onto your side, watching him. “You gonna apologize properly?”

Oscar exhales through his nose, looking pained. “I’m sorry for walking in on you.”

You raise an eyebrow.

His jaw clenches. “And for… standing there… like a stunned idiot.”

You nod, satisfied. “Good. Now, was it at least a nice view?”

Oscar makes a strangled sound, turning bright red. “I hate you.”

You grin. “Goodnight, Oscar.”

“Unbelievable,” he mutters under his breath, flipping off the light before climbing into bed.

There’s a very obvious space between you both.

But you swear, in the silence, you hear him exhale a quiet, amused chuckle

The sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the gentle waves lapping against the side of the yacht. The rest of the wedding party was scattered across the deck—some lounging, others chatting, a few already a little tipsy off midday champagne. It was the kind of scene that should have felt easy, carefree. And yet, you found yourself standing near the railing, swirling a mimosa in your hand, more caught up in your own thoughts than the view.

Oscar stood beside you, arms folded as he stared out at the horizon. He wasn’t much of a talker in group settings, but you could tell he was at least trying. Making the occasional polite comment, responding when spoken to. But right now, with just the two of you tucked away in your own little corner, the silence stretched comfortably between you.

You turned slightly, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. The sun had deepened the color of his skin, freckles even more pronounced, and a few strands of his hair stuck out from the salty wind. He looked good—too good.

God, this was bad.

"You okay?" Oscar’s voice broke through your spiraling thoughts, eyes flicking toward you.

You forced a small smile. "Yeah, just… taking it all in."

He hummed, nodding toward the water. "It’s nice out."

You exhaled, your grip tightening on your glass. You weren’t sure what it was—the warmth, the soft lull of the boat, the way he stood just a little too close—but something in the air shifted. You should have backed away. Should have made some sarcastic comment, broken whatever was lingering between you. But instead, you found yourself tilting your head, eyes tracing the sharp edge of his jaw, the way the sun kissed his cheekbones.

He turned toward you slightly, and for a second—just a second—you thought he might say something. But instead, his gaze dropped to your lips, lingering there, before quickly darting away.

Your heart did something stupid in response.

Stop it. He’s pretending.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to look away, to focus on the horizon instead of the way your skin burned under his proximity. This was a game. A favor. Oscar wasn’t yours.

But God, in moments like this, he sure felt like it.

Slipping out onto the balcony of your hotel room, you pulled your phone out and hit Lando’s contact, bringing it up to your ear. It barely rang twice before he picked up.

"Well, well, well," Lando greeted, amusement dripping from his voice. "If it isn’t my favorite wedding guest. Tell me, how’s fake married life treating you?"

You groaned, leaning against the railing. "Lando, I’m freaking out."

"Freaking out how?" he asked, clearly entertained.

You hesitated, running a hand through your hair. "I think—I think I might actually like him."

There was a pause. And then, Lando burst out laughing.

You scowled. "I’m serious!"

"Oh, I know you are," he wheezed. "Which is why this is even better."

"It’s not funny!"

"It’s hilarious," Lando corrected. "You—Miss ‘I Only Fall for Walking Red Flags’—are catching feelings for Oscar Piastri. Do you know how ironic that is?"

You groaned again, slumping against the railing. "It’s not ironic, it’s a crisis. I need to shut this down."

"Uh-huh. And how exactly do you plan on doing that?"

"I don’t know! Ignore him? Avoid eye contact? Wear a chastity belt?"

Lando snorted. "Or, and hear me out, you could just bone him and get it over with."

You gasped. "Lando!"

"What?" he said, feigning innocence. "I’m just saying, you’re obviously into him. And unless I’m reading this wrong, he’s clearly into you, too."

Your stomach flipped at that. "He’s not."

Lando scoffed. "Please. The man looks at you like he’s one second away from writing poetry about your existence."

You went silent, chewing on your lip.

Lando sighed dramatically. "Look, I love you, but I also know you. And you overthink everything. Just—don’t let your brain ruin this, okay?"

You exhaled slowly, closing your eyes.

It was easier said than done.

If your family wanted to see you madly in love, you were going to give them madly in love.

Oscar played along seamlessly. His arm stayed wrapped around your waist, his lips brushed your temple whenever someone was watching, and he let you intertwine your fingers with his under the table. The whole thing was a production, and your family ate it up.

Your cousin grinned at you over the table. "I’ve never seen you like this."

"Like what?" you asked, taking a sip of wine.

"In love," she said, nudging your arm. "I mean, I always knew it’d take someone special to tie you down, but I have to say—Oscar’s a good one."

You nearly choked. Across from you, Oscar raised a brow, clearly amused.

"She’s right, you know," Oscar said, his voice just smooth enough to be believable. "I am a catch."

You gave him a look. "Don’t push it."

He smirked, and God help you, you almost smiled back.

The wine had made you bold. Which is why, when you and Oscar got back to the room, you turned to him with a wicked grin.

"I wanna go swimming."

Oscar frowned. "Right now?"

"Yes, now," you said, already reaching for the zipper of your dress.

Oscar’s eyes widened. "Okay—hold on—"

Too late. The dress hit the floor, and you were already reaching behind your back, unclasping your bra.

"Jesus Christ," Oscar muttered, immediately looking away.

"You’re so dramatic," you giggled, stepping out of your underwear.

"I cannot believe this is happening," Oscar groaned.

You shot him a grin over your shoulder before sprinting toward the water.

"Oh, for fuck’s sake," he muttered before stripping off his shoes and following you in.

The water is warmer than expected, but the chill of the night air still prickles over your bare skin. You drift further out, arms moving lazily through the gentle waves, laughter spilling from your lips as you spin in the water. The world feels hazy, edges blurred by the wine humming in your bloodstream.

Oscar stands at the shoreline, arms crossed, shoes abandoned somewhere in the sand. His tie is loosened, top buttons undone, and he looks… worried.

"You've had your fun," he calls out, voice edged with both amusement and exasperation. "Come back before you float off to sea."

You giggle, flicking water in his direction even though he’s too far for it to reach. "I’m a great swimmer, thank you very much."

He sighs, running a hand down his face. "That’s not the point."

"Then what is the point, Piastri?" you tease, bobbing in the water, eyes glinting under the moonlight.

"The point is you’re naked, in the ocean, while very, very drunk," he deadpans. "And I’d rather not be responsible for fishing you out when you inevitably start shivering and regretting all your life choices."

"Such a fun-sucker," you pout, but as you kick your legs, you realize he’s right—your body is starting to feel the cold. You open your mouth to say something snarky but, before you can, a wave rolls under you, pushing you forward. You yelp, momentarily losing your balance, and in an instant, Oscar is in the water.

The splash is sudden, and you blink as he surfaces, suit pants soaked, dress shirt clinging to his frame. "Oh my God," you laugh, "you didn’t have to—"

"Let’s go," he interrupts, tone firm but gentle. He reaches for you, steady hands finding your waist, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe. His grip is warm, solid, and when your eyes meet his, something flickers there—something unspoken.

"You’re always saving me," you murmur.

"Yeah," he says, voice quieter now. "And you’re always making me."

His hands skim your arms, guiding you closer, and before you can stop yourself, before you can think—

You kiss him.

It’s clumsy, tasting of wine and saltwater, but it’s real. For a second, just a second, he doesn’t pull away. But then—

"Not now."

His words break through the haze, his hands steadying you as he gently leans back. His breathing is uneven, eyes darker than usual, and his grip lingers longer than it should.

"Not now?" you repeat, heart hammering.

He exhales, thumb brushing over your wrist before he shakes his head. "You’re drunk."

"So?"

"So, no."

You stare at him, something aching in your chest, but before you can argue, he’s already peeling off his soaked dress shirt, draping it over your shoulders. "Come on," he says, softer this time. "Let’s get you back."

—

The walk to the hotel room is quieter than expected. Your head is buzzing, but not from the alcohol anymore. Oscar’s hand is on your back, steady but cautious, and you swear he’s holding his breath the entire time.

Inside the room, he sighs, running a towel through his damp hair. "You should change before you freeze."

You glance down at yourself—shirt clinging to your skin, legs still damp. "Right," you mumble, fingers fumbling with the buttons.

He clears his throat. "I’ll turn around."

You roll your eyes but don’t argue. As you reach for your pajamas, the moment lingers—charged, unspoken. He stays at the door, hand gripping the handle like he’s holding himself back.

Before you climb into bed, you glance at him. "Are we gonna talk about it?"

His jaw tenses. "Go to sleep."

You scoff, flopping onto the mattress with a huff. "You’re annoying."

"And you’re drunk," he mutters.

Silence settles. The air between you feels heavier now, something shifting in the space that wasn’t there before.

As you close your eyes, you hear him exhale sharply. Then, softer—almost hesitant—

"Goodnight."

—

Oscar is already up, standing near the window, arms crossed over his chest. His posture is stiff, tense in a way that makes your stomach twist.

"Morning," you mumble, voice hoarse from sleep.

"How are you feeling?" His voice is controlled—too controlled.

You stretch, groaning. "Like I got hit by a truck. A truck full of wine." A dry chuckle escapes him, but it’s short-lived. The weight in the air hasn’t lifted. He’s not looking at you, and it’s driving you insane.

You sit up, rubbing your face. "Okay, what’s with the whole brooding thing? You’ve barely looked at me."

His jaw tightens. "We should probably just… move past last night." You blink, caught off guard.

"Move past it?”

"It was a mistake." The words sting.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed, suddenly much more awake. "A mistake?" you echo, trying to keep your voice even.

"You were drunk."

"And?"

"And I don’t want it to mean something to you when you weren’t thinking clearly."

A bitter laugh bubbles up.

"Right. Because I obviously wouldn’t want you sober.

He finally looks at you then, and for a split second, you see it—hesitation, conflict. But it’s gone as quickly as it appears.

"Let’s just get ready," he says. "It’s your cousin’s wedding day."

You watch as he disappears into the bathroom, the door shutting with a little too much finality. Your chest feels tight.

So, that’s how it’s going to be.

Fine. If Oscar Piastri wants to pretend like last night didn’t happen, then you can play that game too.

—

The ceremony is beautiful, but you barely register it. You go through the motions—smiling, clapping, taking pictures—but your mind is elsewhere.

Or rather, on someone else.

Oscar is right beside you, ever the perfect fake date, but there’s a difference now. Last night changed something. His touches are still there—his hand resting on your lower back, the way he leans in when someone asks about your “relationship”—but they’re measured.

Restrained.

It drives you insane. Dinner stretches long, speeches are made, and the wine is poured generously.

You lose track of how many times someone toasts to love. Somewhere between courses, you lean into Oscar, letting your hand linger on his thigh, just to see if he’ll react. He does. His muscles tense under your touch, but his expression remains neutral.

You tilt your head, voice saccharine. "You’re acting weird."

"I’m acting normal," he replies, sipping his drink.

"No, you’re acting like I’m going to pounce on you at any second." His lips press into a thin line.

"You’re drunk again." You scoff, swirling the wine in your glass.

"Not drunk, just… enjoying myself."

"Yeah, well," he exhales, setting his drink down. "Try not to enjoy yourself into another late-night swim."

You smirk. "Would you come save me again?" His gaze flickers to yours, and for a moment, you swear you see something crack in his resolve. But then he shakes his head, amusement ghosting over his lips.

"You’re insufferable."

"And you love it," you counter, grinning.

But he doesn’t answer. Instead, he looks away, fingers curling against his knee. Something in your stomach flips.

—

The flight home is silent. Not awkward, but not easy either.

You sit beside Oscar, arms crossed, staring out the window as the plane hums beneath you.

Last night, after too much wine, you had curled into bed, still in your dress, and barely registered Oscar pulling the blanket over you before he turned off the lights.

Now, in the harsh light of day, everything feels… off. You glance at him.

He’s focused on something in his hands, jaw tight, lost in thought.

You shift. "So… are we gonna talk about it?" He doesn’t look up. "There’s nothing to talk about."

A sharp laugh escapes you.

"Right. Of course. Because nothing happened."

His fingers twitch. You lean in slightly. "You kissed me back." His eyes snap to yours, sharp and unreadable.

"You were drunk," he repeats, but there’s something strained in his voice now.

You shake your head. "I know what I felt."

"Look, we had fun," he says, voice measured, like he’s carefully constructing each word before it leaves his mouth. "Let’s not make it something it wasn’t."

Something tightens in your chest.

"Something it wasn’t," you repeat, more to yourself than to him.

Oscar sighs, shifting in his seat. He’s trying to be logical. Practical. But all it does is make you want to shake him.

You lean in closer, lowering your voice. "You can lie to yourself all you want, Oscar, but don’t sit here and lie to me."

His eyes flicker to yours, something unreadable in his expression. "I’m not lying."

You huff out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "Right. Sure."

Silence.

The cabin hums around you, the quiet murmur of other passengers filling the space between you both. You grip your armrest, fingers drumming against the plastic.

Then, barely above a whisper, he mutters, "I don’t want to be just another guy you move on from."

The words hit you like a slap.

Your breath catches in your throat. "What?"

Oscar’s jaw is clenched, his knuckles white where they grip his knee. He won’t look at you.

You stare at him, feeling the weight of what he just admitted settle deep in your bones.

He thinks you’ll move on. That he’s just another name to add to your list of failed romances.

Your lips part, but no words come out. Because if you say it—if you tell him he’s wrong, that he’s different—then you’ll have to admit what you already know deep down.

That this isn’t just fun for you. That he’s not just a placeholder in your life.

And that terrifies you.

So instead, you turn away, staring out the window, swallowing the words that sit heavy on your tongue.

And Oscar doesn’t push.

Because maybe he’s just as scared as you are.

—

The apartment is eerily quiet when you get back.

You toss your suitcase into the corner, kicking off your shoes with more force than necessary. You don’t even bother unpacking.

The second you flop onto your bed, your phone buzzes.

Lando.

You stare at the screen before sighing and answering.

"You sound like shit," he greets.

"Good to hear your voice too," you deadpan.

"Okay, spill. What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Liar."

You close your eyes, pressing the heel of your palm to your forehead. "Oscar’s just—"

"A dumbass?"

A small, exhausted laugh escapes you. "Something like that."

Lando hums. "Yeah, well. He’s probably overthinking everything, as usual."

You groan. "Why do I even like him?"

"Oh, so you do like him?"

You freeze.

Shit.

Lando cackles. "Wow, that was too easy. You’re down bad, huh?"

"Goodbye, Lando."

"Wait, wait—"

You hang up, throwing your phone onto the bed.

You don’t want to talk about it. Not with Lando, not with yourself.

But that doesn’t stop you from replaying every moment in your head. The way Oscar had looked at you. The way he had pulled away. The way he had felt—warm, solid, real—before he decided to shove it all aside.

You groan, rolling onto your stomach, willing yourself to stop thinking about it.

Then—

A knock at the door.

Your heart jumps.

You already know who it is before you even open it.

And when you do, Oscar is standing there, looking like he’s been battling himself the entire way over. His hair is damp from a run, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

Neither of you speak for a moment.

Then, finally, he exhales. "Can we talk?"

You stare at him, pulse hammering in your ears. His face is flushed—whether from the run or something else, you’re not sure—but his eyes are fixed on you, searching, hesitant.

A thousand responses run through your mind. You could tell him to leave. You could pretend like you don’t care. You could close the door and shut him out the way he’s been shutting you out since the wedding.

Instead, you step aside.

He takes the silent invitation, brushing past you into the apartment. You close the door behind him, arms crossed over your chest as you turn to face him.

Oscar runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I shouldn’t have said that on the plane.”

Your jaw tightens. “Which part? The part where you called last night a mistake, or the part where you assumed I’d just move on like none of it mattered?”

He flinches.

“Yeah,” you say bitterly. “Thought so.”

He looks away, shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant.”

You scoff. “Then what did you mean, Oscar? Because from where I’m standing, it sounds a lot like you’re trying to push me away before I can do it first.”

His silence is answer enough.

You let out a humorless laugh, throwing your hands up. “Jesus, do you even hear yourself? You act like I just bounce from guy to guy, like I don’t—” You stop yourself, shaking your head.

His eyes snap to yours. “Like you don’t what?”

Your breath catches.

This is it.

The moment you either tell him the truth or let him walk away.

You swallow hard. “Like I don’t feel anything for you.”

The air between you shifts, thick with unspoken words. Oscar’s expression falters—just slightly—but enough for you to see it. The cracks. The hesitation. The part of him that wants this just as much as you do but is terrified of it.

Then, quietly, he murmurs, “Do you?”

Your chest tightens. “Do you?”

Oscar exhales sharply, his shoulders slumping. He takes a step closer, eyes flickering between yours. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

The confession is barely above a whisper, but it’s enough to send your heart into overdrive.

You search his face, trying to find any trace of doubt, but all you see is exhaustion. Hope. Something deeper than either of you are willing to name just yet.

Slowly, you take a step forward, closing the distance. “Then why are you running from it?”

He swallows hard. “Because if I start… I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.”

Your breath catches.

And then, before you can overthink it, you reach for him.

Oscar doesn’t hesitate.

His hands find your waist as your lips crash into his, months of pent-up tension unraveling between you. It’s not soft, not tentative—it’s messy and desperate and real. His fingers dig into your hips, pulling you flush against him, and you tangle your hands in his hair, grounding yourself in the way he feels, the way he moves against you like he’s been waiting for this just as much as you have.

He backs you up until you hit the wall, his body pressing into yours. His lips move from your mouth to your jaw, down to the curve of your neck, and you tilt your head to give him more room, exhaling a shaky breath.

“Oscar,” you murmur.

He stills, his forehead resting against yours, breath heavy.

You don’t realize how hard your heart is pounding until there’s a beat of silence, both of you just standing there, catching your breath.

Then, softly, he says, “Not a mistake?”

You shake your head, fingers tightening in his shirt. “Not even close.”

His lips brush against yours again, slower this time, as if committing this moment to memory.

And for the first time in days, everything finally makes sense.

—

The paddock is a blur of movement—mechanics rushing between garages, team personnel checking final details, and the distant hum of engines roaring to life. It’s race day, and the energy in the air is electric.

You’re standing outside McLaren’s hospitality, wearing Oscar’s team shirt—his number printed on the back, the fabric slightly oversized but comfortable. Sunglasses perch on your nose, shielding your eyes from the midday sun as you scroll through your phone, waiting.

Then, an arm slings around your shoulders.

“Ah, there she is.”

You don’t even need to look up to know who it is.

“Lando.”

“Missed me?” he asks, squeezing your shoulder before dramatically sighing. “Probably not, considering you’ve been suspiciously unavailable for the past month.”

You roll your eyes, prying his arm off you. “Sorry for not prioritizing you over my boyfriend.”

Lando fake gags. “Ugh, don’t say it like that. Makes me feel like I’ve lost you forever.”

You smirk. “You have.”

“Pain,” he mutters, clutching his chest like he’s physically wounded.

Before you can retaliate, another familiar presence appears beside you.

“Are you harassing her already?”

You turn, smiling as Oscar steps up, looking effortlessly cool in his race suit, sunglasses on, and a drink bottle in hand. His free arm loops around your waist instinctively, pulling you against him.

Lando makes a disgusted noise. “Oh, this is repulsive.”

You tilt your head. “What is?”

“That,” he gestures vaguely at you and Oscar. “The… the couple-y standing. The arm thing. The way he’s looking at you like you hung the damn stars in the sky.”

Oscar raises a brow. “Would you rather I not look at my girlfriend?”

“Correct.”

You laugh, leaning into Oscar slightly, just to be extra. “I think someone’s just mad he’s the third wheel now.”

Lando scoffs. “I am not—”

“You absolutely are,” Oscar cuts in, smirking.

Lando glares between the two of you. “I hate this. I hate whatever is happening here.”

Oscar just shrugs, looking smug as hell. “You’ll get used to it.”

Lando grumbles something under his breath, kicking at the ground like a child. You swear you hear him mutter disgusting as he dramatically turns away.

Oscar chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “I think he’s struggling.”

You grin, watching Lando dramatically flop onto a nearby bench. “Oh, he definitely is.”

But hey, you were enjoying every second of it.

[sturncrazy]

SECRET KINK

Chris Sturniolo x y/n (fem!)

(anyone else = green)

warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT!!NSFW 18+

this is from a request for a breeding kink soooo!! hope u enjoyyyy🫶🫶

(breeding kink…obvi, no protection, pet names, praise, lang, and light mentions of drinking at beginning)

authors note: GUYS!!! sorry it’s been a fucking MINUTE!!! schools been whopping my ass but i’m back babyyyyyy!! and to the baddie that sent in a request lemme say girl don’t apologize for being into the breeding kink stuff cause i think it’s hot too🫶💋

word count: 3,112

—————————————————————————

“here❤️” you texted chris,

pulling your car into the driveway.

“doors open❤️ the boys are still here, dw they’ll head out in a bit”

“nw! i wanna say hi” you checked your makeup in your mirror. you and chris had been dating for almost a year and you spent a chunk of the week sleeping at each others houses. chris had been having a “boys night” with his brothers and their friend, and you could hear their voices shouting over video games as you walked in the door.

“hi boys!” you said entering the living room. you were received with a serises of enthusiastic grins, but none of them seemed able to budge from their game. you walked up to chris and gave him a kiss on top of his head.

“hi beautiful” he grinned at you briefly

“hi hon—ooh! can i have one?” you asked, glancing at the table full of beer cans.

“yeah of course! help yourself” chris said, returning his focus back to the game.

“oh man fuck you” said nate, throwing down his controller in defeat. you chuckled and snagged yourself a can out of the fridge. nate fussed around the coffee table, already bored.

“what’s this” he said, holding up a card game box.

“some shit we got as PR, but it’s a drinking game i think? don’t know, we can’t exactly post about it” chris said, momentarily glancing up from his video game. nate unwrapped it and flipped through the deck.

“damn these are crazy” he said, his eyes going wide.

“really?” matt said, clearly uninterested.

“yeah like, just straight up asks your body count or take a shot”

“ooooo how improper” you mocked. nate gave you the finger, kiddingly.

“read me one. i’ll be the judge of how fun the game actually is” the video game was becoming increasingly boring to watch

“okay, tough guy” nate said, skimming for a better card. his eyebrows raised, apparently landing on one

“what’s the craziest kink you have? drink half your drink if you don’t answer” you sucked in your lips, and raised your can to your mouth.

“oooooo” nick chimed in

“bet chris already knows that one” nate said, slapping chris on the shoulder. chris laughed, his tongue folding over the front of his top teeth forming a cocky expression.

“nuh uh, you couldn’t waterboard that shit out of me” you snorted. chris shot you a curious look.

“weird game, probably meant for horny high schoolers” you quickly tried to end the conversation and settled down on the couch next to chris, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and your fingers into his hair. he smiled up at you and gave you a kiss on the cheek, which resulted in him getting killed off in the game.

“aw shit” he muttered

“sorry babe” you chuckled

“YES! FUCK YEAH! I WIN!” nick yelled moments later, while matt chucked his remote half across the room.

“who’s playing me again?” nick asked, eager for another victory.

“not me man, i gotta get home and get some sleep” nate stretched.

“i can give you a ride” matt said, reaching for his car keys

“sweet. alright, bye brotha” nate said, pulling chris in for a half hug

“bye, y/n” he continued, tussling the top of your hair in a familial way.

“night, nate!” you laughed out as he and matt headed for the door.

“wanna get to bed soon? i’m pretty wiped out” you said turning to chris

“yeah sure thing. i just need to shower” he smiled up at you.

“let’s head downstairs” he patted your leg, urging you to stand up and took your hand, leading you to his room in the basement.

“night nick!” you shouted out

“uh huh” he half answered, clearly engulfed in another game. you followed chris and padded down the steps to the lower level. chris had claimed this floor his and had done a nice job with it, particularly since you helped. it was cozy and felt secluded. plus, the privacy of being two floors from where his brothers slept was an added bonus. you flopped onto chris’s bed and reached for the tv remote.

“cool if i take a shower now?” he asked, you nodded

“okay…better not be asleep when i get out” while chris was in the shower you snagged one of his old t shirts and tossed it on as a nightshirt. your eyelids were just growing heavy, when you heard his bathroom door pop open. chris walked out in plaid pj pants, shirtless, rubbing a towel against his damp hair. he looked effortlessly hot—enough to wake you back up. he gave you a smile

“i love seeing you in my clothes” you continued to stare dumbly at his body, you’d never get over the sight of him.

“you fallin asleep?”

“well now i’m up” you said dramatically giving him a once over, eyes wide.

“little freak” he mumbled, bending over you to give you a kiss.

“dick” you teased, shoving him playfully. he crashed down on the bed next to you. you moved your head to his bare chest. he wrapped an arm around your shoulders pulling you close, before speaking against the top of your hair

“hey speaking of you being a freak”

“oh?” you laughed shooting him a look.

“was nate right that i’d know your answer in that game?”

“well…” you struggled for words a moment too long, chris caught on and pulled back to look you in the eyes. his mouth ajar in a shocked smile

“WHAT?! WHAT IS IT?! cmon y/n you have to tell me”

“what?? no way! nope!” you shook your head vigorously

“what? that’s so not fair. why not?”

“cause…i dunno it’s embarrassing. nuh uh” you felt your face begin to flush.

“we’ve had sex like a million times. and you’re telling me THIS is embarrassing?!”

“okay well that stuff is different”

“what stuff”

“like…fantasy…y’know?”

“oh so you’ve had FANTASIES you’re hiding from me” nothing you were saying was deteriorating chris’s curiosity.

“well no not fantasies but like stuff i’d never ACTUALLY do”

“you’re killing me here please TELL ME”

“NO!” you dragged the word out and rolled into a ball away from him, laughing. chris clamored on top of you and rolled you onto your back, pinning your arms down on either side of your head forcing you to look at him

“tell me right now i swear to god” he said smiling down at you, his still wet hair brushing against his eyes. you hated to admit the way he was holding you down was already turning you on.

“you’re gonna think i’m weirddd” you whined

“no i WONT! i promise” he let go of one wrist and offered you his pinky. you locked yours with him and widened your eyes

“you SWEAR you won’t judge me”

“cross my heart hope to die”

“you’re an idiot”

“just TELL ME”

“OKAY OKAY” you pushed him off you and sat up, facing him.

“but just to be clear, i’m not saying we’d ever like do it. i’m totally happy never doing this it’s just like a weird thing—“

“ehhhh whatever enough spit it out” chris said cutting you off. you rolled your eyes at his childish behavior and took a deep breath in.

“okay fine. i guess i’ve always kinda had a breeding kink?” you winced at your own confession. chris raised an eyebrow

“i mean i’ve never done anything to act on it, but like the idea of it is just hot to me…i know it’s weird”

“so is it just the idea of like not pulling out?” his tone was impossible to read and you felt your palms begin a nervous sweat, what if this freaked him out?

“no-well i mean— that’s a part of it yeah—but not just that, y’know?” chris nodded, taking in what you’re saying.

“but you’re on birth control right? like nothing would actually…?” he raised his hand, in gesture to what he meant.

“oh no, i guess it’s sorta more a role play thing? it’s not that i actually’d wanna get pregnant, just more the idea of pretending like that—i—it’s weird i know—sorry—“

“i don’t think so” he cut you off, shaking his head. you froze slightly

“you don’t?” he gave you a small smirk

“no, i get” you felt your heart beat heavily against your chest. he studied your face for a moment, the silence in the room drowned out by the obvious tension, before he suddenly broke out of it.

“so, what are we watching?” he asked lightly, lying back with his an arm behind his head and facing the tv. you felt a small wave of disappointment at the sudden shift, but went with it.

“oh i dunno, nothing looks great” you sighed, lying back down onto chris’s chest. he mumbled a response into the top of your head, his free hand softly brushing up and down your arm. you picked back up the remote and continued to flip through the screen. you landed on an old comfort show and before you knew it the conversation seemed like ancient history. chris eventually moved his arm from yours to around your waist. you raised a leg over his. your eyes flitted down to his fingertips where he was playing with the hem of his shirt you were wearing. he mustve noticed because he began to pull the fabric up higher, exposing even more of your barely covered lower half. you looked up at him and raised an eyebrow.

“what?” he chuckled

“whatcha doing there christopher”

“nothing” he mused, watching his own hands fumble with the shirt, the occasional bump of his cold fingertips against your skin sending little jolts through your body

“y’just look so sexy like this” he mumbled

“oh yeah?” his hands now lightly grazing your bare hip bone, the angle of your body being the only thing keeping you from behind entirely exposed.

“mhm. gets me all worked up”

“how worked up” you said in a innocent tone, looking up at him with doe eyes before sliding the hand your had from his stomach to his crotch. his eyes screwed shut and he let out a small hiss as your palm reached his already stiff clothed length. you scoffed lightly.

“hard for me already, huh?” you began to rub your hand against him, adding some pressure. chris squirmed under your touch, a faint groan escaping him. he nodded.

“aww poor thing. want me to help you out?” you said in a sweetly, palming his dick harder. he nodded his head, again, vigorously. you removed your hand to spit on it and he watched you wide eyed. you bit your lip in a smile, loving getting to see his face contort in desperation as you moved your hand down the waistband of his pjs. you wrapped your grip around his hard cock, it twitched against your touch and he let out an unsteady breath. you kept your eyes on him as you began to pump your hand up and down his length, watching him let out small moans and grasp at the sheets nearby.

“oh—fuck—“ chris sighed out. throwing his head back, his eyes rolling back into the sockets. his obvious enjoyment only made you want to hear more. you began to leave wet open mouthed kisses on his chest and moved down, slowly. his stomach flexed against each kiss and he whined against your teasing. you reached his waistband and looked up at him. he lifted his hips, allowing you to discard the pjs. his throbbing cock, still slick with your spit, slapped against his stomach. you returned your hand to wrap around the base of it and brought your lips to leave a sloppy kiss on its flushed tip. he shuddered before you began to lower down, sinking his dick into your mouth. you bobbed your head up and down, a trail of spit leaving your mouth. chris’s groans and curses filled the room in harmony with your occasional gags against his length. you felt one of his large hands reach for the back of your head. you tried to prepare yourself for him to push you further down, fucking your throat as he often liked to, but we’re surprised when he yanked your hair back, pulling you off of him. you looked up at him in confusion. he smirked and reached for your waist to bring you closer to him

“can’t cum yet baby” he lifted you onto his lap, his lips brushing yours

“don’t wanna waste any of it” he rasped against your mouth

“wha—“ you tried to question, as he wrapped an arm around your waist and tossed you onto your back. he pinned you, wrists by your head, and leaned down

“you heard me” he said cockily, before beginning to kiss you. you almost managed to fight for more answers, but chris began to grind his exposed rock hard dick up against your pussy and your mind went blank.

“oh—god—“ you moaned dumbly, raising your hips higher to meet his motion. his cock began to run up and down against your slick bare folds, brushing your clit repeatedly.

“such a good girl—so wet for me” he breathed out, the tip of his dick just barely adding pressure against your throbbing entrance. you heaved and thrashed underneath him. he kept your arms pinned and savored watching you become even more desperate.

“chris—please—“

he leaned down, his lips brushing against yours, and slide his hands to lock into yours.

“you ready baby?” he rasped out, letting go of your hands. you nodded and moaned against him.

“good” he said with a kiss before beginning to slide himself deep into your core. you let out a whimper as the tip of his dick pressed up against your most sensitive spot. a groan tumbled from chris’s lips and his eyes rolled back at the feeling of your walls fully tightening around him.

“god you feel so good, baby” he mumbled, before pulling back out of you almost fully

“please—fuck me, chris—“ you almost cried out, your pussy aching for more.

“—i need it so bad”

“yeah? you need my dick, honey?” he said sweetly, smirking down at you. you whined again and nodded as he thrusted deep into you again.

“oh god—yes—“ your fingernails reached to latch themselves deep into the flesh of his shoulders as he began to find a steady slow rhythm in and out and in and out of your squelching wet core. Chris’s eyes scanned your face and body lying beneath him as he fucked into you. they landed on your stomach and he licked his lips at the sight.

“fuck—look—can see me inside you—“

sure enough, his hard length created a bulge against your stomach with each thrust deep into you. Chris lowered a hand to press against it. you bit your lip and sighed out, too overwhelmed with pleasure to speak. He nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck, groaning against your skin and bit your earlobe lightly.

“can’t wait to fuck a baby into you” he hoarsely whispered

“what—“ you half moan out, still too consumed with pleasure to think straight

“you heard me, sweetheart—gonna fill you up and stuff your little pussy—you’ll look so pretty all full of my cum”

your stomach twisted and your heart raced. you couldn’t help but let out an almost pornographic moan at chris’s words.

“you want me to give you a baby? huh, princess?”

“fuck yes—-please—“ you said, desperately. chris continues to slam into you, perfectly hitting where you needed him most. he gave you a passionate kiss before saying against your lips

“you gonna take every drop of my load, right?“

“yes chris—i promise—“

“such a good girl”

“don’t fucking stop—fuck—“

“Don’t worry, I’m gonna give your pussy all the cum it deserves” he started to pick up the pace of his even plunges into you and the sound of your skin slapping against his began to echo in the room.

“gonna get you all big and fat and pregnant. well make the prettiest baby in the world”

“oh god—feels so fucking good—“ you whimper

“you ready, baby? want my cum in you now?” chris groaned, breathlessly. you felt your walls tighten around him as the familiar knot in your stomach started to form.

“yes—-please—fuck chris fill me with your cum—“ his dick twitched inside you at your words

“you’re gonna make such a perfect mommy—you’re doing so good for me gorgeous—just keep taking me just like that—”

the knot in your stomach begins to reach its last moments

“Chris—fuck—I’m gonna cum—“ you cry out

“good girl—cum all over my cock, sweetheart—“ Chris huffed out, coaxing you to release. your hearing begins to buzz as you feel yourself come undone. Chris continues to fuck you through your high as his motions begin to get more sloppy, the clenching of your walls bringing him closer to cumming.

“Ohhh—oh shit baby—“ he began to whine

“mmm that’s it—cum in me, chris—put your baby in me” you sigh out, wrapping your arms around his neck as you start to regain your senses

“ohh—nggh—i’m cumming—fuck, baby—-here it comes—“ chris pants as he roughly thrusts into you, his thighs and upper arms shaking slightly.

“OHHHH—“ his brow furrows as his release takes over. he lets out a loud moan as he haults, his cock buried all the way inside you. he shoots hot, thick, strands of his cum deep inside your walls, and then collapses against your body. the two of you try to regain your breath. chris lifts himself back up to look down at you and gives you a kiss, still buried inside you. you smile against his lips.

“how was that” he breathed out

“fucking perfect” you giggled

“yeah? i think so too” he chuckled, giving you a peck before lifting himself higher off you to pull out of you. he removed himself, gently trying to be aware of your sensitivity. you whined at the loss a little. he sits back and stares between your legs where your entrances still pulsates slightly, his cum leaking out. his jaw went slack

“what?” you giggled again, feeling a little embarrassed

“i could get used to seeing that” he said, not pulling his eyes away

“chrissss” you whine, attempting to shut your legs. he stops you with his arms

“nuh uh” he says before taking two of his fingers up to collect his cum and shoving them back inside you. you let out a sharp moan at the sudden feeling. he leans back over you with a smirk

“can’t waste any” he said, giving you yet another kiss

—————————————————————————

HEHE

hope u guys like this one

ITS GOOD TO BE BACK!!!!

💋

[teaspacebar]

spiced chai

pairing: carmen "carmy" berzatto x reader

summary: you've been living in chicago for about a year, and you're suddenly managing the coffee shop in the well beloved bookstore, nan's. you meet carmen berzatto on a not-so-good day. you're thrust into the everchanging societal landscape that is making friends in your 20s..

word count: ~9.7k

warnings: language, depictions of mental illness, barista!reader, afab!reader (but tried to be as neutral as possible), neurodivergent!reader, they don't kiss, could be read as platonic tbh but there's crumbs in there if you look, takes place over the course of a few months, probably doesn't follow canon fully (i'm not caught up yet forgive me)

a/n: *dumps this here and runs* but actually this piece of writing appeared in my brain and i've been picking away at it for a couple of months. i feel like i've put more of myself into this fic than with anything else i've written, so this is definitely more of a self insert (pls be kind or don't read if that's not your vibe). i'm queer, non-binary, and autistic and i just wanted to insert that into this space. i feel like there's more to explore here, so i might write more for this if i feel so inclined.

Meeting Carmen Berzatto was not on your to-do list for Tuesday morning.

Not that having to run down to the nearest corner store to grab milk - since the milk fridge was on the fritz…again - at 4am was in your plans either. It always seemed like one step forward, three giant leaps back with the little shop on the corner you basically called home. It was weird, to be thrust into leadership as your manager made an abrupt exit. 

The small bookstore, with an even tinier coffee shop, had been your place of work for the last year or so. You loved it. The people were great, and Nan, the shop owner, was absolutely lovely. She was getting up in her years, but the genuine care she had for the employees made all the difference. She put her trust in you to run the cafe, saying “You have the experience, and the care you have for people shows. I know this. Everyone knows this. Now you just have to see it - have confidence.”

“Confidence my ass,” you mutter, carrying five gallons of milk around the corner.

What happens next might have been considered the beginning of a rom-com, but you’re a realist, and the world is shitty.

There’s a crash, and the distinct sound of three of the five gallons of milk dropping onto the sidewalk. You stare, watching in slow motion as the milk forms into a river, dripping off the sidewalk into the gutter.

The person who ran into you curses, “Shit — fuck, sorry, I—I wasn’t looking where I was…dammit.”

You grip the other two jugs in your arms, blinking out of the haze to let out a hysterical laugh. “Great…cool cool.” Cold plastic bites into your fingers, and you take a deep breath. “Yeah, okay, what else was gonna happen?” You finally look up to see the one you collided with. The man looks extremely uncomfortable, foot tapping like he wants to bolt. Plastering on a smile you shake your head, “It’s fine. I’m the one who thought carrying five gallons of milk would be fine.” You ramble on, trying to ease his nerves, “I mean — why would I drive, like, thirty seconds. Park, get the milk, come all the way back. Seemed stupid…but now there’s milk in my socks.” You grimace, fighting the urge to chuck the remaining jugs of milk in the street so you could also hurl your milk-soaked shoes and socks after them. It makes the ache in your chest sharpen.

“Here, where are you —“

You cut him off, “No, no, it’s okay. I got it, thank you.” You gesture to the door that’s just a few feet away from you. “This is me, anyway.” You adjust your hold on the milk, brushing past the man to pull open the door. You catch it with your hip, not daring to look back as you head behind the counter. You release a sigh, setting the bane of your existence on the black speckled marble. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, pressing the backs of your hands to your eyes. You shake out your arms, biting your lip. “Okay, asshole, let’s get your shit together.” You quickly put the milk into the small fridge below the bar and walk to the back. The squish of your socks curdles your stomach, and you breathe through your mouth to avoid the smell. You take off your shoes, throwing them into a plastic bag to take home. Tossing your socks into the garbage, you grab your replacement sneakers and socks from your cubby. It wasn’t the first time you’ve dropped something on your shoes, it wouldn’t be the last.

You take your time in the back. You had gotten to the shop around 4am, unable to sleep. You were messing around with recipes, seeing if there was a possibility of baking some of the food in the cafe fresh, instead of outsourcing. It was something you put on your own plate, and you didn’t want to disappoint Nan. You had shown up early, looking to try out some muffins, and noticed the fridge had been hovering at sixty degrees all night. You’ll have to grab some more milk before the day starts, but that could be a problem for 8am you.

Walking through the swinging doors, you jump as you see someone at the bar counter. Pressing a hand to your fluttering heart, you finally take in the man that had run into you earlier. A mop of curly hair on his head, white tee, very blue eyes…and standing behind eight gallons of milk.

“Um…” you look between the milk and him a few times.

“The…uh – the door was unlocked. Figured I owed you one.” He rubs the back of his neck.

“How’d you even get it all here?” 

“Made two trips.” His gaze snaps back to you as you laugh, this time more genuine. “Fridge go out, or somethin’?” You’re still staring at him like he has two heads, and he rambles on, “Sorry for just…barging in. I used to go to this place…when I was kid. My sister and I would grab whatever pastries they had left for the day. And, yeah, we’d just sit, read random shit. I work at the restaurant just down the street…’s why I ran into you. Wasn’t paying attention – sorry, again.”

Suddenly, it all clicks. “You own The Bear.”

“Uh, yeah – yeah, I do.”

You feel nervous, out of the blue. Nan hadn’t stopped talking about the Berzatto’s, and Natalie had become a regular while the restaurant was being remodeled. You’re sure you’d seen other employees come in as well, for reading material. You vaguely remember talking to a very sweet man about baking, as he carried a ton of cookbooks in his arms.

You knew Carmen Berzatto, but only through the words of others – and the research you did late one night because you were nosey. To have him standing in the bookstore you worked at, for him to have gotten you milk, is sending you for a loop. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you begin to put the milk in their new home. You really need to call the refrigerator guy again. 

“That’s so cool,” the words fall from your mouth, others staying in your head. 

It's insane that someone like him is even speaking to you. He’s around the same age as you; He owns a restaurant and you’re barely able to run a tiny coffee bar in a bookstore. You’re an idiot who dropped milk onto the sidewalk. Why didn’t you just take the car? You should’ve just taken the car. Now Carmen fucking Berzatto has bought you milk at 5am because he feels bad for you. How pathetic. Call the fucking refrigerator guy.

“Thanks…for the milk.” You back away from the counter, gesturing behind you, “Lemme grab some money from the cash box real quick.”

“No, don’t worry about it.”

“It’s really fine, you didn’t have to go out of your way. I’ll be right back.” The itch creeps its way up your spine, and you push through the door as a shudder passes through you. You shake out the twitch, going and grabbing the cash box. You do mental math, trying to see how much you should give him. Did he even need the money? “Idiot,” you chide yourself. Today was not the day for your brain. 

Snagging a twenty and a ten, you rush back out to the bar, only to find the store empty. A groan escapes through your teeth, and you clench the cash in your hands, crumpling it. You walk to the front door, peering out to see if you can spot the chef. He must’ve made a quick getaway. As you turn to get prepped for the day, you spot a brochure on the counter, far away from its home of the stand at the front of the bookstore. Eat Your Way Through Chicago! 

Scribbled on the front is a phone number, and the words:

Fridge  Ask for Fak Say Carm sent you

“Fucking fuck.” You whisper, a smile creeping on your face against your will, “Asshole.”

It’s later in the week when you hear the bell attached to the front door – ding! You poke your head up from where you're arranging some alternative milks under the counter, seeing a familiar blonde.

“Hey, Natalie!” You pop up, an easy grin appearing on your face. “Half-caff?”

She nods, “Please.”

“How are you?” 

“Oh, you know.”

You ring her up quickly, then grab a pitcher to steam some milk for her latte. Natalie walks away from the counter to browse some books. The steam wand whirs, and you watch the vortex inside the pitcher. You touch the sides every so often, waiting for it to get to the right temperature. Making drinks is all muscle memory now, and you tamp the espresso grounds into the portafilter with precision. Wiping the excess from the lip, you lock it into the machine and press the shot button. As the shot pulls, you wipe down the steam wand with a wet cloth. 

“Is this any good?” Natalie has come back over, holding up a book with a half-naked man on the front.

You laugh, “It’s a Nan recommendation, so…” The shots are poured into the paper cup, and you swirl the milk into it, doing a quick tulip design. You sprinkle a little cinnamon over the top, before placing it in front of the woman.

“Smutty then, for sure.” Natalie laughs, then does a little excited gasp when she sees the latte art. “It looks so good every time!” 

“Thanks,” you reply, “Gets covered by the lid, but it’s fun to practice.”

“Too bad you don’t have for-here mugs,” she says thoughtfully.

“Ever the idea-haver! There'd be more spills to clean up – Nan would lose her mind if any books got ruined.” You point to the book still in her hand, “You want me to ring you up for that?” It was early enough in the afternoon that the only other person here was a part-timer, Jack, somewhere between the shelves stocking books. You had convinced Nan to upgrade to a different register system (which ended up saving money in the long run), so you’re able to ring up both books and café products at your register. 

She shakes her head, sighing. “I barely have any time to read, these days. I was thinking about trying out audiobooks? I used to listen to them at my old job, but it’s way too loud in the kitchen for that to work out.” The latte goes to her mouth, a pleasant hum leaving her as she takes a sip. “You’re the best.”

“Thanks, Natalie.”

She squints at you, “It’s Nat, c’mon.” A big conspiratorial grin makes its way onto her face, “So, I heard that you got some help with your fridge.”

A sharp pain twists in your chest. “Oh, um…yeah.” You let out a soft chuckle, “It’s working, which is great. Neil was a big help.”

“He said you made him the best hot chocolate he’s ever had,” Natalie taps the counter with her pointer finger twice. “Said he didn’t know how you got his number, though.” 

You shrug, wiping down the counter, “Nan had it. And the usual guy wasn’t calling me back.” Neil had told you the exact same thing, both about the drink and the number. Something had held you back from saying where you got the number from. Embarrassment, maybe? It felt weird, feeling like you owed anyone favors, or that things would be unbalanced. People usually never give without looking to receive.

“Frankie, right? He’s an asshole. Overcharges for everything.” Natalie doesn’t push you for answers, something you’re grateful for.

“Right! He disappeared one time and said he’d ‘be right back’ and then was gone for like, two hours! And he added that to his hourly!” The two of you giggle at the shittiness of people for a minute, when a ping causes Natalie to pull her phone from her pocket.

“I should run.” She reaches into her purse, and puts a five into your tip jar. “Thanks again!” 

As she turns to go, you call out her name. “Would you - maybe - I have some extra muffins. The place we get them from gave us some of the wrong ones…or they’re a tad over baked, or something. I can’t sell them. Would you wanna take them with you?”

“That’s so sweet of you! Yeah, I’m sure they’ll get eaten up.”

You grab the box of muffins, handing them over to her, “Thanks.”

“Thank you, babe.” She leaves with a smile, and you look down to brush the flour off your apron. 

“Hey, guys, I got some goodies!” Natalie sets the box of muffins on the table, where everyone is seated for family meal. 

Neil immediately grabs the box, pointing to the sticker on the top, “You went to Nan’s? Man, I could use a hot chocolate right now.” 

“I’m sure you can walk over there and order one, my love.” Natalie replies, waving for him to put the box back on the table.

Marcus snags two muffins, handing one to Sydney who is sitting on his right. Taking a bite, he stops chewing, eyebrows raised. “Dude,” he nudges the girl next to him.

“Dude,” Syd parrots, popping some muffin into her mouth. “Wait, woah.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” 

“Nat, where did you get these?” Sydney calls to the woman now sitting at the end of the table. The muffins are passed down the rest of the table.

Marcus has started dissecting the muffin, “Macadamia nuts, sick.”

“Oh they’re from Nan’s just down the corner!” She tells them how you offered them to her since they were the wrong ones from a vendor and possibly over-baked.

Syd snorts, “Over-baked? These are perfect!”

“What’s perfect?” Carmy walks out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel.

“Bear, come eat!” Natalie waves him over, pulling him into the seat next to hers. “You’ve been at it all morning, take a minute, okay?” She gives him a look that tells him not to argue, and he huffs in response, but does as she says.

“What’s perfect?” He asks again, taking the muffin box from Sweeps as it’s passed to him. As the cinnamon crumble topping hits his taste buds, he leans back in his chair. “Shit.”

“That’s what we’re saying!” 

Syd and Marcus begin talking over one another, the dull roar of family making its home in Carmy’s ears. He has another bite of muffin, thumb swiping over the sticker atop the box.

Nan’s Books & Brews

Simple lettering, surrounding a doodle of a coffee cup sitting on an open book.

“When did they,” he clears his throat as he leans closer to Nat, “when did they start doin’ stuff like this?”

Natalie purses her lips, “Not sure, honestly. They only had that small coffee machine and that plastic pastry case when we were growing up, remember? I think they added the actual coffee bar right before Covid?” Carmy nods, looking out the windows, a curdle in his stomach.

“A lot’s changed,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” Nat sighs, a hand over her stomach, “a lot has.”

A few weeks go by, as uneventful as they can be. You try out more recipes, and the staff of Nan’s is always sent home with one treat or another. Muffins, cinnamon rolls, croissants (which were a bust), and the like. Natalie is still a regular, and Neil has shown up to save your ass more than once. The brochure with his number on it taunts you from where it’s stuck up on the corkboard in the back.

Which is what has led you to standing in front of The Bear, a joe-to-go in one hand, paper bag in the other. An envelope burns in the inner pocket of your flannel jacket. Steeling your nerves, you knock on the door. Some yells are heard from inside, nicknames getting passed around like it’s a holiday dinner. You see a man walk towards you, in a nice suit, and he opens the door.

“Can I help you?” It’s not said unkindly, but there’s a look in his eyes that’s making you nervous. 

“Coffee delivery?” You say sheepishly, holding up the coffee traveler by its cardboard handle.

“Richie, who’s at the - hey!” Natalie immediately smiles when she sees you, and you sigh a breath of relief. Things were easy with her; she had this amazing way of comforting you without even trying.

“Hi,” you wiggle your fingers, still keeping hold of the objects in your hands. “Wanted to say thanks for all the help Neil’s been giving me, and when Nan found out, she insisted I bring over some coffee for the team, so…”

“You workin’ at Nan’s?” The guy - Richie - asks.

“For the past year or so, yeah.” You reply, thanking Natalie as she grabs the paper bag from you.

“Let them in, Richie, c’mon.” She presses on his chest, causing him to back up with his hands in the air. “Come in! I’ve been meaning to ask if you wanted to come by for a tour.” You follow behind her, taking in the layout of the place. It’s absolutely gorgeous, and a sense of awe falls over you. She has you set the coffee traveler on the bar, letting you take the paper bag from her hands. You pull out a cup holder with two cups in it.

“One half-caff french vanilla latte for you and…a hot chocolate for Neil.” As if by magic, Neil pops through the door to the kitchen.

“For me?!”

You chuckle as he pulls you into a hug. When he pulls away, he grabs his cup with a happy sound, rushing back into the kitchen when “Fak!” is yelled.

“The fuck Fak get a coffee for?” Richie frowns, causing you to bristle. Natalie swats at him, beginning to explain as you continue to walk around the restaurant. As you pass by a wood table, your fingers tap on it, the sound echoing in your ears. It sends a shiver through you, and a small smile appears on your lips. 

Natalie calls out to you, tearing your gaze back to her. People have begun to swarm around the bar, placing food on it, and your coffee is suddenly surrounded by things that smell amazing. “Did you want to eat with us, babe?” Attention turns to you, and the itchiness in your limbs reappears with a vengeance.

 A tall man, wearing a beanie, grins, “Hey, those muffins were amazing, by the way.”

You sputter, “Oh. Um—“

“Tell the chef, or baker — whoever,” he laughs at himself. “They were fire.”

Warmth rises in you, “Yeah, I’ll pass it on.”

“Babe, lunch?” Natalie says again, louder this time. More of the staff have begun digging into their meals.

“No, it’s okay!” The corner of your mouth curves up in a small smile, this one less genuine than before. You begin to back up towards the door, a gnaw of guilt in your gut as Natalie frowns. 

“Cousin! Food!” Richie yells out, followed by laughter from everyone else.

“I’m coming!” A familiar figure bursts through the kitchen door, “You don’t gotta yell like an asshole.”

Carmen Berzatto stops in his tracks when he sees you; the envelope in your pocket burns hotter. You look down at your shoes, but they just remind you of the milk dripping down the sidewalk.

“Carm,” Natalie introduces you, “they work at—“

“Nan’s.” Everyone chimes in, and you have to stop yourself from flinching. You look over at Carmy, eyes meeting.

There’s a moment where you feel like you’re going to get swallowed whole. The pipes are going to burst and water will fill up the room and you’re going to drown.

You walked straight into a den of hungry beasts, and you’re just a measly rabbit.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” Natalie’s words are muffled in your ears, but you manage to shake your head.

“I have someone from books covering me, and they barely know how to work the espresso machine.” You force a laugh. It grates against your vocal chords. “It was nice meeting you guys, though.” With a meek wave, you turn on your feet and speed out the door. Rounding the corner, you keep walking until you’re sure they can’t see you. Veering into the alleyway behind the restaurant, you let out a shaky breath, leaning against the brick. 

You press your thumb into the palm of your hand. Inhale, hold four seconds, exhale. Inhale, hold four seconds, exhale. It’s over before it starts, but your chest remains tight. A reminder, which will eventually dissipate once you're back in the shop.

The coffee bar, your shield; apron, your armor. 

A door opening causes you to jump, startled. Your eyes meet blue, widening like you’ve been caught. “Sorry! I was just–” You push off the brick.

Carmen seems just as surprised as you, “No, s’fine.” He clears his throat, as the two of you settle into silence.

A fwip of a lighter. Four seconds. An exhale of smoke.

You’re unsure if you should leave, but it’s like the bottoms of your shoes are stuck to the ground. “Did you-” He starts, lifting up his hand that holds a lit cigarette.

You shake your head, “No, but - um, thanks.” Your fingers twitch, and you reach to pull the envelope from inside your jacket. Something that appears so insignificant, held out in the space between you. When he just stares, you wave it a bit, until he takes the envelope with his free hand.

“What’s this?” 

“Cash, for the milk you bought.”

“You didn’t have to-“

“I did.” You bounce on your heels, “I should actually get going this time. Just wanted to give you that but…” He doesn’t respond, something you’re getting used to. You wonder where the man who rambled about reading with his sister at Nan’s went, but decide now is the best time to make your escape. As you start to walk toward the street, you turn, “The restaurant looks great, by the way. Good luck with the opening.”

“Good luck with the opening.”

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

"Let it rip, Bear."

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

“-a complete waste of fucking time.”

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

“I’m really sorry you feel that way, Carm.”

Natalie invites you to Friends & Family.

You don’t go.

The next month flies by. Marcus, Richie, and Syd have joined your little group of regulars. Richie even brings his daughter, Eva, whenever he’s able. She’s a joy and absolutely hilarious to have around. Richie has grown on you, the rough edges of him softening after a few cortados.

One night, he had rushed into the shop, Eva in tow, all but begging you to watch her for a few hours. He was supposed to be off for the day, to spend time with his daughter, but they’re understaffed at The Bear. A few weeks in, which confused you, but questions weren’t asked. You said yes - obviously - and had Eva help you with little things around the shop, until you close. The two of you bonded over a shared love of Taylor Swift while making muffins. By the time Richie came to pick her up, Eva was tuckered out in a loveseat, patchwork blanket tucked up to her chin.

“I owe you one,” Richie had whispered, holding his daughter in his arms.

You shook your head, “You deserve to have time with her.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes, “Yeah, bring it up with the Bear himself.”

You weren’t planning on it. The man is barely on your mind. Except for every time someone from The Bear walks in. They look drained, more and more each day. It’s a certain type of pain, to watch people – that once had so much life in them – lose the light that you felt so harshly the first time you walked into the restaurant. You hear inklings; mentions of a changing menu every night, nonnegotiables, and the like.

It worries you. It’s not your place - you’re more than aware of that. But you’ve come to care for these people. And by extension, some part of you wants to see how he’s doing. It’s an odd - biting -feeling. How strange it is, to know someone through everyone else’s eyes but your own. You have to fight back the urge to force yourself into the places you do not fit. You’re resigned to watching from afar, providing comfort behind your coffee bar. It’s what you’re good at. It might be all you're good at.

Some sick twist of fate decides to upturn it all one Friday night.

Carmy had stayed late, to nobody’s surprise. He’d been adjusting the menu, preparing it for tomorrow, when the flashes hit him. He decides to walk it off, popping another thing of nicotine gum into his mouth. He walks aimlessly, trying to push the overwhelming thoughts out of his head. The street is dark - most places being closed - but light pours onto the sidewalk, just a few feet ahead of him. Almost a reflex, he peers into the windows.

A laugh of disbelief - more a huff of air through his nose - leaves him.

You’re dancing, headphones over your ears, as you mix something in a large bowl. It’s unlike anything he’s seen - from you or otherwise. There’s a sense of freedom in your movements, so different from the few times he’d seen you before. The tightness in his chest lightens, some, at the sight of you so obviously in your element.

And you're looking right at him.

“Shit,” he mumbles. You tilt your head at him, doing a little wave. He lifts a hand in reply, and you point haphazardly at the door. Before he can respond, or walk away – anything, you’re heading around the counter. A click of the door unlocking, and you pull it open part way.

“Hey,” you say, a little loud. With a wince, you pull the headphones off to rest around your neck. Music can be heard – a muffled, upbeat song that he doesn’t recognize. “Hey,” you say again, quieter this time. Silence passes between you, and he watches your nose twitch. “…did you wanna?” You jut your thumb behind you. You’re almost unrecognizable from the first time you met, calmer, somehow.

“Yeah, sure.” The words come out, easier than he thinks, and slips through the door you hold open. You lock it behind him, turning back around to slide behind the counter.

You grab a muffin tin, beginning to fill each one with a scoop of the batter you had been mixing. You make quick work of it, pushing them into the small commercial oven, wiping your fingers on the towel that’s pulled through a loop in your jeans.

Leaning against the counter, you finally look at him, “Okay, Pick your poison.”

“What?”

“Coffee? Americano, latte, cappuccino?” It’s like you’re trying to read him, wanting to crack the spine of a book and see what’s inside.

“I don’t really do the…caffeine.”

You hum thoughtfully, tapping your fingers on the counter in some type of rhythm. “Can I make you something? Low-caffeinated, of course.” He nods. “Anything you hate?” A shake of his head.

You grab a cup and get to work. You’re singing under your breath - the song that’s playing from the headphones around your neck. With your eyes off of him, he takes a moment to actually observe the shop. Warm lighting, with dark wood bookshelves making it feel cozy without being too claustrophobic. There’s smaller tables, with different recommendations for certain genres. A sprinkling of string lights and hanging plants just adds to the homey feeling, one so different from the pristine, white kitchens he’s used to being in. So different from his own restaurant. The coffee shop portion is close to the front, dark marble countertops and a chalkboard menu - swirling letters describing monthly drink specials.

“Alright, order up,” you call out softly.

Carmy walks back up to the bar, eyeing the cup. Warmth presses into his skin as his fingers curl around it. You mention that it’s hot, to let it cool for a bit. Silence falls between the two of you - in a way he finds comforting. Your eyes flick between him and the counter you’re wiping down.

“Do you normally do this?” He asks.

“The making drinks thing, or the staying at the shop way too late thing?” You give a wry smile. “Could ask you the same.”

He scratches at his nose, “Noted.”

The minutes pass; you go about cleaning the shop, rinsing dishes and setting things up for the next day. It’s an art he’s well versed in. The muscle memory takes over for you, and Carmen becomes invisible. It feels nice, to just be in a place where nobody has anything to ask of him. He finally tries the drink. It’s good, milky, if a little sweet, but it eases the last of the sourness in his stomach away. A timer on your phone goes off, and you tug on a flowery oven mitt to pull the muffins out of the oven. Chocolate and spice invades his nostrils, soothing him even more. You grab one, hissing a bit since it’s hot, and put it on a plate, bringing it back over to him. Leaning over the bar, you reach for forks that are in a metal cup, right near Carmy. You’re close, with no care about being in his personal space. It’s only for a second, and then you’re back in your previous position.

“You can have some, as long as you promise not to be an ass about it.” You hold out a fork for him. The words cause him to cringe, but he takes the utensil from you.

He stares at the muffin, running his thumb on the underside of the fork. “How much trouble am I in?”

You shrink back a little, “W-what?”

He’s met you what - twice? Both times felt clunky, an awkwardness to the both of you. Here, it’s simpler. Under the cover of night, huh? A voice that sounds awfully like Mikey’s says in the back of his mind. His family won’t stop talking about you. Or drinking your coffee.

“The Bear,” he mutters. “They talk to you, right?”

You laugh, surprised. “Do you actually want to know?” You hold up a hand before he can reply, “Actually, no. They don’t talk to me. I see things, sure. But I’m not getting anyone in trouble with the boss.” You’re on the defensive, not even for yourself, but for his kitchen.

“They-They’re not in trouble.” One look from you and he deflates, sighing. “Okay, yeah. Just…just say something.”

“I haven’t even been to eat there.”

“You should come,” he says.

Another laugh - a scoff, more-like, “You think I could afford your place?” You bite your lip, pinching the bridge of your nose. After a moment, you continue, gently, “Do you have any fun?”

“Fun.” The word is like poison in his mouth.

“Yes, fun. I know that food service isn't the best, but it’s good to have fun, or to at least enjoy it.” You wave your hands around, “That family meal stuff you guys do? That’s so sweet, and you have a whole family unit going on in that kitchen, or whatever. If this restaurant is supposed to be the rest of your life, you should like it, at least a little bit, right?” Your torso melts into the counter, and you rest your head on your arm. “And like, maybe? Don’t change the menu every night, or something. It’s new, right? You gotta work out the kinks first before jumping in all-” you blow air out through your cheeks.

A beat of quiet, then, “The menu, huh?”

“Eleven thousand for butter?” You parrot back. At his frown, you hold up your hands, “I’m just a barista, what would I know?” You say it without heat, and yet he feels guilt crawl up his throat.

“That’s not-”

“I know, Carmen.” A sigh leaves your lips, “You asked, so I talked. Again, take everything with a grain of salt.” The words get softer, as if you’re talking more to yourself than to him, “Just remember who’s going down with you if it ends up crashing and burning.”

You stab your fork into the muffin, tearing it in half. He follows suit, lifting a bite of it to his lips. Spice floods his taste buds, and he grunts. You blink up at him, fork hanging from your mouth. He’s suddenly starving, and he eagerly gets himself another forkful. “S’good.” He mumbles through the food. Carmen watches as you process his words, pressing your lips together to hide a smile. You two finish the muffin, and there’s an ominous sense of peace that covers him like a blanket. “Thanks.”

“For yelling at you?”

Carmy lets the chuckle spill out, “If that’s what you call yelling…” He trails off, sobering, “Do you have fun?”

You hum, contemplating. “Yeah. I mean, it’s coffee, at the end of the day. It’s just nice to see people, to make their day a little better than it was. I like to try out new things, to create, to get recommendations.” You stop, seeing him staring at you, “What?”

“You’re different…from the other day, s’all.”

You’re perplexed, scrunching your nose, “Well I had a bad day, the first time. And I don’t do…well, with new people.”

“Unless you’re behind the counter.”

Your eyes widen, something flickering behind them, like he’s seen something you didn’t want him to. “Touche.” Checking your phone, you clear your throat, “Alright, we should probably get out of here if we want any semblance of sleep.” He follows your lead, as you flick off the lights, throwing you backpack over your shoulder. He waits while you lock the front door, small key dangling on a keychain. You turn, looking at him, before holding out a paper bag, “Muffin for the road?”

He grabs it, an odd feeling bubbling in his chest, “Oh - uh, thanks.”

You suddenly look sheepish, fiddling with the strap of your bag, “And if you’re out late again, feel free to stop by. If you need a break, or something.” A beat. “Oh, again, take what I said with a grain of salt, yeah? Just - maybe - try to take care of yourself a little.” You laugh nervously, and Carmy sees the truth of his earlier observation. You’re still more relaxed, but the nerves have crept in as you step outside your comfort zone. Something he knows all too well. “Anyways, have a good night - morning.” You shake your head, blowing a raspberry through your lips.

“Night. Get home safe.” He murmurs. You turn on your heel, walking down the street. He tightens his grip on the paper bag.

Take care of yourself.

At least enjoy it.

You should like it, at least a little bit, right?

Carmy doesn’t know if he truly remembers what liking cooking is like. He’s found little bits of it, in moving back home. In Marcus’ eyes as he creates something new. In Syd’s determination to make amazing food. There’s a passion there that he’s lost somewhere along the way.

He sees it in you, and it calls out to him - the tide being pushed and pulled by the moon. A curious feeling, gnawing at his stomach. A hunger for something he can’t make sense of, but he pulls the muffin out of the bag to eat on his walk home.

Carmy keeps showing up at Nan’s, usually late at night. You didn’t expect him to take you up on your offer, yet a smile graces your lips every time he does.

He was right, when he said you feel most comfortable behind the counter. You knew it, but having someone else acknowledge it felt…weird. Like you weren’t playing your part right. Yet it also felt good, to be seen.

Conversation between the two of you still feels stilted, occasionally, but you find comfort in the quiet moments. And the not-so quiet ones; with music playing at just above a reasonable level, you mouthing the words as you dance around behind the bar. The mask slowly slides off when he comes around, and it’s easier to be goofy.

You think it surprises him. He’s not quite sure what to do, when you’re cruising on the linoleum tile you call a dance floor. But he never tells you that you’re weird, or too much. You’ve maybe even seen him bite back a smile. You swear there’s dimples hiding somewhere — a fleeting thought that you let fly away before you linger on it too long.

“What do you think?” You’ve turned the music down, notepad on the counter, your favorite pen in hand. You click it a few times, sound satisfying the little itch in the back of your brain.

“Not sure if I’m a matcha fan,” Carmy murmurs. You nod, writing down his response onto the paper. It’s almost filled — you’ll have to turn to the next page soon — with different drinks you’ve had Carmy try, determined to find the right one. He’s harder to pin than others, something you’re not necessarily surprised by.

That's partially on you. You're unsure of how much to ask. How much could you poke the both metaphorical and literal Bear until it breaks? You've been enjoying your time, but you've yet to ask him how work is going. He doesn't ask you about your personal life, so why would you ask about his?

There's a curiosity there, though. To see what makes Carmen Berzatto tick. You fear the two of you might be a little too similar.

You turn to go back to cleaning your mess — the reason being a fresh tray of cookies cooling on the counter, when he says your name. “Did you get a new tattoo?”

Gaze flashing to the wrap you have on your arm, peeking out from the sleeve of your shirt, you turn bashful. “Oh,” you hum, “I did. It’s been on my list for awhile. I’m keeping it wrapped at work while it heals - god knows I spill everything all over myself.”

“Can I — What did you get?” He’s just as sheepish as you, a boyish glow about him. You’d never talked about tattoos before. His evidence is on his arms; yours are mostly concealed — easy to hide with the oversized button downs and jeans you wear.

You pull your phone from your back pocket, “Here, I’ll pull up a photo of it.” Placing your phone on the counter, Carmy grabs it, zooming in on the two-headed calf that’s found its home on your bicep. The tattoo is fresher in the photo, line work popping out against your skin. “The longest living two-headed calf lived 17 months. Her name was Gemini — a little on the nose, I think. There’s also this poem by Laura Gilpin, that just kinda struck me.” Your ramble tumbles off, a half smile pulling at your lips. “It’s sad, but the kind that makes you hurt in a nice way? If that even makes sense.” You wave a hand around, then reach to take a sip from his cup.

The matcha settles the nerves hiding under your skin, the earthy flavor dancing on your tongue. As you set the cup back on the counter, you point at his hand, “What’s that stand for?” Your own fingers twitch, fighting the urge to brush them across his own. “S.O.U?”

“Ah, sense of urgency.” He says, fiddling with your phone.

You laugh, quickly covering it with a hand, “Sorry, I — sorry, that just makes so much sense.” Before he can speak, you shake your head, “Not in a bad way, necessarily. It’s just so obvious how little work-life balance you have.”

“We’re literally at your shop in the middle of the night.” Carmen huffs exasperatedly, corner of his mouth curling up.

You hold your hands up, conceding, “Okay, I get it. Misery loves company - or whatever. God, we’re both crazy, aren’t we? We should get out more.”

He hums in response, tapping his phone twice to check the time. Anxiety swells up in your throat, and there’s something biting at your heels. The silence doesn’t feel comfortable anymore.

You said something wrong, the little voice in your head whispers. You lost the script and got too close and now he’s pulling back. How can you fix it? You have to fix it.

“What’s your favorite one?” His blue eyes glance up at you. Invisible hand squeezing your lungs, you stammer, “Tattoo. What’s the one you like most?”

His words come out softly, “A house boat. I, uh, got it before leaving Copenhagen. I stayed in one while I was over there, and put out water for an invisible cat.” Relief floods you as he talks. It’s the most he’s spoken about anything, and you see a glimmer behind his eyes.

It feels a little too close to home.

“You really loved it over there, huh?”

As if caught, he clears his throat, “It was cool…different.”

Different from Chicago, you don’t say. “I get that,” you murmur instead.

You knew what it was like, to run away. The need for escape pushing you into flight as the metaphorical dog chases the rabbit.

You wonder what Carmen’s dog was. Or is. If it’s even a dog at all.

“What about you? What’s your favorite?”

You’re pulled from your thoughts. “Oh! Um, it’s silly.” You worry at your bottom lip.

“You don’t—”

“No, hold on, it’s just,” you push yourself onto the counter with the palms of your hands. Carmen leans back as you swing your legs over the bar, letting your feet rest on the barstool next to him. You lean over, pulling up your pants leg to show the tattoo on the right side of your calf. He stares at it for a moment, confusion clear in his gaze. “See, I told you.”

“Is it a moth, or something?”

“Moth-man, Carmen. Mothman.”

“Am I supposed to know what that is?”

“He’s a cryptid. There’s literally stories of a Chicago Mothman.” He peers up at you in amusement, causing you to scrunch your face at him. “I swear on my life Carmen Berzatto, don’t be an asshole.”

“I’m not.” He laughs, and your chest loosens. You got Carmen Berzatto to laugh. “It looks good, the style is nice,” he gestures to your leg.

You smile, “Thanks.”

Nodding, he goes to sip from his cup. He makes a face, pulling it away from him, “Yeah, I don’t like this.”

He holds it out to you as you reach for it, laughter spilling from your lips, “More grass for me.” You drink, and let the cup rest on your thigh, fingers tapping on the plastic lid.

“I’m not…” Your head turns to look at him, watching as he runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not really good at this.”

“...at what?” You whisper, scared if you talk any louder you’ll scare him away.

“Talking? Not working? Who the fuck knows,” his hand leaves his hair and passes over his face.

“I’m not either, really.” You pick at your jeans, “But we’re trying, right? You come by more than I thought you would.”

“Really?”

You snort, “Dude, the first time I was surprised you even came in.” Gently, you add, “And you don’t have to be perfect at conversation to be friends with someone.” His eyes meet yours as you nudge his shoulder with your knee. “I’m weird, you’re weird, that’s okay.”

Carmen rolls his eyes good naturedly. His legs are bouncing, and you can almost see him chewing the word around before it finally leaves, “Friends?”

“Friends.” You affirm. Silence passes between you, until a growl comes from your stomach.

The man laughs, looking all the prettier for it, “You hungry?”

“Starving,” you groan.

He gets up from his seat, grabbing his denim jacket that’s hung over the chair on his left, “C’mon.”

It takes a moment, but it clicks. “Oh my god,” you gasp out, hopping off the counter. With a speed you only have during a lunch rush, you run to the back. You untie your apron, hang it up on a hook, and grab your tote bag. “Wallet, keys, phone…phone!”

“Out here!” Carmen yells. You grin, rushing back out to the front, bouncing on your heels. “You good?”

“As I’ll ever be.” You shake your keys with enthusiasm. He laughs as you both leave, and you turn to lock up. There’s excitement buzzing through you, like caffeine would if your brain weren’t wired a bit funky. A thought cuts through the haze, “Oh shit, I forgot to–”

“I got the trash.” The street lights reflect off his blue eyes.

Your heart twinges a little, “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He gestures with his head, “Now let’s go before your stomach eats itself.”

“Hey Carm?!”

The man pokes his head into the office, one hand wrapped around the door, “Yeah, what?”

Natalie raises an eyebrow, “You busy?”

Carmy scoffs, “Yeah, Sugar, I’m busy.”

It’s lunch time. Marcus has pastries, Tina’s running prep. Syd is around…avoiding him. He tries not to think about it for too long. Richie is who knows where.

Fuck, don’t be an asshole, asshole.

Deflating, he asks, “What’s up? Everything okay?”

“I’m spending my hour of alone time figuring shit out here, while Pete watches the baby.” His sister sighs, glancing down at the paperwork on the desk, “I’m managing. Anyways, that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

He wants to ask about the baby. His niece. But Natalie barrels over the topic to say, “Were you here late the other night?” He must have made a face because Natalie sighs, exasperated. “I know you stay later than everyone else, doing god knows what, but I got a notification on my phone the other night-“

“What notification?”

She rolls her eyes, “The alarm system, dummy. I get alerts.”

“No, yeah, I get that. But I turned it off.”

It could only be from the other night, when he brought you back to the restaurant. He’s not sure why he did — he almost had a panic attack in front of you while debating what to make. It's strange, how much an environment can affect someone. Nan's feels so comfortable to him now, like nothing can happen to him when he's in those four walls. Where was the last place he felt like that?

You don’t need to impress anyone, Carmen. It’s just me, you had said.

Simple words that cut through him like a knife. You asked for comfort food, so he made you grilled cheese with tomato soup. The little dance you did every time you took a bite relit a fire inside of him that had been burnt out by years of working in kitchens.

“I know. I’m asking because the alarm was set, and then you turned it off again a few hours later.” Natalie unlocks her phone, showing him her screen that has some app pulled up with timestamps on it. “Are you sleeping? Look, I know things aren’t great right now—" Natalie cuts herself off with another sigh.

“It’s fine. Things are fine.” At her pointed look, he holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m working on it, okay? Just…are you good? Do you need anything?”

“About 48 hours of interrupted sleep would be great.” Her gripe falls off into a laugh, which he returns.

Stepping into the room further, he pulls the door closer, just a slim crack of clean white light coming through. “I’ve been a shitty brother lately.”

“No…” Natalie snorts, “Okay yeah, a bit. I love you, though.”

He mumbles the words back, tapping out a rhythm on his thigh, “Maybe I could come by, sometime. See the baby.” It’s a blessing and curse how his chest aches when he sees the way her eyes light up.

“I’d love that, Bear.”

“Yo, delivery!” Marcus yells out, pulling the attention of the Berzatto siblings.

“The fuck?” There isn't supposed to be a delivery today.

Natalie gets out of her seat, “Oh thank god.” She ushers Carmy out of the office, pushing past him into the dining room. He follows after her, confused, only to stop in his tracks.

You’re here.

You stand next to Richie, talking animatedly, albeit shy. You’re wearing clothes he doesn’t regularly see you in, the worn denim jacket catching his eye in particular. It’s clear that you aren't working, yet you hold two cups from Nan’s in your hands, a few drink carriers littering a table.

“You’re literally my savior, thank you.” Natalie pulls you into a hug, and you look at Richie with wide eyes. Carmy has to hold back a snort at your expression.

“You should expect this reaction by now, kid.” Richie takes a sip from his drink when you gape at him in exaggerated outrage.

“Shut up, Richie,” Natalie is barely paying attention, saying the words more out of habit. Grabbing a cup from a drink holder, she says, “You’re coming home with me.”

Giggles bubble from your lips, and you go to cover them with the back of your arm. There’s a pull Carmy feels, instinctual, to urge your arm away from your face and hear your genuine laughter fill the room.

Your eyes meet his, finally noticing that he’s there. The smile you give him is earnest, a gentle hello without words. He forces his feet to move, closing the distance. Carmy blatantly ignores the looks both Richie and Natalie are making. You hold out the cup in your hand - the one you weren’t drinking from - and he takes it from you.

Condensation clings to the sides, his name hastily written on the side.

⋆⁺Carmy!⁺˚⋆

There’s a heart in place of the dot at the bottom of the exclamation point, little stars doodled around his name. His stomach flips.

“Iced?” He swirls the drink in hand, mixing it up.

You shrug, “Thought I’d try something different. It’s hot outside.”

“You off?” Bringing the straw to his lips, he hums at the taste. You’re watching him eagerly, head tilted to the side as you wait for his review. “This is nice.”

Squinting at him, you huff, “Not perfect, though.” You type something into your phone — most likely to add to your notebook later. “Had to run some more syrup by the shop. Saw Natalie’s car on the street so I texted her to see if she wanted something to drink. I have errands to run after this.”

“You a regular too now, Cousin?” Richie barks, and Carmy watches as you remember where you are. Who you’re with.

A protectiveness rises up in Carmen, hating the way you recoil into yourself. “Fuck off, Richie.” He looks over at you, “Hungry?”

“Dude, we got shit to do.”

“Richie!” Natalie hisses at the older man, shoving him back toward the kitchen. She calls back to you, “Thanks for the coffee! I promise I’ll come by when I feel more like a human again.”

The customer service clicks into place behind your eyes, “Take care of yourself! Hope the baby is doing well!” Once it's just the two of you, you sigh, knocking the heels of your boots together. “I should get going.”

Carmen nods, “Can I grab you a sandwich, first?”

“Grilled cheese?” You tease, stifling a smile.

He huffs, shaking his head, “Nah, but Ebra’s got window right now. I could throw something together real quick.”

“You don’t have to do that.” He glances down; you’re pressing your thumb into the middle of your hand. It's uncanny, the semblance of himself that is mirrored in you.

“I know.” He wants to, though. “Give me five minutes?”

A moment of hesitation, then, “Okay.”

“Cool.” And he’s off.

Chaos erupts the minute he’s back in the kitchen.

“Since when did the two of you become buddy-buddy?”

“Can we please get back to work? Richie, respectfully, what are you doing back here?” Syd is working on pasta, flour covering her work service.

“I got shoved outta my space, so here I am,” Richie waves his hands around.

The overlapping voices turn into white noise, and Carmy inhales sharply, “Fak!”

“Yes, chef!” Neil appears out of nowhere. Sometimes Carmen thinks there’s a series of underground passages that makes it so easy to get ahold of him. It’s not that crazy of a notion.

“Go and say hello to them, okay? I’m gonna throw together something, give it to them, and then I’ll be right back.” The last part is meant for everyone to hear, but is pointed more toward Richie. “Seriously, just leave it, alright?”

“I’m leaving it,” Richie snarks, but nudges Fak with his elbow. “Think there’s a drink out there with your name on it anyway. Snag me another one of those apple-donut-things too, eh?”

“Fritters!” Marcus calls out from his station.

Carmy sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s queasy; he’ll have to take some pepto later.

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

Let it rip, Bear.

Neil barrels into you, wrapping you in a hug. He talks your ear off for the next couple minutes; you smile when you need to, laugh when you remember.

The yells from the kitchen are playing on repeat in your ears.

They’re talking about you.

The urge to flee tickles the back of your throat. You thought it would be nice to stop by and bring Natalie a coffee, but then you had felt bad about not bringing anything for everyone else, which turned into you jumping behind the bar to make ten drinks. It’s not like you were going to make Morgan, the barista on shift, make them all.

You always had a hard time not working on your days off.

“You should absolutely come!”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” You reply, still not fully checked back into your conversation with Neil.

He smiles, “Great! I’ll send you the info!”

Before you can ask what you actually agreed to, Carmy pushes back into the room, to-go container in hand. “Hey, uh, Fak, can you go take a look at the toilet for me?” You barely notice Neil leave, focusing more on how your chest releases as Carmen walks closer to you.

He hands you the container, and you murmur a soft, “Thank you.”

“I’ll walk you out, yeah?”

The thought is nice. Glancing behind him, you see Natalie and Richie watching through the window. “It’s okay, you really don’t have to.” You take a step back just as Carmy reaches out to you. You can’t run, they’d see you. Ask questions. They probably see a caged animal.

“Hey,” he whispers your name, “it’s just me.” He’s repeating the words you said to him the night you were here. You tear your eyes away from the kitchen, looking at him. “Lemme walk you out?”

With a nod, you let him guide you out the front door. The warm summer air washes over your skin, and you take in a deep breath. You count the lines in the sidewalk as you pass them, sipping at your iced latte. “It was cool of you to come by,” Carmy says. “And your jacket’s dope.”

He’s trying to make you feel better.

“Did you just say dope?” You peek over in his direction, catching his shrug. “You’re so old.”

“Fuck off,” he laughs, and your smile widens.

You make it to your car, a little thing that has a new problem every other week. It’s been with you for years, moved with you to five different states. More of a sentimental object, than a real mode of transportation. You mostly used CTA these days if you were able, but it was nice to have a car for when you’re running errands all around the city.

“Sorry if they bothered you,” he apologizes, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“No, no, no,” you push out the words, throat tightening, arms hugging your middle. “I thought I was going to try to be a human today. May have jumped the gun on that one.” Fiddling with your keys, you continue, “It was nice to see you. Thought you might be a vampire or something, since I only ever see you at night.”

The joke causes Carmy to roll his eyes, “Is that considered a cryptid?”

You perk up at the word, “Oh, don’t get me started.”

He smiles big enough for his dimple to appear, “Oh, yeah?”

“Unless you want me to talk for hours on end. I’ll make a power-point presentation and everything.” You might already have one in the works, but he didn’t need to know that.

“You could - I mean, it wouldn’t bother me. If you did, you know?”

You blink a few times, frozen in shock. He looks shy, almost. Like the first time you met him, but there’s something between you now. A plant that will keep growing - might even bloom - if the two of you keep watering it. He keeps pecking away at your carefully crafted walls that let people see exactly how much you want them to.

Carmen Berzatto keeps seeing you. Whoever that is.

He coughs, scratching the side of his head. “I’ll see you later?”

“You know where I’ll be.”

“Yeah.”

You walk around to the driver’s side of your car, opening the door. You slide in, turning the key to let your car sputter to life. You roll the windows down, and music starts to blare from your speakers. “Kick ass tonight!” You yell the words as you pull away from the curb. You spare a glance in your rearview, watching Carmy wave before he starts walking back to his restaurant.

When you're parked outside your apartment, it hits you. You dig into your tote bag, pushing aside old receipts, chapstick tubes, and fidget toys. You cheer to yourself as you pull your notebook out, favorite pen hooked over the cover. Flipping to the back, you stare at the list of drinks you've had Carmy try.

You think you want to keep seeing him, too. Whoever that is.

You scribble at the bottom of the page, circling it twice.

Spiced Chai ~ HOT, xtra cinn

[hanniebaeee]

Under the Northern Lights

Hyunjin x fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT MDNI

Genre: established relationship, fluff, smut

Summary: You and Hyunjin witness the Northern Lights for the first time ever, and the magical moment turns into a rather heated one!

a/n: It's my dream to explore Iceland and to witness the northern lights! Till I get there, let's just do it with Jinnie here 🤭

It was warm, so warm. Hyunjin's arm was wrapped around your waist and his leg thrown over yours as he slept. His soft snores filled the quiet room, his breath fanning the back of your neck.

You two have had a busy day exploring a beautiful snowy village in Iceland. Hyunjin could barely move when you two got back - he'd had about enough of being on his feet for the day, and fell asleep almost immediately.

You’d been just as exhausted as him, but you'd woken up late at night after he managed to kick off the blankets as usual.

Your eyes cracked open, heavy-lidded and annoyed as you reached for the blanket. But then something else caught your attention. Outside the window.

"Ohh -" You sat upright, and Hyunjin jerked in his sleep grumbling something incoherent and burying his face in the pillow.

"Hyunjin! Get up!" You shook his shoulder, disturbing his slumber.

"Babe, I swear if this isn’t an emergency -”

"Just look!"

He groaned, peeling his eyes open (dramatically). The second he caught sight of the faint green glow outside, he shot upright, his mouth falling open.

"Is that...?"

"The northern lights!"

You were already hopping out of bed and fumbling for your coat. But Hyunjin was still blinking sleepily as you threw his jacket at him.

"Babe, it's soooo cold outside," he whined, dragging himself out of bed. "And I was having a really good dream…you were there, and chocolate, actually you in chocolate-"

"Oh my God Jinnie!! We made this trip to see exactly this, and you're stuck on your horny dreams!!"

"Horny dreams!?" He sounded offended, but his expression softened as he glanced at the lights swirling in the sky. "Okay, yeah, alright. Pants, pants... where are my pants?"

He got his pants to his face, of course.

After what felt like an eternity of fumbling, and a few swats to his butt ("Wear the pants, Jinnie!"), the two of you stumbled out into the cold night, boots crunching on the snow as the aurora borealis painted the skies above.

Hyunjin pulled you close as you both stared up, your breaths mingling in the chilly air.

"Wow," he murmured, his voice shaking with the cold.

"It's beautiful," you whispered, your heart swelling with happiness as you tilted your head back to take it all in.

"Okay, you were right to wake me up. But also, you’re totally making up for it later."

"Making up for what? Giving you the most magical moment of your life?"

"No, for interrupting my sleep. And my chocolate dream." He grinned down at you. "And not to be cheesy or anything, but the most magical moment of my life was the day you said yes. So yeah."

"Stop it." You laughed, and he pulled you closer, his nose brushing against yours.

“I love you, baby. I love it that we're doing this together,” He said, and before you could say anything, he kissed you - both your lips cold and a little numb.

And the way he sneaked his tongue into your mouth made your stomach flip. The lights danced above, but all you could feel was him - his warmth and the way he held you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

And then he pulled his phone out, because obviously you needed to record this moment. And a frozen photo shoot later, you both trudged back inside, in a hurry to get away from the chill.

Hyunjin was already peeling off his layers the second the door closed behind you. He chucked his coat with a dramatic groan, running his hands through his short blond buzz cut.

He went on to take a look at the fireplace (an electric one unfortunately), and then got on the bed, holding his hand out.

"Alright, babe," he drawled. "Since you ruined my dream, I think it’s only fair we finish what I started in my head."

He grinned as he pulled you onto his lap.

You rolled your eyes, but you really loved it when he was this horny and lovesick. With a smile you cupped his cheeks in your hands and kissed him. His hands slid beneath your sweater, palms warm against your ribs as he kissed you like he’d been starving for days.

His hands moved up, cupping your breasts over your bra, and his thumbs ran over your hard nipples, perked up.

"Fuck baby," he murmured against your lips, his breath hot as his hands squeezed your breasts. "You cold?"

"More like really hot" you gasped, your hands sliding over the blond fuzz on his head and your nails scraping his scalp.

"Mhm," he managed, his lips trailing down your jaw, his teeth grazing your skin all the way to your collarbone. "You looked so hot all bundled up, and now…”

His nibbled on your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. He pulled back enough to pull your sweater over your head and tossed it aside, before finding the waistband of your leggings, tugging them down as his lips were on yours again.

"Jinnie," you whispered, your voice trembling as his hands worked on getting rid of the rest of your clothes.

You watched him undress as the northern lights danced outside, casting a faint glow through the window. You couldn’t help but think how beautiful he looked as he leaned in and his lips grazed the side of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

Hyunjin’s kisses were hot and demanding, his lips urging you to respond with the same intensity. And you could feel his hardness press against you, and it made your heart race even faster.

He kissed his way down, his lips hovering over chest, eyes locked with yours before his tongue peeked out, placing a tiny lick on your nipple.

That was enough for your core to clench and with a little smirk he closed his lips on the little bud and sucked relentlessly, making you moan. Your hands gripped his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he gave your other nipple the same attention.

And you glanced down to see them glistening with his spit.

“Hyunjin,” you gasped, your voice shaky as you pulled him closer. “Please.”

He grinned against your skin, the mischievous glint in his eyes never fading.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he muttered before lifting your hips slightly, and without any warning put his mouth directly on your wet folds.

Your body jerked with shock, and it didn't stop him from running his tongue over your dripping heat. You were falling apart under him, your body shaking as he licked and sucked on your puffy clit.

The sensation of his tongue inside you, and his soft hair against your inner thighs has your body quaking with need. And he kept going at it until finally with a quick flick of his tongue, you came undone, gushing into his mouth as he held you close.

He was painfully hard now, and the faint layer of sweat on his chest and forehead looked so damn enticing in the pale light. The look he gave you was raw and desperate, and you wasted no time pulling him close and kissing him.

Tasting yourself on his lips was seriously the most intimate, most satisfying thing ever. He moaned as you kissed his neck and bit down on the spot right below his jaw, making him grind down on you.

"Please baby," He whispered and shifted, positioning himself between your legs and you could feel his length prodding at your entrance.

Your eyes met again and you gave him a soft nod. He entered you slowly, pulling a soft moan from your lips as you both adjusted to the sensation, the feeling of being stretched open settling over you.

His movements were rhythmic, pushing you both to the edge and he kissed you, his hands gripping your hips as he drove deeper into you.

“Hyunjin…” you breathed, gasping for air as he made you feel every inch of him. He moved faster, harder, and you met each thrust with equal need, your body trembling.

“Fuck, I need you,” he groaned, his voice strained as he held you close, his eyes twinkling with love and lust.

You felt your release building, your breath hitching as you tipped over the edge and clenched around him tight. His movements were sloppier as he chased his own release, and he came with a groan, burying his face into your neck as he spilled inside you.

Breathing heavily, hand gently stroked your hair, his lips brushing your forehead as you both recovered.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice soft.

“I love you too,” you replied, pressing a soft kiss on his chest.

As the morning light seeped through the small window of your room, you knew that you two had overslept. The warmth of Hyunjin's body beside you was comforting, and you watched him with love before pressing a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth.

His eyes were still closed, but he smiled. A sweet sleepy one. And he looked so adorable (and a little too hot for his own good).

Your hand, almost of its own accord, slid down to where he was already hard and straining against his shorts. A spark of heat shot through you, as your palm cupped his length, putting on a little pressure.

You couldn’t resist teasing him, and Hyunjin opened his eyes slowly, his smile widening.

“What are you doing baby?” He mumbled and you didn't answer him, just moved down, pulling his shorts off him.

He was wide awake now, propped up on his elbows watching you as you stroked him gently.

“What did I do to deserve this?” He asked, his voice husky.

“You're you,” you whispered, and he groaned as your lips closed around his pink tip.

And yeah…you two didn't make it to the sight seeing tour you'd booked.

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix @sailor--sun

[jayybugg]

always been you

Mattheo Riddle x Fem!Reader based on Always Been You by Chris Grey

Summary: Breaking things off should be easy.....right?

Warnings: Smut, Language, maybe a little angsty?? Not really sure. Mattheo is a little mean, but not to you.

Word Count: 3.2K

Music:

Note: I love writing fics based on songs. Probably one of my favorite things to do, I actually wrote this in June, right before my birthday, but my computer crashed, and that file got lost. I prefer this version of it better, though, so I think it was the better. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, enjoy!

Banner by @cafekitsune

You crossed my mind, a few miles ago, turned on your street, thinking I’m headed home

Mattheo chucked the butt of his cigarette to the ground as he walked through the empty corridors of the castle. Unaware of his location, he turned the corner to be met with steep stairs that he knew led to your common house door.

He narrowed his eyes at the dark path in front of him. His feet and heart were begging and urging him to continue. To get to your door, to see you, to touch you, to hear your voice. If Mattheo could smack himself, he would. He was supposed to be going to his dorm to meet some blonde chick he flirted with at a party weeks ago. A distraction, he was supposed to be going to see his distraction.

Yet, here he was, unconsciously going to you like some lost puppy who couldn’t bear to be without his owner. Mattheo continued to glare at the path before scoffing and turning away to make his way to his dorm. Ignoring the pang in his heart, he slipped another cigarette out of the pack and lit it.

How pathetic…. all this over a stupid girl.

It’s late in the night, I hope you’re alone, and nobody is there holding you close, and I tried to love again, now I’m right back at your door

He couldn’t help it. You were plaguing his mind like some disease.

Even as he gripped the hips and thrust into the blonde from behind, his mind still wandered to you. He thought about what you could be doing at this moment. Were you up reading those stupid romance books that you liked so much? Or were you watching some scripted reality show that you always gossiped about with Pansy? Or maybe you were cuddled up with some fucker like some lame-ass couple?

Or worse, instead of being laid up, what if you were in the same position as this blonde? Were you with some other guy? Letting him fuck you? Letting him get a taste of what belonged to Mattheo?

It was the small yelp of pain from the blonde that brought Mattheo back to reality. His grip was brutal on the small girl’s hips, a bruise already forming in its wake. Mattheo loosened his grip, but his pace increased, fast and rough as if he was trying fuck his anger out on the poor girl who had no idea what was going on in his mind.

“M-Matty-” The blonde moaned out. If Mattheo wasn’t thinking about you, then he was definitely thinking about you now at the use of your nickname for him. He muttered, “Don’t call me that.” Another sharp thrust making her moan, caused him to speak again, “And shut the fuck up. Your moans are annoying.”

That’s how Mattheo’s days carried on. Forcing himself not to go to you at all hours of the day and fucking anybody to get you out of his mind.

Was it working?

Not really, but Mattheo was beyond the point of actually giving a fuck. He needed to let you go; he had to let you go. Especially because he was the one who ended the friends-with-benefits arrangement, despite knowing all that, Mattheo didn’t stop watching you. His eyes were on you whenever he had the chance to. Drinking in your figure, your face, your everything.

“Merlin, you look like the biggest creep around. Stop staring at her like you want to eat her alive.” Theo’s voice broke Mattheo’s trance. His dark brown eyes met his friend’s deep blue ones as he took a seat next to him and lit a cigarette.

“I don’t want to eat her alive.” Yes, he does. Anything to have you remotely close to him. “And I don’t look like a creep, and I wasn’t even staring at her.” Mattheo scoffed, folding his arms as he leaned against one of the pillars in the Clocktower Courtyard.

“Yeah, right.” Theo snorted, blowing his smoke, “Why’d you even break it off with her? Thought shit was going well for you both?”

“Too attached,” Mattheo said curtly. Luckily for Mattheo, he didn’t specify which one of them was getting too attached because, truth be told, it wasn’t you that got attached, it was him.

Theo didn’t speak again, giving Mattheo a small noise of acknowledgment. Mattheo’s eyes focused back on you as you laughed with your friends. A small frown tethered on his lips as he watched you. Why the fuck were you so happy? Why aren’t you drowning in misery like he is?

You seemed so unbothered by the fact that Mattheo had broken things off with you. Almost as if you never cared, and it made Mattheo’s blood boil because all he could think about was you.

That’s why he came to your dorm. He needed to know how you forgot about him so quickly. He needed you to teach him. He knocked on your door loud enough that if you were in your dorm, then you heard him.

The door flung open to reveal you to Mattheo. His eyes didn’t hesitate to trail down your body before meeting your eyes. “What the fuck are you doing?” Mattheo asked gruffly.

You raised an eyebrow at him, obviously trying to understand the boy’s audacity. “What are you doing here, Mattheo?”

For the first time in his life, Mattheo didn’t have an answer.

I know in the end, it’s always been you, you, oh, I got everything to lose, you, it’s always been you

Your eyes stayed trained on Mattheo; he felt like his heart would be ripped out of his chest if he stood in front of you any longer. Without any words, Mattheo turned on his heels and walked away from your door. He felt your eyes follow him until he was out of your sight.

He didn’t understand why he couldn’t answer you. When did it become so difficult to get what he wanted? What did he even want?

You.

He wanted you. Deep down, he knew that. His friends knew it, your friends knew it, and the whole school probably knew it. The only person who probably didn’t know it was you because, in your eyes, Mattheo was the emotionless prick who couldn’t settle down to save his life.

Mattheo wasn’t used to having nice things. Everything came at a price for him. He couldn’t, and maybe wouldn’t, wrap his head around the idea that you want him for nothing in exchange for his love. He could never bring himself to care about anyone outside of his friends, but you somehow crawled your pretty ass into his heart and plagued him every moment he wasn’t with you.

You’re just fucking attached, Mattheo, it’s pathetic.

The voice in his head sounded eerily like his father. He hated it; he hated it more than he hated how infectious you were to him. He reached into his pocket once he reached the courtyard, the cold air of night pinching his face as he pulled out a cigarette. He lit it, inhaling, then exhaling in a shaky breath.

What the fuck was wrong with him? He has never been so torn up about a girl like this before. He knew he wanted you, but what about you did he want?

Did he want your corny jokes? The ones you would tell him every morning, the ones that never failed to gain a snort from him.

Or maybe he wanted your pretty smile? That same pretty smile that he envisioned every time he closed his eyes. The same smile that made his heart flutter weirdly whenever he saw it. The same smile that made him jealous whenever he saw it directed at anyone other than him.

Or was it your voice? Merlin, your voice. So soft and sultry. Always said his name so sweetly, even when you were annoyed at him for some reason. Your voice that lets out the prettiest moans for him when he had you on your back with your legs prompted on his shoulders.

Mattheo groaned, rubbing his temples from the pending headache that always came when he thought too hard about you, which was all the time. He threw his cigarette down, crushing the lit cherry of it under his boot. He made his way to the Slytherin dorms, looking for his next distraction.

Staring eye to eye, I can’t look away, spent so much time apart, still nothing’s changed

Mattheo was once again staring into your eyes. He was drowning in them as you plopped into the seat across from him in the Transfiguration classroom. His eyes followed every moment of yours, from your hands that opened your notebook to your plump lips that moved as you spoke.

You were speaking. You were speaking to him.

He blinked as he registered your voice, the sound making his heart jump and his cock twitch. A weird combination, but a combination that made sense for him. You frowned at him, your eyes unamused by the lack of attention that you were receiving from the curly, brown-headed boy. “Are you even listening to me, Riddle?” You crossed your arms, your eyes narrowed accusingly.

Merlin, her eyes were so fucking pretty. “Since when do you call me ‘Riddle’?” Mattheo licked his lips as he finally spoke. You scoffed, slamming your hands down on the table. “Is that all you can respond to? If you can’t focus or won’t focus, I’ll tell McGonagall to switch us for the project.”

“No!” Mattheo rushed out, “I can focus. I promise.”

That was a fucking lie.

Mattheo couldn’t focus at all. Not when he sat in your dorm for the first time since he ended things with you. It was overwhelming, from your scent to the closeness of you two on your bed. The only thing running through Mattheo’s mind was pushing you back on the bed and diving his head between your legs to taste you.

He was trying, Merlin, he was, but he just couldn’t. Not when you were in front of him in spandex shorts that made your ass look so good and a tank top that revealed that you had no bra on. Were you trying to torture him? Some sort of sick punishment for how he went about ending things?

He exhaled loudly, causing your eyes to snap up to him in a slight look of annoyance. “If you don’t want to do this, then you can leave. Nobody is forcing you to be here.” You said.

Is that what you thought he was thinking about right now? Leaving you? As if.

“Nobody is annoyed, doll.” He said, “Trust me.”

He met your eyes, the room suddenly intensifying around them. Your eyes darted across his face as if you were trying to pick out the lie in his features. “Right.” You muttered.

A silence took over the room as you both continued to stare at each other. Mattheo’s heart was beating out of his chest. He just wanted to lean over and kiss you. He wanted to hear you whisper his name in his ear. He wanted you.

Fuck it.

I find nirvana inside of your love, baby girl, nobody was enough, oh, I tried to love again but a part of me was yours

Mattheo’s lips crashed against yours, expecting you to immediately push him away, but much to his surprise, you kissed him back. He moaned at the simple feeling of your lips against his. The murkiness in his mind had cleared, with you being the only thing on his mind.

He pushed you back on the bed, lips still attached as he felt his body and heart become whole again. He had been suffering for months when all he needed to do was kiss you. He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your jaw to your neck as his hands slipped under your tank top to cup your breasts.

“Mattheo.” You whispered. A groan involuntarily fell from Mattheo’s mouth when he heard it as he continued to kiss down your collarbone, his fingers massaging your hardened nipples. “Mattheo.” You whispered again, “We shouldn’t-”

“No.” Mattheo breathed out against your shoulder. His curls hid his dark eyes from you as his fingers pinched your nipples. A small yelp filled the air as Mattheo planted a kiss on your shoulder. “I don’t care if you kick me out right after or punch me for whatever reason. I don’t care. I want this; I need this.” He whispered.

He sat up, his eyes meeting yours once again. There was nothing but lust, honesty, and vulnerability swirling in them. You blinked up at him before nodding slowly. “Okay.”

Mattheo didn’t waste any more time. Mainly because he was so desperate but also because he was scared if he waited a second longer, you would change your mind. He lifted your shirt up, pulling it over your head, and throwing it to some unknown part of your room. His lips latched onto your left nipple, his hands traveling past the waistband of your shorts. He whined, he fucking whined, when he felt that you had no underwear on. “You’re fucking torturing me, doll.” He mumbled, moving to give your right nipple the same amount of attention.

“I didn’t...I didn’t do anything.” You whimpered, a soft gasp following as two of his fingers slid into you with ease. Mattheo came back up, his eyes meeting yours, his lips only inches from yours as his fingers plunged deeper into you with each thrust. Your moans were hitting his lips like a hit of ecstasy. “That’s the fucking problem.” He mumbled.

His fingers curled inside of you, your back arching, and a loud whine from you as a result. “You have been torturing me for these past few months, and you don’t even know.” He mumbled, “It’s fucking ridiculous.”

“M-Mattheo...”

“Stop calling me that.” Mattheo demanded, pulling his fingers out of you and your shorts. He ignored your whine as he yanked your shorts down, throwing them in the same direction as your tank top.

He scooted down, pushing your thighs apart to further reveal your leaking pussy to him. Another moan fell from him as he ran a finger down your folds, gathering some of your wetness up. He lifted his finger to his mouth, sucking it lightly. Your eyes were trained on him as you let out a sound that Mattheo couldn’t quite identify. “Mattheo is your name.” You finally gathered enough brain power to respond.

“Not to you. You know what I want you to call me.” He mumbled. Mattheo leaned in, running his tongue down your folds. You let out a loud moan, your hands flying to his hair. “Y-You said you hated the nickname ‘Matty’.” You whispered, your eyes fluttering close.

“I want to hear it.” Mattheo said, blowing on your clit, causing a shiver to run down your body. He licked down your folds again, this time faster, as he looked up at you. “Open your eyes, doll. Open your eyes and say my name.” He whispered, swirling his tongue around your clit before sucking on it lightly.

Your moans were uncontrollable at this point, and you had no choice but to obey his wish. “Matty.” You breathed out, “Fuck, Matty...”

A smile graced his face as he pulled away, pushing his two fingers back into you. “That’s my good slut. Always did know how to follow directions.” He whispered. His lips reattached to your clit, sucking lightly and swirling his tongue around it.

Your moans filled the room as your fingers tightly gripped his hair. He wasn’t going to stop until he ripped an orgasm from you. He would die if he didn’t get you to cum on his tongue. “I know you’re close, doll. Don’t hold out on me, please. Cum on my tongue, I need it.”

You whined as you held his head closer to your clit, your orgasm leaking onto his tongue. He licked it up eagerly, pleased to clean up the pretty mess that he had made. When he sat up, he yanked his shirt off, following his sweatpants and boxers. He watched as your eyes seemed glued to cock, hard and already desperately leaking with pre-cum. Mattheo climbed back on top of you, holding the shaft of his cock as he ran it up and down your folds.

“You’re soaked.” He whispered against your lips, his forehead pressed against yours, “Did you miss me?”

You took a deep breath. “What does it matter? You...You wouldn’t care regardless.”

You thought he didn’t care? If he wasn’t in the middle of sinking his cock inside of you, he probably would have given you a serious response. Instead, all that tumbled out his mouth was, “Just answer me.”

He pushed his cock into you, a groan escaping his lips. “I missed you.” He whispered, “If that makes any difference in your answer.”

He moved his hips slowly, hitting deep inside of you. The act of it all was sensual, intimate. As if Mattheo was trying to make this moment last as long as possible. Your soft moans brushed against his lips, causing his heartbeat to race. “You should miss me.” You whispered, “You’re the one who ended things.”

He was. Merlin, he was the idiot who ended things. “I know.” He whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Mattheo gave her a deep thrust, getting a moan in return. He kissed her jaw, his hips moving a bit faster but keeping a deep pace. “I’m an idiot. I’m sorry.” He repeated in your ear. “I’ve missed your pretty self, doll. So fucking much.”

Mattheo didn’t know what was taking over him. The feeling of being inside you again, or if the intimacy of it all was making his true feelings spill out.

“Matty.” You whispered. His hips moved with more urgency as if he was trying to fuck his remorse into you. “I mean it, doll.” He whispered, “I’m fucking sorry and I’ve fucking missed you.”

You tightened around him, making his moan in your ear. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I just....fuck, doll.” Mattheo mumbled, his words spilling out quickly. He was so drunk, on you, on your love, on your pussy. His thrusts were getting sloppy, and you were clenching around more and more. “Cum with me, doll. Please. I fucking need it.” Mattheo pleaded.

You met his eyes, nodding. “I am, Matty... I am.” You said.

Your moans mixed with his groans as you both came together. His seed filled you as your juices coated his cock and soaked the sheets underneath. Mattheo pressed his lips to yours, passionately and desperately.

I know in the end, it’s always been you, you, oh, I got everything to lose, you, it always, been you

It all made sense to Mattheo now.

With your head lying on his chest as your light snores filled your room, Mattheo’s mind was clearer than it had been in the past few months. He was attached. That was the only answer.

He wasn’t just attached to you. He was obsessed and in love with you.

Mattheo couldn’t hide it or deny it to himself anymore, and he honestly didn’t want to. There was no point in doing that. The only person he had to convince was you.

It had always been you. Always.

[renranram]

Baby making ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

nsfw + fluff

it's literally the title lmfao 😭

let's all be honest here and be straight to the point, schlatt wants to impregnate you ever since he saw you interacting with kids in unpaid intern

ludwig knew by putting both of you two in his show would make great content but he didn't expect he'll actually be an uncle soon

“ baby “ schlatt leans in as you work on editing a new video of yours, “ hm? yeah? “ you look up at him as you lower down your headphones

“ can't you edit later? wanna kiss you “ he states, whiney as he starts pecking your neck, you gasping, feeling his teeth sink in, “ jay… i dont think that's kissing “ you pat his back, hoping to crack a joke

“ y/n… be honest with me okay? “ he pause, pulling away as he faces you, cupping your cheeks as he continues, “ what do you think about children? “ he asks out

as you burst out chuckling, finding him adorable by saying that in a straight face, oblivious of his intentions

“ what? don't laugh im being serious “ he couldn't help but chuckle as he fixes your hair, “ no… it's just… i thought it was gonna be a serious question then you asked me about babies “ you smile

“ it is serious “ he defends himself, smiling at you as you take a deep breath, calming down as you nod, “ uhm… well… i like children..? “

schlatt looks at you weirdly, teasing you, “ ay! i dont mean it that way! “ you playfully hit your fiancé

“ i meant… i wanna take care of children, im happy to take care of children “ you explain thoroughly, as schlatt continues to tease you, as he cocks up one of his eyebrow

“ oh shut up schlatt, you know what i mean “ you chuckle as schlatt sighs, pecking your cheek, “ … okay okay i get it… but you know.. uh.. what about our own children? “

“ our children? “ you repeat, blinking in surprise, “ h-huh…? “ you ask as schlatt caresses your hair

“ toots… i… wanna have children with you “ schlatt confesses, “ our marriage is in 3 weeks… “

“ come on… please… ever since lud’s show… i wanna just… fucking bend you over and fill you up with babies toots.. “ he leans his face on your neck, as your body shivered, feeling his hot breath on your neck

“ jay..! “ you exclaim, surprised, “ what? if you've only seen yourself taking care of those kids, you dont realize how much im excited to wife you up and make you carry my children so badly “ he caresses you hair

“ y/n… babe… please “ he starts pecking your neck, “ toots… please… let me fill you up, let me see you carry our children “

“ … jay “ that's the word that you can mutter out, “ can we do it? “ he gently asks as you take a deep breather, before slowly nodding, “ … okay “

“ fuck… im gonna make love to you all night holy shit “ he chuckles in success as he easily carries you up from your desk as you squeal, surprised

the two of you lock lips, kissing eachother as schlatt holds your back for support before gently setting you down on your guy's bed, hungrily devouring your lips but being so gentle as he slips his hand in your shirt

fondling with your breast, that's why he preferred whenever you don't wear any bras, for easy access if yk what i mean

he gently removes your shirt, liking how your nipples perk up, as he breaks the kiss a string of saliva connects your lips, as he kisses your breast, his lips sucking on your nipples as he looks up at you with those endearing eyes of his

“ angh… jay “ you moan out as he trace kisses all over your body until it reaches your hips, his hand gently guiding you as he removes your pants and panties

“ does it feel good? “ he asks, as he threw your last piece of clothing on your bedroom's floor, as you nod in response, “ i want you to feel so good okay? “ schlatt smiles

as he gently divides your legs, making you spread out for him, “ fuck… how do you get this wet so easily? “ schlatt states before gently entering a finger in, causing you to gasp

“ because… you make me so wet “ you chuckle softly as schlatt chuckes too, slowly thrusting his finger in and out as he leans in to peck your clit

he savors your pussy as he digs himself in, tasting you as he moans out while you arch your back in pleasure, holding onto his hair as you moan his name out, “ jay… fuck “

he swirls his tongue in, fucking your hole with his tongue, he can feel your flaps flutter as he continues on

he licks your clit, swirling his tongue around it even sucking it, “ feels so good toots? feels so good hm? “ he repeats, mumbling as he eats you out

“ yes… yes… ah… schlatt “ you gently pulls on his hair as he continues to thrust his finger in while tongue fucking you, adding another finger causing you to gasp again as you rolls your eyes back

you wrap your legs around his head, locking him in as he notices your breath fastening, you're close, he continues to lick you out as your moans are getting louder and louder every second

“ b-babe… ugh… im cumming “ you breathe out but immediately regretted it as schlatt pulls away, as you whine, “ what the fuck “ you groan out, now pouting

“ dont look at me like that “ schlatt chuckles, “ im not letting my wife get an orgasm because i ate her out “ he replies as he unties his jogs, lowering it revealing his hard dick, not wearing any underwear since it's only you two home

“ remember, our focus here is getting you pregnant with our healthy babies, not tongue fucking you until you're pleasured “ he smiles, teasing you as he pats your cheek, pecking you

he slowly pushes his tip in, teasing you as he rubs it on your clit, “ then get me pregnant already… you're just teasing me at this point “ you pout as he slaps the side of your hips

“ so impatient, are you this eager to be a mother already? “ schlatt pushes his whole size in, gasping, feeling his dick fill you up, you can feel it throbbing inside you

“ fuck! “ you gasp out, as schlatt holds your hips, slamming his dick inside of you, as you gasp again, moaning, enjoying how you easily bounce off just from a thrust

“ you look more prettier like this, “ he teases you, leaning in as he folds your body in half just to able to lock lips with you again, “ i should fuck you everyday so we can be sure you get pregnant “ he added

his rolls his hips, his hands trailing all over your body, touching every part of you, his hands trace your curves, admiring your shape and body

kissing your forehead, cheek, neck, everywhere, this man makes you feel loved everytime, “ you're gonna look so pretty with my kids, yeah? “ schlatt fucks you up

“ you're gonna be my little pretty wife okay, gonna see you carry our kids, gonna make you be a pretty little housewife “

after saying those you can feel his pace fasten, god, it really does feel different without the rubber, you thought, as your room fills with moans, skin slapping, thrusts, groans and squelches

“ ah ngh jay- jay- please… “ you moan out, pulling on his hair as you can feel him throb, his thrusts getting aggressive every second as your body limps in pleasure

“ im cumming.. im cumming.. baby, toots.. ugh.. im gonna fill you up, im gonna fill you up with my babies, you're gonna… fuck… look so pretty pregnant, you're gonna be the most prettiest.. fucking housewife ever “ schlatt starts to peck your face before catching your lips

the two of you kiss, your tongues tangled with eachother as he finally cums inside of you, while you squirt your juices, unison with his orgasm, schlatt pulls out, chuckling in amusement as he sees his semen leaks out of you

“ fuck… you're gonna be a the mother of our children soon “ he smiles, pushing his finger in to keep his semen from leaking

-

a full year had passed, your child was finally brought on the world, you sigh out as you publish a new video, as you look behind, seeing schlatt was holding your daughter, carrying her as he smiles at you

“ is she asleep? “ you stand up, approaching them, “ surprisingly yeah, she's been behaving for me “ schlatt gently caresses your daughter face

admiring as the 3 month old scrunches her face in her sleep, “ she's a big mama’s girl huh? “ you ask, as schlatt nods, “ i think she loves you more than me “

“ but in her defense, if you're my mom id prefer you “ schlatt jokes as you chuckle, leaning your head onto his shoulder

[linddzz]

Does mage Viktor's reality-hopping and 'only you can show me this' line imply that dozens if not hundreds of other Jayces have done what our Jayce did and end up there on that slope hearing the same thing from him? Did the Viktor that succeeded and lost everything, lost his own Jayce, keep getting to meet new Jayces one by one, allowing himself a small modicum of wistful joy in getting to see Jayce living and breathing again if only for a short time before he sends them back? talk to me here

Not only is it implied, we for sure see at least 8 (if my count is right) times Viktor has saved Jayce as a child, including the current one. You see them flash through and each time, he gave Jayce a different runestone

(gifs by @hextecht)

Since his phrasing was "all timelines, in all possibilities" it's pretty safe speculation that Viktor has been at this for way more than 8 rounds. We don't know if he's tried messing with other points of the timeline or if any other Jayces got as far as the our Jayce did when he reached the center of Wizard Viktor's hellscape (and I made such a distressed noise when the clouds parted and I realized the only beautiful place left, the center of the storm, the oasis, is where Jayce got assimilated).

The general consensus is that this is most likely the first time it worked, because Ekko used the rune Jayce had been given (the "acceleration rune" as Ekko calls it in S2E7) to make the time travel Z-drive that he cranks up to "break reality" levels before chucking it at Viktor's head and knocking that dork off enough for Jayce's "power of love" gamble to actually get through to him.

(I also have the opinion that Wizard Viktor is not going to stop here. He's got nothing but fields of dreamless solitude for him, this IS his project and he's probably going to keep trying to refine the process across timelines until some kinda multiverse cops show up like "dude. Fucking quit it!")

And OH BOY can I sure as hell talk about the way Viktor looks at Jayce over the top of the Jayce he destroyed!!!!

(gif by @glassrunner)

Look at him. LOOK AT HIM. His expression is already wistful and pained as he turns, but you can see him exhale with the breath knocked out of him. his eyelids actually flutter. He softens, he's struck. He looks like he's barely able to keep himself from crying in that moment where he not only looks at Jayce, but lets himself be seen by Jayce in return.

And which is more heartbreaking? That this is the first time Jayce got this far, the first time Viktor had to finally properly look at him after so many tries?

Or has this played out over and over for him? Has he looked over like this time and time again, and every time it takes his breath away? Subjecting himself to this repeatedly, and every. single. time. he's hit with the most classic doomed romance line

(Im holding myself BACK from rambling yet again about how Actually Deranged it is for Wizard Viktor to be doing this but @avelera and I talk about him being a fucked up little guy so much that I need to consider just having a wizard Viktor tag lmaooo but for more Wizard Viktor rambling enjoy

Wizard Viktor doesn't care about saving the world, he's just making sure Jayce and himself are intertwined

How many times has Wizard Viktor had to watch this himbo yeet himself into Pretty Hippy Viktor's cult?

Me giggling and kicking my feet in the air over Wizard Viktor being a control freak egomaniac about Jayce )

[lovebugism]

could I request maybe shy!reader trying to play dnd with eddie but she's suuuuuuper nervous and confused and internally panicking about him not liking her anymore if she can't get into it?? Or if you wanna change it up please do!! love you!!

love you! hope you like it! — you get insecure about not liking d&d when a girl joins hellfire (shy!fem!r, hurt/comfort ish, established relationship, 1.4k)

The Hellfire room is void of the boyish bodies that usually fill it. The abandoned classroom, turned freak sanctuary, is now littered with pieces the rogues, clerics, and bards left behind — in half-empty soda cans and crumbled-up bags of potato chips.

While Eddie packs up his binder, filled to the brim with miscellaneous papers, you wander around the long table with a trashcan in hand. The wild-haired boy squints when you chuck Dustin’s crushed Pepsi in the bin. “You don’t have to do that, you know?”

“It’s okay,” you shrug. “I don’t mind.”

Eddie huffs through his nose, feeling too exhausted now to argue. He slides his binder into his bag and watches you rake Gareth’s chip crumbs into the trashcan. The urge to stop you becomes unignorable then. 

“Okay, well, you know what? I mind—” the boy retorts, striding the very short distance to you and snatching the bin from your grip. He smiles a crooked grin and continues in a fantastical accent. “—‘Cause the Dungeon Master’s queen shouldn’t have to clean up after a bunch of lowborns, alright?”

You roll your eyes with a subdued giggle. “Someone’s gotta do it, Eds,” you insist as you reach for the plastic container he took. You exhale sharply when he hides it further behind him, pulling it further out of your way. “I wanna be of some use around here!”

Eddie’s face twists. “Don’t say that.”

You cower beneath his stare. “Well… It’s not like I actually play or anything. I just kinda… sit around… And watch you guys do everything…”

“Well, why would you play?” he laughs. “You don’t even like D&D.”

Something in the way he says it makes you ache. You’ve always felt distantly horrible about it — failing to take interest in something he holds so close to his heart. Hearing him reiterate that fact twists the knife lodged in your chest.

“That doesn’t bother you?” you wonder, impossibly shy. “That I don’t play?”

Eddie shrugs and sits the bin down again. “Why would that bother me?” he scoffs.

“I don’t know… ‘Cause you like it. And it’s your favorite thing to do in the whole world.”

“Well… Maybe not my favorite thing,” he croons with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Your nose scrunches in disdain. His laughter fills the empty room as his ringed hands spread warm along your sides. “I just feel bad,” you confess, gaze averted to the scuffed tile beneath your feet. “You know, that I can’t get into or whatever.”

Eddie meets your subtle pout with an unbothered grin. “There’s nothing to feel bad about. People like different things, babe. That’s life,” he assures you, squeezing softly at your sides. “I mean, it’s no different than me hating The Smiths, right? I still let you play their cassettes in the van, and you still sit in on all my campaigns— and that, sweetheart, is the meaning of true love…”

Unswayed, you jerk softly back when he leans down to kiss you. You frown up at him with your arms crossed between your bodies. “But Rory loves D&D. And she’s super pretty…”

Aurora Edwards was the newest edition to the Hellfire gang. She goes by Rory for short, though, ‘cause she’s cool like that and everything. Her dyed blonde hair is as wild as Eddie’s, cut into a makeshift mullet that sits sort of shaggy on her head — intentionally messy in a way only she can pull off. 

She likes cool music and cool clothes and cool hobbies — because everything she does seems to have some sort of subverted flair to it. She’s smart and she’s nerdy and she’s beautiful. None of which seem fair. You’ve been stirring with feelings of inadequacy since you met her. 

And Eddie doesn’t seem to get any of it. His brows furrow at your words, like none of them have any sort of meaning to him.

“She’s way more your type than I am,” you blurt.

A laugh sputters from his plush mouth. “You think my love for you is contingent on some stupid game?” he chuckles.

The way he says it makes you shrink. You feel sort of stupid about it now. “I don’t know…”

“Well, then, I have done a very shit job of being your boyfriend.”

Your chest stings. “No, you haven’t, Eddie—”

“Mm,” he hums, half playful, as he tilts his pretty head to his shoulder. “I have, though. ‘Cause if you think some other girl liking Dungeons and Dragons is gonna make me love you any less, then I have done something horribly, horribly wrong.”

You bite back a smile at his words, pursing your lips to the side of your mouth until the beam becomes impossible to ignore.

“‘Cause you’re kinda stuck with me, turns out,” the boy continues. “Unfortunately for you.”

“Unfortunately?” you echo with a scoff.

“Yeah. ‘Cause if some other schmuck comes around who likes listening to The Smiths and sitting in the sunshine, he’s gonna have to go through me.”

You breathe sharply through your nose in place of a laugh. “I don’t want another guy, Eds…” you confess, going shy all over again.

His nose scrunches as he plays coy. “Even if he doesn’t smoke?” he wonders in a sheepish murmur.

“Even if he doesn’t smoke.”

“Good,” he beams, pulling you into him by your belt loops. His breath fans over your jaw in a minty-nicotine concoction as he ducks his face closer to yours. “‘Cause I don’t want anyone else, either, alright? Even if they are almost as good as me at D&D… Actually, it’s kinda a turn-off, now that I’m thinking about it…”

“Is it?”

“Yeah… ‘Cause, like, I love teaching you about it and everything.”

“Even when I have no idea what you’re talking about?”

“Especially when you have no idea what I’m talking about,” he laughs, smiling so hard his cheeks speckle pink. “‘Cause you know how much I like it, so… You let me talk all the shit I want.”

“’S just because you’re so pretty when you talk about things you like,” you confess.

His face twists. “Am I?”

“Well, you’re pretty all the time, but…”

“You flatter me,” he huffs and pulls you closer. He smirks and goes quieter when he says, “And flattery goes a long way with me.”

“Does it?” you hum with a sunshine-coated giggle.

Eddie doesn’t answer you with words. He just presses his lips to your mouth and hopes you get the gist. His tongue swipes against yours, soft and sudden, as he guides you towards the table. You run into a rogue chair before he can get you on top of it. It screeches against the linoleum tile. 

With his face in your hands, you giggle against his mouth. His denim-clad knee slips between your thighs.

The door squeaks softly open then. Rory enters, swift and unthinking. You and Eddie pull apart — one looking much more horrified than the other — as the blonde girl stands frozen in the doorway. Drowning in her sweatshirt and baggy jeans, she points a lanky finger towards the table.

“Sorry,” she apologizes, voice gritty and deep. “I just left my girlfriend’s jacket here, and she doesn’t know I stole it, so… She’d definitely kill me if I forgot it.”

“That’s okay. Come in,” Eddie shrugs with a tightlipped smile, nodding his head in a silent invitation. When Rory plucks the coat from the back of her chair, he says, “Tell Jess I said hi, yeah?”

The girl scoffs as she heads back towards the door again, leaving just as quickly as she came. “She still hates you, you know that, right?” she laughs. ‘Cause Jess was a cheerleader — pretty and sometimes kind, but dreadfully conservative. Her uptight nature often clashed with Eddie’s much more chaotic one. 

“Well, tell her to get in line,” Eddie chuckles.

Before Rory leaves the room, she glances at the two of you over her shoulder. She winks with an eye smudged with black liner. “Have fun, you two,” she croons in a pretty voice before shutting the door behind her.

You stand, still and silent in place, wringing your anxious hands into a knot. Feeling like a total idiot, you refuse to meet Eddie’s gaze. You know he’s got a smug look on his face. You can hear the smirk in his voice when he says, “See? Not my type at all.”

[shy-writer-999]

are there any character you think would get hot and bothered by a good spar with their s/o? how do you think think they’d act once they get worked up in that manner?

hmmmm... Zoro and Shanks are my answers right off the bat, but I could also imagine this with Ace, Kid, Smoker, and Law (if he felt like humoring someone enough to spar with them). I’ll sketch out some (nsfw) thoughts w/Zoro and Shanks—see below the cut! No anatomy mentioned, but for Shanks’s portion there are pet names, among them, princess. also thanks for putting this in my inbox it was such a treat to think about! (✿˘ω˘)˘ε˘˶ )

Zoro (✿˵ ꒡3꒡˵)

He’s amused that anyone thinks they’d be able to match his speed enough to spar

When you get into it though, he’s surprised because he underestimated you

He didn’t expect you to be as much of a challenge as you are, and your brains work in such different ways that your next move is often unpredictable, haki aside. You keep him on his toes

What starts getting him hot and bothered is seeing you work up a sweat. Your panting and heaving breaths remind him of how you sound in bed, and it starts to make his mind wander. He observes how lithely you parry, how gorgeous you are with a flush over your cheeks

You catch him off guard because his mind is elsewhere, and when he blocks your sword, your faces are inches away from each other

The intense and serious eye contact you hold with him when the sparring sessions get heated starts to get him really worked up

Zoro wants to finish the sparring session, but he wants to fuck you too—he does a mental balancing act about which of these should come first

He blocks one of your lunges so forcefully that your sword goes flying, and then he chucks his off to the side and basically pounces on you (you saw that coming a mile away); he’d want to make out and get handsy, then he’d pick you up and fuck you senseless

Zoro is partial to grunting and groaning out whatever comes to mind when he’s buried deep inside, along the lines of “it's so fuckin’ hot when you fight me," "you're so pretty when you're violent, I might just let you land a blow next time," and “I wanted to fuck you the whole time”, etc.

Shanks (´ ᴗ｀✿)

Shanks loooveeessss any chance he can get to spar with you

Seeing how good you are at it turns him on

He just loves someone who is good at what they do and who throws themselves into it passionately

When you spar, you’re both having a great time—you exchange banter, smiles, cheeky side-eyes, and some mild trash talking

Even with the banter, he’ll sweet talk you the whole time

His hair looks so good as he dodges and parries your advances. He’ll push his hair back from his face with one hand as he effortlessly dodges your blows

When you almost get him, he says something like “What, can’t you try any harder than that, angel?” or “almost had me that time, princess”

Shanks pays special attention to how your eyes flutter, how you’re perspiring, how your chest moves up and down with each breath—he admires your beauty and gets so distracted that you actually manage to pin him. Your sword is at his throat, and he breaks out into a grin. He'd say something like "you look even more gorgeous than usual holding a sword at my throat, baby" or "shit, sweetheart, be careful where you put that thing”

When you’re both tuckered out and sheathe your swords, he’ll pull you tight by your waist unexpectedly, or he’ll grab a handful of your ass as you walk away.

“Done already, sugar? Don’t you want to continue our session inside?”

He’ll pull you into sloppy kisses and when he’s feeling spicy, he’ll either carry you off to the shower or just fuck you right there on the spot. While his cock is in you, he'd call you sweet names and praise you. He'd be a fan of telling you that he's "never seen someone so gorgeous wield a sword" and that "you got me so worked up, it's only fair that I return the favor"

[revelboo]

You works are awesome, but i also wanna remind you not to overwork yourself! :) Have a nice day/night! ;3

Honestly, considering this blog is only 24 days old, it’s you guys I’m a bit worried about. Y’all good? Cause holy crow…

The Weakends Pt 5

TFP Ratchet x Reader- argument

• Putting a tool away, Ratchet glances over at the empty counter, the medbay quiet around him. Who’d have thought he’d miss your questions and companionable chatter? Need it to work. That silence drives home the fact that you’re avoiding him. Have been for days now and it’s worming under his plating, a disquiet that sparks through him, because you belong here. Your loss making him snap at everyone, because it’d be one thing if you were just skulking about the base, but no. Since you got upset with him, you’ve kept far away. Sulking like a sparkling.

• Setting the little trowel aside, you drag one of the mums you’d bought closer and wiggle it free of its little plastic pot. It’s warmer today, sweat slicking your skin as you work. Really, you’re just keeping busy. Trying to distract yourself, because you’re so frustrated you want to scream. Mostly at a certain white and red moron. And yourself. You know you’re both too proud to bend now. Neither one of you willing to back down no matter how silly the argument actually was. Even if staying away feels like you’re punishing yourself more than him.

• The sound of gravel popping under tires lifts your head and you squint in the sun. Bumblebee and the kids back again to pester you into coming in? Lips pressing into a thin line when you spot the ambulance, you yank off your gloves. Surely, he isn’t going to actually apologize? Blowing out a breath, you stand and stretch the kinks out of your back. Your little house is far enough from town and the main road that Ratchet can transform without worrying about being spotted and he does, walking the rest of the way over with a scowl like he tastes something foul. Cocking a hip, you cross your arms and wait for the apology. “Well, you’re not dead or dying,” he growls, optics narrowing at you.

• “Yeah, doing great,” you say, tone tight with anger as your fingers dig into your upper arms. “So, I don’t need a medic.” The ‘I don’t need you’ coming across loud and clear. That open hostility in your stare ramping up his own irritation that you’re so petty you’d made him drive all the way out to retrieve you. And you turn your back to him, bending to roughly seize a potted plant. Ignoring him. After he came to get you? His servos close around your middle, hearing your startled gasp as he lifts you. And then you whip around, chucking that plant at his head. It bounces off, scattering dirt all over him as you glare at each other. “Put me down. Right now.”

• Your heart’s racing, the adrenaline souring inside you as you realize you just hit him with a mum. And he’s not just going to let that slide. His optics shutter, jaw clenching as he vents angrily and you tense for the yelling. The fury. Instead, one of his servos slides over your torso as he adjusts his grip. That servo settling against your breast where your frantic heart is pounding away. Grabbing that servo, you mean to shove at it, but just hold on. Slowly his venting evens out.

• He can feel your heart thumping against his servo, frantic with fear. Of him. He can’t move, snared by that rhythm, knowing he’s causing it. As he remains still, that too quick beat slows. Calming. Your little hands shift on his servo. “There’s work to do. I need my assistant,” he says. Can’t make himself apologize, but isn’t leaving without you either, even if he has to just take you. You’re coming home. And you whisper okay so low he almost misses it, that tension winding through him just unraveling.

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