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aceviscontiswife · 21 days ago

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Las Plagas || Leon Kennedy

Well, after what seems like an eternity I have returned. As an apology I present Leon Kennedy wrapped in Halloween-themed wrapping paper with a bow slapped on his head. Enjoy.

—You and Leon are partners, both assigned with rescuing the president’s daughter. Though, after getting infected with the local town’s religious plague, you started having some… odd side effects. And ever the loyal partner, Leon helps sort you out.

Warnings: You’re drugged and y’all have sex, consent is iffy. Fucking against an elevator, quickie (you are trying to save the presidents daughter no time for foreplay)

————MDNI————

You woke up dazed and confused. Never a good state to wake up in, especially when you were on the most important mission of your life: rescuing the president’s daughter. The last thing you remember was getting cornered a large, priest-type man who had knocked you unconcious in mere seconds.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, taking a minute to collect your bearings before something, or rather, someone enters your mind.

Leon.

Your partner: a strong, task-driven, attractive man who’s had your eye ever since you met shortly after the Raccoon City incident. He had been knocked out first, putting himself between you and the man and taking a hit that would’ve put you out of commission for weeks.

Looking around the dimly lit, putrid room you try to spot Leon. He had to be around… Leon wasn’t the type to leave others behind, and the priest surely would have taken both you and Leon, right?

It’s when you hear a loud crash from the room beside you that you make an attempt to stand up fully. Your weapons were gone, along with the jacket you had been wearing upon your arrival to the village. With no way of defending yourself, you take a wobbly step towards the next room over. Your hand resting on the rusted knob, you’re just about to open the heavy, creaky door when it all but slams open and almost knocks you off balance, had it not been for the hand that quickly wrapped itself around your forearm and kept you grounded.

“Y/n?”

You immediately recognize the voice as Leon’s, and through your still blurry vision you could make out the familiar features of your partner. Silky, shiny blonde hair, those piercing blue eyes… It was Leon, alright. His hand remains wrapped around my forearm, his grip softening as he takes in your disheveled appearance.

“Are you alright? Did anything happen to you?” He asks quickly, looking you over for any obvious injuries. There was a deep, purple bruise on your cheek, but besides that and a few cuts littering your face and arms you were okay. A weak nod confirms his guess, and almost instinctively Leon wraps his arm around your waist to keep you upright. Your cheeks burn red, and though you kept telling yourself the contact was merely one partner helping another, you couldn’t help but want his arm to remain around you forever.

Weird, you thought. You’d never thought about Leon like this. Yes, he was attractive, but these feelings were new. Maybe you were just loopy… Yeah, that’s it.

“If you need to stop, tell me. I can let Hunnigan know what’s going on.” Leon offers, reaching for his comms. “No, I… I’m alright. If we don’t get moving then who knows what’ll happen to Ashley.” Leon sighs in defeat, nodding and helping you along as the pair of you find an escape to the temporary prison you’d been locked in.

A few hours had passed. You should have felt better by now, but if anything, you felt worse. You were hot, dripping with sweat and your body was tingling nonstop. Something was wrong, seriously wrong, but the last thing you wanted to do was tell Leon. He was driven to rescue Ashley, either because he wanted her safe or because he wanted the hell out of this godforsaken village. Probably both. You were sure Leon would notice something was up with you eventually. You could barely walk. You wanted Leon to hold you again; his strong, muscular arm wrapped around your waist… God, what was going on with you?! Now was not the time to feel so… aroused, and you weren’t even sure why you were in the first place.

There was a growing knot in your abdomen, you couldn’t even spare a glance at Leon, for looking at him nearly made your knees buckle. This was extremely unprofessional, and if it didn’t stop soon then you would have to tell Leon. What would his reaction even be?

A quiet whimper escapes your lips, and unfortunately for you Leon had heard. He whips around, his expression contorting into one of confusion. “You’re sure you’re alright, Y/n?” Leon takes a step towards you, extending an arm out in case you needed something to brace yourself on. You’re quick to nod, forcing the words from your throat as you respond. “Y-Yeah, I’m good.” You say rather quickly, fighting back another, needier, whimper. You could tell Leon didn’t buy your response, but he didn’t respond. He was focused on getting to the lake and even closer to rescuing Ashley. You would be too, if your body wasn’t betraying you like this.

“There,” Leon calls out, pointing to a dimly lit, shabby looking lift in the corner of the dusty building you had stumbled upon. “That should take us… somewhere.” With a shrug of his shoulders, Leon enters the lift, waiting for you to stumble your way on. “Okay, what is up with you?” Leon finally asks, the lift doors closing and jolting lightly before ever-so-slowly lowering.

You knew there was no point in lying to Leon, but at the same time you weren’t quite sure *what* to tell him. “I…” You trail off, balancing yourself up against the wall of the lift, your knees threatening to give out underneath you. You bite down on your lip, glancing up at Leon for the first time in hours. A simple, small look was all it took for you to groan quietly. “I’m just… sore.” You lie, using the attack from the large, rather aggressive priest from earlier as your excuse. Leon huffs, stepping forward and placing his hand on your shoulder. You nearly passed out from the tingling, hot sensation his contact sent through you.

“Be straight with me, y/n. If you’re hurt, tell me—” A sudden and very loud groan interrupts Leon, the elevator coming to a harsh stop. Both you and Leon stumble forward, Leon’s grip on your shoulder tightening in an attempt to steady the both of you. He curses, readying his pistol and letting go of your shoulder as he checks for any hostiles. “Shit… I think the elevator broke down.” Your heart drops at his words—You were stuck in an elevator with Leon, so unbearably aroused and wanting nothing more than to find some sort of relief.

Leon turns to you, running a hand through his hair and sighing heavily. He was silent, his brows furrowing as he tries to think of a solution. Neither you nor Leon knew much about elevators, and you didn’t think you could come up with anything even if you tried. You glance down at your thighs, which were tightly pressed together in an attempt to control the growing heat in your core. A shiver rolls down your spine, and as the seconds passed by you grew dizzy—so aroused you might pass out.

“Talk to me.” Leon says suddenly, catching you staring down at yourself. “We’re stuck until we can figure something out, so talk to me. What’s wrong?” You knew you had no choice but to tell Leon the truth. He would see through every lie you told him, and you were this close to juming on him and devouring every piece of him. “Leon…” You whine, your cheeks flushing red from embarrassment as a needy whimper follows his name.

Leon was putting the pieces together. The whines, moans, the way you kept pressing your legs together and avoiding his gaze at all cost… Leon knew. He also knew how wrong of a time this was, and he knew you were aware of that as well. So for you to be this bad off…

“Are you.. aro—“

“Yes, Leon!” You interrupt, whatever patience you had left finally dying off as you force yourself to meet his gaze. “I-I don’t know why, or how, but I am! And if I don’t get some form of release soon I swear I will drop dead right here in this elevator!” Leon was caught off guard by your sudden outburst, but he couldn’t ignore the pit of arousal brewing within him as he eyes you up and down, his gaze lingering on certain spots that had you wanting to drop to your knees then and there. God, you would do anything for that man right now.

“Well,” Leon starts, beginning to undo the straps of his gear and belt as he walks towards you. “Guess I better help you out then, yeah?” Your ears must have been playing tricks on you. Its was only when Leon’s gloved hand cups your cheek does it click that this is really happening. You expected him to be disgusted, for the rest of this mission to be the most awkward thing you’ve had to endure.

“You with me, sweetheart?”

You nod weakly, swallowing as a shiver runs down your spine at the petname. This was a moment you had dreamed about so many times, but for it to be real was something you don’t think you would ever get used to. Leon chuckles at your flustered expression before pressing his lips to yours in an unexpected kiss.

Your knees buckle, and Leon’s free hand grasps you by the waist to keep you standing. “There’ll be another time to get on your knees for me, Y/n, right now this about you.” Leon says inbetween heated kisses, his tongue shoving its way into your mouth without any resistance from you whatsoever. You were absolute putty in this man’s hands, his to do whatever he wanted with. But, if things didn’t start speeding up soon you would go insane.

“Leon..” You whimper out, your hips involuntarily bucking against his, your body desperate for some kind of friction. Leon was quick to pick up on what you wanted, not even replying as the hand cupping your cheek slides its way down your body and to your pants. He undoes your belt with ease, tossing it aside with his own belt and gear. He didn’t bother to take off your shirt as he unzips your pants and slides them down to your ankles.

“Damn, you’re soaked.” Leon bites back a groan as he takes in the sight of your soaked panties, eyes glazed over with lust as his index and middle finger slide across your clothed folds, a needy moan escaping your lips at the contact. This only fueled Leon, who practically ripped off his own pants in a desire to fuck you all the quicker. The tent in his boxers was hard to miss, and had you closing your mouth so you didn’t drool all over the elevator floor at the sight.

“Just gotta fuck you baby, no time to go slow. I’ll make up for it later.” You only nod at his words, seconds away from pushing him to the ground and taking what you want yourself. Leon takes off his boxers, his painfully hard cock springing out. Leon gives his shaft a few pumps, groaning as pre-cum leaks from his tip and drips down a vein on the side of his cock that you so desperately wanted to trace with your tongue.

Leon doesn’t bother to take off your panties, simply pulling them aside so he could line himself up with your entrance and shove himself inside without warning. You gasp, back arching off of the cold elevator wall as your walls spasm around his dick. Your body was so desperate for attention that it didn’t take very long to adjust to Leon’s length, though you were sure you would’ve needed quite a bit of prep beforehand if you weren’t currently drugged with some mysterious aphrodisiac.

“Fuck, Y/n.” Leon gasps out, thrusts increasing in speed as he eases that near-insatiable hunger inside of your core. It was as if you were contagious, your arousal spreading to him as he ruts into you at a speed that had you clawing at his back and screaming his name. His name was all you were able to say, any sense of being completely fucked out of you.

That all familiar knot begins to form in your stomach as Leon ruthlessly fucks you, and though you try to warn him all you can get out is a strained moan of his name. Leon could feel you tightening around him though, and wanted nothing more than to bring you to that orgasm you needed so badly.

“Do it, baby. Cum around my cock.” Leon’s voice had lowered an octave, his breath hot against your ear as he tried to reach his own peak. You both knew there wasn’t enough time to ease into anything, so this would have to be quick.

And thankfully, as your orgasm suddenly comes crashing into you, it would be. Your nails dig into Leon’s back, hips bucking up into his as your walls tighten and spasm around Leon’s cock. It was enough to push him over the edge, and Leon bit down on his lip to contain his moans as he came inside of you. His hot, full load seeps out of you, pooling around the base of Leon’s cock as he leans his head on your shoulder and catches his breath.

It was then that the elevator began to jerk and shake, before finally beginning to move once more. Leon chuckles, pulling out of you and watching his spend drip from your pussy for a moment before beginning your gather your clothes.

“Well, that was an interesting way to fix an elevator.”

————

Is it rushed? Yes. Do I wish I could have made it longer? Also yes. But my brain is small and words make my head hurt. I hope you all enjoy your “I’m sorry I abandoned you” present!! ❤️ Don’t feel afraid to request something! I’m not gonna judge who you want smut (or any kind of work) for, I mean I literally have a girly-girl crush on Ace Visconti… I can’t say anything.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy resident evil #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy re4 #resident evil #resident evil 4 #resident evil smut #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy smut

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satoruhour · 1 year ago

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reader x toji where they hav an argument nd the reader dresses slutty and suddenly has plans at the club w her friends. but toji doesnt like that 🫣

a/n: IM HERE . IM HERE SORRY IVE BEEN RB-ING SO MANY THINGS !!!! but i promise im writing hahahaha. but also i dont owe anyone an explanation! enjoy anon!

wc: 1.4k

warnings: toji picks ur lock w/ a bobby pin lol, reader is a little mean LMFAO but #valid, dom!toji, pussy drunk tojiiiii, implied overstimulation, oral / cunnilingus (from the back + face-sitting + lying on ur back), exhibitionism? (reader is on call with her friends but her girls don’t know she’s getting eaten out!), implied unprotected p -> v sex @ the end, implied creampie / breeding kink, n*sfw under the cut

“yeah— but you didn’t have to say it like that!” you huffed out at your boyfriend, or so you thought, because you probably had read too much into this relationship, heart tearing apart when toji simply said he was with his woman, with benefits while on the phone with shiu.

you tsked when toji opened his mouth to explain, a distraught expression on his face that implied it was a slip of his mouth but even then you were relentless about the simple slip-up that meant a lot to you. it wasn’t often that toji had anything but an indifferent expression on him and you’d relish in his panicking face with a smug grin if it wasn’t for your rage.

“stupid fucker — still thinkin’ i’m just some bitch he fucks like he doesn’t whine for me in his sleep,” you grumble to yourself mindlessly later, phone blowing up from the messages from your friends while you scour through various outfits that slowly flood your bed.

No way he said that!!!! Wtf???? Who does he think he is?

let’s bring u out tonight babe. wear sum cute

yeah!!. Let’s get ur mind off of that lame fella . he still kinda hot tho…

it’s messy and there’s a continuous clash of colour with each skirt or top you pull out and you groan in annoyance, so you take a shower — and it’s not all that better either, mulling over that dreaded sentence while lathering yourself up, while washing it off, getting dressed. it pisses you off so much that a man’s words can affect you so much, but that’s the price you pay when it comes to toji.

the toji who gives you a crushed, bloody bouquet after coming back from one of his dangerous missions, the toji who grumbles while he pushes the last nugget in the mcdonald’s box toward you despite loving it, the toji who likes to feel your body against his because he’s said that the mere sensation of you pressed up against him is enough to make him cum.

you scoff when you hear a knock on the door, in the midst of pulling an extremely short skirt up your hips with your ass basically peeking out from under it, paying it no mind before securing a tube around your bust.

“shut the fuck up!” you bark back when toji knocks again and there’s silence altogether, rolling your eyes when there’s a dramatic sigh from behind the wooden door and your feet naturally has you swerving away from the bed to open up the door, if not for the call from your girls that come in. the ringtone echoes throughout the room, distracting you from the professional work being done by toji with one of your bobby pins.

with phone on the bed, it’s led to your ass being propped up while you’re on your hands, butt facing the door with a full on display of your miniskirt and the very lacey underwear toji’s gotten for you for your anniversary. it was a petty move, you know — everything felt right when you pulled the material over your legs after your shower, not expecting yourself to pick up such a revealing bottom.

but now you know everything definitely felt right when those panties pooled at one of your ankles that hang off the bed while you’re trying not to whimper into the call with your girls who’s just so excited to see you. it’s a wonder they haven’t already heard the sloppy noises of toji eating it from the back, hands gripping onto your ass cheeks so hard they form bruises and you don’t have it in you to give a fuck when the other licks a hot, long stripe up your folds.

“left the house already, hon?” one of your friends ask and you’re gripping so tightly onto the phone that it hurts a little, not missing the way toji mumbles out that your pussy tastes as sweet as ever.

“uh— ah! n-not yet!” you squeal when toji smiles into your cunt and you absolutely hate how your hips shimmy toward him instinctively when your boyfriend pulls on your thighs to bring you closer, “i’ll leave soon, o-okay— mm—”

“babe?”

“okay bye!” you panic and press the large red button, hanging up immediately before your moans increase in volume immediately and your head dips into the bedsheets. the man eats pussy like a starved man, slobbering over your pussy while his nose just takes in your scent and arousal — something that’s gotten him hooked since day one. your leaking hole, your sensitive clit, your twitching thighs. god, toji loved every part of you and he was determined to fuck you better than a friend with benefits.

“’m sorry baby, mmfhh—” toji grunts into your core, “any chance ya could forgive your old man?”

the hold on your pride was getting looser and looser while your hands only clutch the sheets tighter and tighter, whimpers turning into a borderline scream when the man manoeuvres himself under you and yanks you down onto his face. your arms support your limp body instantly, hips moving with their own mind as you grind into toji’s tongue with breathless pants, rolling your pelvis over him and he groans at the feeling. toji doesn’t care that your miniskirt is in the way, eyes peeking out from the fabric and flitting over to you and your breath hitches cause you know he’s serious in earning back your forgiveness.

“not when— haah… you’re still saying i’m just some— w-whore you fuck.” you’re still a little bitter, but toji below you is enough to make you clench around nothing, high already approaching when he switches between sucking and nibbling and flicking his tongue at your bundle of nerves.

“slip of the tongue, i promise, doll,” he talks into your drooling pussy, the vibrations sending chills up your body, hands flying to his hair to grab onto toji’s hair and pulling, “you’re my cute lil girlfriend, aren’t ya?” you hate how easily you nod your head, “mine to fuck, and mine to eat out, yeah?”

that sentence alone has you needing to lock eyes with toji just for a moment to see his lips curl up slyly, bottom half of his face soaked with your juices that your stomach contracts a little at the sight, a weak whimper leaving your lips.

“yeah…” you mumble out breathlessly and that’s all it takes for toji to go back to eating, quickly bringing that burning coil in your tummy again while slurping up your arousal. the room feels so hot and you’re sure you’re sweating through your outfit that you so carefully picked out that you’re peeling it off your body. your lover only wraps his larger arms around your thighs when he sees that your pretty tits are out, intoxicated on the thin layer of sweat lining your body and the curve of your upper body.

“toji, toji, toji—” you’re chanting his name like it’s a mantra, dizzy from the constant abuse toji does to your clit, pleasure shooting through your body when he moans around your cunt and you’re cumming with a moan of his name, thighs shivering around his head that he only laughs, humming into your core while you soak his sheets and skin. you’re just about prepared to get fucked when you catch a glimpse of toji’s hand palming his bulge, but that isn’t what toji has in mind when he changes positions again.

“taste s’good, baby,” toji groans, pulling apart your thighs that close from the sensitivity, “let me eat ya out until i’m forgiven.”

and all he can do is stick to his words whenever after each orgasm he pulls from you, you’re shaking your head like you’re saying you aren’t forgiven and he figures out your game soon enough, but whatever his girlfriend says, it goes. it’s just like that for toji who worships every part of you, a mistake rewarded well later when he taps his fat, leaking tip on your cunt and slips in easily from how many times he’s made you cum, reaching nirvana just from hearing your still-loud mewls leaving your worn-out body.

it’ll be something that will be burnt into his brain, forever, but toji doesn’t have time to think about that for now, so he just fucks you like he thinks a sorry man should fuck — deep into your cunt with the promise of being better and the need of giving you everything you ask for, even if it’s something as simple of wanting his cum in you.

whatever his princess wants, his princess gets.

i cannot go a day without mentioning breeding omfg im actually deranged

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nayatarot777 · 10 months ago

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a love letter from you to you 💓

i’d appreciate if you check out my patreon! thank you sm for taking the time to take interest in my readings ☺️💓

• pile one •

‘you’re so intelligent. so focused and direct with how you manage your life. the way that you perceive the world is clear-sighted and knowledgable. some people may say that you’re ‘too cold’ or ‘too cutthroat’ but i believe that they just don’t see the value of your mind. of your insight and the ability to curate foresight. i admire how you can always see how somethings going to work out. or how something’s going to end based on probabilities and information that you’ve collected about said thing or person. i admire how you use your voice and your mind as a weapon that others don’t want to mess with. and i love how you have a strong sense of morality that you stick to. i feel pride whenever you speak up for the sake of implementing justice. whenever you defend yourself or another. it takes a certain type of brave person to do that, and there doesn’t seem to be many around you. to stand on your own for the sake of honouring your sense of right or wrong is an extremely strong thing to do. you’re not a follower like the rest. you’re not someone who prioritises fitting into a group of people in society who most of the time don’t even like nor respect themselves. you’ll always be seen as a threat because of this, but it’s one of my favourite aspects about your personality. your mind is a unique one.’

• pile two •

‘my favourite things about you are your boundaries. it shows that you care for yourself. you respect yourself and your limits. you’re aware of what you can and can’t take and ensure to protect yourself from breaking point. you’ve had to constantly defend yourself from people who turned on you. from people who acted like they had your back. but once they showed their true face, you had no problem with putting up barriers between you and them. you don’t fuck around with yourself. i love it. as well as your determination to do whatever you feel like you need to do to protect yourself despite everyone else’s opinions that may disagree with what you do. i love how you’re your own priority. you don’t wait on anyone else to prioritise you for you. you’re your own defender. your own protector. and once you decide to slam those boundaries in place, you don’t budge from them. you’re a person of your word. you keep promises to yourself. loyalty to yourself. and i respect that.’

• pile three •

‘you’re always balancing the scales. keeping the score and making sure that both positive and negative karma comes to those who deserve either. some people think that you’re being pretentious, because they don’t know what it’s like to have a strong sense of justice. a strong understanding of what’s right and wrong to do to another human being. a lot of these people do understand - but they don’t care. i find it so funny when they miraculously start caring once they come across you though. you’re literally walking karma. you speak nothing but the truth - unbiased and fair towards people. regardless of how people get triggered by this. you’re a peacemaker at heart, and you just want to make sure that energies in your life stay in balance. you have such a balanced mind yourself. the way that you can view someone who you might not be so fond of in the most accurate way possible. no biases. if someone deserves props, you’ll give it to them - regardless of how you feel about them personally. and the same applies to when people need to be held accountable for their bullshit. you’re genuine. not controlled by your ego but in control of your ego instead. you’re too mature for a lot of people around you, but that’s not your problem. you always do what you feel is right. and in a world like this, i admire your persistence at this.’

#pick a card #psychic readings #pac #tarot reading #pick a photo #tarot #pac reading #pick a picture #pick a pile

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these-written-reveries · 3 months ago

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Dissimulate My Love

‣ Pairing: Touya Todoroki (Dabi) x GN!Reader

‣ Summary: Touya is in love with you. Despite his best attempts to keep his feelings hidden, Toga has caught on. She insists she is an expert on the subject of love and decides to help him, one way or another...

‣ Genre: Fluff

‣ Warnings: none

‣ Word Count: 1,949

‣ A/N: I wrote this on a whim tonight! I'm thinking this story is in need of a part two, what do you think? 🤔🤭

Main Masterlist

The incessant chatter of the league members quickly turned into muffled background noise as Touya zoned out. He stared down at a random spot in front of where he sat at the end of the bar, his chin propped up on his palm with his elbow resting on the bartop. He had grown bored of hearing everyone debating what to do about the newest problem on their agenda. Tensions were beginning to rise over the subject at hand as they individually tried to convince their boss to go with their idea, all the while bickering back and forth with one another. It was entertaining at first, but Touya quickly found his thoughts being drawn to something else. Or rather, someone else.

You weren’t at the meeting with everyone else. At first, this concerned Touya, until he heard from Shigaraki that he had sent you off on a brief mission to collect information that would help them determine what to do about their current predicament. This only relaxed his nerves a little bit. He wished Shigaraki had sent him off with you as backup. He understood that the point of the mission was to be undetected in more of a public setting—which was definitely not his strong suit, due to his struggle to blend in with any “normal” backdrop—but the thought of you getting hurt without him around to protect you…

It scared him.

But he would never let you or anyone know that. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to think that he was soft.

He was. Big time. For you.

Unfortunately, Toga seemed to be onto him lately. How did he know?

She kept sending him teasing smiles and winks from across the room whenever you and him were interacting. On top of that, she wouldn’t stop giggling at the two of you and bringing you up at the most random of times—often when you were around to hear. He even overheard her bringing him up to you a few times.

“Isn’t Y/N looking extra pretty today?”

“Oh, Y/N! You should sit next to Dabi! He looks lonely over there, doesn’t he?”

“Dabi, Y/N said they’re cold. Just so you know…Well? Aren’t you gonna do something about it?”

Whether she was trying to play the role of “matchmaker”, or she simply got a kick out of embarrassing the hell out of him, he wasn’t quite sure yet. Either way, he was so close to teaching that brat a lesson of “minding her damn business”.

Admittedly, he did enjoy seeing you get flustered every time she put either of you on the spot. The way you shifted uncomfortably, barely able to bring your eyes to meet his as you looked everywhere else but him, the way you chewed at your lower lip and fiddled with whatever was in your hands. Normally, you were so composed, even intimidating, when you wanted to be. But in moments like those, he really loved to see that mask drop as you squirmed under his gaze.

God, you were too fucking cute.

“What are you smilin’ about?”

Touya was snapped out of his thoughts by a familiar voice. A frown quickly overtook his features as he sighed exasperatedly.

“You don’t have to answer that. I already know,” Toga said, smirking teasingly as she positioned her forearms on the opposite end of the bartop.

Touya almost growled at her. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but it better stop, brat.”

Toga’s face morphed into an innocent expression, though a devilish gleam remained in her eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! I’m just trying to help, is all.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Well, I don’t need your help.”

“I think you do. It’s pretty obvious. Well, actually, I’m the only one who’s caught on so far, but that could change…”

Touya’s jaw clenched at the sound of her subtle threat. He let out an irritated breath through his nose, nostrils flaring as the two of them partook in a silent staring contest until he finally spoke.

“What the fuck do you want?”

She giggled. “I just wanna see true love thrive! It’s rare to find on our side of the world, ya know?”

“Pass.”

“Hm…Wrong answer.”

“What the hell makes you think I’m in love?” he said under his breath, leaning in slightly as he spoke. He glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone was listening in on them.

Everyone was still debating and deliberating. Shigaraki was scratching at his neck as he pulled out his handheld game console, trying to tune everyone out. He had clearly given up on trying to shut everyone up. Thankfully, this worked in Touya’s favor.

“I don’t think, Dabi. I know,” Toga answered seriously.

Touya scoffed, rolling his eyes. “What? Are you an expert or something?”

She looked slightly offended for a moment, putting a hand to her chest dramatically as she spoke. “I have been in love more times than you ever will be, Dabi. I know love when I see it.”

Damn. Why did that sting a bit?

“It doesn’t matter. Even if I was, I’m not the relationship type. Not that they’d even want anything to do with me, anyway.”

Touya raised two fingers at Kurogiri, who was pouring a glass for himself behind the bar. Kurogiri nodded at him, taking the glass that Touya slid his way and filling the glass with his usual before sliding it back to him. Touya gave him a nod of appreciation as he took it and brought it to his lips.

If he was going to continue this conversation, he needed a drink.

“Are you kidding me?! Have you seen the way they look at you?! They are obsessed with you!” Toga argued.

He rolled his eyes again, taking another generous sip of his drink.

“Like I said, not the relationship type.”

“Oh, come onnn! You’re just gonna let love pass you by like that? What’s wrong with you?”

A self-deprecating chuckle fell from his lips. “Lots’a things. Nothin’ I wanna burden someone like them with.”

Toga groaned. “But you haven’t even asked them! Maybe they’d be cool with all your…things. That’s what love is all about!”

“Can we end this conversation, already?”

He watched as her eyes narrowed at him.

“Not if you want to keep your little crush a secret.”

Touya felt a growl brewing in the back of his throat, about to throw out his own devious threat until he was interrupted by the sound of someone calling your name.

“Y/N! You’re back!”

He turned around in his seat, feeling his heart rate increase at the sight of you.

“Chill the fuck out,” he told his heart, suddenly finding it hard to breathe properly.

He downed the rest of his drink as his eyes followed you all the way to Shigaraki, where you handed him a thin manilla folder. You were wearing a normal “civilian” looking outfit. Your hair was styled slightly differently than usual.

You looked hot. Or beautiful, or whatever. Touya never really could describe you properly. He wasn’t the best with words. All he knew was that the way you looked in that moment made his stomach do flips and his temperature grow hotter. His hands were starting to sweat as your eyes scanned the room, eventually landing on him.

Oh, shit. You were walking straight towards him.

Touya made sure to disguise his internal chaos, keeping up his usual stoic, aloof mask as you took the seat beside him.

Fuck, you smelled so good.

You smiled as you met his eyes. “Hey, Dabi.”

He cleared his throat. “Hey.”

A brief moment after, he asked, “How’d the mission go?”

“Good! Almost got caught at one point, but I managed to get out unscathed!” you explained.

His heart clenched at the thought. “Should’a brought me. I’m good for backup.”

“I asked Shigaraki, actually. He said no.”

That stupid crusty fuck.

You must have noticed a slight crack in his detached façade, because you were quick to speak again.

“But I can handle myself! I’m fine. That’s all that matters, right?”

He grunted in response, sending a sharp glare Shigaraki’s way, who caught his eyes and narrowed his own in return. Scoffing, he looked away, his attention landing on you again.

“Next time, tell me first.”

A small smirk grew on your face. “Are you worried about me, Dabi?”

“Shut up,” he snapped, with no real harshness to his tone. “Just stupid to go on your own, is all.”

“You don’t think I can handle myself?” you probed, looking at him, offended.

“Course’ you can. That’s not what I mean-”

“That’s what it sounds like to me,” you interrupted.

“It’s not-”

He stopped. Your inability to hide your little snicker tipped him off to your antics.

You were fucking with him. Somehow, you managed to get stoic, aloof Dabi semi-visibly worked up.

What the hell was he going to do with you?

“You’re such a little brat, you know that? You’re worse than Toga,” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips as he looked at you, unable to disguise the fondness in his tone as said it.

You burst into a fit of giggles, and he couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle himself as he admired the scene before him. The way your eyes crinkled around the edges as you laughed, your perfect smile, the precious sound of your laughter filling his ears and soothing his burned and battered soul.

A girly giggle from further down the bar pulled him out of his trance. His eyes followed the sound, only to find Toga a few feet away, leaning against the bartop with her face resting in her palms and a dreamy smile on her face as she stared at the two of you.

Touya quickly shut down his smile, covering up his feelings that had managed to peek through. When he looked back to you, you were still smiling at him, your eyes soft as your laughter settled. You opened your mouth to speak, but Shigaraki beat you to it.

“Pay attention! I have a plan.”

Sighing, Touya only partially listened as he kept his eyes on you while you weren’t looking. His heart was still racing and his hands were still clammy, but he was now filled with an almost foreign sense of happiness that he’d rarely ever felt before, except with you. You made him feel…good.

Maybe Toga was right. Maybe this was love that he was feeling?

Even admitting it to himself made him feel sick. Dabi didn’t love.

But Touya did.

He nearly jumped when he heard a “psst” coming from behind him. He looked back to find Toga, again. This time, she was hunched behind him, reminding him of a little angel, or devil, on his shoulder as she whispered to him.

“You sure you don’t want my help?”

This time, Touya considered it. He didn’t have much of a choice. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that if he declined her offer to help, he would walk into a league meeting the next day to find everyone giving him teasing looks and relentlessly making fun of him. Even worse, you’d find out through the twisted tongues of others how he felt about you.

No. If you were going to find out about his feelings for you, it’d be from him.

You probably wouldn't find out anyway, so long as he could figure out some way to get Toga to back off and keep her trap shut. All he needed was some time.

Stealing one last glance at you, he sighed.

“Fine.”

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#dabi #touya todoroki #todoroki touya #dabi x reader #touya todoroki x reader #todoroki touya x reader #dabi fanfiction #touya todoroki fanfiction #dabi fluff #touya todoroki fluff #dabi imagine #my hero academia #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #kalistawrites

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jolalibrary · 1 year ago

Text

x. oh, just to be with you

javier peña x f!reader | chapter ten of late night texts

summary: It's the year 2000. Javi is minding his own business on the porch of his pop's ranch when a text from an unknown number vibrates his phone. The only problem is, no one knows he has a phone and no one has his number.

chapter warnings: we're back to texts and phone calls. sorrowful!javi, two idiots pining for one another. fluff. flirting. continuous romcom vibes. falling in love. idiots in love. pls don't be mad at me ✨ wordcount: 3k.

text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi

He's aware of everything.

How the porch creaks when he steps on it, the way the back door doesn’t quite meet the frame unless it’s locked. How the wind is knocking something else, far across the tall grass and fence posts.

Right now, his focus is on how his curtains don’t quite close. That they're letting the thinnest crack of moonlight cascade through his room. How the smallest luminescent slither keeps dancing in the breeze, yet it still lands perfectly on the propped-up photo strip on his dresser, highlighting the two of you, as though he hadn't committed them to memory.

He can’t remember the last time someone had managed to slide around his walls—bypass his common sense and begin weaving themselves into him. Javi also can't remember the last time he wanted something more than a win.

Then came you.

Not that he complains that you're the exception. He'll never complain when it comes to you.

Having people close has never been his issue. It’s letting himself fall that he’s forever found hard. He can be a lover who makes a night all about the other; he can be a protector, shielding and doing what is needed.

It’s the parts after when he feels he clams up. A portion of him constantly weighing up risks, calculating the damage he could cause—either by a choice he could make or others—long before the city that housed Escobar.

Javi knew his reluctance had stemmed from before he left Laredo, but it was now carved somewhere deeper in him. Something you managed to find with relative ease and cut out of him as if it was nothing.

All smiles. All radiance and fucking beauty, with a laugh that could make his lips curl even if his bones are aching and his muscles are tired.

If he closes his eyes, he can almost convince himself that he’s back there, in the hotel room. Because even if you’d never been here, your room is full of him.

His bag of spilt-out clothes from your time together, slowly letting the scent of your perfume seep out across the room. Your jacket, hung on the closet handle, and the photos and sign you made on his dresser, all perfectly in sight.

you have nice handwriting I did try my best, sometimes I get lazy and letters blur together more. I like how you wrote baby Does this mean I’ve got the whole set now? Cause you like how I say it, how I write it, how I mouth it.

Even when he had known you’d needed to get some sleep, Javi had desperately wanted to beg you to stay up. Sending back a text here or there, already missing you so much more than he was sure he could handle.

He felt lovesick. Like the singer in all those songs that make people either stare at a loved one or bite back tears because they lost theirs. Suddenly relating to a sea of them he’s heard on the radio in the kitchen or hummed in the back of his pop’s throat.

Javi had been happy to see his pops, somewhat surprised he even came out of the house to greet him. But, as soon as his eyes landed on him, he became suddenly more aware of his old man’s age. Noticing the lines on his face, the ones that tell a thousand stories—not all of them he’s sure he’s heard. Curling into the hug he’d barely reciprocated before, unsure how to form the words to thank him for convincing him to go.

Naturally, he asks about you.

It’s more of an interrogation if he’s honest. He shows the photos, the ones now on his dresser, watching his pop smile as he continues to answer the array of questions, until he yawns for the tenth time in the space of five minutes.

“You should get some sleep, Pop.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead, Javi. Tell me more about your lady.”

Your lady.

Those two words stand out as if they’ve been illuminated in bulbs, twinkling and shimmering.

now youre back in reality you sure about us Never been more sure about anything, baby. just wanted to check You’re beginning to sound like me, worrying. left a mark on me Think that’s fair, you’ve left a lot on me too. Especially my chest.

“Tomorrow. Promise. The drive took it out of me.”

But Javi isn’t tired.

Somehow, he had suspected he wouldn’t be the moment he watched you leave.

For longer than he cares to number, he's struggled with it. Had developed an unhealthy live-able balance of it when he was working, something he managed to keep as a prize in his return.

Now, it’s different.

There’s an edge to it. As though he's now having to pay back the stolen sleep he enjoyed when he had been lay with you. When he slept with ease and not struggle. Leaving him feeling now like he’s in a lull, a dream. All aware, not in a daze anymore, noticing things he had never given much attention to before his trip out of town.

You had been so warm, so soft. His fingers gliding up and down your side, soothing you as much as it was him. But, you slept with ease. Falling almost instantly once you'd stopped talking, a little jolt and a soft sigh punctuating it.

Fuck, he misses you.

Thumb and index pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes clenched shut. Unsure how he's supposed to manage, and cope, until the next chance he gets to see you.

Till he gets to hold you in his arms, stare at your smile as it grows across your face or feels the light tap of your hand when he’s teasing you...

Something ugly curls inside of him. At first, soaked in sadness, before it shakes itself and burns bright with annoyance. Irritation. Anger at how unfair it all is.

How is it, after all, he’s given up—he’s fallen for the one person not even in his state? A person he had to say goodbye to hours ago, for reasons out of his or their control.

He almost snorts, unsure if it’s due to the tiredness or the reality that after all he’s faced, life would continue to be cruel and deal him such a hand. Tempted to get up, kick off the sheets and pull out the crossword from before he left town.

Javi doesn't. Instead, he closes his eyes, shaking his head—to no one but himself. Because he can't do them without you now. A promise, one given with ease.

He hears the whisper of the wind, the rustle of the trees. Something needling at him that if he wasn't so broken, this would be the perfect amount of quiet to fall asleep to.

Now, it's not the loud of a Colombian city he misses now. It's how your leg slides over his, how your breaths feel on his chest—how you twitch, ever so slightly, as you first fall asleep.

But, it’s the quiet as to why he hears his phone vibrate, practically darting out of bed, knowing it can only be you.

why aren’t you asleep?

Because I can't sleep without you. Apparently.

I miss you too.

I really hate this. I even miss you digging your knee into my hip.

told you that you’d miss it once it was gone

I feel like telling you that you’re right will mean your head will inflate.

youre right

One day, right?

if I could make that tomorrow I would

You really missing me that much?

not enough words in the world to describe how much, baby

Gonna make me cry.

dont cry I can’t wipe them from here

So not wise for me to tell you I cried the entire flight home.

did the person you sit next to seem to mind

They didn’t say anything until we landed. Then promptly told me that I deserved better.

so they thought you were broken up with

I think I may have led her to believe that from the amount I was crying.

fuck you like me a lot

I like you a regular, normal amount.

I don’t think I like you a normal regular amount

That’s the tiredness talking.

you know it isnt

I feel the same. I really miss you.

I miss you too but you should try to sleep you have work tomorrow

Okay, but so do you!

ill be fixing a shed or a pen baby you have to deal with people

go to sleep and then tomorrow we can call as planned

You’d told him that you suspected the first day would be the hardest.

Not the goodbye (and that had been fucking painful) but the following day when they were apart.

Javi hates that you’re right.

It twists inside of him how much he loathes it—grateful that he gets to push some of his anger into repairing the side of the shed. Hammer meeting nail, again and again. Each time with more fury than is needed, only worrying after whether he’s done more damage to the shed post than pre.

"Mijo."

He doesn't find a judgemental look, but one filled with sympathy.

His pop not quizzing him, just handing him a beer. A cold one, droplets descending down the can, sliding across his palm and down his wrist—attempting to soothe the boiling blood in his veins.

“It’ll get easier.” His pop tugs his hat down, shielding his eyes, before staring off into the distance. “When me and your mama first began, we couldn’t see each other all the time either.”

Letting out a sigh, Javi grinds his teeth. A sea of biting comments lathered on his tongue, all set to pounce, to poison.

Instead, he kicks the ground, swallowing most of them back. “She wasn’t hundreds of miles away, though.”

“No,” his Pop says, clapping his hand on his back—both for comfort and likely stability. “But we didn’t have landlines, or tha' other thing you do on y’phone. The tapping."

The tapping.

He doesn't snort, even if it sits at the back of his throat. Burying it in the liquid that slides down his throat with ease.

"Come on, ‘need to head into town, and my truck is acting up.”

Javi doesn’t question it, why he’s the one sliding into the passenger seat of his own truck.

If he’d thought about it, he’d have asked why the truck was acting up or why Pop was driving instead of him. But he doesn’t—didn’t. Just let it happen, staring off as the shades of grass pass him by, fingers playing with the cap on the can, twisting and twisting it.

To fill the silence, he rolls the edges of the can around in his hands. Crunching the sides every now and again, making him wince from the noise.

Then, he finds himself staring at the fingerprints left in the dust from you touching his dash—eyes catching sight of a hair grip on the floor near his boot.

He’s rolling it in his fingers when they’re back on the road, silence smothering them until he watches his pop turn on the radio. As soon as it springs to life, it becomes desperate to try and cut through it. The broadcaster mumbles about heavy rain and increased traffic, but he’s lost in a sorrow of sadness all cast by the spell of a good week to care. The fog around him making it hard to see the wood through the trees, never mind the hope through the misery.

“Dios mio. More trucks passing through now since the bridge opened. Y’noticed, mijo? So many.”

“Hmm.”

Eyes fixed on the grip, the one more worn on one side than the other—imagining your face, the night when he’d watched you take them out, face fresh, one of his tees on your frame.

Then, because the world isn’t cruel enough, the song changes. The radio playing a game with him now, as well as everything else, as he lifts his head, trying to focus on the road. Hearing the soft thud of his pop’s fingers on the steering wheel, his jaw tightened as the lyrics washed over him. Faintly hearing you humming along with the chorus.

Because he heard the song in the diner with you.

Heard it on the radio one afternoon, then again in the bowling alley—how it wrapped its tune around the two of you.

“Heard our song today,” he says, fingers massaging his temple.

He's thankful his pop said he had plans, the quietness settling over the rest of the ranch.

Before he met you, he dreaded the nights he was left alone. His thoughts gearing up, ready to pounce. The minor differences he could have made if he took a step back and stared at the facts, how he should have noticed how deep the corruption was—how much Colombia was taking from him, bit by bit.

Now, he tries not to grin when his pop says he’s going out.

When he’s left alone, allowed full reign to talk as loud as he wants to you—rather than being huddled near the phone, whispering like a teenager.

“Our song?”

“Yeah.”

Javi can practically hear you smirk. “And how does that go, charmer?”

He’s not a singer. Not by a long shot, but he does his best. Humming the tune at first, softly singing the words from the chorus until he trails off.

You snort, before you try to muffle it in a cough.

“You tricked me.”

“Maybe. But, just because I wanted to hear you sing.”

Smirking, he pulls the phone from his ear—shaking his head—before replacing it back to hear you add:

“You have a beautiful voice.”

“Fuck you, baby.”

Your laugh rips from you, hurtling down the phone right to his soul—making fireworks explode in his chest and warmth kiss his nerves.

Because now he can imagine what you look like. Likely head thrown back, eyes closed—nose scrunched a little as your hands grip onto something for leverage.

And it was beautiful. You’re beautiful—your laugh and your smile. Something he feels he should have said long before now. He’s about to rectify that, when he hears it merge into a sniffle—veering into tears and half-suppressed swallows before a noticeable little sob breaks through—as his throat dries instantly, closing.

Turning, he places his palm on the fall as he tries to keep his chest from tightening. The knot in his chest, the one he suspects is tied to you in some way, constricts, pulling taught around his lungs.

“I—I miss….”

You sniffle again, louder. “I've been looking forward to this all day,” you whisper, voice catching, words struggling to fall as sweetly as they usually do. “But, is it bad for me to say that phone calls aren’t the same now I’ve had the chance to be with you in person?”

Leaning his forehead against the kitchen wall, Javi wipes his chin. “Took the words outta my mouth, baby.”

He hears you chuckle, almost both heavily and heavenly, before you ask about his day.

He rambles because it’s easy too. You listen, lapping up every single thing. Hearing about his trip to town, his pop making jokes—trying, desperately, to crack through the mist that had descended.

“How was yours?”

Then you sigh, all tight. You tell him about Aish and her interview, before your voice softens as you begin whispering about the prep you’re doing for your interview. He’s about to comfort you, when you continue about the asshole you work alongside has been taken out for lunch by your boss and that you snagged your favourite pair of tights on a desk.

“But, enough about that—guess what I’m wearing?”

Smiling, he bites down on his knuckle, Javi lifting his head, groaning as he tries to think. “All of your clothes at once? Anything else might short-circuit my brain.”

“Won’t tell you then.”

“No. Please. Tell me, baby.”

He hears you move, and is almost sure he can hear you swallow. “You realise that you’re missing something, Javier?”

Fuck, the way you say his name. How it drips from your tongue. Laced in lust and swirling down the phone line to his brain.

He quickly tries to think of his washing, the piles he made—the attempted sorting. And it hits him. His eyes widened, head half-lifting, feeling his eye twitch.

“Fuck—“

“Yes. I’m sat in that. And underwear, of course.”

“Hermosa…”

His throat is dry, painfully so. Mind arranging an image of you from the days he spent with you. And fuck.

“Wasn’t sure this shade of pink was my colour, but I was wrong.”

Jutting his jaw, he closes his eyes—picturing the sight of you. The underwear he’d had the chance to peel off of you, the way it set against your skin—now, accompanied by his shirt on your arms. The buttons are likely undone, showing off more skin than he can currently process thinking about.

“It’s nice on my skin,” you whisper, all honeyed. “Be better on my floor.”

Clenching his fist, he bites his lip. “Baby…”

“Maybe I’ll show you one day.”

Snorting, he traces his teeth with his tongue. “You better. Now, tell me about the underwear.”

“Only if you can answer six across. Clue: now.”

Mouth parting, his jaw rolls to the side, eyes picking a spot on the wall. Thinking. And thinking.

“Want an extra clue?”

“An extra? You're spoiling me.”

He hears you giggle, low and in your throat. “It’s an Italian word. And, ‘I want to see you… blank—“

His eyes flick up, a smile spreading. “Pronto.”

“Correct,” you reply. “Seven words, silenced. You did this to me when you had your mouth on my—“

“Shushed,” he says quickly, fist clenching, trying to stare at the mark on the wall again, and not let the image of you populate in his head.

“You okay, baby?”

Gritting his teeth, he sighs. “You’re devious, you know that?”

“I think it’s your shirt. It’s making me… flirty.”

Grinning, he turns on the spot, back against the wall—head tilting up, eyes closing. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too….” your tone softer, frayed at the edges. “I’m kinda glad I stole your shirt.”

“Me too. Means I get to see you to steal it back from you.”

“Off me.”

It comes out quickly—purposefully chosen, spilt.

Frowning, he opens his eyes. “What?”

“Off me. You’ll have to steal it from my body.”

Grasping the phone, breathing through his nose, letting out a murmured, “Fuck, baby,” under his breath.

AN: for all those wondering if they'll be together in person again, they will. i am a happily-ever-after kind of writer unless otherwise stated. but it was so important to me that they had a magical week, and then returned to their lives.

#javier peña x reader #javi peña x reader #javi peña x you #javier peña x you #narcos x reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javi pena x reader #narcos javier x reader #narcos javier #pedro pascal x reader #narcos fanfiction #pedrostories #mm: late night texts #javier peña fanfiction #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic

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cloveroctobers · 9 months ago

Text

FEBRUARY FLUFF — CARMY BERZATTO.

A/N: so carmy won this time around!!! Thanks to all those that voted and ultimately made this decision for me lol. Hope you guys enjoy this and have a safe, healthy, and happy love season 🩷 + yes this is a mixture of fluff and angst...i mean come on! I wouldn't be me if i didn't include that in here somewhere!

PROMPTS ARE FROM HERE + HERE & I’m using: 1. “…Okay, so the only way for us to enjoy that huge discount is to act like we’re dating.” “What, so you’d fake date me for discounted food but you wouldn’t real date me even though I could take you out to the best restaurants out there in town every fucking night if you wanted me to?” + always giving the other the first bite of their food < or the last.

WARNINGS/SN: I wrote with a black or brown reader in mind although reader isn't physically described + they’re given a name only when mentioned, language is a thing here duh!, this is LENGTHY, lots of timelines: reader + nat became friendly before season 1 during the summer prior to 7 fishes which is estimated to be five years before season 2, reader knows of carmy due to past work, I feel like she can be just a few year(s) older than carmy but younger than nat—there’s a age gap for the Berzatto’s anyways, sexual relations are mentioned, this piece takes place months after the grand opening, & finally there’s a possible chance for a poly relationship or maybe just multiple crushes going on? Take that how you will.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

it was a Sunday.

The kind of Sunday you woke up embarrassed about but knew you had to swallow your pride and just send out that text. You knew you wouldn’t be judged regardless reaching out to Fak because he’s built to deal with things like this and never made you feel like shit about anything.

You usually had to squeeze it out of him to get him to lay out any cons about a situation but appreciated most times when he didn’t. Your minds been going haywire with a recent assignment as a food journalist and it really slipped your mind, although you were usually a quick thinker, you’ve been stressed over this recent restaurant. Thankfully it clicked for you after throwing a tantrum to simply reach out to Fak to come help you out.

The stupid lever in your bathroom decided to stop flushing on you and of course you panicked. Who wouldn’t panic in a situation like that? You no longer had a roommate and strongly debated if you even wanted to search for another; after the shady actions of the previous one, so you really didn’t have to worry about them giving you shit either. (Let’s see if your rent feels the same next month!)

It was just you in the end and perhaps you were learning to be okay with that.

Yet that didn’t stop you from FaceTiming Sydney about it. “Hey Siddy, how’s your day going?”

“Pretty good, yours?” She politely asked as she moved down the hallway of her shared apartment to prop her phone on the pedestal sink, moving around her functioning bathroom to grab some oil to grease her scalp.

Smacking your lips you glare, “it fucking sucks.”

“Oh?” Sydney questioned, appearing back in frame, “what happened? Did someone egg and scratch up your car again after a review you gave them? Noo wait, don’t tell me there’s a bullet hole?!”

That was light work compared to New York (it really wasn’t a competition of which state had its worst moments but your home state left you kinda triggered, not gonna lie!) where you were just starting off and those that were in tune with the culinary world didn’t take your words with a grain of salt. Most nights you still woke up gasping for air, reaching for your throat due to some trauma of a break in from a well-known nepo-baby chef. Don’t get that twisted, your mom didn’t raise no punk but that didn’t mean those events didn’t mess with your mental and you acknowledged that every time you had a nightmare. They only served three years and five months compared to the original five year sentence.

Ah the system…got to love how that works out for the privileged!

You shrugged, “no…the threats have been pretty tame lately so I can give myself a pat on the back for that. However! I still am in a crisis.”

Sydney begins to move her braids around to expose her scalp, “Elaborate for me.”

“My toilet won’t flush!” You whine, laying flat on your messy bed. You tended to not make your bed on Saturdays and didn’t get around to making it today—although it was after 3pm.

Sydney asks, “Like the waste won’t go down…?”

“Exactly!” You confirm throwing your arm over your eyes dramatically, “The lever thing is moving like my old dislocated shoulder.”

Sydney gags, “don’t fucking remind me of that day. That was spooky to witness but I am glad you healed from that.”

“Thanks girl, means a lot, truly.”

Sydney gives a small smile, “don’t mention it…have you considered YouTubing it? That’s what I do when I don’t want to ask anyone for help and figure it out by myself.”

You hummed knowing this was true. In a sense you could be like that too, especially when it came to the working field, since writers can tend to be some nasty bitches and always in rivalry with each other. You made a name for yourself in Chicago as well, coming from New York where you worked just as hard-maybe even harder than the rest to mean and write exactly how you felt about cuisine, regardless if anyone agreed or not. It wasn’t about if people liked you, the relationship with food would always be more significant and hold value in your life, just like the rest of these chef’s you encountered and you got that, people were allowed to be sensitive about their work. You’ve come toe to toe with many chef’s around the world who didn’t like your take on their craft but that didn’t mean you didn’t understand them. They hardly took the time to really dive into your ratings and automatically took it as you shit talking or not having any idea what you were saying since you “weren’t really a chef,” but you knew your worth most days.

Yes you could be straight forward but that didn’t mean you lacked compassion like some chef’s liked to think according to your reviews. You often wrote in a way that was puzzling to some, almost philosophical or riddle like with your own twist. Some just didn’t get it and that was okay but you wouldn’t back down from any confrontation. The second they didn’t want to really listen, that’s when you removed yourself from the escalating problem. It didn’t have to get violent like some wanted to inflict.

“Why didn’t I think of that?!” You exasperated, slapping the palm of your hand to your forehead.

Sydney snorted, “maybe because you’re under a lot of pressure lately and the most simplest of things don’t come as easily as they should.”

“You would think I have high blood pressure with the way these past two weeks have been.”

Sydney says, “give it time.”

“Gee, thanks! That’s exactly the kind of shit I want to hear from you.” You roll your eyes at the blurt of words that commonly escaped the braided girl’s mouth.

Sydney breathes out a laugh, “I’m just joking!”

“Yeah, yeah! Maybe I should text fak back and tell him not to come by!”

“You asked fak instead of the apartment manager?” Sydney is in amazement.

“Fuck that noise, he’s so full of shit that he should see a doctor about it. He’ll show up to analyze the problem, then acts like he’s going to fit you into the schedule and then when you catch him in the lobby he pretends that he has amnesia.” You commented with a scowl.

You get ready to minimize the call to text fak but some obnoxious knocks at the door made you pop up from your bed. “That was fast!”

Hopping up from the bed and padding out of the last bedroom in the apartment, you made the journey through the foyer to the awaiting black front door. Peeking through the peephole you spot Fak grinning widely up into it, almost making you jump back.

“He’s made it Siddy! I’ll call you back!”

“K. Good luck!” Sydney calls out before you end the call to pull the door wide open.

“Neil!” You scream, quickly latching onto his tatted wrist ready to yank him in until you notice someone else is with him, “…why is he here?” You point.

Fak quickly glances over at a brimmed Carmy who raised a brow at him in a silent told you so manner, “I mean we were having a boy’s day when you called and I didn’t want my buddy to be left out. Plus, it’s always great to have some assistance.”

“…i find it hard to believe that Carmen wants to fix my toilet.” You cross your arms, poking out your hip as you stare at him.

Carmen shrugs his shoulders, “I wanted to wait in the car if it makes you feel any better.”

“Hmm…it doesn’t.”

Carmy rolls his eyes, pinching at the bridge of his nose briefly in agitation, “you know what, fak you’ve got this right? I know you do so—

“Nope!” Fak quickly interrupts, “this maybe a two person job so aspie if you just let us do what we came to do—

Shooting an arm out to block the doorway you peer into Fak’s dark teal eyes to show you mean business, “didn’t I say I dislike that nickname, Neil?”

He nods.

“Also i find it offensive that you brought an uninvited guest to my place.”

“Just be glad it wasn’t Richie because that was also a possibility before he ran off to pick up the kid.” Carmy snaps making you roll your eyes.

If Richie was here you been would have slammed the door in both Fak and his face. Sure you had some sort of tension with Carmy and beef with .......his cousin but at least Carmy only gave it back to you when he had the energy to—meaning if he was already on one. The issue was simple, you wrote a not so nice review once before when the eldest berzatto, Michael was alive and running the joint. Richie couldn’t forget that and actually kept the clipping, yes the clipping of the review way back when. He had the receipts to show Carmy and Carmy actually brushed it off then, not seeming to really care or doubt some of the words that were said.

He came to revamp the place because Mikey left it for him, to fix the mess his big brother left behind, to create what they’ve always dreamed of. Sure he got shit for it in the beginning and part of him felt like maybe that was your case too? He could relate to you on that, yet the weight was slightly different on his part and he even spoke with you not long after he found those tomato cans.

That gave him a certain push he couldn’t really explain. He may have done a brief dive on you, wondering why you felt acquainted to him—completely forgetting about seeing you once around Noma—choosing to start with reading previous reviews by you on other restaurants here in Chicago and a few interviews you’ve done over the world. You weren’t just some nobody, you held your titles well and it reflected in your work.

You weren’t clueless.

He just didn’t really know what he was dealing with until a short time ago.

What he didn’t expect was for you to show up again on opening night with a certain head chef, also from New York. That made carmy more anxious than anything, seeing you sitting beside that four eyed fuck ready to set off a tornado in the heart of the bear. Was that your motive all along? With carmy attempting to build a bridge, not for you to kiss his ass with praise but there was a odd need to have a simple conversation with you. It was weird but it seemed like Sydney, Fak, and Nat liked you?

The jury was still out with the rest—except Richie but you were a mystery to Carmy. However carmy wasn’t the best at putting a read on people or their emotions in the first place, he was good at fucking that up unless you’re screaming it into his face. That’s just how he operated.

“You two can come in—only because I don’t have the patience with the manager here and Neil’s the best I’m gonna get.” You state while fak slaps a hand on his chest.

“That was really sweet, Aspen.” Fak cooed ready to pull you into a bone crushing hug but you hold up a finger.

“Save the hugs until after you fix my problem.”

“You got it boss,” Fak salutes before diving under your arm to travel through your apartment, ooo-ing and ah-ing before finding the bathroom around the corner from the living room.

Sighing you drop your arm and wave carmy through, who keeps his view straight while traveling through the hallway. You call out to him, “you can have a seat on the couch.”

“What? Did you drop a load or something and is that the real reason why you don’t want me to help Fak?” Carmy comes right out with it, nose twitching in amusement after whipping around to face you in the center of the living room.

See…only when he’s frustrated or overly focused will he just let it out. Some may look at this as Carmy attempting to make a joke but you took that somewhat personally. The only thing you were thinking after he said this was: What an ego on this one huh?

You stop on your heels and tilt your head to the side, “are you telling me that you think women or fem pronoun users don’t take shits? Do you know what it feels like to have period shits?”

Carmy blinks at you and shouts with his hands out, “I...don't even know what the fuck you're getting at? I wasn't even trying to be sexist to you just then! I asked you a honest question—

“About you being in my business,” you pointed out, “contrary to your beliefs I have a heart and decided to be nice to you and let you stay in my place to keep warm. You’re welcome!”

“Oh bullshit, don’t act like you’re doin’ me any favors.” Carmy scowls, “you don’t even want me here.”

You shrug, “yet you’re here in my apartment, yelling.”

Carmy exhaled while you smirked at him sweetly before turning to lean against the wall that leads to the bathroom.

“Everything okay in there, Neil?”

“Oh yeah!” He says, “I think I figured out the problem. Easy peasy!”

“Great!” You exclaim, pulling your phone out from your sweats to read a very important email.

The weight of stress seemed to lift a good chunk as you quickly responded to a email that you’ve been waiting for. You’ve been invited out (squeezed in) to a taste test at this restaurant for this evening that you’ve been trying to get into for a month before you brought it up to your employer. The deadline was approaching for the end of this week to have a review ready and they just responded to you five days before that deadline! Reading over it twice, the squeal in you slipped through your smile until you read the exceptions.

If you were to go over the amount of food purchased, which you would put on the company card anyways, you can get a discount if you brought a plus one and some reimbursement if the review was satisfactory to the owners—which the last part wasn’t unfamiliar to you.

You usually didn’t bring a plus one to any of the places you did reviews for, you got comfortable doing outings all on your own but this was different. Sure you were somewhat known in the culinary world but that didn’t mean you were a millionaire and this restaurant was apparently upscale. There was a waiting list regardless of your status—even for the celebrities that went there so this was a big deal and they gave you a short notice. Usually Sundays were known for a reset for the week but what better way to start it?

You don’t go forward with reaching out to anybody else that you work with. This was your battle and you were aware that two of your other co-workers also reached out to this restaurant. You just hoped you were the only one they picked and wouldn’t miss out on the great opportunity just because you weren’t sure about your guest.

A few hours before show time and you had to find somebody to attend with you. Your best friend was away in Cabo for a honeymoon, the other (who recently planned on moving to ATL) was dealing with the flu and had their no good ex boyfriend taking care of them, Sydney was suddenly MIA, and you even considered inviting Natalie Berzatto to piss carmy off just a bit.

“Hey, Nat!” You greet into the phone as you walk into the kitchen, witnessing Carmy perk up from the couch.

It’s small talk at first: you asking about how her day is going as a mom to be, if she’s going to be at the bear tomorrow, did she watch the Emmy’s the other night, tell her husband you said hello, and then finally if she had plans for tonight.

“…are you asking me to hang out?”

“We had fun at that club way back when no?”

“Yeah! But that was how long ago?”

You knew it’s been awhile. You were always friendly with Natalie, meeting her first—well second out of the siblings down at the small mart one summer you helped out at that your great-uncle owned. She was huffing about something her boyfriend at the time, Pete forgot to bring her and some groceries she was picking up for her mom. You were cool enough to become Facebook friends, exchange numbers, go out for coffee and go to the club together. This wasn’t unusual to call each other randomly but you knew she commonly got shit from Michael and Richard about her talking and hanging out with you.

The thing about Natalie Berzatto is that she always tried to give people the benefit of the doubt. Yes she saw your review yet she kinda laughed about it initially but it was all fuck you’s from the other two loud mouth’s. Of course she was going to listen to her brother but she still had a mind of her own. she didn’t care to listen to Richie go off but she understood how Michael felt, although she was the only other Berzatto that heard you out.

Except you didn’t owe anybody an explanation even if some felt you were more cutthroat in your younger years.

“...Before you and Pete even thought about marriage?”

You were younger than them but you imagined how it would always work out for Nat and Pete, which included growing old together.

“Wow! Yeah that sounds right.”

“So…?”

“Can’t do it.”

“You didn’t even hear all the details!”

“I know, I know and it sounds like it’ll be a real fucking blast but if this kid wasn’t sitting on my sciatic nerve constantly and if my feet weren’t the size of two honeydews…I totally would! But I’ll have to decline this time around—so please don’t hate me!”

“I could never!”

“You know you could always ask carmy-

“Why on earth would I do that?” Your reply was instant.

Natalie sighed over the phone, “aspen…the potential of friendship and love is a beautiful thing.”

You scrunched up your face at the phone before placing it back to your ear.

“Do you want me to hang up on you?”

“I’d call you a rude bitch if you did but then get over it.”

“I can live with that because I know it’s real love between you and I.”

“…whatever that means.”

“Right.”

You both laugh, knowing just how weird the subject of love can be. Although you didn’t talk all the time it was always okay for one of the other to drop a venting text or call each other’s way and know the other would get around to responding. The both of you may not be the best of friends but you did consider each other friends regardless. There were conversations between the both of you that no one knew about and would be a constant reminder of what kind of friends the both of you would remain.

Natalie wished things could have been resolved between you and Michael but she reassured that the dislike wasn’t as deep as it seemed. There was no secret that you felt awful about how his life ended and being there for nat during that time also meant a lot. She told you that one of the last conversations she had with Michael was about you and it felt as if he was learning to let go of your review, slowly taking in Nat’s words of you not having a cruel bone in your body especially with all that you’ve done for her.

Anybody that showed his sister true friendship couldn’t be complete garbage. As much as he tolerated Pete, Michael was always aware that he was good enough for his sister. They were all cut from different cloths and the Berzatto’s were just from the same but opposite corner’s.

Natalie telling you this was not to erase any worries you had since that is always brought to the surface when someone you’ve been face to face with before decides to end it all. It was to show you that nobody ever truly knows what anyone is thinking whether there is love there or not.

You can feel Natalie smiling through the phone, “Think about it…all that tension could be smoothed out if you extend the olive branch…now it’s your turn.”

“It’s not my fault he switched up on me after your opening night.” You didn’t lower your voice or make it louder but you were definitely staring at carmy now who was side eyeing you, looking like phineas from phineas and ferb.

“That’s something you need to talk to him about, don’t you think?” Her tone was always so gentle that it made you sick sometimes because she could be right.

“I’m not here to do think pieces.”

“…aren’t you a writer?”

“Have a good night, nat.”

“Ta-Ta!” Natalie sing-songs, “be sure to send me the deets later because carmy never tells me anything! Bye! Chat later!”

Hanging up the phone, you slide it onto the counter and tap your nails against the island. To the right of you, you pick up on some clinking in the bathroom—which sounds somewhat normal and zone in on carmy who’s also holding onto his phone but staring at the blank tv in thought.

“Hey, Carmen.” You call his name.

His bright blues turn to you as if he hasn’t been eavesdropping on your conversation here and there between his texts with Marcus.

“You. Me. The Saffron Simmer. 7pm.”

The air is frigid as the both of you hunch your shoulders shoving through Chicago’s winter. Shockingly the streets are filled with cars tonight so you had to park on the next street over before walking up and around to The Saffron Simmer. Carmy offered to drive, which was a debate—no shock there—since there was no way he was leaving the bear stock van behind for no license having fak to play around in.

Fak definitely found that offensive and said he didn’t mind hanging out at your place, being done with your toilet but with the look you sent him he said he’s find an Uber or fak2 can pick him up. It’s not like you didn’t trust fak in your place…it’s just that the possibilities of what he can get into are endless.

You also didn’t want to ride in the bear’s van not because of shallow reasons, you just wanted to annoy carmy just a bit more for fun. Walking mostly everywhere was the way to go growing up in New York and Carmy working there so doing so here in Chicago wasnt foreign either. However with the type of cold here in this city is enough to give the bravest of hearts hypothermia. So obviously driving was the best option, it’s just the petty back and forth between you two of who will drive had to be spewed.

Eventually you gave in and sat in the passenger side of the van, being on DJ duty for the twenty-five minute drive—something carmy didn’t care to argue over. The both of you made it on time, throwing the door back for carmy to catch then bouncing on your toes while he blew into his gloveless hands waiting on the greeter to find your reservation.

The pictures didn’t do The saffron simmer any justice. There was so much to look at with its modernized speakeasy décor and the high ceilings did a superb job of making the both of you feel small in the spacious space. Thankfully the dress code was business casual so you didn’t have to go all out but you still put in the effort of looking your best in simple attire. You’re shrugging out of your scarf, earmuffs, and puffer coat while Carmy is already seated; with only the removal of his cap across from you in a chair.

He’s watching you as you place everything neatly to the right of you before you're taking a seat in the leather oversized chair, then digging through your tote to pull out your notepad, Sony camera, phone, and bolt pen. You quickly scribble something on the first line and circle it before dropping your pen.

Rolling the sleeves of your long sleeves back underneath your blazer, you roll your shoulders with a close of your eyes before opening them with a look of determination.

“Wow, that was something.” Carmy tells you, making you set your eyes back on him, forgetting just that quick that he was your plus one.

Clasping your hands together you quirk up a brow, “What?”

“Watching you prep.”

You dip your head, “should have seen me before I got dressed…much worse.”

A smirk appears on the corner of Carmy’s lips, “oh yeah?”

“Well yes, I can contain myself in public, Carmen. Your home is supposed to be your safe space so that’s the best place to go a little crazy sometimes.” You inform, yet still not giving too much away.

“Why are you in your head about this place anyway?” Carmy peers around the slightly filled dining area before meeting your eyes once more.

You lift your shoulders, “have you seen the way they market this place? Giving not too much away although it’s top ten restaurants here and I can either contribute to its success or its downfall. They picked me for a reason so my review matters at the end of this year.”

“But you uh-get a thrill out of this shit don’t you? It’s what you signed up for, right?” Carmy is actually relaxed against the chair across from you.

Which is a sight to see.

You state, “it’s part of the job, if that’s what you mean.”

Carmy blinks and seems to get it, “and so you stay.”

“So I stay.” You echo while holding his stare, which is broken by a piece of the stone table lifting and showcasing the menu illuminated by sepia lighting in the dark of the restaurant.

Carmy’s bright eyes are wide as he stares at the menu that appears right in front of your faces. There’s a grin on your face as you rest your fingertips around its rough edges, almost as if you were expecting this while carmy blows out a breath.

“The hell is this place?”

You peek over at him, “some next level shit, berzatto.”

“Yeah…I think I’m starting to catch on.”

You turn your attention back to the menu, swiping your fingertips along the touch screen although you’ve heard things about the menu, which they kept offline since apparently it renews monthly.

“What looks good?”

“Uh…these pages aren’t even labeled." Carmy exhales through his nose, eyes searching all over the tablet, "I have no clue. You?”

The words come at ease for you, "One of almost everything maybe?”

“Sounds good...I guess?”

“On me by the way,” you state with a wink as you flash your company card.

“I’ll get the tip then.” Carmy pats his jeans, the left containing his carton of cigarettes, the right holding his keys, lifting his hips he checks for his wallet although he’s been sitting on his behind for about ten minutes now.

You don’t argue with that, eyes in awe at the selection of items as you start ordering, “don’t forget to order your drink.”

“Water should be fine,” Carmy mutters to himself, eyes scanning over the first strange title of water that is described as flower and ginger infused purified water and decides to go with that.

You finally express after rapidly letting your fingers go over the screen and taking a picture with your phone, “…Okay, so the only way for us to enjoy that huge discount is to act like we’re dating.”

It sounded so easy to you as you quickly shifted to pick up your pen and start writing notes.

“What was that?” Carmy pressed his elbows into the edge of the table, making sure he heard you right since he’s not even sure if he can trust his inner thoughts lately.

You’re still scribbling but also turning your face towards the messy haired chef, “you heard me. We have to act like we’re in a relationship because I’ve definitely went over the budget on the card.”

“That’s not really my problem?”

“Yes it is,” you demand, “you agreed to be my plus one so that’s that. Plus this menu further confirmed my suspicions from the email.”

Carmy scratches at his brow confused, “what are you talking about, aspen?”

“Here,” you swipe across your screen towards Carmy’s device, which brings up another screen instantly to carmy who’s in awe but scans over the details.

You didn’t share the email with him but he’s heard about how high tech this restaurant is but didn’t have the time to do his own research.

*Significant others in attendance are subject to applicable discounts.*

Carmy feels his stomach cramp at the fine print and it so small that he was sure anyone could have missed that.

Not you.

“…how exactly are we supposed to prove that, hm?” He's gripping at his greasy hair now, feeling himself getting a bit worked up about this.

You fanned your hand along, “just do what couples do and follow my lead...Depending on our witnesses,” you whisper as you look around, “they could always assume that’s what we are anyways.”

Part of carmy didn’t like how that came off.

“What, so you’d fake date me for discounted food but you wouldn’t real date me even though I could take you out to the best restaurants out there in town every fucking night if you wanted me to?” Flies out of Carmy’s mouth before he can even process what he’s saying.

That stoops you too, making you press your back against the chair in thought. That wouldn’t be going down in the notes, as you stare at the pen in between your fingers for a moment. Which brings you back to Carmy’s tatted fingers first that touched you in ways that romance novelist craved to write about.

So you may have left that out, how a shared conversation about the “heartless” review of then Chicagoland turned the bear melted into hot and heavy actions in the front seat of your Mazda. It hits you in those same flashes you take of dishes: the unsure sloppy kisses, you taking the lead to get Carmy to just touch you, shaky hands that trace the tattoo from your rib cage down to your hip before soon holding steady and angled just right beneath your red tapered trousers.

“Where did that come from?” You question just as a server greets you, delivering drinks and announcing the small plates should be out in the next five minutes with a timer appearing on both of the stone tablets.

Carmy says, “you—you didn’t just think I forget right?”

“Well I was hoping.” You were honest, “neither of us are ready for relationships—especially hearing about you and Claire.”

Carmy felt his eye twitch, “and how do you know about that?”

Sydney.

You wouldn’t throw her under the bus like that although you could tell carmy already knew.

“I have my resources but don’t think I’ve been asking around about you or anything like that.” You sipped at the raspberry mint cocktail, it could be stronger.

His thumbs are shaking first on the table top but his icy stare made your chest pulsate in a way you didn't particularly like, “…would that be so bad?”

You and carmy didn’t exactly know each other well enough besides a conversation once had and with his hand down your pants! and you trying to get him to crash, clothes still on right in the center of his lap—It was a spur of the moment hookup and you could tell it was not something that happened often for carmy. He never had time for it or bothered to get attached but there was something about you that had him thinking otherwise. What was supposed to be a one time thing that you swept to the back of your mind was being brought up again.

The annoyance overtook what that feeling brought in the front seat of your ride. You weren’t ignoring carmy after that but the both of you had a lot on your plate with him renovating a restaurant and you diving back into your own work. Both fields of work seemed to matter more and not once did you think he ever thought about you in that way.

Communication was important people!

And here you thought he wanted nothing to do with you, especially with you showing up to the grand opening of The Bear. Now here you were months later, basically at your benefit, face to face hearing only pieces of what Carmen Berzatto was thinking.

“Hey, guys!” A familiar voice gathers your attention and you both turn to see Sydney smiling at you two.

Carmy widens his eyes, “Syd, what’re you doing here?”

Sydney snorted, “doing the same thing you’re doing? Having dinner.”

“Right.” He lightly shakes his head.

“Oh my god…am I interrupting this um? Date?” Sydney quickly connected the dots eyeing the both of you back and forth while you’re choking on your drink, “you okay?”

She pats your back for you while you gasp and Carmy slides over his water your way although you have your own glass near by. Gaining some air, you swallow some water and breathe through your nose. Normally you would have a response for Sydney’s joke but given what carmy just said to you had your mind running along with some burning tears you wiped away.

“So this is where you’ve been instead of answering me back?” You decide to switch the subject-you were great at that-wheezing a bit while Carmy scoffs and looks away.

Sydney frowns, “huh? When did you call me besides the FaceTime call…” she starts and pulls out her phone, “oh shit sorry. I placed it on do not disturb like thirty minutes after you didn’t call me back. I got wrapped into some entail about the menu from one of the chef’s that works here and is also a friend.”

Carmy speaks, “Didn’t know you had a connect with anybody here, Syd.”

“Can’t reveal all my moves, Carm.” She winks and lightly elbows him while Carmy sends her a small smile and a shake of his head.

Carmy asks, “scooping out our competition?”

“Only a little," She pinches her fingers before continuing, "and my dad thought it would be a place I wanted to try.” Sydney admits, “and if you two weren’t on a date I’d say let’s make this a group thing! so I’ll be going! I see my dad coming back from the bathroom…he’s got like a bladder problem and I don’t know why I’m sharing that with you two. But bye! Enjoy and just know I’ll be keeping my eye on you two.”

“Fuck,” carmy exhaled feeling his nerves rising, “don’t do that.”

Sydney chuckles to herself and sends a wave to you two before walking back to her table by the window.

“Siddy kicked me to the curb for her dad,” you sigh resting your cheek into your knuckles for a moment, “can’t be mad at that.”

“But you can be mad at me for what exactly?”

“You wanna do this with me right now?”

“Yeah, I think I do.”

“I thought we could move past what happened—

“You can say it you know? Me with my fingers inside—

“Excuse me!” You hiss, “I don’t need you to repeat action by action thank you. I was there too. We both know what happened, we’d agreed we can coexist around this big ass city. I show up to support—

“Did you though?” Carmy pressed, “support me? Or am I waiting for something else to be thrown at me with your upcoming review?”

“What?!” You bite, “is that what your stank ass attitude is about?”

Carmy tightened his jaw just as the first serving was handed over. You let him sulk in that for some time as you study the plating of the four appetizers, making note of each before taking more pictures with your sony.

“I wasn’t there to write a review.” You reply.

“I saw you—

“Let me finish. I understand pressure so I get it but you have to learn to channel your anger and this grief, elsewhere and deal with it better without projecting it onto any and everybody. I’ll tell you that right now that won’t get you anywhere and especially with me, Carmen.” You affirm.

You’ve been in Carmy’s position before so you can speak with experience. He seemed to always be waiting for the worse to continue filling up his plate but it takes time to accept the good in life. He was giving you something but you weren’t sure it was the best option for the both of you and you weren’t afraid to say that.

“Alright…I didn’t come here to talk about feelings either you know? That’s what those meetings are for.” Carmy spills just a tad.

You stare at the vibrant but delicate plating but his tone and the soft upbeat tempo above your heads don’t go unnoticed. “What did you come here for then?”

Carmy blinks and snatches up a spoon, almost weighing it in his hands before he dives the utensil into the dish. He stares as the stretch of cheese, twisting the spoon to break it apart before holding the Macaroni and Brie with Crab out for you to take the first bite.

He doesn’t answer for awhile and so you do the honors of taking a bite and savoring it's texture and taste.

“…that’s not my favorite.” You announce and notice that Carmy waited for your view.

He raises his brows, “tell me about it?”

“They need different plating.” You deeply sigh, “I know that type of plating works best for a dessert and that’s not it. There’s more breadcrumbs than meat, which seems to not be fully removed from its shell so be careful with that. It’s also lacking flavor even with the brie, which is my least favorite kind of cheese in Mac, although many swear by it.”

Carmy flicks his attention to your disappointment to you scribbling into your notepad with a shake of your head. If he was making you a dish, he’d try his hardest to make sure it was everything you ever wanted.

He quickly has his share and thinks to himself.

Carmy can agree, this was lacking flavor and the breadcrumbs didn’t even have a crunch to them. You can’t just depend on the cheese to give you flavor in Mac and cheese.

“What’s your favorite dish? I—I don’t think I ever asked you that. We just went straight into talking about the beef.”

And doing dirty things in the front seat but who needs to relive that?!

You look up from your notes and lift your chin, “you’re looking at it. It’s childish I know...but that’s exactly what it reminds me of: my childhood. Mac and cheese! then as I got into my adulthood…crab kinda took over. Which is funny because I hated on it for so long growing up. My papa—my grandad, he helped my mom raise me, he's from Ocean City so you can only imagine the amount of seafood on our table.”

You’re smiling to yourself and Carmy can’t help but to feel his small laughter lines appear by his lips as you’re locked into some memory only you can remember vividly. This was the most Carmy was learning about you, sure it may not look like much but he didn’t feel the need to dissociate even if at times he really couldn’t help it.

You were the question mark that he wanted to figure out and get all the answers to. Maybe it was his gut and he shouldn’t have blabbed to sugar about you because now Carmy was thinking this was Michael’s doing.

If you believe in that shit.

So the both of you take your time trying the small dishes before getting the main courses. It seems the longer you sit across from each other—the tension was definitely still there especially with Sydney’s eyes burning into the two of you across the room and attempting to not get caught—although she had once or twice but gradually it lifted as you and carmy shared this time together.

He watched you work while you asked for his input before you told your own. He also provided a few things he would do to tweak it if he agreed with what you didn’t enjoy. Which was eye-opening for you, yes you went to school for journalism and sat in on some cooking classes once that also tied into your passion for learning. After completing your first degree you decided culinary may take you to different heights and enrolled into culinary school. You didn’t find the need to continue going through with being a chef after Copenhagen, finding writing to be your stronger suit but you still understood food and the relationship with it when it came to chef’s.

So you took carmy’s input into consideration.

With the last serving being a Asian dessert called, “Jjan Hae,” which consisted of: coconut rice pudding served with fresh citrus (orange, grapefruit, kumquat) and coffee ice cream, topped with crispy pop rice & a shot of Korean rice wine, it was a strange concept but the both of you came to terms with the dessert working well.

Carmy even took a video to show Marcus tomorrow at the bear and sent a photo to an old colleague, Luca, that you were also familiar with considering Noma was a thing that you didn’t bother speaking much on…but it was your turn to give carmy the last serving.

He hesitated since he had his own bowl, which he finished way before you did but it was clear you wanted him to have the last bite so he also took it while saying something with his eyes.

Breaking the stare, the both of you felt your phone buzz with a text. Carmy didn’t jump to answer it right away…he was the worst texter according to Nat and Sydney but you can answer for the both of you as it was a group text from Sydney who was long gone with her dad.

Siddy + (773) XXX-XXXX: Carmy, invite aspen to breakfast in the morning?? See you guys then! 👍🏾😉

“You guys do breakfast at the bear now?” You say lifting your eyes from your screen.

You heard Sydney made a mean omelette but you haven’t been back since earlier this year and you weren’t in the mood for that that night.

Carmy frowns and closes his eyes with a shake of his head, “uh yeah it’s a new thing that Syd came up with but we agreed to do that with everyone once a month…later this month. Why?”

“She wants me to have breakfast with you guys…knowing I’m not a morning person.”

“It’s not happening tomorrow anyway, so what is she talking about?” Carmy digs into his jacket, where he carelessly shoved his phone into after sending the photo off to Luca.

Another text rings out: at carmy’s place. just us three???

Not Sydney making plans and then placing it all at Carmy’s apartment.

He’s taking a breath, almost as a silent reminder for him to do so before his thumbs move over his screen: i don’t even eat breakfast, Syd.

Syd: well youre gonna.

~ Syd has notifications silenced 🌙 ~

“Well, looks like your work wife told your ass.” You laugh, which you translated into her message but didn’t comment further than that.

Carmy harshly exhales through his nostrils in disbelief, “my work wife huh?”

He didn’t hate how that sounded but he also never thought about marriage or relationships in awhile.

“Yeah…the proof is in the pudding, no matter what anyone says.”

Carmy pinched at his bottom lip as he attempts to dryly joke, “I thought it was rice? and what about outside work…”

“That’s something you have to figure out yourself.” You shrug, getting ready to pack up your notes and cameras.

You turn your attention to the table, which knows just when to lift as you tap on the screen to signal that you’re ready to pay while holding out your company card, “are you paying cash for the tip or card?”

“Uh, cash.” Carmy answers, “…what if I’m starting to think about what come’s next?”

“With Syd?” You question, your now sage and mint scented hands flying over the screen as you select the correct paying method before tapping your company card against the screen.

Carmy starts bouncing his leg underneath the table, “with everything.”

“Well…when you’re ready you’ll make moves to make it happen won’t you?”

Carmy dips his head, “you bet.”

And here comes the intense eye contact that you can’t help but to huff out some laughter.

“What’s funny?”

“It’s just people with light eyes always do this thing where they’re just staring into your soul you know? Like damn, relax!”

Carmy’s confused as he holds his wallet open, “uh sorry for having eyes?”

“Shut up, glacier eyes.” You tell while Carmy just snorts at you.

The both of you don’t waste any time rushing back to his car as the clock is approaching 10pm. The wind’s definitely picked up and the temperature dropped, making it easier not to get caught up in the night time city lights which you often liked to do. Back in the van, carmy doesn’t wait to crank up the heat and you don’t bother to mess with the radio this time.

“So?” Carmy asks as he waits for the car to warm up some.

You keep your attention outside the window shield, “yes?”

“What’s the rating?”

“What makes you think I’m going to tell you that, Carmen?” You continue holding yourself.

He sniffs, “I mean—I was sitting across from you the entire night while you told me some of your thoughts.”

“So you thought you should also get the final score? I don’t even know what I’m going to say yet.”

“Ah, I think you’ve got some idea.” Carmy lolls his head over to peek at you.

Laughter bubbles past your lips, “I do. I’ve absolutely had better because—what the fuck was that?”

Carmen feels a crooked smirk appear on his own face, “I don’t want to completely bash other chef’s work but fuck, I thought it was just me? You said it got a 4.3 out of 5? The ambience and service was spot on but…the flavor for most of the dishes?”

“I knew you knew something about seasoning,” you continued laughing while carmy rolled his eyes, “should spend less on the tech and interior and more on some fresh herbs.”

“Isn’t it called simmer saffron?”

That made you laugh even harder as you gripped your stomach, “You’ve got that so backwards!”

And carmy couldn’t help but to scan your features as you laughed and he felt his chest getting somewhat lighter? Just listening to the sound of you and being beside you. What kind of feeling was this? He’s felt it before looking at someone else but that feeling was more of a tug with that light while this one slowly poured in from the black.

“Don’t be too hard on ‘em though? There’s always room for improvement.”

“Sure, but we both know the bear is better and you guys don’t have a waist list months in advance.”

“We also don’t have any celebrities showing up either.”

“Yet.”

Carmy taps his fingers against the steering wheel, appreciating that, “right, yet…I’m sorry about March. I was too in my head about so much shit and you’re right, I took it out on everyone and I’m still trying to make up for it.”

“Effort doesn’t ever go unnoticed if people look and feel it hard enough.”

Carmy chews on his lips at that, “if you believe that…then why do you feel what I said about dating—uh us—about us dating is out of the blue?”

“I said that?”

“Your eyes did. It’s the most expressive thing about you which is funny to me when you talk so much shit about mine when you hide the rest of it away on your face. It’s fucking confusing but I think I gathered that from our dinner tonight.”

Carmy was just as detail oriented as you. It was in his language with food and maybe even in his tattoos that you tried to understand starting with his fingers first. The way he spoke about what he would do with the dishes that were lackluster, except for the dessert—that was pretty good. Carmy wasn’t much of a talker because he wasn’t sure how to express himself, always been that way since you knew of him at Noma…but he told just enough in his dishes and you told just enough between the lines you wrote.

Someone just had to look hard enough.

“…I ever tell you I was engaged? Of course I didn’t, we’re still…I don’t know what the hell we’re doing here Carmen but I’m starting to sense that we could be special if we both want this badly.”

“What do you want?”

“Does anyone ever really know?” You laughed, “ I guess someone to look past the circumstanial and I had that once but then he died. So that was the end of that.”

“You swore off love.”

“Love is many things but maybe I closed off the long lasting part.”

Carmy could relate to that as least with family. He never had much interest in romance even growing up because he lacked that confidence in anything being permanent besides the chaos he’s used to, then he found some of it once he proved what he fucking set out to do yet cooking was all Carmen really opened himself up to. While Luca and others encouraged him to have a night out in the town, he always left early or if there was one person that caught his interest, they get to talking and both get bored of each other since Carmy hardly made the move to take them back to his. Before Noma?

Maybe.

Back in Paris there was one that could have been permanent but Carmy had to break her heart since Noma was calling. Culinary was his true love and he honestly couldn’t tell you what she even looked like now if you asked him. Things that should have mattered tended to get buried in the blue of his mind unfortunately.

He didn’t have the time to be attached and you didn’t want to have your heart ripped out again.

“How’d—

“He was a firefighter.” Was all you said and just those words alone told carmy it was anything but peaceful.

It took a lot for carmy to scream at himself how Michael went out and he imagined it might have been the same for you. So he wouldn’t dare ask for further morbid details because what did that help?

So maybe you weren’t wrong about the both of you not being ready to take that step on going on dates but change was everlasting.

“Uh—what about breakfast then after that not so great meal?” Carmy asks as he pulls off from the curb now.

You think about it. Really think about it that carmy starts to assume you may have dozed off.

“Depends on the time honestly? And who am I to turn down a free meal?” You beamed at Carmy who lifts his shoulders with a chuckle.

Carmy explains, “Syd and I usually start our days early, sometimes even earlier for me if I don’t get enough hours in. but thanks to the reno those on the early shift can get prep ready and I heard…you’re not a morning person?”

You’re just as sarcastic but there’s no lies, “I don’t even know my name or birthdate when I first wake up…what do you think?”

Carmy snickered at that, ��okay? So how does 10am sound?”

“That’s pushing it but…I think I can be there so that’ll give me the rest of the day to work from home.”

Carmy nods, “can’t wait to read it. Shake on it?”

“On what? My review or showing up?”

“Both.”

“I’m not sending you a sneak peek, maybe syd or even nat but not you.”

“Ouch.” Carmy mocks, still waiting for your hand to touch his.

And when you do there’s a spark, that makes you yank your hand back and you feel like you’re in one of those cheesy teen movies.

You’re aware carmy’s felt that too but he just clears his throat and placed his hand back on the steering wheel. Leaving you to lightly massage the palm of your hand, now glancing at the profile of carmy’s face.

Life takes time to live but once you start to just let it be, the green starts to stand out more and can be equally as joyous…once you get through the rain and mud that is.

And once the ice blue sets back on you, the both of you can’t exactly see the future but there’s always warmth waiting for the cold to give them a try.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

February fluff anthology series continues here.

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fruitcoops · 9 months ago

Text

In the Beginning

Going back to my roots this year with some pre-Coops PT fluff :) This is definitely going to turn into a short series (with exceptions for Leo's birthday, of course) and I'm really excited about it! Hoping for some more time to create this spring <3 Character credit goes to @lumosinlove

TW canon injury (Sirius' ankle)

“Sirius.” Despite the whiteboard with his name scrawled next to 11:00, Remus still managed to sound pleasantly surprised. “Hi, how are you?”

“Fine.”

God, he sounded like an asshole. Remus’ smile didn’t falter. “Glad to hear it. Come on in, take a seat wherever.”

Was this it? The first test? Sirius glanced between the chair by Remus’ desk and the exam table. Hell, maybe he was supposed to sit on the stool. Was he? Was that a ‘Remus spot’ everyone else was smart enough to not even consider?

He picked the chair. Lowered himself gingerly to the cushioned seat, crutches propped on the armrest next to him. A spot on his ankle itched under the Velcro of his stiff boot.

“Thanks for making the time today,” Remus continued, as if Sirius had been any sort of friendly or welcoming. “I really appreciate it. This’ll be quick and easy—just a check-in, figuring out what’s going on and where we want to be. Sound okay?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Sick.” Remus dug around behind his desk for a moment; Sirius could hear papers riffling. Remus’ brow furrowed for a second before relaxing with satisfaction as he pulled a sheet free. “Alright. Sirius Black, meet your new best friend.”

Sirius blinked. “You?”

“Ha! No, I think Pots still has me beat,” Remus laughed, sliding a clipboard across the desk. He pulled his own chair around as well, even though Sirius could see him fold his knees out of the way of the desk. It couldn’t be comfortable. “I don’t like sitting back there when you guys are in here,” Remus said, as if he could read Sirius’ mind. The side of his nose scrunched. “Feels…bossy? I dunno. Can’t really write upside-down, either.”

“Ah. Ouais.”

“But that’s—” Remus waved a vague hand and picked a pen from the broken-handled mug tucked by his computer. “It’s not important. This, on the other hand, is your two-week chart. Decorate it, marry it, I don’t care. As long as you know it’s yours and can find it in that—” He pointed to a wire bin by the door. “—box. Capische?”

Sirius shrugged one shoulder and readjusted his ankle under the table. “Sure.”

“Shweet. There are some forms under the top sheet, if you can fill those out for me real quick.”

Remus stood as Sirius bent his head to write; he puttered in Sirius’ periphery, collecting tape and bandages and a handful of other things from the drawers lining the walls before moving to the exam table behind him. Something spritzed, filling the air with the faint scent of lemon. When he glanced back, Remus was wiping down the exam table with a washcloth.

The table. Of course. He should’ve known. “Do you want me to move?”

“You can if you like.” A lopsided smile found him over Remus’ shoulder. “I’m just cleaning, though. Take your time.”

Feels like I’m taking nothing but time, he thought with no small amount of bitterness. At least Remus meant well. Arthur kept telling him he could have all the recovery time he needed, but Sirius could tell he was getting impatient. He hadn’t even been allowed to think about physical therapy before the six-week mark was up. On some teams, that was long enough to justify rumors of a trade.

Ink smeared under the side of his hand. Sirius cursed under his breath and licked his thumb to smudge it off, but only succeeded in blurring it more. He gave up and scribbled it out, leaving the check mark next to the box instead. Remus’ handwriting was at the top of the page. Sirius Black, printed with a gentle slant to the right. Numbers looped, their tails snagging into one another. Sirius had never met someone who wrote their ‘2’s that way.

“Done?”

He jumped.

“Ope, sorry,” Remus half-laughed as he rolled behind his desk again. The wheels of his chair squeaked. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

Sirius shook his head. “You’re fine. And ouais, here.”

“Thanks.” Remus flipped through the clipboard with easy neutrality. Sirius had expected him to take this a little more…well, seriously. “Looks good. Like I said before, today is just getting the boring stuff out of the way. Forms, building your exercise plan, making sure you don’t run screaming from the room.”

Sirius frowned. “Why would I do that?”

“Hopefully, you won’t.” Remus gave him a look—a joke, he realized a second too late.

“Oh—yes, no, not at all.” Great recovery. It took everything he had not to roll his eyes at himself.

Again, Remus seemed unaffected by his awkwardness. Did he just not see it? Did he think Sirius was playing along? But Remus was always like that, with every one of them. Unflappable and infallible. The world was smooth and calm for him, like a lake on a windless day in the dead of summer. He was wearing a shirt of the same blue-gray as the pond in the park by Sirius’ house.

“How’s your ankle feeling today?”

Get out of your head. “It’s…fine.”

The side of Remus’ mouth pulled up. “Gotta give me something to work with here, Cap.”

“A little sore?”

The light caught his sandy hair as he tipped his head back and forth. “Sore how?”

“Just…” Sirius shrugged. “Sore. Like normal.”

“Stabby? Dull? Lightning-y? Can you feel your heartbeat in it?”

“Um.” The cool air of the PT room siphoned into the small gaps of his boot when he wiggled his toes. “Mostly dull. Sharper when I take the cast off.”

Remus nodded. “You haven’t been putting weight on it?”

“Non.”

“Good. That sounds about right for this point of recovery. Is it an ‘all the time’ kind of pain, or just when you do certain things?”

This was a lot more talking than Sirius had anticipated. He had assumed Remus would sit him on the exam table, poke around, and then send him off with some ice packs and stretches. More time, he said when Sirius had imagined it. You just have to give it another week or two, and you’ll be fine. A hopeful part of him figured they’d let him back on the ice as soon as the bone was healed.

“It’s sore a lot,” Sirius admitted. “The dull kind. It gets worse when I move around, I guess.”

“Even with crutches?”

“Ouais.”

“Do you sleep with it on?”

“…my crutches?”

“The boot,” Remus snorted, though it wasn’t mean. He was rocking slightly in his chair, back and forth. Sirius could see the armrests turn with each light push of his foot behind the desk. The tense thing in his belly eased. If Remus was this casual, maybe he was allowed to take some deeper breaths.

“They gave me a different one for the night,” he said. “It’s softer.”

“Are you more of a back sleeper, side sleeper…?” Remus trailed off, gaze darting across Sirius’ face, and gave a sheepish grin. “That sounds super invasive, wow, sorry. I promise I’m just trying to figure out if you’re sleeping on it weird.”

Sirius tried to school his expression. He didn’t want to know what face he had been making at Remus’ question—they knew each other well enough to not fix him with a media glare. “Uh, my back,” he answered. “Usually. The doctors said to put it up on a pillow until it healed.”

“Cool, cool, sounds good.” Remus nodded again, then drummed his hands on his thighs. “Alright. Those are all the questions I have. Any on your end? Concerns, preferences…?”

How fast can you get me out there? Something told him Remus wouldn’t have an answer he’d like. “No, I’m good.”

Remus had a dimple on his left cheek. It made a divot with his small smile. “Great. Ready to hop on the table so I can take a look?”

It took a moment for Sirius to get to his feet; he reached for his crutches, only to find Remus already holding them steady for him. He hobble-hopped the five or so feet from the desk to the exam table; six and a half weeks in, and the crutches still did their best to stymie him at every turn. Horrible fucking things. His underarms were rubbed raw after fifteen minutes. Clunky and awkward and—

“Hold on.”

Sirius paused.

Remus was frowning at his leg. “Those don’t look right.”

“Quoi?”

“You’re…what, six-three?”

“About.”

“Sit, sit.” Remus ushered him to the edge of the table, but took the crutches as soon as Sirius perched himself on the cushions. He pressed a small button near the base; aluminum squeaked as the foot shortened by a few notches. “That’s better,” Remus muttered, almost to himself. “These pads are all worn out, too. Did they give you towels?”

What the fuck? “Uh, no?”

A disgruntled exhale made Remus’ nostrils flare. He leaned the crutches against the wall with a similarly irritated tilt to his mouth. “Remind me to give you some before you go, or the tops are going to wear the hell out of your armpits. I reset the height, too. They were two inches too tall.”

“Oh,” Sirius said helpfully.

“It’s not, like, a huge deal or anything, but it’s uncomfortable.” Remus cocked his head. He regarding Sirius with a critical, but not harsh, eye. “Has your back been hurting?”

Sirius shifted in his seat. “…yes.”

“That’s probably from the height issue.” Remus’ nose twitched with clear displeasure. A pen turned between his fingers, glimmering in the pale light. Sirius hadn’t noticed the bandaid on his knuckle before. The pen stilled with a sigh, then vanished into Remus’ pocket. “Sorry, I just—Moody and I have been trying to get the guys to come in here sooner, because of shit like this. Crutches at the wrong height, no towels, not knowing you’re allowed to wash braces. You’re already uncomfortable, you know? No need to make it worse.”

“Sorry.”

“Oh, god, it’s not your fault,” Remus said immediately, pumping hand sanitizer into his palm. “Just sucks that we have to ask permission. It’s not like we’re going to do anything stupid while bones are still healing.”

Sirius swung his legs up on the table while Remus rolled a stool across the speckled linoleum; his ankle twinged, but he managed to keep his wince light.

It was no use. “What was that?”

“Hmm?”

“Face.” Remus pointed at him, arching a brow. “You’re in my rink now, bud. You made a face. You can either lie about it, or get out of here on time.”

Perhaps Sirius had been a bit overconfident in how well he could hide pain. “Just sore when I lift it.”

“Where?”

“Uh. My ankle.”

“Right, I—” Remus broke off with a short laugh. “Sorry. Is there pain in other places when you lift it?”

He let Remus wave him further onto the table before answering. “I can feel it in my calf and foot. A little into my knee.”

The plastic was sticky from cleaning solution, but the cushions were perfectly firm on his lower back. He let his head rest back against the wall with a slow breath and wiggled his toes again. It was nice, being able to do that without lancing pain. Remus tapped his thumb against the edge of the table a few times before moving to stand by Sirius’ feet. “Can I take your shoe off, or do you want to?”

“Oh. Um…” He sat up further, but his fingers just barely brushed the hem of his pants. With a grind of his back teeth and a quick flash of pain, he bent his opposite knee and pulled the shoelace free. His ankle began throbbing faintly as he nudged the shoe off—sock too, thanks—and a puff of air slipped out when he finally leaned back.

Remus was watching him with a sad sort of wariness. “Can I make a request?”

You could ask me to do literally anything. “Yeah, sure.”

“Please don’t ever do that again.”

If he didn’t look so sympathetic, Sirius would have bristled. “What?”

“That—” Remus gestured at him. “Looked painful as fuck. This is an anti-pain establishment. If you think something’s going to hurt, we’ll work around it. No judgement.”

The thing was, Sirius hadn’t actually done this before. He knew where the ice packs were kept, and that the big steel container in the corner held heat pads in boiling water. He knew where the support bandages were, where Remus kept extra stick tape, and that the set of small drawers next to the desk would each be labeled with the name of a teammate so they could find specific gear. Remus had given him stretches for his sore back and arms and legs and whatever, but this—the shoes, the touching, the gentleness—there was no rulebook. No captain’s log to rattle through when he needed guidance.

“Okay,” he finally said. “That’s cool.”

“Cool.” Remus gave him that half-smile again. “Can I take your boot off?”

“Ouais.”

Remus was a lot nicer to the Velcro than he was. The rip was quieter than Sirius thought it could be, peeled off by practiced hands. He felt the pressure on his skin release immediately and took a breath at the tender feeling. Not pain, but something close. It made his heart spike every time. “Hurting?”

“Non.”

“You sure?”

“Just—makes me nervous.”

“Makes sense,” Remus agreed. “You’ve had it all wrapped up. Feels safer in there, right?”

Right. Exactly right. Something tightened in the center of his chest. “Yeah,” he said. “Something like that.”

Remus nodded. “Is it okay if I take it the rest of the way off? I can do most of the exam like this if that’s better.”

“You’re asking me a lot of questions.” He tried to sound wry. He wasn’t sure it came out that way.

“Lot of people don’t like touching,” Remus answered easily. He hadn’t moved to touch the boot again, hands flat to the maroon plastic covering the table. “I’d rather you tell me to step off now than make something hurt more.” He gave Sirius an apologetic sort of grin. “Plus, you’re probably sick of people grabbing at you. Don’t really want to be one of them.”

Sirius was sick of it. Hands and fingers and grasping through slivers in plexiglass while he was trying to move, goddamnit, when he just wanted to go back down the tunnel and finally be able to catch his breath. People grabbing him on the ice, pushing. Snape’s body against his own—a shoulder in his sternum. Fingers digging into his skin. A tight grip on the back of his neck.

“You can take it off.”

Remus had a crooked canine tooth. Had he noticed that before? “Thanks.”

Sirius’ fists clenched at the touch of warm hands on his heel and calf. It was…fucking strange, but not painful. Not unpleasant, either. Remus had calluses in the bends of his knuckles and on his palm when he carefully transferred Sirius’ foot to one hand and set the boot up by his hip.

“I’m sweaty,” he blurted. “Sorry.”

Embarrassment flooded him before Remus laughed. “Dude, you have no idea how nasty your boys are when they roll up here. Did you know I had to send a reminder to shower before seeing me? And to wear clean clothes?”

Sirius wrinkled his nose. “Ugh.”

“They don’t cut their toenails, either.” Remus’ eyes flicked up to his face, bright and teasing. “I’m not telling you who, but if you can throw a little captain-y weight around…”

“I’ll try.” It almost came out a laugh. Surprise tingled in his lungs. “But seriously, you don’t need me. They listen to you like gospel.”

“Oh, please.”

“They do,” he insisted. Remus rolled his eyes. “Non, non, I’m serious—”

“Yes, I know.”

“—fuck off—you could tell them to brush their teeth four times a day and they’d be at it. They listen to you more than me.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Remus informed him. “And I also think you’re healing really well.”

“I—what?” Sirius looked down; his ankle was back on the cushion, cradled lightly between Remus’ palms. It jolted something in him. Had his skin always been that pale? He could see the line where the boot ended halfway up his calf. His foot looked ghostly in the light and everything else looked…thin. Skin and muscle, even bone.

He propped himself up on the heels of his hands. The angry, puckered scar from surgery had faded to a narrow line. When had that happened? Surely not overnight. It had looked so ugly in the shower yesterday, which was exactly why he tended to avoid looking at it. He glanced up at Remus’ patient face. Was he grossed out? That wasn’t how Sirius’ ankle was supposed to look. The knobbly bones on either side were practically gray in comparison; they stuck out, as if someone had stuck two marbles under his skin. His stomach turned.

“Sirius?”

He hummed.

“You okay?”

The joking tone had gone from Remus’ voice. The pit of Sirius’ stomach was heavy. His ankle looked weak; his calf, skinny all the way to the weird lump of his knee. “Mhm.”

“We can be done.” Slight movement caught his attention as Remus ducked to catch his eye. There was the solemnity he had expected. It was odd to see it now. “Any time. Just say the word.”

“The exam?”

“I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to do.” Firmness had never sounded so kind. “These first steps are visual, anyway.”

Am I done? Sirius looked back at his foot, the strangeness of it, the sickly mirror of his healthy one. “Keep going.”

“Are you—”

“I’m okay.” He mustered a deep breath. “I’m good. Keep going.”

“Okay,” Remus said quietly.

They sat in relative silence, but it wasn’t bad. Sirius was glad for a break. It was easier to watch Remus work than hold a conversation. The tenderness faded somewhat under the gentle touches of Remus’ fingertips—a tap here and there, faint pressure in the soft spots. Murmurs of feeling alright? and tell me if this hurts filled the buzzing static in Sirius’ ears.

“Ow.”

“Here?” Remus’ first two fingers hovered at the arch of his foot. Sirius nodded. “Cool, thanks. Your swelling isn’t too bad. I think I’m going to hold off on big exercises until Monday, okay?”

Disappointment, bitter and tacky as molasses. “Yeah.” He couldn’t keep the sigh out of his voice.

“We’ll get there.” When he remained silent, Remus poked the peak of his kneecap. “Hey. We’ll get there, I promise. I want you to work on the rest of your flexibility this week. Keep the boot on, but stretch out your legs and back. Your other muscles have been compensating for this and I don’t want anything to get strained.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to do everything I can to get you back on the ice.” Sirius could hear the but in his voice before he even finished speaking. “But I won’t rush through this and throw you out there just to get hurt again.”

Hurt again. Pain, cold and consuming, flashed in his memory. “Okay.”

“If anyone gives you shit, I want you to throw me under the bus, alright?” The last strap of Velcro fell into place. Remus was even careful with that part. The pressure on his skin was familiar and welcome. He felt a light pat to the table. “Tell them it’s all my fault. That I’m being overcautious and mean and keeping you here, whatever. If the coaches have a problem with your care, they can talk to me and Moody about it. Not you.”

“Okay.”

Remus let him get up unhindered. That was nice. Sirius was pretty sure he’d lose his mind at one more helping hand. He waddled back to the desk chair at an incline of Remus’ chin and was once again relegated to watching while Remus taped some small, folded towels to the tops of his crutches before joining him by the desk.

“You did great.”

Wasn’t that a thing to imagine. Could barely get my shoe off, but alright. “Merci.”

“It’s hard to get people to come in here and actually want to get better.” Remus scribbled a few things on the chart. His forehead crinkled in the middle with concentration. “Lotta guys think they’re fine as soon as the doctors’ visits end. But this is the part that’ll make a difference in the long run.”

The chart slid across the table, followed by a smaller, far more sparkly sheet. A smile pulled at Sirius’ mouth in spite of himself. “Gold stars?”

“Very serious stamps of completion, actually.” The corners of Remus’ mouth were tight with restrained amusement. He couldn’t keep the laughter out of his eyes. “You can pick a different theme if you want. Talkie’s got Lisa Frank, which was kind of a power move.”

Sirius snorted—it was over from there. It took a minute for them to collect themselves, and as much as he hated to admit it, he did feel better after peeling a star from the sheet and sticking it in the first box. “Regarde,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Success.”

“Perfect.” Laughter still lingered in Remus’ voice. It was a nice sound. It was nicer when he looked up and smiled, like Sirius had put one of those heating pads right in the valley of his ribs. “Alright, well, that’s all I need. We can do the same time tomorrow, or you can check out the schedule. We technically have office hours, but you can shoot me a text if we need to find a different one. Number’s on the board. Make sure you give your name in the first message.”

“Okay.” Those ‘2’s again, in green marker this time. That weird feeling in his chest was softening. “Yeah, okay. I think tomorrow works for me.”

“Awesome, see you then.”

“Awesome.” Why can’t I talk? Sirius stood and took his crutches back with a slight stumble. He hoped it passed off as broken-ankle unsteadiness, not—whatever else was going on. He breathed an audible sigh of relief when the tops didn’t immediately begin to chafe his inner arms. “Oh, wow, thanks. This is great.”

“Yeah?” He could hear Remus’ smile before he even turned. He looked pleased, fiddling with the edge of Sirius’ chart. “I’m glad. Sucks to not have what you need, and not even know it.”

“Lucky we’ve got you then, eh?”

Remus’ cheeks flushed. It was rather warm in the room. “Nah. I’m the lucky one. Best job in the world.”

“Got you beat, there.”

Another laugh made Sirius’ chest squeeze pleasantly. It was good to see Remus happy, with all he did for them. “Guess you do,” Remus admitted, then shooed at him with the chart. “Get outta here, your boys are waiting. And check the box by the door for this when you come in tomorrow, got it?”

“Très bien, Loops.”

Maybe it was the adjustments to his crutches, or the promise of something like progress on the horizon, but Sirius didn’t feel quite so awful as he made his way down the hall. He almost felt good, actually. Almost hopeful.

#sirius black #remus lupin #coops #pre-coops #pt room #fluff #sweater weather #my fic #fanfic #lumosinlove

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mxlktxa · 1 year ago

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ʜᴇᴀᴅʟɪɴᴇꜱ

ᴍᴏᴅᴇʀɴ!ᴀᴜ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴄᴇʟᴇʙ!ᴇʟʟɪᴇ ᴡɪʟʟɪᴀᴍꜱ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ; ᴇʟʟɪᴇ ᴡɪʟʟɪᴀᴍꜱ*, ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴠɪᴇᴡᴇʀꜱ

ᴄᴡ; ɪɴᴠᴀꜱɪᴠᴇ Qᴜᴇꜱᴛɪᴏɴꜱ, ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ꜱᴛʀᴀᴘ-ᴏɴ ᴜꜱᴇ (ʀ ʀᴇᴄᴇɪᴠɪɴɢ), ᴛᴇᴀꜱɪɴɢ/ᴘʀᴀɪꜱɪɴɢ, ɴɪᴄᴋɴᴀᴍᴇꜱ/ᴘᴇᴛ ɴᴀᴍᴇꜱ

ᴡᴄ; 1.1ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ, 6.0ᴋ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ

‘Famous singer/songwriter and artist, Ellie Williams seen with famous actress and singer/songwriter Y/N’

‘Songwriter Ellie Williams, leaving the studio with Y/N? Is this the internet's new favorite couple?’

“So, as you know, we’ve seen some things about you and Y/N. Is there anything you’d like to share about the two of you with your fans?”

“I wish there was something to share. We’re just good friends. I’m just trying to see if I actually want to get into the acting industry. She’s my—, like… I don’t know, she’s my decoy. My practice, if you wanna put it like that.”

“Look, we know this isn’t a very appropriate question and it’s been asked a lot. Y’all are fuckin’?”

“Who?”

“C’mon, Ellie! You and Y/N, of course! We gotta know. Give us the scoop, man.”

“Jesus, no. I’ve got my eyes set on somebody else anyways, she’s just a good friend.”

“You two, Y/N and you, have been spotted together a whole bunch lately. Is there any reason or coincidence to it?”

“I mean, no. Other than just she brings me with her to check out what the acting industry is really like. It’s… It’s crazy, honestly. Props to her for having the courage for that, she’s a fucking… She’s super fucking strong.”

Blah, blah, fucking-blah. I hated all these stupid fucking articles and interviews with the same dumbass questions. Why did people have to know my relationship status with someone else? Why did they care so much? Why is it a problem for people who don’t know either of us? Just let us live our fucking lives, good-fucking-god. Can I just live my life the way that I want to without being harassed about my love life?

Y/N and I had met at an award ceremony, both fairly new to the respective careers we had gotten ourselves into. We were both assigned to open the show and also seated next to each other. She's such a lovely girl, super chill and respectful. She also minds her business when she's supposed to and never bothers anyone. But her fanbase? I don't know how or why she deals with any of the men she's attracted, but good on her.

I couldn't even be mad at the people asking such invasive questions because here I was, in a hotel room with her, burying my strap deep into her, face contorting into such a wonderful face that I needed to be engraved into my mind. She was so sweet and delicate, a wonderful view to just gaze upon. She sat on my lap as I used my hands to guide her hips down and push my hips up into her. The drool slipping from her lips, hanging from the corner let me know just how much she was really enjoying our time together.

"Fuck, Ellie, I can't do this anymore, I can't take it," a rich whimper came from the gorgeous figure above me, hands gripping onto my shoulders like crazy. A smirk grazed my face as her teary eyes came to meet mine, begging for us to come to an end. I couldn't help but lift her ever-so-slightly so she would offer me yet another cry from those beautiful lips of hers.

I couldn't respond to her. No way, no how. I tilted my head to glance down at the mess she was making on my lap, chuckling at how crazy it was. One hand slid up to her slightly parted lips, thumb slipping in to press down on her tongue. Those lovely moans were now muffled, hips grinding on mine to create that friction she had loved so dearly, starting to now shake at the euphoric sensation she had been receiving for the past hour and a half.

"Oh, but you're taking me so well, princess. How many times have you finished, hm? It's a fucking disaster down there, y'know."

As much as she wanted to respond to me, we both knew she couldn't. She was sucking on my thumb at this point, those delicious sobs still detectable. Chuckling at her attempts, my arms wrapped around her waist as I shoved my face into her chest to lick from her sternum to just below her neck while my thumb had left her oral cavity.

"You're so cruel, Els."

"I'm cruel? You really think so?"

"Mhm. I can't take this. It's too much, I'm so shaky."

She was not kidding about that. She was shaking like a little chihuahua, holding onto me for dear life. I hummed at her situation, peeling away so sluggishly.

"My sweet girl," I whispered, "I'll let you lay down next time. I promise."

"You said that last time and had me against a wall for a full forty-five minutes."

"You looked so angelic. What was I supposed to do? Give you what you want?"

"Yes!" She pouted, though there was a slight smile in that pout she gave me. I shook my head at her, helping her up from my lap as she tried not to fall over and eat shit. I should really give her a break but... She's all good. I know she is.

“I wish we didn’t have to hide this shit anymore,” her face rose up only to hide in the crook of my neck, sighing softly as she ran her hands up and down my arm, “if only people could mind their own fucking business.”

“We could always just say fuck it and go public. I don’t care anymore, they already know.”

Y/N’s eyes popped up, all wide and happy, a lovely smile taking over the pout I knew she had set up just seconds ago. I nodded to her, sitting her in the chair I was in, grabbing her a damp rag and her clothes that had been dumped on the bed.

“But that’s only if you’re willing to answer some questions people ask.”

“I don’t care. As long as you’re okay with it then I am too.”

Shrugging, I cleaned her up, taking my time when I came to run the rag over her still hardened nipples and her cunt which still was glistening in the dim lights. Her chuckle brought me back to looking at her, speeding up the process before kissing her forehead.

“So,” I chuckled, “that song we recorded is getting released at midnight and you are going on tour with me. You think that’s enough confirmation from the both of us?”

“Oh definitely. If they need more, sucks to be them.”

“Okay, fair enough.”

“What are we gonna do? Put out a sex tape?”

“I mean…” I smirked softly, glancing at our phones on the bed, “we—,”

“Shut up, Ellie,” a giggle cut me off while her hand beckoned me over, “you get an hour and a half. Go crazy,” her legs spread open, the heaven’s calling my name as I stared down at her glistening core.

“You know me so well.”

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seoulmatez · 4 months ago

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— 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝓎 𝓈𝑒𝓉 𝑔𝑜 ౨ৎ

mastuoka rin x reader. 1.3k wc. ﾉ sfw ﾉ fluff ﾉ lifeguard!rin & lifeguard! reader ﾉ established relationship

“wanna have a race?” the water beneath you kisses your cheeks as you float on its surface, soft waves carrying you wherever they please with the direction of the wind. the sun isn’t as bright as it had been earlier in the day, doesn’t beam uncomfortably over your skin and in your eyes. it’s beginning to sink down past the horizon, leaving the sky an almost mystical blend of pink and purple.

a lounge chair drags against concrete somewhere on the other side of the pool—no doubt matsuoka going down the checklist of tasks to do before either of you can lock up the gates and go home for the night. he always makes an effort to start the closing duties as soon as the last patron leaves for the day.

“no… would you like to help me clean up?” his voice is smooth despite hours of blowing his whistle and firmly reminding rowdy children not to run or roughhouse.

“come on.” you whine from your place on the glistening blue water. “sitting in a chair all day is no fun. it’ll be quick—promise! and we can make it more interesting with conditions.”

any noise from outside the pool ceases. you can’t see him from your position on your back but the silence is enough to tell you he’s at least considering. “what do you mean?”

with his question, you effortlessly transition from floating on your back to swimming towards matsuoka. splashes sound in your ears as you make your way to the edge of the pool, the sound softening when you slow to a stop, propping your arms on the warm concrete. your gaze drags up from matsuoka’s sandal-clad feet, over his red trunks and white t-shirt, to finally land on his cherry irises. they’re sparkling with curiosity.

“if you win, i’ll quit slacking off and help you clean up—i’ll even take on the majority of the work. but if i win…” you pause for a moment, contemplating how you can benefit from this arrangement. something comes to mind, makes the corners of your lips pull up in a smile. “you have to do whatever i ask.”

his eyebrows come together in the middle of his forehead in a troubled frown.

you frantically wave your hands to wipe the unsureness from his face, drops of water flinging from your fingertips onto the concrete, leaving dark little imperfect circles on the pool deck. “nothing bad!”

he thinks about it for a moment before shrugging and reaching for the neckline of his shirt to pull the fabric over his head. he shakes his hair out and kicks off his sandals, all while looking at you. “fine, i’m in. freestyle?”

“well, we’re not doing butterfly,” you tell him, putting your palms on the concrete to pull yourself out of the pool. there aren’t any starting blocks at the humble neighborhood pool but you still emerge from the water to take your place.

rin chuckles at your unwillingness to swim his specialty. you must really have your mind set on that unspoken wish of yours. “free it is, then.”

you both ready yourselves at the pool’s edge. knees bent, the toes of your starting foot gripping the edge of the deck, you clear your throat. “on three?”

your companion hums. “you count.”

“one.” you extend your arms over your head. “two.” you lean forward. “three!”

you push off the deck as fast as you can after shouting the last count but it seems like rin is faster, entering the water a fraction of a second quicker than you. you can only stay underwater so long, the pool much more shallow than those used for your competitions, shorter in length too. you break the water’s surface and start your stroke, arms alternating in their mission to carry you to the end of the pool.

the water beside you in rin’s imaginary lane looks like it's splashing ahead of yours. you’re in the final stretch and don’t have the luxury of paying him any attention if you want to win. you muster up every bit of energy left in you after a draining day of dealing with kids and teenagers who treat rules as suggestions and convert it into strength that feeds your final push.

when you emerge at the end, rin’s head has already popped above the water, maroon strands of hair dripping with beads of water that drop right back into the pool. you run a hand over your face and shake your head. “no fair.”

rin snorts. he saw this coming—you always find something to nitpick about whenever your so-called friendly competitions don’t end in your victory. he’d call you a sore loser if it weren’t so entertaining. “you’re only saying that because you lost.”

“nuh-uh.” and here come your desperate, far-fetched attempts at discrediting his win. “you’re taller than me so that’s an automatic advantage.”

he won’t argue with you on that one but he does take notice of how you opted to base your argument on that rather than technique or skill. a mischievous smile turns the corners of his lips upward. no good can come from such an expression. “yeah, but i thought free was supposed to be your specialty.”

a strangled noise of disbelief penetrates the air as your eyes widen and you point an accusing finger at him. “you train in freestyle too!”

rin burst into laughter at your reaction, eyes crinkling at the corner, arms wrapped around his stomach. what’s worse, you can’t be as mad at him as you want to be. you’ve always told him that you find him the prettiest while he’s laughing—really laughing. any anger you can summon, barely any at all, comes in the form of a displeased groan and a weak splash of water at him.

his laughs die down, leaving only the gentle ripple of the waves and the occasional chirp of a cricket on the other side of the fence. humor lingers on rin’s face but there’s tenderness in his features. “look, if you promise to hold up your end of the bargain, then i’ll give you that wish.”

“really?” you ask. you never planned on leaving him hanging, and you think he knows that, but you’re definitely willing to pull your weight if he’s willing to be so amendable.

“sure.” he nods, elbow propped on the deck. “so, what is it you wanted me to do so badly?”

it’s silly now that you think about it—the idea and your convoluted way of asking for it. a sense of comfort washes over you as you gaze into his inquisitive eyes. he once told you he’d do anything for you. “i want… a pool kiss.”

his lips stretch into a grin. “that’s it?”

“don’t ‘that’s it?’ me.” you bring your hand up from the water to slap his chest. your cheeks haven’t been this warm in his presence since the two of you first started dating. “i thought you’d call me corny for asking.”

“i mean, it’s a bit cliche but…” you open your mouth to tell him that your worries weren’t for nothing but he doesn’t let the words pass your lips. his wet palms cradle your face as he leans in to capture your lips in a kiss. his body is firm against you but his lips are soft like the fluffy clouds that have yet to disappear with the day. they’re sweet like the cotton candy sky.

his forehead presses against you when he pulls away, your noses nudging with the proximity. the absence of his lips on yours makes you feel as though you should have asked for more than one kiss.

“anything for you.”

thanks for reading! reblogs and comments are appreciated :3

#matsuoka rin #rin matsuoka #matsuoka x reader #rin x reader #matsuoka rin x reader #free x reader #rin fluff #free fluff

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felicitywilds · 1 year ago

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The Magiciatron

A couple of posts came across my dash recently in quick succession about Crowley and Aziraphale’s costuming, and boy howdy did they get me Thinking™. The details of those posts are not super relevant, but they did inspire this one and were quite insightful, so I’d recommend giving them a read anyway, as well as the several other posts I have linked throughout where ideas were taken. Please do give those a read/reblog as well!

And then take a look at this post I saw:

“You’re not trying to trick me, are you?”

Now kindly consider the fact that Crowley is beside Muriel’s left shoulder (like an angel) and the Metatron is on Aziraphale’s right (like a demon). And notice, like I did, that the lapels on his coat are some of the lowest we’ve seen. Which, for an angel-who-isn’t-Aziraphale, and you know, the literal fucking voice of God, is pretty fucking weird. But I digress.

Because what’s important here is that you’re reminded, like I was, how weird it is that the Metatron is wearing so much black.

Surely the most important angel we’ve ever met-- who up to this point, has only ever been depicted as a brilliantly glowing white head, and is (stage blocking-wise, literally) above inhabiting the typical corporations that other angels have, even while in heaven-- surely he would be sporting the cleanest, purest, whitest clothes imaginable, right?

But... he isn’t. He’s not wearing grey or beige like any of the other angels, or even white like Muriel’s constable uniform, he’s wearing black. That’s weird! Angels don’t wear black! Oh... well except when they’re magicians, of course:

(X, X)

But even in his magician costumes, Aziraphale retains many elements of his angelic nature: the upward-pointed lapels; the white cuffs poking out of his sleeves; the floppy bow ties; the single-button or open jacket revealing the soft gold and velvet vests. This is merely a flashy costume! Don’t worry folks, he’s still the same, good old angel underneath!

The Metatron, on the other hand, does not have any of these angelic indicators. Underneath his magician’s coat-- which is big and loose, falls closed in front of him in a way that obscures his suit, and has extremely downward-pointing lapels-- he wears a dark tie, and a very normal-looking, white, pinstripe shirt. No angelic tartan to be seen, either. It’s a very understated, business-minded look compared to Aziraphale’s flashy stage getups. Also worth noting imo is that in many scenes, the Metatron has his hands in his pockets, which obscures his form even more.

Now this might be indicative of something more, some larger scheme we haven’t deduced yet, but by itself it’s a brilliant move by the costuming department, adding yet another perfectly conniving layer to the Metatron’s manipulations:

Dress him in the magician’s coat and send him on stage, where his tricks are hidden in plain sight...

Engage the audience to participate in a dramatic reveal...

Reassure his volunteer that his props are completely normal by offering them up for inspection...

Have the assistant do all the flashy presentation for him...

So that while the audience is distracted, they fail to notice...

... that a swap has been made...

And then the curtain falls. Show over. Audience fooled. Job well done.

The End.

#good omens #good omens meta #good omens analysis #good omens season 2 #good omens spoilers #gomens #gomens meta #aziraphale #the metatron #by me #hes got such a smug look on his face as aziraphale steps into the elevator #he performed his trick flawlessly #be advised the stand-ins for audience and volunteer and assistant are mutable in this metaphor #the only constant is that the metatron is the magician #ok i think thats it SHOOTING THIS OUT INTO THE ETHER NOW #this line of thinking was MOSTLY inspired by the crowley post #and his turtleneck being his 'spy outfit'#which got me thinking about if his white server uniform at warlocks birthday counted as a spy outfit #bc it has lapels (pointed up) whereas no other servers do #which then got me thinking about how hes wearing white and aziraphale black #and then i saw that first post and remembered that metatron ALSO wears black #and then i thought about it for four days then posted this #this is not supporting evidence for coffee theory!!!!!!!#this is a doyalist analysis of costuming and what metatrons role is in that scene #ty for reading

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comradekarin · 1 year ago

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are fans not allowed to prefer Taylor over Beyonce? why do you people always use the race card like do something else its getting tiring atp...

You are definitely allowed to prefer Taylor Swift over Beyoncé for… whatever reason that may be god bless your unseasoned soul. What you shouldn’t be doing is diminishing the work of Beyoncé and other black and queer artists in order to prop Taylor up. The fact that it’s the year of 2023 and we’re having these weird ass conversations of can Beyoncé even sing, dance, or put on a performance? You don’t even have to be a fan of Beyoncé to recognize the immense talent and impact that woman has on multiple demographics of people. Whether that be the Black community, other POC, or the LGBTQ community, Beyoncé has made an impact. And she actually does her research too and doesn’t use minorities as brownie points in her work (cough taylor’s vogue dancer cough). Beyoncé’s work only continues to improve, mind you. And to either deny or downplay that talent in order to prop up a mediocre white woman and her mediocre lyrics and her mediocre production is insane.

Prefer Taylor over Beyoncé? Ok. Love both? Ok. There is nothing wrong with that. As I stated in my previous post, I don’t like comparing female artists; it doesn’t do anything for me or those artists (especially since, from what I understand, they’re on good terms). However, if you expect me to believe that what’s considered the standard for Taylor is the same standard for Beyoncé (or, the standard for white artists vs the standard for black artists), it’s not going to happen. If you want an example, Beyoncé preparing for Coachella is more than enough proof; she had to destroy and completely reset her body after giving birth to twins in order to give the best show she could possibly give. Being the first black woman to headline the festival meant she had literally everything running on the line. We see this sentiment true with other black artists, too, like Halle Bailey, who had to undergo death threats, racism, bullying, and harassment despite having a perfect performance on the big screen and during her live performances. Halle had to prove she deserved to be treated with human decency, and had she even had a strand of hair left out she would have been crucified. I can even go on about the treatment of darker skinned vs light skinned/mixed women (those in closer proximity to whiteness) in the rap industry. We would be here forever talking about this.

And it��s not me pulling out the race card, it’s me simply recognizing that white women are celebrated for their mediocrity and black women are not. It’s me saying that Beyoncé’s fans calling out Taylor’s whiteness is in no where comparable to them calling out Beyoncé’s blackness, especially since Taylor’s whiteness benefits her in contrast to the way Beyoncé’s blackness punishes her. We can no longer pretend the struggle of white women are identical to the struggle of black women. Because, as we’ve seen with Taylor, her ally ship is performative, something she can hang up in the closet and forget about when she goes home at night. When it comes down to it, she will always adhere to her white womanhood to get her out of the shit she places herself in.

If you want to be ignorant and play colorblind to these issues, that’s on you. But don’t expect me to pretend that there isn’t an issue here—an issue that has always been here.

#maybe this comes off as me being biased bc I like Beyoncés music and not Taylor #but I feel even if the roles were reversed I would be able to admit the double standards as a black fan #I hope this made sense anon #ask #anti taylor swift #anti swifties #beyoncé #anti blackness #white mediocrity #white feminism

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razorblade180 · 2 months ago

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Take a bow!

[Hotel Debord]

Lyney:Tadah! Magic!

A very familiar phrase accompanied by a flock of pigeons taking flight from a deck of cards. Applause from his dear friends, new and old, were all around him at Furina’s tea party.

Furina:Bravooo!

Navia:One of these days I’m going to find out how you do it.

Clorinde:Pretty sure that ruins the fun.

Lyney:I welcome her to try. It would only mean I’d need to even more crafty.

Lynette:I don’t really think that’s possible anymore.

Lyney:What’s that supposed to mean!?

Wriothesley:This certainly is the liveliest tea party I’ve ever seen. Almost feels like I should be paying for the show.

Lynette:*opens hand*

Neuvillette:I do believe he was joking.

Lynette:Oh I know, but if he’s willing…

Wriothesley:I can pay you in my dessert.

Lynette:That works.

Furina:H-Hey! I wouldve kept the slice if you didn’t want it.

Chiori:As if either of you need another slice of cake. At this rate both of you will end up having to pay me if you want keep those clothes.

Chevreuse:Lighten up. I eat whatever I like and I’m fine.

Everyone:You’re a special case….

Emilie:You’ll run off those calories before your body even realizes it’s eaten them.

Chevreuse:All of you can accomplish that too. *bites chicken* mind over matter and all that.

Everyone: “And all that” she say

Navia:Hehe, maybe has a magic trick for that too.

Lynette:Unfortunately…no

Lyney:It’s called a balanced meal and intake

Furina:Pfft, perhaps you should add comedian to your routine.

Charlotte:Honestly that might be kinda interesting.

Sigewinne:Although with you recently adding Freminet… I don’t see that in the future.

Freminet:Stand up is far beyond me. Although…there is a magic trick I’ve been working on. *red* I…I would actually like to try it now.

Lyney:Oh!? By all means, the crowd is yours!

Lynette:Lyney! Don’t freak him out.

Freminet:It’s alright. I got this.

He stands up and begins walking up, passing his brother on the way. Freminet could tell just how excited Lyney was about this. He faced his friends. Funny, Freminet never imagined having so many. Seeing them all calmed his nerves as grabbed a long table cloth from a pile of props Lyney and Lynette had put out for this casual show among friends. Freminet cleared his throat.

Freminet:Ladies and gentlemen. I, The Fantastic Freminet-

Navia, Lyney and Lynette:Awwww

Freminet:*blushing* Will attempt to make a person disappear!

Everyone:Oooooo~

Charlotte:Can’t go wrong with a classic.

Lyney:Umm, that’s a tall order. I was thinking you were about to make a chair vanish or a trick with Per. Don’t you need an assistant?

Freminet:Yes, I do. In secret I’ve practiced this particular trick. I’m not as good as you or Lynette but I’ve tried adding my own touch to it. Now then, may my assistant please step forward?

Everyone looked at one another, seeing who was about to stand up. However, all of them were just as puzzled. That’s when they heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs, their eyes shifted to the right and they all let out a surprise gasp before following it with a bittersweet smile. Approaching from the right was none other than Aether and Paimon wearing a similar smile alongside a couple of fully packed traveling bags.

I a couple seconds of silence filled the space before Chiori began to clap for the two assistance, snapping everyone out of their thoughts and adding to the applause as the travelers stood beside Freminet.

Freminet:I take it these two need no introduction?

Neuvillette:You can say that again.

Furina:And here I was wondering why I never got a response from you about my generous invitation. How cheeky of you.

Aether:We prefer…dramatic.

Furina:Hmm, *smiles* hats off to you.

Freminet:Would either assist like to say a few words before we start.

Paimon:….*tearing up*

Emilie:Aww, *smiles* “allergies?”

Paimon:Hehe, yep! It’s fine though! I…I have no words.

Wriothesley:That’s surp-

Clorinde:*elbows him* Aether? Any comments?

Aether:Honestly…I’m sorta afraid I might start talking a little too much if I’m not careful. A magic trick was one of the first things I witnessed in Fontaine, and it lead to so, so much more than I can imagine. What can I say? I’m happy to be apart of the show.

Lyney:*sniffles*…We’re glad to welcome you on stage.

Lynette:Anytime.

Freminet:*hanging up cloth* Now then, just as a reminder…it’s a disappearing act. As for reappearing…I haven’t gotten the hang of that.

Chevreuse:Don’t sweat it. I think I can speak for everyone when I say no matter how long it takes, I’m sure these two will reappear like magic.

Aether: Couldn’t have said it better myself. Freminet?

Freminet:Ready.

Aether and Paimon look at everyone one more time. Furina locks eyes with the golden hair adventurer as she stands up. Without a word, she bows politely. The rest of their friends follow suit, performing a bow before the two. Aether and Paimon could only smile gently as they finally bow back. It truly has been quite the show. With nothing else to do, they walk behind the sheet.

Freminet:Let’s count down from ten, then I’ll tear down the sheet.

Everyone: Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five..four….three…..two……one………farewell.

Freminet pulls down the sheet. Sure enough, the two wonderful assistants were gone. Freminet took his seat again, silently putting on his helmet. Immediately his siblings gently hugged him for such a moving performance. As much as anyone wanted to clap, nobody did. Instead, silence was broken by the sound of light rain hitting the windows of the hotel. Furina couldn’t help but chuckle as she glanced at Neuvillette.

Furina:Come now, new beginnings should be met with celebrations and clear skies. Nothing less than a standing ovation.

Neuvillette:You are right, Lady Furina. However…ideals like that are clearly difficult to uphold. *pulls out handkerchief*

Furina:Pfft, whatever do you mean? *takes it* I’m still new at controlling my Vision.

Navia:*wiping eyes* Hehe, I’m surprised you didn’t ask for one last photo.

Charlotte:It crossed my mind, but even I know how to read the room. Honestly I think my hands would’ve been too shaky. Beside…*smiles* we can all take one together later, when those two reappear like magic.

#gi freminet #genshin impact #gi lyney #gi lynette #gi furina #gi navia #gi neuvillette #gi clorinde #gi charlotte #gi wriothesley #gi aether #gi sigewinne #gi paimon #gi chevreuse #gi emilie #gi chiori

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aspiringtrashpanda · 24 days ago

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I LOVE OUR COLLECTIVE SON. Find the prompt list HERE.

── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

DAY 17 Prompt: Luke Additional tags: Introspection, plant care, super vague hint to spoilers

“How are you doing today?”

Luke checked the soil of the potted scorching sunflower on his bedroom windowsill. It was dry to the touch, ready for its daily sip of water. As Luke pushed his curtains to the side, positioned the plant’s flower facing the full moon, he checked all of the deep green leaves for any hint of decay.

“A little thirsty,” He acknowledged, “But you still seem healthy.”

His fingers pinched one of the velvety golden petals, humming in satisfaction as the heat that thrummed through the flower seeped through his skin. The fastest way to measure a scorching sunflower’s health was to ensure it was still converting moonlight to warmth.

“It’s funny to think that talking to you has become a routine for me,” Luke murmured, propping the pot onto his homemade drainage system (a tupperware with holes poked in the bottom, turned upside down in a shallow bowl) and gently pouring a small stream of fresh water into the soil. “It feels like just yesterday that Beelzebub was passing on Mammon’s tip.”

“You are a lot happier since I started talking to you, huh?” With a smile, Luke carefully preened any dead leaves from the plant’s underside. “I do wonder why Mammon knows anything about plants, though.”

He giggled, pausing his ministrations to consider, “Maybe he tried to grow a Grimm tree.”

With his sunflower care complete, Luke allowed himself to sink down onto the bench that lined the bay window, placing his chin atop his knuckles as he peered out at the Devildom street just past the glass. He had grown to like the location of Purgatory Hall. Off the beaten path, but not too far removed from the stores downtown. They were close enough to the hustle and bustle that demons–most often couples and those taking their curious beasts on an evening stroll–still passed by.

Tonight was nothing out of the ordinary. Luke’s eyes traced the path of a young demon who looked roughly his own age. They laughed, tugged along by an overeager hellhound puppy. Luke felt a familiar squirming in his gut.

“When I first came to the Devildom, I hated demons. I thought they were bad. Evil and immoral.” He sighed, his fingers absently playing with the scorching sunflower petals, “But now, I don’t think they’re so bad after all.”

“I don’t like to admit it, but… I think they’re my friends,” Luke’s voice dropped to barely above a whisper. On the other side of the glass, the hellhound skidded to a halt, turned around, and tugged the young demon back the way they came. The dog’s nose never left the pavement, clearly tracking some scent.

“At least, Barbatos and Beelzebub. Barbatos helps me with my baking, and I know I say that I want to be a better pastry chef to please Michael, but I’ve started to notice… Well, I look forward to giving my sweets to Beelzebub, even if he is the worst taste tester in all three realms. His praise is nice, I guess.” Luke shut his mouth, let the confession sit. When nothing bad happened, he added, “And I don’t mind Leviathan and Satan much, either. Leviathan is always happy to tell me about new games he thinks I might like, and Satan isn’t as scary as I thought he’d be. He’s nice to cats. Cats wouldn’t like a mean monster.”

The demon with the hellhound was trying to wrestle an unknown object from the dog’s mouth. Luke could hear the demon laughing, cooing at their puppy and begging it to drop the stick! The dog’s tail was wagging so swiftly, Luke thought for a moment that it had two tails. The pressure grew in his stomach, a hole opening up in his chest. Why would such a wholesome scene make him so very sad?

“Does that make me a bad angel?” Luke asked his flower, “Raphael says that showing kindness to all beings is necessary for maintaining a pure soul, but Simeon did that and…”

He slammed his mouth shut, hesitated, and then whispered so softly, he could barely hear his own words,“Would it be so bad to fall?”

Yet the demon and their hellhound moved past Purgatory Hall, and the moon remained as silent as ever. Luke sat in the quiet, in the dark of the Devildom until a ding from his D.D.D. lit up the device’s screen. It was a message from Mammon, asking if Luke wanted to go hunt faeries in the human world.

“Why can’t we all live in harmony, together?” Luke muttered, and this time he thought his scorching sunflower tilted its head towards him.

“It doesn’t feel very kind to keep everyone apart.”

── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

OBEY ME! MONTH MASTERLIST

#obey me month #day 17 #yes i'm going to start tagging these with the days more than halfway through come at me #obey me luke #obey me nightbringer #obey me shall we date #obey me fanfic

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larrylimericks · 2 years ago

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23Mar23

We’re feeling some internal friction At silver screen Louis’ depiction; All the world is a stage But it’s hard to engage When plot lines combine fact and fiction.

I get really rambly below the fold. Proceed with caution if you’re over the discourse already.

I debated seeing All of Those Voices in theaters. I didn’t see either of Harry’s films in theaters — Harries are too much of a wildcard, and I refused to sit through hours of squeals and gasps and reactions, not to the movie but to “omg! Harry’s going down on someone! omg, Harry’s bum!” So I was already tentative about seeing Louis’ film in a shared space, outside the protective silos of tumblr. But I bought a ticket, because I want to support him and because I was genuinely curious what story would be told. Then we got the trailer and I hesitated again, not wanting to watch a propaganda film. But, I’ve lived through all the other Bullshit moments, so I figured I could live through Bullshit on the big screen.

My theater crowd was great — pretty neutral aside from an amusing row of politely excitable Larries I was in secret solidarity with. And I pretty much loved the film. Well, 92% of it. I look forward to watching it again when it streams. I mean, it was an hour and a half of content featuring this fascinating creature we’re all obsessed with. I didn’t want to blink. I hung on his every word (when I could understand them). How cool to get, essentially, a long-form interview, where he’s not promoting an album and we’re not getting the same sound bytes. Louis is wonderfully open and vulnerable, and the story of his life (heh) is inherently compelling. The cinematography is beautiful. The behind-the-scenes are delightful and delicious. I can’t wait for the AOTV gif sets once we have it in high-def.

But it has some plot holes as wide and deep as the ones in Don’t Worry Darling.

First, there’s the confusing (to the uninformed) absence of a love interest. Louis is asexual, as far as the film goes. There’s not even a ghost of Eleanor, with whom he’s cumulatively spent a decade and who is supposed to have inspired so many great love songs and with whom he is supposed to have survived a pandemic. Props to E for living her best life now: going to see Scream on AOTV opening day, enjoying full custody of the pups, publicly supporting her assumed partner — sorry you got Kiki Layned from the film, but I’m guessing you weren’t even written into the script. (It’s not like the film was conveniently re-edited in the months since their break-up. Her stunt tapering was intentional.)

Then there’s the glaring absence of a baby mama (thank god; that family would have been even more insufferable). We’re cruising along for 45 minutes or so and then, wham, Dad!Louis enters the chat with a fully formed 6-year-old child. The kid just magically appears with no backstory — just like in real life ... twice (the first time with the pregnancy announcement and the second time with the revival of Dad!Louis after several years of dormancy, right in time for documentary filming. Just like Harry stunted with his co-star during filming and production, Louis stunted with his.)

The kid is cute, and faultless in this. The scenes are objectively sweet (as they were designed to be). But Louis, who normally keeps things very close to the vest, is all of a sudden an emotional spigot you can’t turn off when it comes to these scenes. It seems quite out of character. Which brings back to mind that this Louis *is* a character. The Freddie scenes just didn’t seem to have a point in the plot other than: Louis is a dad. And that role isn’t integral to the film’s story.

He’s incredibly emotional with Freddie, but the movie doesn’t tell us why. The storytelling gets lazy here. The lad/dad plot seems wedged in. The movie would be perfectly complete without it. I felt like it could have been integrated a few different ways: Louis experienced tragedy after tragedy after tragedy — loses 1D, loses his mum, loses his sister ... and then impending fatherhood either becomes another trial he must reluctantly face (in the surprise pregnancy narrative) or it helps him navigate the grief of losing his sole parent, his closest confidante. OR, Louis, not wanting to be like the absentee father he had, shows up for his own oopsie baby despite the unexpected circumstances. But there’s no exposition or rising action. No footage or photos from the first few years of the kid’s life that we haven’t already seen. Just an immaculate conception.

I think the most compelling narratives of the film are these:

Louis’ overcoming adversity after adversity after adversity. Holy hell. I lived through 1D ending, through the devastating news about Jay (god, I remember the shock and sadness of that day — it was incomprehensible), through the heartbreaking news about Fizzy, and then when you think Louis is gonna get his moment of victory with his first solo world tour, coronavirus pulls the rug out. (That sequence was well done: where we keep seeing the dates get closer and closer to March 2020, and we all know the villain that’s coming, but it’s still such a blow.) I lived through all that in real time, but seeing it in such a concentrated sequence really highlights the shit he’s been dealt, and hearing him open up about so much of it ... that’s the character development relevant to the film’s denouement. And getting to see Louis get what he deserves, finally, and hearing him acknowledge that he deserves it, was a lovely ending.

Louis’ journey to find his footing and his confidence as a solo artist after unfathomable success as part of a group. But, in a sort of plot twist, he’s not really solo, is he? The film gives a lovely introduction to his band now — and in their own words, reveals that they’re not just a backing band, they’re a *band* band. Louis has let them in. He’s forged a new brotherhood. *That*, for me, was the heartwarming story. I loved those scenes, loved seeing Louis in his element, which is in a collective, where he is both king and jester at the same time. (Or perhaps Oli’s the jester. Thank fuck for him, man. Oli is the standout. The breakthrough performance. The comic relief. I want a spinoff series.) It’s easy to miss 1D and glorify those short years and think nothing will ever top it, but Charlie’s storytelling of the LT Band is remarkable. We’re left looking forward, not back.

I know Louis’ dedication to his fans and his fans’ dedication to him is a huge focus, but I don’t really enjoy watching commentaries on fandoms I’m a part of. I’m living it. I don’t need outsider context. And in a fandom as fractured as Louis’ (and 1D’s) there’s not a universal experience. The film depicts dedication as sleeping on streets for rail, hopping from country to country and draining bank accounts — because that’s the kind of “superfandom” that gets easily turned into a marketable freak show. Show me the documentary on the fans who organize the light projects, who run the fashion accounts, who curate livestream sources on show nights, who have turned giffing into an art and science, who help promote Louis in the absence of a competent marketing team, etc., etc. I also thought the interview with the American(?) girls talking about LATAM shows was shortsighted. And showing the rainbow factions but not addressing them? What a missed opportunity to talk about songs like Only the Brave becoming a queer anthem. Straight artists can have gay fans, you know.

But the film doesn’t make the kid relevant to any of those storylines. He could have been worked into the first, but wasn’t. It was like a standalone narrative, with footage from a narrow set of days. I was at both those L.A. shows. The energy was so different from night 1 to 2. And in retrospect it’s clear Louis was performing the first night so Charlie could get the right shots. More like a choreographed play than a rock concert. It makes sense now why the Clarks weren’t in the VIP box with Freddie — couldn’t have them cluttering the frame or distracting the actors. Just, everything about the Freddie scenes is heavy-handed. Make a sign for your dad! Draw his logo in the sand! Fly a kite at sunset! He’s the spitting image of Louis! (Len does all the heavy lifting.) And all the maneuvering it had to take to get all those shots from the L.A. show?! In the VIP box from behind (and from the front, and when he just happens to be mouthing along to Two Of Us), side stage watching Louis end the show, on-stage watching Louis approach Freddie after the show, on-stage catching the moment Louis gives the lad a shout-out ... Charlie had a shot list. But sure, nothing was set up, it was totally organic.

I’m still unsettled by how heavily Charlie laid it on at the first premiere press conference — *he* was the one to bring up the kid, and was weirdly emphatic that nothing was staged, nothing was forced. It had the same energy of the “It’s. Not. Real” thrown baby doll moment, only it’s Charlie insisting that It. Is. Real. Thou dost protest too much, me thinks.

And of course, the lack of interaction between Louis and Harry remains, as ever, the biggest tell. We get poignant post-1D Nouis and Lilo moments in the film, but no Larry. We’re spoon-fed these Very Emotional Moments between father and son (“love you,” “Darling,” mouth kisses), when the real story, the real emotion, the real connection is in just a few seconds of furtive glances between Harry and Louis in the backstage footage of the last 1D performance. Christ, the way Harry’s eyes bore into Louis — chin tilted down, eyes glancing up from beneath a furrowed brow, lips tight, disguising his attentiveness with a hair flip ... they mastered so many forms of silent communication. The quiet call and response, the depths of love and care and concern and protection contained in micro-expressions. Fuck, give me 90 minutes of that. Just a silent film of Louis and Harry looking at each other.

Anyway. Sorry this sounds so grumpy. I did really love most of the movie. But I haven’t made sense of why this film was made. I don’t know its purpose. Maybe the introspection forced by the pandemic lockdown is to credit for this glut of music docs (“docs”) lately. Maybe nine minutes frees him up for nine more months or nine more years. I dunno. He obviously wanted this story told in this way.

Seeing a movie requires the willing suspension of disbelief. You have to ignore critical thinking in order to enjoy the story you’re being told. You tune out your knowledge that everything is fake for the sake of being entertained. We know that Superman can’t actually fly, but we still buy tickets to the cinema. But, a documentary shouldn’t require us to employ this semi-conscious perceiving mode. Yet here we are. I’m just not sure how much more or how much longer we can suspend our disbelief to enjoy fandom.

#larry #louis #louis tomlinson #all of those voices #aotv #stunts #babygate #bbg #spoilers #aotv spoilers #limerick-lt #march 22 #2023

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