#but all the recipes they gave me were pastas

[novvabee]

And They Were Roommates pt.10

summary: friendsgiving, you meet all the slytherins, this kinda doesn't contain a lot, just meeting new characters and wholesome interactions, i might make a part two to this lmao

cw: casual drinking? firewhisky is mentioned but you can interpret it in any way you want really

word count: 2.1k

“Stop that, Siri,” you scolded, swatting at his hand, “It’ll never boil if you keep stirring it.”

You were at the stove, boiling water for potatoes, or trying to at least. Sirius, bless him, wanted to help out, but he was really just in the way if not a downright hazard in the kitchen. 

“You told me to boil and stir, those are my duties and I take them very seriously.” He said with a chuckle at the last part. You rolled your eyes and scooted him out of the way.

You had already baked a lovely cake, and helped James cook some chicken and pasta, the last thing you had to make were the mashed potatoes. Remus had cooked up some veggies and was storing them in the warmer.

About a week ago, you suggested a “friendsgiving” to the boys. They had no idea what you were talking about, staring at you and blinking blankly as you explained the concept. You just wanted to have your friends over, all under one roof, and eat yummy food and play fun games. It sounded easy, in theory, but it turned out to be a lot more work than you were expecting, especially since one of the three boys could not cook to save his life. You decided to put Sirius in charge of drinks and entertainment and that appeased him. 

The house was a rush for a couple days, you all decorated and figured out recipes you were going to make for the whole group. Then there was the inviting everyone and setting a time that everyone was available. It was like herding cats.

Your friends, Mary, Lily, and Marlene, were all easy. They communicated and organized and everything went off without a hitch. But Sirius wanted to invite his brother and some friends that you had yet to meet and they seemed…. Well a little less communicative and organized, but that was apparently very normal for them, none of the boys were upset by it.

“Remus,” you called into the other room. The tall boy appeared on the doorway in an instant. “Would you please help me finish the food?” you asked sweetly, batting your lashes to really drive it home.

Remus smirked and rolled his eyes. “Only if I have to.” he replied jokingly.

Sirius whined from beside you where Remus was now moving him out of the way. “Well what am I supposed to do?” he said, pushing out his bottom lip in a fake pout.

You looked at him and smiled, knowing his antics, he was only wanting to stay in the kitchen so he could “test” everything you were making. “Why don't you help James?” you suggested. James was in the living room, setting up some fall-ish decor which included strings of leaves he found outside. He claimed the colors were too pretty to be left out in the cold, so he hung them up insead. It was cute. 

Sirius huffed and exited the kitchen. You continued on cooking, a little faster and more efficient now that Remus was actually helping you. It was a little while later, as you were finishing up, you heard some muffled arguing in the other room. You and Remus gave each other a confused look, then went to go and see what all the commotion was.

You entered the living room and it was completely transformed into a fall wonderland. There were strings of leaves hung up across the ceiling, carved little woodland creatures strewn about, candles lit everywhere, and a fire stoked in the fireplace. The room had a warm glow to it. You stood there in awe, taking it all in. Maybe you should put Sirius on decorating duty more often.

“How did you do all this? And.. you were in here for like ten minutes, how?” you asked, still in shock.

Sirius smirked at you. “Magic,” he drawled, shoving what looked like one of the decorative sticks into his back pocket. James shook his head at Sirius, and Remus coughed from beside you. You couldn’t believe it, he and James must have worked really fast. 

Your attention was drawn to the door, hearing a knock and some cheerful chatter. You smiled, instantly knowing who it was.

You opened the door and were met with the sight of Mary, Lily, and Marlene, all holding dishes they made.

“Hello love!” Mary sang, kissing you on the cheek before stepping inside. You hugged both Marlene and Lily and let them in as well. 

“I can’t believe you actually live with them,” Marlene said to you while handing her dish off to James. “I mean, if you ever need an escape, just let me know and you can come stay with me instead.” she said, conspiring against her friends.

You laughed but answered, “I like it here, the boys are lovely.”

Marlene blinked at you in shock. “The boys? Lovely?” 

“They better be,” Lily chimed in, glaring at both Sirius and James.

The latter held his hands up in defense as the former confirmed “We’ve been on our best behavior.” 

All of you settled in, the girls leaving their dishes on the long table that James had somehow conjured up early this morning. You all found space on the couches or chairs or just on the carpeted floor. Conversation was lively, they all were recounting stories about their school days. 

You learned a little bit more about the boys through the eyes of the girls. Apparently Remus was known as sort of a “casanova” in their years at school, James and Sirius got detention every day for three months but were able to sweet talk their way out of it after only a week, and that they had once set a fire in their common room.

“It was small!” James defended himself and his friends. “And we put it out eventually, didn't we?”

“Yes, because I supplied the water!” Lily laughed, making the rest of the room chuckle along with her.

“What about you, Y/N? You have any harrowing tales from school?” Mary asked.

You shook your head and let your gaze fall to the floor. “I was way too shy to do anything bad or adventurous in school.” you supplied.

“You never got into trouble?” James asked. “Not even once?”

“I mean…Not for anything like setting a common room on fire.” you shot back at him, jokingly. James smiled at you, the perfect, warm smile that he often reserved only for you. The type of smile that would instantly heat your face.

You were grateful for the knock at the door, taking the attention away from you and your growing blush.

Sirius jumped up and raced to the door, opening it to reveal a boy you had yet to meet. He looked almost exactly like Sirius, the only differences were his shorter hair and his sharper features, almost cat like.

“Reggie!” Sirius exclaimed, wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug. The boy stiffened a bit but pat Sirius on the back. "You didn’t make anything?”

The boy furrowed his eyebrows. “Why would I make anything? Can’t we just-”

“Regulus! It’s been too long” Mary called out, skipping up to him and hugging him as well.

“Where are the other two?” James asked.

The boy shrugged. “Honestly I don’t know, I told them I was leaving at 5:00 and for them to be in the car. I left at 5:00.” he said plainly, making James chuckle.

“And they weren't in the car?” James asked again.

“They were not in the car.” The boy confirmed smiling slightly, just the corners of his mouth, but somehow it lit his face up entirely. He turned to you, looking you up and down. “Hello, I’m Regulus.”

“Hi, I’m Y/N.” you said, giving him a small wave. “I’m their new roommate.” you explained, nodding your head to where James stood beside you.

“Oh right, Sirius mentioned you,” he said. You couldn’t really get a read on him, didn’t know if he liked you or not, if he was friendly or not.

You were saved by Marlene inserting herself into the conversation by asking, “So Reggie, uh, do you know who else is coming?”

Regulus turned his attention to her and smirked. He raised his eyebrows and said, “Oh yeah, Pandora is coming. Can’t wait to see her.” He smiled at her like he knew something, like he was onto some game she might be playing.

“Cool, yeah! Love Pandora. I’m, uh, excited to see her too.” she said quickly, then walked away. Regulus and James laughed.

There was another knock on the door, Sirius again opened it and revealed two girls standing side by side. One with dark brown hair and the coolest clothes you had ever seen, the other with blonde hair and an eccentric aura around her. The blonde was holding a tray of baked goods and the brunette was holding some sort of bottle.

They said their hellos to everyone before the blonde stopped right in front of you. “You must be Y/N! It is so lovely to meet you. I am excited to get to know you more, I’m Pandora by the way.” she said in an airy type of voice. She seemed sweet, kind. You were excited to get to know her more too.

“Yeah, nice to meet you too.” you said.

“I made pumpkin pasties, I hope that's alright with you.” she said, motioning with the tray in her hands.

“Oh, uh, yeah that’s great, thank you so much.” you started, “I’ve never had one before so, I’m happy to try one!” you finished, trying your best to match her cheeriness.

“Never had a pumpkin pasty?” she asked, cocking her head to the side. “They are practically all I would eat when I was at-”

“I’ll take that.” Remus interjected, taking the tray gently from her hands.

“Oh Remus! How have you been? I was wondering about…” she started, getting distracted from you and following Remus into the kitchen. 

The other girl now stood in front of you. “Hey, I’m Dorcas.” she said. (you noticed Marlene blushing in the corner, eyeing her. Is this who she was hoping would show up…)

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” you repeated to her. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” she echoed the formality. “So… you’re living here now? With them?” she nodded to Remus and James in the kitchen.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding.

She handed you the bottle in her hand. “This is for you, I think it may come in handy living with that bunch.” she laughed, her voice smooth and soft. “It’s whiskey.”

You giggled and thanked her, taking the bottle. “Drinks, anyone?” you asked, raising the bottle up for all to see. There was an assortment of yes’s and agreements. You made your way to the kitchen to start handing out drinks.

Everyone was mingling and drinking, making their way to the table. You sat between Remus and Dorcas, talking to her about clothes and jewelry. She was wearing some of the coolest rings you had ever seen and you needed to know where she got them. “Oh here,” she said, handing you one you had asked about.

“W-what no. I couldn’t” you stuttered, shocked that she would be willing to give it up. Like she had known you for years, like you were sisters sharing clothes. 

“No, don't worry about it, think about it like a house warming present or something.” she explained, popping the ring  on the placemat in front of you. “Besides, I like making my own rings, I can always make another.”

You thought right then that she may be the coolest girl you had ever met.

There was yet another knock at the door. “Late as always!” Mary sang from the other side of the table, making the room laugh. Pandora was the one who jumped from her seat and made for the door. 

“Evan!” you heard her call out. She re-entered the room with two boys behind her. The first boy was tall, almost as tall as Remus, and blonde like Pandora. The other was slightly shorter and had green streaks dyed into his black hair. The second boy was holding a pie.

“I told you I was leaving at 5:00” Regulus muttered from one of the heads of the table.

“We made a pie.” the one with the green streaks said, extending out the pie he was holding.

Lily crossed her arms over her chest and raised a brow “you made a pie?” she said with an accusatory tone.

The green haired boy smiled. “We bought a pie, and the pie is here.”

You stood and walked up to the two new boys. You introduced yourself and took the pie, telling them to follow you to the kitchen so they could grab drinks as well.

“I never thought the day would come when I would be jealous of the marauders.” you heard the green haired boy, whose name you learned was Barty, mumble to the tall blonde boy, whose name was Evan, Pandora’s twin brother.

so this one was so fun to write even though nothing really happened, I just like to flesh out all their personalities kinda... idk. also there is so much magic in this one if you're looking for it. I do wanna do a pt.10 pt.2 lmao but that is so silly

taglist 💌:@too-efn-old-to-be-here @cometsghost @eeviee4 @giuli-in-earth @spicybearnaise @the-lavender-girl @adharalikethestar @champomiel @itsleroyposts @enamoredwithbella @babymash @ilovejamespottersomuch @liszblog @sammyreid @kiaslily @idkman5335 @willowlovestheweasleys @lady-balem @nislame @latenightreadingpdf @v-loves-frogs @meggishhhh @mooonyxoxo @sodavrr @notmonstersapocalipse @plk-18 @prettylittlewrites

[sourseat]

today i cooked again (wow two nights in a row) and made this one tin oven chickpea curry. given the 50km p/h winds i did not wanna leave the house to shop, so this was a ~use what i have~ dinner. it was a little bland, but for the amount of time + effort it took i'm not mad about it. i probably under seasoned it + i could have maybe doubled all the spices. i didn't have any mushrooms so left them out, and put coconut milk instead of heavy cream. would be delicious with some natural yogurt + fresh coriander. and/or fresh simple tomato + coriander + lemon juice salsa. i ate it with rice !

[nobodybetterlookatme]

The love/hate relationship with my coworkers is so real lmao like why are they like this

[stiingrayyyy]

Dating Headcanons F.H

What it’s Like to Date Five Hargreeves

Pairings — Five Hargreeves x Reader (pronouns not specified)

Summary — My headcanons for if you were Five’s lover.

Warnings — opinions, no plot, it’s all over the place, last one is semi-NSFW.

A/N — i try to avoid nsfw with five because yk.. in the show, he’s physically thirteen but this one was too funny not to add. let’s all just pretend there was a happy ending okay 😭😭. i wrote this before season four came out so let’s pretend it ended happily.

— if you want another version where it’s just headcanons of you and five in the apocalypse i’m down for that.

— I see headcanons where Five is straight up mean, manipulative, and where he’s just using you.

— To me, that’s not Five being in love with you. Have you seen how he treats Delores? HE’S SO SWEET TO HER.

— So if you’re his lover, he will give you princess treatment like no other, holy shit.

—He’ll prepare breakfast so it’s ready to be eaten when you wake up.

— He thinks breakfast in bed is a recipe for disaster so he never does that.

— If you take a while to wake up he’ll wake you up.

— “My love, breakfast is ready.” He’ll whisper into your ear before pressing a kiss onto your temple, then one on your forehead, then your nose… then finally a chaste kiss on your lips.

— He’ll tuck you in bed at night and make sure you’re all snug before leaving. If you can’t sleep he’ll read to you.

— With him around, you genuinely never have to open a door. In addition to paying for every meal, he always walks on the outside of the sidewalk. He also pulls the chair out for you when you sit and showers you with praise.

— Sometimes the praise is simple whispers in your ear because he isn’t much into PDA.

— There was never an official wedding, he stole two matching rings and gave one to you.

— He’d like to have an official wedding.

— If he has to worry about the apocalypse he’ll probably neglect you only because he thinks the fate of the world is in his hands.

— He loves going on simple dates, whether it’s at Griddy’s Doughnuts, a simple stroll in the park, or a little painting place.

— He’s fancy but he doesn’t see the point in expensive restaurants. He likes the little things.

— He loves to make and paint pottery with you, it’s his favourite thing to do.

— When he can’t sleep he’ll come over to your place and sit on the roof with you.

— If you fall asleep he’ll Blink into your room and tuck you in, and he’ll even leave a note for you to read when you wake up.

— It usually goes along the lines of..

“You fell asleep, don’t worry I made sure you got back in your room and I picked up all your stuffies from the floor and put them on the bed with you.”

— He struggles with insomnia.

— He’ll write you love letters even though it’s more convenient to send a text. He loves you and he’s willing to put effort in love notes.

— His primary love languages are quality time and acts of service.

— He doesn’t show much affection in public.

— He doesn’t mind holding your hand though.

— Five won’t be afraid to hold your hand, wrap an arm around your shoulders or waist while he’s with his siblings.

— Kisses and hugs are private though.

— Despite being private, he doesn’t hide the fact he’s dating you.

— If anyone tries anything on you, Five will glare daggers. If that’s not enough, he’ll threaten them, and if they keep pushing he’ll make them bleed (but not too severe 🥰)

— He’s hella protective.

— You make midnight munchies together.

— He’ll refuse to dance with you in the kitchen at 2am but he’ll reluctantly say yes and end up actually enjoying it.

— Same goes for dancing in the rain. He pretends to hate it but he loves it and you know he does.

— You always make pasta or noodles for midnight munchies.

— One time you made cookies and accidentally woke up Klaus who ate the cookie dough before you got to put it in the oven.

— When you guys had sex for the first time Klaus congratulated you and Five with a cake that said ‘virgin’ in the middle of a 🚫 and woke you up the next day with confetti.

— sorry, i know i said i’d have a part three to my ben hargreeves fic but i wrote it and didn’t edit it.. and it didn’t seem entertaining enough to post, i’m sorry.

— if you want headcanons with the apocalypse involved, let me know <3

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Day 4: market day

Masterlist flufftober 🎃

Reblog if you liked it!

You've heard a lot of people say that the honeymoon period only lasts the first few weeks of marriage and that after that things can start to get complicated. But the rule didn’t seem to apply to you.

Maybe it was because you two were young and enthusiastic, because you were too busy missing him to think about arguing, or maybe it was just that you really were made for each other.

You often tried to steal as much time as possible from your husband’s demanding job because being an FBI agent often took him away from you, and sometimes having a few domestic moments was all you both desired.

Grocery shopping was one of those activities that really made you feel like a married couple, and it saved you many trips to the store for food.

“Which do you prefer? Soy or almond milk?”

“Soy has phytoestrogens and more health benefits in moderate amounts. Almond is for people looking to maintain weight, and although it’s healthy, it’s low in protein.”

“Soy, got it,” you said with a small smile at his intellectual response.

Every time it was grocery shopping day, your job was always to push the cart and grab an item or two within reach, but most of the time, Spencer was the one in charge of selecting your groceries. After all, he had a pretty extensive knowledge of the benefits of each food. He always wanted to take care of you, and since he was often away, one way he could do that was by ensuring you were well-nourished.

“Look, I found some tea,” he announced happily, making you look away from the yogurt section in the fridge to pay attention. “Lavender, passionflower, valerian…”

“For your insomnia?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, dropping the boxes into the cart “And some mint and lemon for you.”

“You know me so well,” you smiled sweetly, leaning on the plastic handle, letting him gently caress your cheek.

You two had known each other for so many years that there were details about each other you knew by instinct. You knew his favorite brand of coffee, how he liked it with a specific number of sugar spoons, that you needed to buy him two sets of socks because he always liked mismatched ones, and you knew the exact spot on his head to stroke to help him fall back asleep after a nightmare. He knew you hated wearing shoes indoors, that you had a specific way of sleeping, and that you hated the smell of cinnamon. There were so many things you did as if they were second nature that it seemed impossible to list them all.

The truth is, people at Spencer’s work were quite surprised to find out that not only did he have a girlfriend, but that you were getting married. The event was private, very intimate, and not at all pretentious because that wasn’t your style.

You both had no problem moving into a new, slightly more spacious apartment, now that everything was doubled. But you were managing it quite well, to be honest.

You continued strolling through the grocery store, staying close to your husband, and then remembered you needed some bread. You pushed the cart over and stood next to a woman who seemed to be in a dilemma, staring at two loaves of bread as if trying to analyze which was better.

“The best one is that one,” you said, hoping not to make her uncomfortable. She looked at you confused, so you decided to speak again. “It has less sugar and the necessary carbs for good nutrition. There’s a study about it; it’s true.”

“Oh, sweetie, I wasn’t looking for the healthiest, just the one with the best quantity and price. It’s for my kids. Those children could eat an entire loaf in a day, and I can’t afford that.”

You laughed honestly and gave her a look of understanding. She was a bit older than you but not old enough to be considered elderly.

“I think you’re right.”

“I love my kids, but I won’t lie… sometimes they drive me crazy,” she confessed, and you both laughed again.

“Darling, do you want me to make pasta for you this week? Rossi taught me a recipe that…”

He trailed off when he noticed you had company, and for some reason, he suddenly felt shy.

“That’s fine, love. We can eat whatever you want,” you replied kindly. “I already have something to go with it.”

You winked at him when he noticed the wine you had tossed into the cart, and then he smiled and went off in search of the necessary ingredients.

“Your boyfriend?”

“Husband,” you corrected her. There was a strange pride in saying that.

“Husband! Oh, that’s so sweet. How long have you been married?”

“We’ll be married for four months next week.”

“Young love, so beautiful,” she sighed, as if nostalgic for a time that now seemed too far away. “And he helps you with the shopping?”

“I help him, actually,” you laughed. “He’s the one who selects everything. Before we got married, I had the worst eating habits, and he hated that. So we try to eat better now.”

“Marriages are so different now,” she said, and upon hearing that, you expected to endure a conservative speech and internally dreaded it. “My husband never joins me for things like this; he’s not even interested. In this and in much more, to be honest. And it’s nice to see that girls nowadays can have these kinds of relationships. You know, where they’re supported.”

Somehow, that touched your heart, and suddenly you wished you could hug the woman, but you held back. Then, you looked over at Spencer. He was in the vegetable section, apparently comparing two bags of spinach. You could recognize him in a crowd without a doubt, with his slouched posture, his messy hair (freshly cut, by the way), and his peculiar formal attire.

You had always appreciated having the man in your life, even when you didn’t have a romantic relationship, but you had never stopped to think how lucky you were that he had decided to love you.

“I’m glad too,” you said in what was barely a whisper.

You didn’t say anything else. The woman said her goodbyes kindly, and you just smiled at her, too busy gazing at the man with loving eyes. You stood there watching him, and when he approached, he couldn’t help but notice your strange expression.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing. I just had a very revealing conversation with that woman.”

“Huh, yeah?” he hummed, dropping a collection of items into the shopping cart “And what was it about?”

“About you,” you answered casually, lifting your hands to place them on his chest and then sliding them to his cheeks “Talking to her reminded me that you’re the best husband in the world.”

Carefully and affectionately, you stood on your tiptoes and planted a loud kiss on him. Spencer laughed as his cheeks blushed, returning the favor with a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“I don’t know if I am, but I try.”

“And that’s why I love you,” you confessed sweetly.

And then, it was Spencer who felt lucky.

[alisonsfics]

wrong number texts

pairing: carmy berzatto x reader

summary: when you asked carmy to give you a few mini cooking lessons, it sounded like a good idea. that was until you had to spend lots of alone time with him, and somehow not mention your crush. so, you decide to text sydney about it, or you think you do.

word count: 1.5k

“I gotta go make a call, but you can get started without me. I left the recipe over there.” Carmy told you, grabbing his phone and heading towards the alleyway door.

A few weeks ago, you had asked Carmy for a few mini cooking lessons to help you improve. In true Carmy style, weeks went by as he forgot about it. With a million things going on at the Bear, you reminded him.

He felt like shit for forgetting and promised to make it up to you.

You weren’t holding your breath. You knew Carmy got easily distracted and had a lot of things on his plate. After you both picked a day, he cleared his schedule for you.

He didn’t want to let you down again. He hated seeing you disappointed, but you didn’t know that.

Since it had been weeks, you hadn’t been thinking about it too much. Now that the day was here, you realized it meant a lot of alone time with Carmy.

You worked with him everyday, but usually your friends were there. With just the two of you in the kitchen, it was too intimate. Given that you had been crushing on Carmy for months, you didn’t want to accidentally confess how you’d been feeling.

You quickly washed your hands and grabbed the recipe written in Carmy’s scribbly handwriting. It was a recipe for a pasta dish.

You grabbed the dough out of the fridge that Carmy had prepped. You started to knead the dough.

Carmy came back into the kitchen, glancing over at you. You noticed how his eyes didn’t leave you as he walked over to the sink to wash his hands.

“So, how’s the dough coming?” He asked, letting his hand graze your back as he walked behind you. Sometimes you felt like Carmy’s lingering touches and glances were on purpose, but you weren’t brave enough to ask him.

Even though he was one of your best friends, he was technically your boss. If you asked your boss if he was into you and he said no, you would be mortified.

“Here let me help you. If you do it this way, it’s faster.” Carmy said, standing behind you and putting his hands on yours. His fingers ran across the back of your hand as he helped you massage the dough.

You could feel all the heat rush to your cheeks. You were all too aware of your senses. You could feel Carmy’s chest against your back. You could feel his biceps pushing against you. You could even smell his cologne mixed with cigarette smoke.

This was one of the times you questioned if Carmy was doing it on purpose. He couldn’t have been that oblivious, right?

Watching his tattooed hands grab your own and force them to do what he wanted made you weak in the knees. You felt like you were just his puppet.

You swallowed, trying to distract yourself with anything else.

“There you go, see how much softer the dough is,” he said. His breath on the back of your neck sent a shiver down your spine.

He pulled away, giving your shoulders a quick squeeze before backing up to grab a towel.

“Now, you wanna section that dough and then start working on the vegetables.” He instructed. You quickly nodded, not being able to form any real words.

All you could think about was having his hands on you again.

He silently watched as you washed and peeled the vegetables. You didn’t think you’d feel so nervous having him watch you, but you were overthinking every little thing you did.

He gave you calm instructions about your finger placement while holding the knife. And you were just praying he didn’t try to adjust your hand. You couldn’t think straight with Carmy next to you.

You scooped all the chopped vegetables into the bowl. “Can I take a break for a minute? I need to make a call really quick?” You asked him. He quickly nodded his head. “Yeah yeah, of course. Go for it,” he said, smiling at you.

You quickly threw down your towel and headed into the alleyway. You took a deep breath and leaned back against the wall. You grabbed your phone to text Sydney.

She was the only person that you had told about your crush on Carmy, so she was the person you ranted to about everything concerning Carmy.

“Syddddd, please save me. Can you please fake an emergency and call me? I can’t be here anymore today. I asked Carm to teach me some stuff, but I CANNOT FOCUS WITH HIM LOOKING THE WAY HE DOES TODAY. Please please please help a girl out. Having to look at his tattoos all day? I’m gonna embarrass myself. I don’t know what’s happening with my fucking hormones, but please help me. If I hear him talk about finger placement one more time, I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it.” You texted her.

You leaned your head back against the wall, slowly trying to take deep breaths. The cold air filled your lungs. It brought you some peace and temporarily distracted you from the fact that you had to go back in and face Carmy.

Every time your phone buzzed, you frantically checked it. You were praying Sydney would text you back and save the day.

You heard the door swing open beside you. You glanced over and saw Carmy step outside.

“You mind some company or did you want to be alone?” He asked you, softly.

You quickly shook your head. “No no, feel free,” you assured him. You could feel your heart start beating faster.

He stood next to you, also leaning back against the brick wall. He silently looked up at the clouds, like he was trying to decide what to say.

“Did you want to talk about something?” You asked him, nervously. He took a breath before turning to face you. “I’m not going to lie to you. That text, that was meant for Sydney, got sent to me.” He said, hesitantly bracing for your reaction.

You felt all the blood drain out of your face. Your heart started racing. You quickly wiped your sweaty palms against your jeans. Every single word that you typed was replaying in your mind.

“Fuck fuck fuck, I did not do that.” You mumbled to yourself in disbelief. You put your face into your hands. You were silently wishing you’d wake up from whatever nightmare this was.

“Hang on, take a breath. You don’t need to freak out.” Carmy tried to relax you. You looked up at him in disbelief. “Don’t need to freak out? Carmy, you’re technically my boss. And I just accidentally sent you a text thirsting over you like an idiot.” You rambled.

Carmy chuckled to himself. He thought you were adorable when you were frazzled. He also was surprised you didn’t know he felt the same way.

“Come on, I’m not really like your boss.” He argued. Technically, he was right. Carmy always treated you as an equal, not like an employee. That was how he treated everyone at the Bear.

“That doesn’t make it much better, Carmy. You’re one of my best friends, and now it’s gonna be weird. God, I’m such an idiot.” You continued to rant. Carmy continued to smirk at you, but you were too busy having a crisis to notice.

“You want to ask me where I’m at?” Carmy suggested. You looked up at him, trying to read his expression. “Not really, I’ve been dreading the “I just think of you as a friend” talk.” You told him, nervously.

You finally noticed the grin on his face, it almost felt lovestruck. “Would I change your mind if I told you I’ve been wanting to ask you out for months?” Carmy asked, raising his eyebrow at you.

You finally felt the panic slow down. Your jaw almost dropped. “You let me stand her mumbling like an idiot, and you were just as into me? You jerk,” you said, trying not to laugh as you playfully hit Carmy’s arm.

“So, what’d you say? Me, you, dinner? Tomorrow night?” He suggested, cockily smirking at you. He placed his hands on your waist and pulled you closer to him. “That sounds amazing, but only if we pretend you never saw that text.” You told him.

Carmy tilted his head to the side. “I don’t think I can unread that. I didn’t know how much you liked my tattoos.” He said, smirking.

“Oh, yes. They’re wonderful.” You said, letting your hand trace his bicep. Carmy practically melted under your touch. He tightened his grasp on your waist and nudged you backwards against the wall.

“You’re gonna be seeing a lot more of them if this is how you react.” He said, watching the way you admired the designs.

He grabbed your chin and forced you to look away from the tattoos. Your eyes met his, and he slowly leaned in to kiss you.

taglist: @laurakirsten0502 @miraclesoflove @nathaliabakes @millipop18 @lillyssh-tposts @shyinadarkplace @vanteguccir @missroro @guacam011y @sw33t-cupid @ice-dtae @leyannrae @sia2raw @nyx2021 @just-a-littlebit-of-everything @shyconversationalbookworm @shadowhuntyi @visenyaverse @ruzannetheseahorse @superdeath @wandaswifeyforlifey @spookyqueen @mcuswhore @princess-evans-addict @n3ssm0nique @peakascum @cjand10 @namsey1987 @supernaturalstilinski @stephv213 @warriormirkwood @one-sweet-gubler @narliesstuff @bibissparkles @stupiidfrogs @navs-bhat @mattsfavbigtitties @the-sylver-dragon @0-n-1-x

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

[cumikering]

Ghost x asmr artist reader

2.2k | fluff Simon had a pepper problem and a pasta dilemma

Simon stilled when he heard it. In the middle of the deserted pasta aisle, his hand froze mid-air as he reached for a box.

That voice.

He threw the box into his basket and rounded the corner into the next aisle. The staff you thanked had walked away, leaving you to scan the wall of bottled spices.

He blinked. Could it really be, or was it another trick of his mind? What was the end game here anyway? He had no excuse to be staring for more than 5 seconds.

You turned to him. He noticed the little startle before you shoved your phone back in your pocket.

Was it scarier if he slipped away now? But curiosity got the best of him and he made his way to stand next to you. You took a step sideways, giving him space.

He needed to confirm he wasn’t imagining it.

He cleared his throat. “Sorry, which pepper would you recommend, white or black?”

You blinked up at him before answering. “It depends on what you’re cooking, but in general I’d rather white.”

It really was you, wasn’t it? That voice was unmistakeable, always soothing and sweet.

You pointed. “This is the brand I use. It smells better than the rest.”

He recognised your gentle hands, fingers nimble and nails neat as you completed tasks on camera. There was no denying it now.

Your quiet cooking videos were one of the only things left that offered him calmness, especially on those nights away on missions, giving him tingles in all the right places, and shamefully, the wrong ones too sometimes.

Simon wasn’t picky – he always appreciated any sort of warm food, but he especially loved women who cooked. But you and your voice? There was something so soft and domestic about you making these meals with care – a taste he craved.

Could you really blame a soldier with no one to come home to for having a little crush?

It was silly, he knew. But it didn’t stop him for commissioning you to cook his late mum’s recipes. Having you say his name always made his heart flutter.

“Thank you,” he grunted, dropping the item into his basket.

“You’re welcome.” You flashed him a smile before going back to the herbs in front of you. You took a bottle and turned away.

“Ah- I’m sorry,“ he managed, flustered by your sudden exit. “I didn’t want to be presumptuous, but you make those videos, don’t you? I recognised your voice.”

You grinned, turning to him.

“I just wanted to thank you,” he said. “Your videos comfort me a lot.”

“I’m happy to hear. Thank you for watching.”

Simon wanted to tug his beanie over his face because as you walked away, he was unmoving with a racing heart and a blush over his pale cheeks.

Life carried on. Deployments with the 141 occupied his mind most of the time, but if Simon was lucky, he’d hop online to a new video of yours. Despite the uncomfortable circumstances, your quiet yet crisp voice always sent him into a restful slumber.

The chance encounter only fuelled his attraction. Knowing the kind smile behind the sweetest voice felt like an intimate secret, one you shared with him and only him - not with the rest of your few thousand subscribers.

So months and a few more commissions later, when he saw you again at the same supermarket, he could only chew on his lip and turn away. He didn’t need to slip further into delusion. That, and he didn’t want to scare you with his staring problem. It was clear how ominous he was to strangers with his size and unsmiling face.

But when he was once again in the pasta aisle, torn between spaghetti and fettuccine, that voice blessed his ears.

“Hiya.”

He turned to you smiling up at him. “You remember me?” he asked incredulously.

“Hard to forget you.” Your face dropped. “Oh, no, I didn’t-  I meant you’re easy to remember. You’re tall-“

He gave you a crooked smile. He could only blame the weather for the heat rising up his neck. “I get that a lot.”

“Well, I wanted to ask how you liked the pepper.”

“It tasted like pepper.”

You laughed and he wanted to bite his lip. He felt like a schoolboy at a loss for words in front of a pretty girl.

His gaze dropped to your hefty basket. Minced meat, potatoes, carrots, a bag of peas… You nestled a box of pasta on one side.

“Making Shepherd’s pie tonight.”

He nodded. It was his favourite, especially his mum’s.

“Someone sent in a recipe for a video, and it’s absolutely delicious. I’ve been making it at least once a month ever since.”

“Simon?”

“Yes! You’ve seen it?”

More times that I’d like to admit. “It’s me. I sent you it.”

“Oh, I can’t believe it’s you! You’ve always been too generous with your tips.” You beamed. “The last recipe you sent, I promise I’ll get around to it next week. It’s just work has been ultra busy.”

“The brownies? Don’t worry about it. Take your time.”

“You know what, don’t tip me anymore. Send me a recipe whenever. You always have wonderful ones.”

He wasn’t going to stop, but he nodded anyway and the both of you lingered.

You averted your gaze. “Okay, I’ll leave you to it.”

“I’m done.” He popped both the spaghetti and fettuccine into his basket.

“Right. Well, I’m just heading to the check out now.”

“I can help you with that if you’d like.” He gestured at your shopping.

“Thank you so much.”

As he stood in the short queue (a respectful distance behind you of course), he tossed a few boxes of creme eggs into his basket.

“I haven’t had those in forever.”

“They’re decent.”

Who was he kidding. They were more than decent. He’d developed a terrible sweet tooth ever since he enlisted; always grateful of whatever he could get his hands on. But creme eggs? He had to grab them before they were gone.

You laughed. “I think it’s only fitting to top your brownies with something you like.” You popped a box into your basket.

Could he like you any more? He would die for a bite.

“Sounds lovely. I’m looking forward to it.”

Your smile lingered before turning to the cashier to settle your shopping. When it was his turn, you waited for him on the side. He hauled his bag over his shoulder, still insisting on carrying yours as you exited the supermarket.

“I’ll help you to your car.”

“I walked here. Unless you want to walk me back home?” you teased.

“I do, if you’d let me,” he deadpanned.

“You don’t even know if I live nearby.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

You smiled up at him a moment longer. “Would you like to stay for dinner? It should be done in about an hour, if you’ve got the time.”

Can’t say no to you. “I don’t have anywhere to be.”

You led the short walk to your flat as he tried to not gawk at the way breeze ran its fingers through your hair. While you put your belongings away, Simon took his grey hoodie and cap off, and draped them over the back of the dining chair. He combed his hair back with his fingers, hoping his hat hair wasn’t terrible. He caught the double take you did at his tattooed arm.

You put on instrumental music and pulled out a stack of recipes from the cabinet. Simon’s Shepherd’s pie, you’d scrawled onto the card.

“I can help with the mash.” He ripped open the bag of potatoes.

You simmered a pot of water as he peeled and cut the potatoes before you prepared the meat filling next to him.

It had been forever since he was in a kitchen with another soul. And although he wasn’t very sure of his own skills, watching your videos so much paid off.

In real life you were much quicker, but just as graceful and firm with your movements as you chopped and stirred. The rich scent of caramelised meat drifting in the room wrapped around him like a warm blanket.

“You’re definitely the better cook here.” You tipped the filling into a large baking dish.

He reloaded the steaming potato pieces into the ricer. “No, if I’m honest I’m pretty shit at it.”

You laughed. “But you’re really good with knives.”

Probably not the kitchen kind. “I was an apprentice butcher before I enlisted.” He pressed down on the ricer with ease.

“Huh.”

“Really, I’m lousy at best.” His lips curled into a fond smile. “My mum was fantastic though. The recipes were hers.”

There was a beat. “I’m sorry, Simon.”

“S’fine.” He glanced up at you before going back to his task. “She’s in a better place.”

While the pie baked, he helped clean up the kitchen and make tea. You set the table before putting away your shopping.

“I’m going to have one while we wait.” You turned to him, showing him a creme egg. “You want to share?”

Simon gave you a sheepish smile as he nodded.

Between sips of tea, you enjoyed your own halves of the chocolate wordlessly, the music melting into the background. He wished he had more to say, but the small smile you wore told him you didn’t mind the silence.

The savoury aroma glided past the thin gaps of the oven, swirling and dancing between you and him. His appetite was losing its patience. He let out a silent sigh, taking in your kitchen, your home, before it flattened once more into a mere video on his screen at the end of the night.

When the oven dinged, you promptly put on your mitts.

“It looks mint,” he said as you placed the dish in the middle of the table.

“Team effort. It took much less time with you helping.” You scooped a serving onto his plate. ”I know I’m supposed to wait for it cool down a bit, but I’m impatient.”

He chuckled. “Me too.”

He waited until you took a bite before taking his own, and his breath caught. His brows furrowed as lump formed in his throat.

Had the ground cracked and plunged him into a glitched universe? He was once more in Manchester, 10 years younger, finally home after a long day at the butcher, his mum and brother waiting at the table with the piping hot dish in the middle of it.

He placed his fork down, chills down his spine.

“Simon?” you asked quietly. “You alright?”

He pressed a palm over his eyes, but he couldn’t help the choke that followed as a tear slipped.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked. “It’s- it’s just like the one she made.”

You dragged your seat next to his and rubbed his shoulder.

The last thing he wanted to do in front of you was shed a tear, but there he was, some hulking stranger sobbing on your shoulder as nostalgia held him in a death grip.

It was humiliating to be seen like this – he didn’t remember the last time he cried from feelings, yet the tears wouldn’t cease despite his efforts. But you held him close, and his thick arms wrapped around you. He told himself if he pulled you close enough, it would hurt less.

You stroked his wide back until his breathing eventually evened out. His arms loosened around you.

“I’m so sorry,” he said again, wiping his drying tears away. “I’ll just finish this and go.”

“Please, have as much as you’d like. In fact, it would be an honour if you want to take the rest home.”

“Thank you,” he muttered, not meeting your eyes.

You dragged your seat back across him and dinner resumed. Simon savoured each bite with a small smile, chest glowing with the tender memories of Manchester – when it was still more than just a city on the map.

You scooped him another serving. “I mean it. You’re very much welcome to send me more recipes.”

He finally met your gaze, and he held it. “She would have loved you.”

His heart stopped as soon as the words unwittingly rolled off his tongue. Who was he to say that out loud? How dare he have the audacity to even entertain the idea.

A bright smile bloomed on your beautiful face. “Yeah? I think I’d have loved her too.”

Simon’s heart fluttered. Why did you keep doing this to him?

“If you’ve got another hour to spare, would you like to bake brownies with me?”

It was his turn to smile. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

Neighbour Simon if he still had his family Ghost gave you a piggy back ride Masterlist

@tiredmetalenthusiast @sofasoap @keegansshark @astraluminaaa @eve-lie

[ssahotchnerr]

jack & ellie trying to make soup for a sick aaron🥺🫶 they’re like tossing around dry pasta noodles in a pot 😭😭🫶

- 🧶

sick day

WAIT you just gave me an idea so let me elaborate i hope that's okay 🫶🏻 cw; mentions of sickness, dad!aaron, fem!reader, fluff <3

Jack and Ellie were huddled underneath the shade of a tree, heads together and busying themselves away with something.

The window above the kitchen sink allowed clear visibility into the backyard, letting you keep an undeviating eye on them. It was a bright summer afternoon, all windows in the house were open, a cool breeze sweeping in. You could easily hear and observe the two of them, while also doting on your sick husband.

This morning, you awoke to a sweaty Aaron beside you; cowlicks and t-shirt drenched. He was sporting a sore throat along with his fever, as well as a lingering headache. Last night he had even returned home early, the fluorescent lights of the BAU not having mercy on his head.

"How's it going?" You peered your head into your bedroom, Aaron buried deep under the comforter. While it was quite warm outside, he had stated he was freezing.

A muffled, "Fine." came from beneath.

"Need anything?"

Another incoherent mumble in response.

After obtaining him more water (and making sure he drank some) you went forth with your day, cleaning up the kitchen's mess after lunch. As you did so, the screen door rolled open, slamming with a shut.

"Watch fingers." You advised, continuing to place dirty cups into the dishwasher. With the two of them coming in and out of the house so hastily, you were eager to prevent potential broken fingers.

In your peripheral they passed, rather slow for their usual nature. It raised your suspicions immediately, causing you to slow, before committing to follow. Especially when Ellie recalled the word dirt.

They ventured upstairs and into your bedroom. It was dimly lit; lights off and curtains pulled, the slight sheerness of the fabric allowing the sun to subtly brighten the room. Again the windows were agape - allowing fresh air to circulate through the room.

"Daddy." Ellie whispered, her face close enough to his whereas he could feel her breath on his face.

"Hm?"

"We made you soup."

Her words snapped him out of his feverish haze, both his eyes opening and heart melting in one go.

"You did?" Aaron gingerly sat up, using his elbows for leverage and leaning against his pillow. He purposely strained his voice; finding his soft, Dad tone and attempting to push past the hoarseness; sounding as normal as possible.

Jack produced a small bucket, one that usually remained within the sandbox. Instead it was filled with water, dirt, grass, miscellaneous leaves; anything the backyard could provide.

The contents took Aaron by surprise, stalling for a split second once in his grasp. Dumbfounded, but extremely touched.

"Do you like it?" Ellie asked, clambering onto the mattress besides him.

"I do." Aaron commented, offering her a smile. "It's... organic, that's for sure."

"Bunnies eat grass." Ellie explained, looking from the 'soup' to him. "'member when we found the baby bunnies? You said they eat grass to be healthy and strong. So this will help you not be sick."

Aaron's face softened more; the logic making complete sense in her little mind - why wouldn't it? He laughed gently, and naturally he didn't have the heart to tell her it was inedible. "Thank you sweetheart, that's real kind of you. Did you make up this recipe all by yourself?"

Ellie nodded, a thoroughly pleased expression on her face. "Jackers helped too. He put the water in from the hose and added the leaves."

"I didn't tell her you couldn't eat it," Jack quickly whispered to him, "she really wanted to give you something that could make you feel better."

Aaron offered him a look, an understanding between the two of them. "Well, it definitely is making me feel better. I can promise that."

"Really?" Ellie blinked up at him.

"Really. I had no idea I had such skilled chefs for kids." He coughed; his voice was slowly beginning to give out, the more he spoke.

"Like Grandpa Dave!"

Aaron laughed brightly, ignoring the burn in the back of his throat and the heaviness in his body. "Just like Grandpa Dave."

"Here," You pushed yourself off the doorframe, where you had been silently (and pleasantly) observing. Ellie had been a bit too close for too long, and you could tell Aaron was gradually fading.

You took the 'soup' from him, internally grateful all of it had stayed in the bucket despite traveling up a flight of stairs. "Why don't I take this. Daddy needs to get some rest, that'll help him feel better too."

"Peace and quiet."

"That's right, peace and quiet." You echoed Ellie as she hopped off the bed, touching her head gently to gesture her out. You flashed Aaron a smile as the three of you exited, one tugging onto his lips too as he drowsily eased back against his pillow.

[slut4thebroken]

The Recipe

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Emmett x wife!reader

Summary | Emmett can’t keep his hands off you.

Warnings | Smut, praise, degradation, semi rough sex, breeding, cunnilingus, huuuge housewife kink, he’s very possessive but we love it

Words | 2k

Notes | Finally posting something 😭

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

More of these two

moodboard @liliesdiary

“That smells amazing, doll, what is it?” He walked over and gave you a quick kiss before finally setting down his bag, then taking off his jacket and hat. 

“I’m trying to recreate that one pasta dish we had when we went to that fancy place a few months ago cause I keep craving it.” You smiled, keeping your focus on the stove. He did his best to stay out of your way in the small kitchen as he walked past you to get to the fridge and grab a beer. 

“Fuck- and this dress.” He groaned. You heard a can open, then he was walking closer and smacking your ass. You had to bite your lip to control your sounds, not wanting to get distracted and mess up the meal when you were finally almost done making it. “I didn’t forget a date, did I?” He wrapped his arm around your stomach and nuzzled into your neck, teasingly kissing over it. 

“No.” You chuckled. “I got lunch with Evelyn earlier.” You could practically feel the pout on his lips against your neck. 

“You went out wearing this without me? All of the guys were probably all over you.” He grumbled. 

“Emmett, this town is tiny. Everyone knows we’re married.” 

“As if that’d stop them.” He scoffed, even though it seemed like he also knew he was being a little irrational. 

“Go wash up. I should be done in a few minutes.” He groaned and tightened his grip around you, beginning to kiss your neck more enthusiastically. “Emmett..” You warned, making him huff but step away to go do what you said. 

Once the table was set, you filled up two plates and set them down, then grabbed your own drink as Emmett walked back in. Dinner was mostly uneventful. He told you about work, you told him about the gossip that Evelyn shared with you. He told you about his latest idea for how to improve the house, you told him he had to finish his current project before starting a new one. 

“How was it?” You asked, taking both plates to the sink. 

“Amazing, doll. Tasted exactly like the  restaurant’s.” 

You scoffed a laugh, hearing him chuckle quietly. “You’re a shit liar.” 

“It was still good either way.” 

“Do you want to do the dishes or should I?” You and Emmmett had a system; either one person cooked and the other cleaned, or one person cooked and cleaned and the other did the same the next day.

“I think I’ll make that steak you got, so you go ahead.” He said, knowing that you didn’t know how to clean a grill. “Plus I want to watch you in that dress.” You could hear the smirk in his voice as he spoke. 

“I don’t know why I married such a pervert.” You scoffed teasingly as you put the plates and silverware in the dishwasher before starting to handwash the larger dishes. 

“I do.” He paused, walking right up behind you. “Cause you like it. You like that I can’t keep my hands off you.” He placed his hands on your hips, pulling you back so your ass was pressed firmly against the bulge in his jeans. 

“Emmett, let me finish the dishes, then we can move on to that.” You chuckled, still trying to wash everything. 

“I’m not stopping you.” He said simply. His hands dragged down the outsides of your thighs, then back up, pushing the fabric of your dress up to your waist. “Fuck…” He groaned, roughly groping the globes of your ass that were left bare because of your lace thong. You bit your lip and tried to stay focused, but it was getting increasingly more difficult. 

“Are you gonna be a good little wife and let me use you?” He smirked, quickly opening his jeans to remove his already half hard cock. 

“Emmett…” You said through a breath. You couldn’t tell if you were begging him to keep going or warning him to stop though.

“C’mon, baby. I deserve to fuck my girl after a long day of work.” You cursed under your breath and let your head drop down as you held onto the counter. “Do the dishes.” He chastised teasingly. He waited until you continued, then slid your panties to the side and lined up. 

Your knees buckled and your mouth dropped open in a silent moan when he finally pushed in. “Fuck,” You choked out. The stretch was a little uncomfortable, especially in this position, but you were mewling and pushing your hips back into his regardless. 

“Do the dishes.” He said firmly, placing a sharp smack on your ass. “I won’t tell you again.” You let out a low moan at the dominance in his voice. As soon as you continued washing, he was slowly dragging out and pushing back in. Your legs were already shaking and your breathing was already fast and uneven as you tried to cope with the overwhelming pleasure. 

“You make such a perfect little housewife.” He murmured, brushing your hair over one shoulder so he could start kissing the side of your neck. He left marks up and down, his grip tightening on your hips almost painfully. “Cook and clean for me… take my cock whenever I want… You'll even give me some kids when I ask, won’t you?” You sobbed out a moan and let your head fall back on his shoulder. He slapped the side of your thigh, making you whimper loudly at the sting. “Don’t make me tell you again.” He growled. 

With a whine, you lifted your head again and resumed washing. Honestly you were doing a shit job and you’d probably have to do it again once he was done with you. 

“So obedient.” He cooed, gently nipping at your neck. You knew he was just saying all of this for the sake of the scene— Emmett can be old fashioned, but he’s not that old fashioned. Regardless, the longer his cock stayed buried inside you, the more you didn’t mind being his housewife and cock sleeve. 

You almost dropped the pot into the sink when he suddenly sped up. But finally, you finished rinsing the last of the dishes and set it on the towel you laid out earlier. 

“Good girl.” Pulling you to a clear space on the counter, he pushed you down with a hand on the back of your neck and started wildly bucking into you. You almost screamed from the intensity, already feeling your legs turning to jelly, making it harder to hold yourself up. 

Desperately needing to come, you tried to push a hand down to rub your clit, but he twisted your arm behind your back and pinned it there. “If you want to touch my property, you fucking ask.” He growled, his voice only making you needier. 

“Please let me come, Emmett.” You whimpered. He lifted his hand from your neck and brought it down hard on your ass, making you cry out. Without giving any other response, he grabbed your hip as his thrusts grew even more frantic. You could tell he was getting close, especially with the way his sounds started getting louder, and you almost cried at the thought of not getting to come. But… the thought of being nothing more than a submissive housewife and a hole for your husband to use was hot enough that you almost didn’t care. 

You mewled and squirmed a little, making his grip on your body tighten even more. “Please.” You gasped out. His balls were just barely smacking your clit with each thrust, not giving you nearly enough stimulation. Both hands were on your hips now as he bucked into you at a brutal pace, chasing his orgasm. The slapping of skin and both of your moans echoed throughout the kitchen and if you were less horny, you probably would’ve been embarrassed by the faint squelching sound you could hear as your arousal continued to soak his cock. 

His hips stuttered and you whined when he suddenly slammed into you, pushing you into the counter almost painfully as he fell over the edge. Your legs were shaking with each pump of his hips as he lazily fucked his load deep inside your eager pussy. He was grunting and panting against your neck, holding your hips in a bruising grip until he rode out his orgasm completely. 

“Good girl.” He groaned breathily, making you whine again. Only after he caught his breath did he lean up and slowly drag his hips back, making the trembling of your legs even worse. He kicked your feet apart and grabbed your ass to pull you open so he could watch his come trickle out of your puffy folds. 

“Emmett.” You whimpered, but all he did was shush you quietly. Your hips flinched when he dragged his thumb through your slit and he cursed under his breath at the sight of you leaking his come. 

“Oh, look at that.” He cooed, making you blush. “This is how you should’ve gone out today; wearing this slutty little dress with my come dripping down your thighs to remind you who you belong to.” He gruffed. 

“Emmett, please.” You were on the verge of a tantrum now. 

“Shh… It’s okay.” He murmured quietly, standing back up. He pulled you up by your hair and spun you around, then captured your lips in a bruising kiss. “Is my good girl gonna let me have my dessert now?” You nodded dumbly, not really processing his words because you just hoped that agreeing to whatever he said would get him to finally give you some much needed relief. He smirked in amusement, then effortlessly lifted you up so your legs were around his hips, letting him carry you over to the table and gently set you down on it. 

Kneeling between your legs, he wasted no time diving in and sucking on your clit, making you cry out. Your hands settled in his hair and he alternated between lapping up your shared arousal and giving attention to your clit. When he draped your legs over his shoulders and then pulled you closer, you moaned loudly and laid down on the table, your back arching up from the pleasure. Emmett let out a low, gravelly moan against you, making you mewl and tug on his hair even harder. 

“Fuck— Please don’t stop..” You choked out. He devoured you like a man starved, quickly bringing you back to the edge with his enthusiasm. The loud slurping sounds that you could hear through your moans, had you blushing and whining in embarrassment. 

Your legs were trembling on either side of his head, the coil in your stomach was tightening, your moans were getting louder… and Emmett just held your hips down, continuing on, not deterred by any of your reactions. 

“Please let me come.” You whimpered, moaning loudly when he sucked on your clit repeatedly. His lack of a response only made you even more frustrated. Emmett was a little unpredictable about letting you come. Sometimes he didn’t care, but sometimes he could be really controlling over your orgasm, only letting you come after he gave you permission. Ever since the first time you came without permission, you’ve always been hesitant, not wanting to risk being punished. “Emmett, please!”  

He chuckled against you, making your hips jerk against his mouth. “Come.” He mumbled, not bothering to pause or pull away so he could talk. When you finally got his permission, you let the pleasure wash over you, no longer trying to suppress it. The knot of arousal in your stomach snapped suddenly and you sobbed out a moan as your back arched off the table. You had a death grip on Emmett’s hair and your hips were practically grinding on his face, but he worked you through it, not stopping until you were twitching and whining from overstimulation. 

“Good girl.” He groaned, placing one last kiss on your clit. “C’mere, doll.” He helped pull you up into a seated position, then kissed you again, much softer this time. You moaned at the taste of yourself still on his tongue. “Fuck, I love you.” He muttered into the kiss, making you blush a little. “But the next time you go out wearing this dress without my come dripping down your thighs, you won’t be coming for a week.” 

Guys pls give me ideas for a different title lol

[caesium-55]

—seven days. [ vii ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

author's note: that's it folks. welcome to the end. peace out (my hand is hurting like a bitch) NOT EDITED NOT BETA READ EXCUSE THE MISTAKES

tags: @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @eugene-emt-roe @bellezaycafe @barnestatic @theseerbetweenus @wcnorris @notyouraveragemochii @lpab @vildetry06 @a-beaverhausen @formula1mount @loloekie @alucardsdaddyissues @juky-ps @cassianswh0reeee @devotedlycrookeddonut @amberpanda99 @supermaxv1 @evie-119 @spideylovin @harianaswhore @formulaal @landorris @onecojg @leclercdream @vicurious28 @c-losur3 @spookystitchery @0710khj @strollnstroll @justab-eautifulmess @ssrcsm i hope i didn't forget anyone

masterlist.

max: ANSWER ME

max: [NAME] I SWEAR TO GOD

max: I’LL FLY TO TEXAS RIGHT NOW I SWEAR

max: THIS IS ALL FUN AND GAMES FOR YOU ISNT IT

max: YOU FUCK ME AND THEN YOU LEAVE

max: YOU'RE ALL FUCKING THE SAME ALWAYS LEAVING ME

max: FUCK YOU [NAME]

max: TALK TO ME YOU COWARD

max: EXPLAIN YOURSELF

max: IM GOING INSANE HERE

Max has visited your apartment a total of two times since he’s given you the keys. The first time—Max remembers it was in early January 2020. You held a housewarming party disguised as a little lunch get-together as a thank-you for his gift. Daniel and him as well as two of your former roommates, Max recognizes them as Julia and Kendall from the PR team, are the only ones invited. You cooked pasta. Your mother’s recipe, you claimed. It easily became one of Max’s favorite dishes in the world and he requests you to cook it from time to time.

The second time, Max remembers going there again after the Monaco Grand Prix 2021. It’s been only a week after your breakup with Leo and four races before the incident with the Hamilton fan in Silverstone. The team holds a dinner to celebrate Max taking P1 and usually, you’re present in these types of things—the after parties and team dinners and all forms of team celebrations in general because you like celebrations but you're nowhere to be found.

Max finishes dinner quickly and excuses himself to Horner. He grabs a beer and drives himself to your apartment, because he knows you’re definitely not staying in the hotel with the team.

When you’re sad, you tend to hide away. It's an annoying habit. You make it your career to dig your nose into everyone’s problem—Max’s most especially—and provide everyone with the help you can offer. It's your love language, Max thinks, to be insanely helpful to everyone but the moment that the places switch and you’re the one who needs help, you run away because you refuse to bother everyone else with your problems despite the amount of people who are willing to return the favor you gave them in the past. It is very hypocritical of you.

He knocks on your door. Four slow knocks followed by three quick ones, so you’ll know it's him. It's an established pattern, a system that works for both of you. You shout for him to wait and Max does so, observing the details of the woodwork in front of him as he waits patiently for you. You have a very nice door.

You open the door. Max’s brows raised slightly at the sight of you. You're still in your Red Bull polo shirt but instead of the pencil skirt you were wearing during the race, you wore short shorts instead. Black, fitted, and they stop a little above your mid-thighs. You're barefoot, too. No YSL heels in sight.

Max turns into a lovely shade of pink. You don't notice it.

You have long legs despite being 5’5” only, which gives off the illusion that you’re very tall when you're actually not. Your body ratio consists of seventy-five percent legs and twenty-five percent upper body. You have lean legs. It's full of childhood scars—thin white lines that are barely noticeable because of how old they are. You have well-built calves and dainty ankles, which look weird but also look right, and your feet are veiny, jagged lines of green blue on skin. Max thinks it's because you wear heels every day.

“Somethin’ wrong, man?” your voice sounds nasal, hoarse, and deep at the same time. Your eyes and nose are red and Max knows full well that you’ve been crying over Leo again and yet you carry yourself as if you're fine, standing in front of him with your shoulders straightened and your tone professional.

Max never liked the bitterness that washes over him whenever he sees you with Leo. But at that moment, he’ll rather endure the bitterness that chokes him until he thinks he’s about to pass out if that makes you alright, if that makes you stop crying.

“I have beer.”

It's a lame thing to say. He should have said something better. He should have asked if you’re alright, should have asked why you were crying, should have asked if there's anything you need him to do just so you’ll feel better. But his mind blanks and he just thrusted the beer forward.

You smile, shaking your head. You take the beer from his hands gratefully, “I have pasta. Wanna go in?”

It's a fair trade. You love beer. He loves your pasta. And so, he entered your apartment.

He faces your door for the third time in 2023. A million thoughts run around his brain per second as his eyes train on the wood patterns of your front door. Dread pools in his stomach as he holds the door knob. He only holds it, not twisting it and pushing it open just yet.

Max is stalling. He knows that. He shouldn't be stalling. He knows that, too.

He dreads what's waiting for him on the other side of the door. He can hear your voice in the back of his skull, saying, “Pussy. You risk your life and drive a rocket ship for a livin’ and you’re afraid of openin’ a damn door?”

Max takes a deep breath and opens the door. Silence and emptiness greets him.

Your apartment has always been bare. You refuse to buy carpets, curtains, houseplants, decorative furnishings or anything that can make your loft apartment seem like someone actually lives there.

(“It's expensive here,” you said.

“I’ll pay,” Max offered.

“No,” you shook your head. “I’ll just bring something from home.”

You never did.)

Max’s feet lead him to your living room. Dust accumulates on top of your glass coffee table and couch. Max remembers them coming along when he bought the apartment. You never got them changed.

His brows furrowed when his eyes landed on the familiar looking box that sits atop the coffee table. He strides towards it, head tilting to read the little pink sticky note attached to it. It reads: Sorry Max, I can't steal more from Kelly.

Max’s entire world crumbles down. He opens the shoe box and sees the shoe, arranged carefully in place.

He hurriedly reaches for the folder next to it and reads the writings inside.

Max, I know you’d be the one who’d find this one day. By that time, I’ll be in Texas already. I don't know if I’d have told you that I resigned already. If I didn't, that's because I’m a pussy. Sorry.

Anyways, I will say this as straightforwardly as I can because I think I had been a pussy long enough.

I resigned, Max. I won't be your manager by 2024.

Max keeps re-reading the last two sentences just to make sure he’s reading it correctly.

I resigned, Max. I won't be your manager.

I resigned, Max.

resigned.

Max hurls the shoe box and it zooms in the air and hits the wall. He fists his hair and pulls. A scream erupts in his throat. The neighbors are going to file a noise complaint but Max cannot bring himself to care. He’s the one whose heart is breaking here.

He grabs the folder. Max feels something fall on his foot. He looks down.

A beaded bracelet. Navy blue and red—the color of Red Bull. There are three white beads in the bracelet and on those three white beads are the letters M and V—his initials—and the number 1—his current number.

Max drops on his knees. He picks up the little thing with trembling hands. He brings the bracelet to his chest and Max falls apart. This time, you’re not here to hold him together.

max: hey im planning to visit the US

max: do you think you can show me around?

Logan Sargeant is a good driver. That's a given. It's his profession. But the way he drives; it's making Max sleepy.

“So….” Logan begins awkwardly. “I’m assuming you're visiting Texas because of [Name].”

Max nods, “Yeah.”

“You're not mad at her, are you?” Logan asks. “For resigning?”

“She told you?”

So you told the American boy but not him? Max cannot help but be offended now.

“Well, I kinda assumed? Liam mentioned it to the other day, who heard the news from his cousin.”

Max’s brows furrow.

“Lawson?”

“Yes, Lawson.”

Max remembers the kid all too well. Liam Lawson has overtaken him in Singapore after all. It's embarrassing. Watch out, Max, you teased him. Liam’s out to get you.

“Liam probably heard it from Leo.”

“Leo?”

Logan is mentioning too many names. Well, it’s just two but two is still many for his brain to comprehend right now.

“Yeah, Leo and Liam are cousins.”

Max pauses.

“Leo and [Name] still talk so I guess [Name] told Leo, who must have mentioned it to Liam, who then mentioned it in the groupchat with me and Osc—are you okay?”

Max tries his hardest not to scream.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he says, voice tight. “I’m fine. How far are we from Austin?”

They drive past a sign that says “Welcome to Austin.”

“Well, it looks like we’ve just arrived.”

Max is once again offended that Logan knows where you live while he doesn't. Vista Del Pueblo, Logan tells him the name of the place as they hop off the car. It's funny how close you lived from the Circuit of the Americas. No wonder you always requested to be home after the Austin GP before flying off to the next city.

The two-storey yellow and red brick house is empty. Despite that, it looks like a perfect picture of a happy childhood home. The backyard and the patio is wide. Beside the driveway stands an olden tree. Below the tree is a reclining chair that looks like it has gone through a dust storm and a thousand rains.

“It’s empty,” Max announces. Logan nods.

“Yeah.”

Logan ends up approaching an old woman in the neighboring house who was sweeping dust off her porch and asks her if she knows the [Last Name] family’s whereabouts.

“They haven't returned home since Christmas,” she replies. “Everyone in the neighborhood tried contacting them but no one got through. Ever since Julio died… It's like the entire family followed after him.”

Max and Logan stiffen, shocked at the news that's just been revealed.

Julio died….?

Max needs to find you. Urgently. He needs to see if you're okay.

The sun retires for the night and Max decides that it's time for Logan and him to retire as well. Logan drives them to a hotel and Max pays for two rooms despite Logan insisting that he can pay for his own. They grab dinner at the hotel restaurant, in a private area that Max paid for.

“You’re not angry at her, aren't you?” Logan asks for the second time that day. His plate is half empty. Meanwhile, Max’s plate is barely touched. His appetite significantly decreased. He keeps thinking about you, worried about how you're coping with Julio’s death. You are never the best person when it comes to dealing with pain. Physical pain, you can handle. You’re barely fazed when you burn your hand in the oven, when you hit your hip at the corner of the table, when you accidentally get scratches and you don't even notice it until someone points out the blood that terrifyingly drips down your arm. Max can still remember how you dealt with your breakup with Leo. All those nights crying, the unhealthy fixation in work so you won't have any space feeling human emotions, the moments where you disconnect with reality that Max has to pull you out of many times. The death of a father is a million times worse than a breakup. Max imagines a thousand scenarios in his mind. He needs to be with you right now. He needs to make sure you're alright.

“I hope you're not. You obviously are but I still hope you're not,” Logan continues. “She was always going to leave, you know? She told me in January. She told me that she needs to—

Max accidentally throws the glass of water he was holding. It falls onto the floor. The sound of shattering glass echoes throughout the room. Logan stares at Max with his eyes wide. A cleaning crew comes in a hurry and cleans it up. Max doesn't apologize, he only says, “send me the bill later” and sends the crew out. He turns to Logan.

“She needs to what?”

“You're angry.”

You reminded me, Max said in his mind.

“And?” Max raises his brow. “She needs to what?”

Logan lets out a shaky breath, “She needs to become an engineer or else she’ll never forgive herself.”

Manager. Engineer. What's so damn special about that engineering position anyway? Why are you so hell bent on leaving Max? Red Bull pays you more than an engineer. Hell, Max is even willing to raise your salary to the same amount as half of his annual salary in Red Bull if it keeps you from leaving him. Max is willing to pay for your student loans and refund everything you paid to USC during your college years.

Max pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a deep sigh. He’s feeling too many emotions all at once.

“I think it's best if you talk to Leo?” Logan suggests. Max appreciates that he’s trying to be helpful but mentioning Leo brings nothing but more anger in him. Fucking Leo. Why does he know where you are? He’s your fucking ex for god’s sake. Why are you even still talking to your ex? “He’s close with [Name]. I think he can help you.”

Max contemplates.

He doesn't want to ask fucking Leo.

And he’s not that desperate to seek help from him.

Logan writes his number on a table napkin. Max pockets it.

After dinner, Max sits inside his hotel room. He dials the number Logan gave him because if he’ll tell you where you are, he can swallow his pride for a day. It takes three redials and two rings before Leo answers.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Leo Stark?”

“Yes, this is he. May I ask who’s calling?”

“It’s Max Verstappen.”

Silence.

“Hello, are you still there?”

Max hears a loud crash followed by a series and a whole lot of ruffling, “Sorry about that. Do you mind repeating that?”

“Max Verstappen.”

“Ah, so I’m not hearing things. I thought I was hearing things. Sorry. Do you wish to talk to James Vowles? I can transfer the call to him.”

“No,” Max says. “I want to talk to you. It's about [Name].”

“Oh.” A pause. “You're going to ask me where she is, aren't you?”

“You're smart.”

“Well, mate, too bad. I’m afraid I can’t tell you.”

“You can’t?”

“I can’t,” he echoes. “I mean I can but I won’t.”

“So you know where she is.” It's not a question. Something bitter rears its ugly head in his stomach. His bitterness and anger now dwarf his worry for you in size. Fuck Logan for reminding him that you always wanted to leave. Fuck Leo for knowing where you are.

“I’m going to ask again and you better give me the answer I want. Where is she?”

“The answer you want?” Leo clicks his tongue. “It’s always what you want. Have you considered what she wants? Does [Name] even want you to find her?”

“You don't know what you're talking about—”

“I do,” Leo interrupts and the way he sounds so sure of himself aggravates Max. “I do, mate. Believe it or not.”

“I see what's happening here,” Max sneers. “I’ve heard you and [Name] broke up because she was prioritizing me over you. Is this it? Are you doing this out of petty jealousy?”

Leo sighs, “You’re making this about you again.”

Max opens his mouth to retort but Leo cuts him off, “Let me get this straight with you, mate. When we were still dating, not once have I been jealous of you. I understood that she works for you and that she has to put you first in certain situations. After all, you’re her job. I’m just the home she returns to after work.”

Max’s jaw clenches. Leo was her home. It was the truth no matter how much Max hated it. Leo does not stop there.

“I have no issue with her focusing on you. The only problem I have with it is her tendency to focus more on you than herself. If you come to her at a very vulnerable time, especially now, there’s a chance that she’s going to focus on you again. She deals with grief in a very unhealthy way and I don't want her to do that. Not when she needs to properly grieve for her father.”

Leo sighs again.

“So please, mate, just this once. Think about what she needs right now and it’s not you.”

You don't need Max.

But Max needs you.

That is one of the most painful truths he’s ever been given.

“She’ll come back. She always does. It may take months. Years, even. Just… Let her grieve and let her pick herself up. There are people who don't want help because they need to do it themselves or else it won't feel fulfilling. [Name] is no different. Also, I’ll be honest with you, mate. I don't want you coming to her before she achieves her dreams. You’re so used to [Name] giving you everything you want that you forgot that she, too, is someone who needs and wants and dreams. She just wanted to be an engineer.”

“And how is this my fault?”

“You knew what she wanted. You agreed to help her achieve it. You didn't allow her to move to Renault. You told her that you’ll ask your team principal after you win and you did win but you didn't keep your end of the bargain.”

“I—”

“Who are you to control her dreams? If you love her, you would have asked Horner, at least. She knows you never asked Horner. Maybe she would have never resigned if you tried to talk to Horner, but you let your selfishness win.”

Max feels all breath punched out of his lungs.

“You had the power to ask your team principal yet you didn't and she has to watch you achieve your dreams while she can't. Unfair, don’t you think?”

A pause.

“Just start considering what she feels, mate. That's all.”

“I am considering her. Always.” This is the closest to a love declaration he can admit out loud. The purest form of love is consideration, they say. When someone thinks about how things would make you feel, pays attention to detail, holds you in regard when making decisions that could affect you, keeps promises so you won’t be disappointed, that's when you know they love you.

“Are you really?”

Is he really?

“Take care of her for me, Verstappen. Even from afar. You can do that.”

The call ends.

Max stares blankly at the wall, still holding his phone against his ear. Then, he hurls it across the room. He aggressively drags his hand through his face.

Max flies back to Belgium after Austin to spend the rest of his off-season with his mother and sister. He apologizes to Logan for his behavior. Logan is a kind man, he forgives easily. He drives Max to the airport.

The next day, an article is posted, titled—AN UNLIKELY FRIENDSHIP: MAX VERSTAPPEN OF RED BULL RACING AND LOGAN SARGEANT OF WILLIAMS RACING SPOTTED DRIVING AROUND AUSTIN.

On New Year's Eve, Kelly messages Max. He can't say that he’s surprised. In truth, he’s been expecting her to message him, whether it's to beg to take her back or to curse him out or to tell him something about Penelope or it's to inform him that she's going to pick up her things in Max’s penthouse in Monaco.

kelly: i sent someone to pick up our things in your place

max: okay

kelly: also

kelly: *sent a photo*

kelly: she apologized for something that's not her fault

kelly: you have a good one

The photo is a screenshot of Kelly’s conversation with you, dated December 30. That was yesterday.

you: sorry about the breakup

you: i didn't know about the shoes

you: i didn't take it

you: im so sorry

you: i hope you're not too hurt

kelly: i think i’m the one who’s been taking him from you

kelly: take care of him for me

you: thank you for loving him

you: but i can’t do what you're asking

you: not anymore

“What’s wrong, baby?”

Max looks up to see his mother’s worried face.

“Oh, uh,” he closes his phone and almost drops it. Fucking clumsy fingers, fucking messages, fucking pain. “Nothing, Mum.”

His mother does not look convinced.

“You know you can tell me anything, right? No need to hide it. You may be a world champion now but you’ll always be my baby,” she says. “What does [Name] always say? Even champions are allowed to cry.”

At the mention of you, Max looks away.

“Tell me. Is it Kelly?”

The last time Max cried in his mother’s arms was when he was eleven. Jos always said boys should never cry. That boys who cry are weak. And weak people do not become champions. Max wanted to be a champion so he never allowed himself to be weak. Weakness only becomes a weakness if it is known so he learned to bottle it up over the years and all the bottled grief became anger. Hence, the birth of his serious anger issues.

He’s twenty-seven now with three WDC titles under his belt. He’s outgrown both of his parents in terms of physical size and in career accomplishments but when his mother’s arms wrapped around him, he allowed himself to become a little boy again. He allowed himself to be weak.

“She left me, Mum,” Max whispers, hugging her mother close. Sophie rubs his back in soothing circles.

“You’ll find someone, Max,” his mother assures.

“I don't want someone else,” he says. “I want [Name].”

“Oh.”

Sophie blinks.

“Max, you—”

“Please, don't make me say it, Mum,” Max pleads, squeezing his eyes shut. A lone tear drips down his cheek. “Don't make me say I’m in love with [Name].”

Max sends an email to Christian that he’s not going to take a manager in 2024. Christian tells him it's a bad idea, that he needs a manager because he’s becoming busy with his schedules and everyone wants a piece of time with the third-time world driver’s champion but Max cannot care less. If it’s not you, he’d rather have no one at all.

Max wants to learn how to get used without you on his side. He did a little reflecting over pre-season and realized how he had become so dependent on you. He learns the functions of a Google calendar and how to use a Notion page.

Max just knows 2024 is going to be a shitty year for him.

Bahrain, Max remembers, is your favorite track. He doesn't know why you like Bahrain. Bahrain is hot. Bahrain is not as exciting as other race tracks. Personally, he prefers Spa-Francorchamps.

He also remembers that you like watching the air show. You never said it outright but you always have this smile on your face while watching the jets painting the sky with colors so Max kind of figured.

Max snaps a picture of the jets in the sky. He opens his Instagram and searches for your name in his message list. When he presses his conversation with you, the first thing that greets him is his spam of angry messages. All delivered, all unread. The last message, Max remembers, was sent when he visited Austin with Logan to search for you.

max: SO YOU TOLD LEO BUT NOT ME? DO I EVEN MEAN SOMETHING TO YOU?

His finger hovers on the send button. He lets out a sigh and he pockets his phone instead.

Daniel approaches Max after Max wins Jeddah.

“Hey, have you been talking to [Name]?” he asks.

“Not lately,” answers Max. Not since she left me, Max thinks.

Daniel scratches his nape. “I think she's angry at me.”

“You’ve been talking?”

Now, Max is offended. So you talked to Leo, you talked to Kelly, you talked to Daniel, but you made no effort to talk to him? When was he going to get a message from you?

“Well, I kinda…” Daniel pulls out his phone. “I just checked up on her? And she replied like a week later. She sounds kinda angry? I don't know. Do you think she sounds angry?”

Daniel shows Max his last conversation with [Name].

daniel: hey!

daniel: heard from max what happened

daniel: we miss you! you should visit come by in bahrain! the opening is gonna be sick

you: can't sorry

daniel: aww how about jeddah

daniel: i’ll fly you out don't worry about traveling commercial

you: idk man

you: might be too much noise and distraction for you

you: good luck in jeddah tho

A very passive aggressive reply.

“Yeah, she is,” Max supplies.

Max wins Bahrain. Max wins Jeddah. Australia, on the other hand, is a funny story. First, the Williams team pulls an annoying move. Poor Logan. He had to give his car to his teammate and sit out of the race.

Max visits him after the news was officially announced. He finds the American racer in his driver room, sitting sadly on the bed with his head bent low, after asking a rookie Williams mechanic, who trembled at the sight of him.

It's a pitiful looking room. Max has a villa for a driver room. Logan doesn't even have a closet for his overalls, just a rack held together by hopes and dreams. The bed is so tiny and narrow that Max is sure he wouldn't even fit if he lies in there unless he assumes a tight fetal position.

“You’re here,” Logan stands from the bed, eyes wide in surprise. He hasn’t expected Max to visit him out of all the people in the grid. Not even his own teammate performed that courtesy. “Uh, I don't have anything. Here, have my seat. Do you want me to grab—”

“It's fine,” Max holds his palm up. “Sit back down, Logan.”

Logan slowly sits back down and moves to the side so Max can have a space to sit on. Max occupies Logan’s given space beside him. Their shoulders and elbows are touching.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Logan nods.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

Max nods, but he doesn't believe him. Comfortable silence wraps the entire room. It lasted less than five minutes.

“You should break the car,” Max suggests seriously. “So no one can drive it, too.”

A soft laugh escaped Logan’s throat.

The door swings open and enters Leo, who freezes when he sees Max Verstappen sitting next to Logan. He looks at the two F1 drivers then back in his hand, where he was holding a large Stanley cup and two styro cups.

“Great, I only brought two cups,” he says, kicking the door behind him to close it. “Should have told me the world champion is coming. I would have brought the expensive wine.”

“What do you have there?”

“Beer,” Leo lifts the Stanley cup and gives it a small shake. “Transferred it to a Stanley cup so no one would notice.”

“James wouldn’t be happy,” says Logan, frowning.

“We’re not happy with him either,” Leo retorts, pouring the beer into the two cups. He hands one to Logan and another to Max.

“I suggested breaking his car,” Max inserts, accepting the cup. He still feels a bit weird to be hanging out with Leo like this. He’s angry still, but he’s not as angry as he was in Austin. Leo’s words, though Max would never admit it out loud, made sense. You left because of Max’s own selfishness. He was the one who had cut your wings and thought that his gesture was out of love when in fact, it was an action born out of his desperation and his fear of being left behind by you.

“Should I?” Leo humors his suggestion, shrugging his shoulders.

Logan sighs, shaking his head at the two. He can’t believe they're both older than him but still wield that petty immaturity.

“Please don't.”

Second, the RB20 has brake issues in Australia so Max ends up retiring in the middle of the race. Max hears everyone cheer at his retirement. That's when you know he’s good. When everyone wishes for his downfall. Everybody in Red Bull grows wary watching their prized driver stomp inside the garage, looking like he has a lot to say to the mechanics. His head is as hot as the burning car at the pit.

Max hears two people whispering amongst themselves:

“Mad Max is back.”

“Where's [Name] when you need her? He’s going to get blow up at us now.”

“[Name] really is a saintess because she’s the only one who can handle him when he’s angry.”

“I never appreciated her efforts before but I am now. I hope she never left.”

Max hopes she didn't, too. Out of all the people in Red Bull, he’s the one who wishes that she hasn't left the most. Now, he’s even angrier.

Max wins P1. If he doesn't, it's a DNF. The problem is the reliability of the car, not him. Never him.

He steps foot in Austin soil again on October 15th for the 19th race of the season, eager to win another P1 and increase his chance of snatching his fourth consecutive world driver’s championship title.

Fortunately, the RB20 doesn't fail him mid-race. The Dutch national anthem is heard all around the Circuit of the Americas and Max retires to the garage, too tired for any form of celebration. He wants to change out of his racing gear. He still has to fix his Google calendar and check out a few things in his Notion page. Who knew being your own manager can be so tiring?

Kendall comes by, a camera in hand. She snaps a quick picture, only one take because she knows Max hates taking pictures. Max believes you mentioned it to her before and has asked her to take the pictures quickly so he wouldn't get annoyed. You were always too thoughtful, always mindful of the little details. Perhaps, it was why he fell in the first place.

Max pivots on his heels to leave after he hears the camera click.

“Oh Max,” Kendall stops him. “[Name] came by earlier. She said congratulations.”

Max entire world stops spinning. Everything else became a mass of white noise.

“Where's she?” Max demands.

“She left already, said she’s got somewhere to be—”

Max sprints to his driver room, grabs his keys and ran all the way to the parking lot where his car was parked, not minding the screams and the questioning stares he received from the people he ran past them to his car. His mind only focuses on one thing—he has to get to you.

He drives down to the familiar road that he and Logan drove in last December 2023. He's racing against time and like all races he'd participated in, he hopes to win. He hopes that he’ll be able to see you. Max arrives at the red and yellow brick house in Vista Del Pueblo, jogging up until the front door and knocking. Four slow knocks followed by three quick ones, so you’ll know it's him.

No one answers. Max jogs up to the window at the front and peeks inside. The house is still empty as it had been in December.

Max's shoulders sagged.

He wasn't fast enough.

[anadiasmount]

doing the calling my boyfriend ‘husband’ trend on jude while you do a grwm + diml !! just know he’d be so shy and giddy 😚😚

OHHH MY GOD!! YESS!! our hubby indeed 😣🤞🏻

your day had consisted of pure media filming, for your tiktok, instagram, youtube, and a small blog you had owned. you woke up early so film a get ready filming bits of you and your boyfriends private life, making breakfast, walking outside and working out together, cooking, and now doing a get ready.

you’d seen the popular trend circling around where you called your boyfriends husband on tiktok, especially that one video that made you physically wince and pained you with the one guy being passive aggressive and denying it. you with jude that wouldn’t be the case.

because any chance he got he would call you pet names and his girlfriend. ‘my girlfriend’, ‘my girl’, ‘my angel’, ‘my dearest girlfriend’, ‘my wifey’, all that. he often got teased at the internet, not afraid of hiding and showing his protectiveness of you, a hand on you at all times or letting them know you were his.

jude had left quickly to pick up some shoes he’d ordered, which gave you plenty of time to hide a extra camera and your phone to record his reaction to the prank. while you waited you showed of new sets of clothes that came in, along with other pr packages that were sent to you

jude hand returned when you were finishing your brows, handing you a blue gatorade and snacks to munch on as you filmed, greeting the camera and giving you a peck on your lips. “sorry guys, my handsome and lovely husband just brought me some goodies,” you apologized showing the treats and opening them.

even though you couldn’t see, you felt and sensed jude tensing and pausing what he was doing. “as you know and have seen, i will be launching new items soon on my blog! my husband jude has helped me organize this drop for months so i’m super excited for you all to see and buy!” you smiled blending out your baking powder underneath your eyes.

jude smiled inwards, looking at you who was distracted by perfecting your contour and blush. he asked himself if this was one of your pranks or if it just naturally fell from your lips, either way, he couldn't hide the adoration built in his chest at hearing you call him 'husband'.

he didn't understand why all of a sudden he felt nervous and unable to look you in the eyes, with shaky hands as he attempted to open his own snacks and bottled water. he felt a hot and loving sensation in his chest, having the urge now to be close to you.

you heard jude shuffle around, grabbing a random bean bag and sitting next to you where you were almost finished with your makeup. he complimented how you looked, asking questions about what you used and if you were close to finishing. you smirked knowing you had a small reaction out of him, jude was now all soft and charming.

hours later, you were editing all the content from your phone and camera onto your laptop, sitting on the kitchen island as jude was busy away cooking. you felt like continuing the prank so you grabbed your phone and did just that.

"welp, it's the end of the day! I'm very much tired but i made a lot of content for you guys so stay tuned! on the nights we're together my dearest husband cooks for us, and tonight he's making chicken with pasta," you say kinda loudly, walking over to judge and laying your head on his bicep.

jude cleared his throat, letting out a nervous chuckle and smiling shyly. he nervously stirred the cause, listening to you blabbering about your day and skincare products. "i have to pee, but i'll leave my husband to explain the recipe and what he's making," you say in a hurry, leaving jude with words in his mouth and the phone, as you ran off.

you watched from a corner a stuttering mess of jude as he went on and on listening to the ingredients and spices he mixed for dinner. grabbing your phone with his free hand showing the mess in the kitchen and the food that was almost ready to be done.

you acted like nothing happened, pecking jude's cheek when returning. "i have a question," he said curiously avoiding eye contact with you, leaning on the counter. you interlocked your hands resting them under your chin with innocent eyes. "is there a reason you've been calling me your husband today?"

"you don't like it?"

"no baby i do! but i was just wondering since you never call me that... you did it earlier today and i noticed it," he said, you tried not to laugh on the spot at his uneasy state. "am i your husband? need to know because i can't recall the day we got married," he joked.

"it's a tiny prank," you admit seeing jude roll his eyes and lean away from you. "of course it is," jude said seriously with a small frown on his face. you followed him apologizing over and over again with a laugh, jude feeling a small pang of sadness wave over him. "jude," you call out, trying to get his attention but he refused moving or backing away.

"prank or no prank, i hope you still know your my hubby, that's what i have you saved on your contact handsome," you admit, seeing a glint of happiness reach his brown eyes again. "really?" you nod, "I'll show once you say bye."

he quickly said bye, kissing the camera on turning it off, grabbing you, and setting you on the marble counters. he kissed you deeply, blowing your breath away at his certain dominance, your heart warmed as he gently grabbed your left hand and placed the slightest kisses on your ring finger.

"i hope you know that one day i'll be your husband, and you will be my wife forever."

[thebearer]

the milestones menu: nonna berzatto's homemade pasta

prompt: yours and carmen's first "i love you".

contains: fluff, general fluff. some mentions to dead relatives, carmen's self doubt, but very minimal bc it's very fluffy :)

2 cups of flour- Semolina. 

4 Large Eggs 

Pinch of Salt

Put flour into a mound. Make a center, and add the eggs to the middle. Whisk slowly with a fork, gradually working it in little at a time until nice and thick. Knead the mixture for about ten minutes. Let it rest in the fridge for thirty minutes. Put it in a ball, and roll it out very thin. 

“Can’t believe you never had homemade pasta.” Carmen shook his head, blue eyes peeking out from under the mess of curls. 

“Nope.” You shook your head, grinning over the crystal wine glass, sipping your riesling slowly. “Strictly a boxed pasta girl.” 

“Fuckin’ criminal.” Carmen grinned, a playful, lopsided smirk that had you blushing.

The counter was covered in flour, stopping just where you rested, propped up on the granite while Carmen worked. Your eyes trained on his hands, hands that stirred the eggs into the flour, kneaded the dough until your thighs were clenching. 

“My Nonna is rollin’ in her grave right now, you know that?” Carmen pulled you from your gaze, rolling out the dough. 

“Noooo, don't say that.” You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re making me feel bad, Carmen. I swear I thought Olive Garden made fresh pasta.” 

Carmen laughed, a little shy but louder now- more himself. He’d blossomed with you lately, unveiling new parts of himself every single day. “‘M just kiddin’, baby.” Carmen hummed, eyes cutting to you a little skeptical. “Sorry, I-I didn’t mean to sound like an asshole. That sounded douchey, right?” 

You smiled, setting your glass behind you. “No, I was just messin’ with you, bear.” The nickname- his nickname. Hearing it more and more roll from your tongue, each time his heart skipped harder than the last. 

“Is this her recipe?” You asked, picking up the faded recipe card, looped cursive on the aged paper. “Your Nonna’s?” 

“Yeah,” Carmen nodded. “I, uh, so when I left to go to culinary school, right? She was sick, and… and I think she, like, knew that when I went to New York that would be the last time she saw me.” Carmen’s face dropped, slow and sad, it made your own heart sink. 

“So she-she gave me all these recipe books and-and cards that were hers. We used to cook together a lot. She taught me how to cook, y’know? My mom and dad were always at the restaurant and didn’t want to cook when they got home. They didn’t want me in the restaurant either so I spent a lot of time with her.” Carmen muttered. You could see the memories playing behind his eyes. 

You liked to picture that version of Carmen, a little boy with wild curls, helping his Nonna cook. Happy memories. 

“That’s sweet.” You smiled, leaning against the cabinets. “She did a really good job. You know she’s so insanely proud of you.” 

Carmen snorted, shaking his head lightly. “Yes, she is. Everyone’s proud of you, Carmen… I’m proud of you.” You hesitate, eyes scanning his features. It was true, of course, but handling Carmen sometimes was like handling a frightened animal. You were never sure what would make him scatter away in fear. 

Carmen swallowed thickly, cheeks flushed red, lips in a tight line. “T-Thanks.” Carmen muttered, wiping his hands on his apron, tossing the flour back into his clammy hands. 

“She, uh, she woulda loved you, y’know.” Carmen’s eyes met yours, intense and piercing. “I wish you coulda met her.” 

“Yeah, me too.” You nod. “I would’ve loved to hear all the baby Carmen cooking stories. I bet she had some good ones.” You smiled, bright and wide- perfect. It made Carmen’s brain numb. 

“Yeah, she would.” Carmen nodded, hands stilling, still buried in the dough. 

He felt it in his bones, his heart, consuming his thoughts. The overwhelming need he’d felt for weeks, since the first time you kissed him really, that he’d been fighting- too scared to say. What he felt every time he looked at you, when he thought about you. 

“Um, I-I wanna say something, and-and I don’t know if I should even fuckin’ say this or-or if it’s… fuck, if you-you feel the same or I just, I don’t wanna fuck this up because this is like the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and-and I’m workin’ on not ruinin’ good shit in my life and bein’ ok with it like-like my therapist says ya know, but-” Carmen rambled, words spilling out in fast, overwhelming bouts that took you by surprise. 

Carmen flustered, reaching a dough covered hand to his face, the sticky batter catching on his brows and hair. He flushed deeply, hands shaking in embarrassment, cursing under his breath. “F-Fuck, I-I’m sorry. I-I, nevermind, it’s not… I don’t know why-why I would-” His hands trembled, body shaking with anger and embarrassment. Way to fuckin’ go, Berzatto, you fuckin’ ruin it. That’s all you ever do, Carmen thought bitterly, wiping his hands off on the cloth. 

“Carm,” You said softly, your voice a beacon in the raging sea of his mind, pulling him out of his own harsh thoughts. 

Carmen turned, a fury flush of pure embarrassment that burnt all down his cheeks to his chest. Eyes soft and wary, hesitant like he was doomed, destined for the worse. 

You slide off the counter easily, grabbing the spare towel, bringing it to his eyebrows, wiping the dough off gently. The softness of your touch soothed Carmen, lulling his hammering heart- he didn’t see your own shaking hands, filled with your own adrenaline nerves. 

You stood in front of him, eyes on the other, careful and watching- unsure. “I-I love you, too.” Your breath hitched, squeezing the words out in a nervous tumble. Carmen didn’t move, body going rigid, heart stopping entirely. The ringing was back in his ears, clouding his brain so loudly he was sure he heard you wrong. 

“I’ve wanted to say it for a while, too, but didn’t…” You shook your head, heat in your own cheeks, eyes casting down to his dough covered hand. “I didn’t know if-if you felt that or if- I don’t know, I didn’t want to seem crazy or obsessive if it was too soon, and-and scare you.” 

“No,” Carmen croaked, tongue thick in his own mouth. “No, I-I mean- fuck,” Carmen shook his head, looking to the wall. He needed a second, words jumbled in his mouth, heart racing, so high off the adrenaline he felt like he could combust at any moment. 

“I-I was gonna say that too.” Carmen nodded, the quirk in your lips making his heart lurch. “That I love you. I was- yeah, I love you. I-I have for a while.” 

“Really?” You whispered, voice tiny and excited, like it was a secret just for the two of you. Maybe it was. 

“Yeah, fuck yeah.” Carmen let out a breathy, shaky laugh. “I love you, and-and I just love you so much it makes my brain hurt sometimes.” 

“Me too.” You grin, a hand pressing to his cheek. “I love you.” The phrase you’d repressed for so long, deprived yourself of saying now spilled out of you like a mantra- like that was all you could say now. 

Carmen grinned, brain bubbly and light. He let you pull him into a kiss, head tilting down, lips molding over yours so they fit perfectly. 

Later over plates of Bologonese, you grinned across the table from Carmen. “If I didn’t tell you I loved you before, I definitely would now.” You moaned, pointing at the plate. “I really was missing out.” 

Carmen beamed under your praise, gooey and love drunk off your words- off you. He knew Viola Berzatto, wherever she was, was boasting with pride. 

And he knew his Nonna would have loved you too. 

[rip-quizilla]

Impossible to Hate You ~ Part 6

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

Summary: Thanksgiving, idiots in love, and unwelcome encounters in the parking lot.

Word Count: 4k

A/N: Content Warning! This chapter contains sexual harassment (grabbing at clothes, derogatory name calling).

Thank you so much @hellfire--cult for the adorable Converse divider🥹

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Part 6

Thanksgiving Day, 1983

Eddie had a lot of things to worry about today, but right now he was most worried about whether or not the mac & cheese he’d slaved over all morning would taste like shit. 

His sweaty hands clutched the dish towel-wrapped baking dish for dear life and mentally rolled through all of the ingredients he had read on that clipping from the Southern Living magazine he’d grabbed from the grocery store. It wasn’t as if he’d never cooked before- he could make a mean grilled cheese, and if something came in a box he hadn’t found a way to fuck it up yet. This time, however, he’d been a little out of his element. 

Wayne had been excited to finally have a use for the casserole dish that had been sitting in a cabinet unused for so long that Eddie hadn’t even known it existed. Currently, he sat relaxed in the drivers’ seat of his pickup smiling smug as hell even though Eddie had assured him multiple times that he was not about to meet Eddie’s girlfriend… just a friend. 

No matter how much Eddie tried to hammer that point into Wayne’s skull, however, he still smiled that stupid knowing grin every time your name came up in conversation, as if he knew something Eddie didn’t. 

“You seem nervous.” Wayne commented, keeping his eyes trained on the road ahead as he lazily turned the truck into your neighborhood. 

Eddie glared at the tin foil topped dish in his lap. “Well, I’ve never made this recipe before, I keep picturing everyone taking a bite and immediately spitting it into their napkins.”

Wayne snorted, shaking his head softly and guiding the steering wheel with one hand. “Son, it’s pasta and cheese. Pretty hard to mess that up too bad.” 

“Yeah, well…” Eddie harrumphed. “I’m sure I found a way somehow.”

Wayne smiled softly at his nephew’s smitten nerves, parking the pickup with a jerky stop at the curb of your house. “505, right? This is the one?”

“Yeah.” 

Watching smugly as Eddie stared out the window at your house, Wayne waited about four seconds before he asked, “Are you gonna get out of the car today, or…?”

Cue the sound of the car door opening and Eddie grumbling a sassy muttered retort of I’m going old man, calm down, or something along those lines. Wayne pretended not to catch it. 

You opened the door before Wayne and Eddie could even get to the door, and when Eddie’s eyes landed on you? His uncle could just tell. The smile that exploded on his nephew’s face was all it took.

“Oh here, let me take that-”

“No, no, it’s fine Ace, I got it.” Eddie reassured you, swooping the casserole dish away from your eager hands. He nodded in Wayne’s direction, directing you to do the same as he introduced the only family member of his that you’d heard of at all in your time as friends. “This is my Uncle Wayne.” 

Your eyes shone, welcoming and warm, and Wayne understood in an instant how you’d had such an effect on Eddie in less than a year. Since he’d started spending time with you, Eddie Munson had become the kind of young man who did his homework without being asked. He’d even gotten a job at the mall of all places and gave a portion of his earnings to his uncle to help with living expenses. 

None of the things Wayne had always loved about Eddie had gone away- the changes he’d seen in his nephew were all additions to a personality that he’d always known would take him far in life if he could just surround himself with those who brought out the best in him. People who saw that spark of Munson Magic and knew how to fan it.

Wayne could now confirm that you were one of those people.

He took your hand in his weathered and wrinkled one, pouring his approval of you into a firm and fatherly handshake. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, young lady.” He gestured to Eddie with a conspiratorial nod. “Nice to put a face to the name, all he does is talk about you.”

“Brrrrr, it’s cold out here!” Eddie interrupted his uncle with a hand on your back to steer you away from Wayne and into the house. “Are you cold? You look cold, we don’t need to stand out here yapping when you’re cold.” 

You smiled, following Eddie’s lead but tossing a look over your shoulder at Wayne like it was a shared secret. 

Eddie had already met your parents, so greetings were warm and familiar once the three of you had reached the foyer. Wayne was introduced to both your mom and dad before your mom noticed Eddie had brought an offering for the table.

“Edward Munson, if I’m about to find out you’re not only a shoe designer but also a cook, I might just have to extend a standing invitation for all future holidays!”

“Shoe designer?” Wayne raised an eyebrow. 

You chuckled, pointing your foot out for him to see your white (now turned a bit duller from wearing them every day) Chuck Taylors, completely covered in idle drawings from Eddie’s inability to sit still. 

Wayne gawked at the artwork on your shoes; he’d always known that Eddie was talented, but this was the first time in a long time that Wayne had really stopped and looked at his nephew’s art. The detail, the use of space and composition- it was clear that Eddie knew not only how to draw, but he had an eye for how to make his art look like it belonged on its canvas. Even otherworldly monsters- sea creatures, dragons, demonic ghouls and ghostly images- looked at home on your well-loved high tops. 

“You drew all this, Ed?”

Eddie smiled shyly, nudging your shoulder with his own. “Ah, they’re just doodles. This one over here figured out I pay better attention in class when I’m doing something with my hands. Helps me listen better.” Finally, his trademark grin reappeared, shyness replaced with snark. “Now I’m the one helping her in class.”

“All the times I’ve had to kick you so you don’t fall asleep in O’Donnell’s beg to differ.” You replied, rolling your eyes at him. This brought a good-natured ripple of laughter from everyone in the room. You all felt it- the ease with which familiarity settled in the air amongst you. Eddie felt it most of all, since he wasn’t quite accustomed to the particular familial feel of it. 

He might have been, once. But it’s been a while. 

A second later and your mom had whisked Eddie into the kitchen to set his dish down on a trivet and sent him into the living room with a steaming cup of wassail in one hand and a plate of appetizers in the other.

“There was enough food in there to feed an army,” Eddie said, bemused as he sat down next to you on the couch. “Does she know there are only five of us?” 

You toed off your shoes and let them fall to the ground before crossing your legs up on the green ottoman, fuzzied soft with wear from years of love. You leaned closer to Eddie, eyes fixed on his plate of goodies as you began to pick pieces of fruit and cheese for yourself. 

“Mom grew up with a big family,” you said, popping a juicy red grape into your mouth. “All the family recipes make enough for six at least. She could probably cut the recipes in half… but I think cooking all this food reminds her of home.” you smiled tenderly and shrugged. “We usually freeze the leftovers, but since you and your uncle are here I doubt we’ll even have to open a freezer bag. We’ll just send leftovers home with you!”

Eddie liked the sound of that. 

An hour or so passed before you all sat down to share your meal, and Eddie was amazed how quickly his nerves had dissipated in that time. The two of you sat cozied up on the couch, munching on fruit, cheese and deviled eggs. Your dad had offered Wayne a beer, and the two of them sat watching football in front of the TV until your mom gave the all-call for dinner. 

Everyone loaded up their plates, remarked on how good the food looked, thanked your mom for all of the hard work that went into today’s meal. This was quickly followed by a pointed thank you from your mother to Eddie for the “best mac ‘n cheese I’ve ever had” according to her. He was pretty sure she was just being nice, but he didn’t care. Her smile was still contagious- one of those ‘I love you no matter what’ mom smiles.

He’d forgotten about those.

He’d also forgotten what it was like to sit at a dining room table with more than three people. For a second, he’d been worried that you were all about to hold hands and pray, which wouldn’t have been ideal since all Eddie could remember about the dinner prayer was “bless us, oh Lord, for these thy gifts,” and he didn’t want to embarrass himself. 

But there wasn’t a prayer. This wasn’t a test he’d forgotten to study for, just a meal where Mom and Dad and Uncle were all happy he was here, happy each other were here. That was new. And when your dad asked Eddie how school was going, for once he had nothing but good things to report. He’d gotten a 95 on his last English test. For the first time since sophomore year, he wasn’t failing a single class. And when your dad said “Glad to hear you’re doing well, son.” Eddie felt you squeeze his thigh lightly, just above his knee. He saw Wayne smiling proudly out of the corner of his eye.

Eddie could get used to this. 

Conversation flowed easily in your family; no one felt the need to talk about the weather or ask arbitrary questions, and thankfully nobody decided that “we should go around the table and all say something we’re thankful for!”. There wasn’t a need for it. None of you needed to say it out loud to know you were all thankful for each other. For this. 

By the time dessert came around, Eddie started to think he might be dreaming. Apparently, you were the one always in charge of dessert in your household. And while he’d grown very acquainted with your chocolate chip cookies, he hadn’t been adequately prepared for your pecan pie. Or your chocolate & peanut butter sheet cake. Or the chocolate pudding/cool whip/cookie crumb whatever-it-was that you’d spooned onto his dessert plate. 

Could a person become delirious after consuming too much sugar? Eddie wasn’t sure if it was sugar that was causing him to start wondering what you’d look like making all these desserts in a kitchen that you both paid rent for, or if that was just him. It was probably the sugar.

As soon as Eddie was shoveling his last bite into his mouth, he was looking over to see if you had any left for him to mooch off of you. Your plate was empty- scraped clean, even- and then you were grabbing his empty plate and standing to take them into the kitchen. Eddie was about to pout when you looked at him knowingly and asked, “You want seconds? I’m getting seconds.”

It wasn’t the sugar. Eddie wanted to know what your signatures looked like together on a lease. And Eddie couldn’t believe it had taken him so long to finally admit to himself that he’d been nursing a crush on you since… when had it started? Eddie wasn’t sure. Somewhere between seventh grade history class and this very moment, he figured. 

He looked up at you from his seat, mouth still stuffed with pie crust and cool whip, and smiled when he noticed how pretty you looked in that sweater you were wearing. It was red- you wore red a lot, he realized. Had you always worn red this often?

You giggled, poking his cheek. “You look like a chipmunk when you smile like that.” 

His eyes followed you as you disappeared into the kitchen, and when Eddie caught a glimpse of the way Wayne was grinning at him? Well, his blush was a deeper shade of scarlet than your sweater.

The smile stayed, though. Even a punch to the jaw couldn’t knock that off Eddie’s face.

“I wanna take you out.” 

It had taken Eddie what felt like ages to finally ask you. You were both at school, and he had been thinking about it and thinking about it and ramping himself for weeks to just grow a pair and ask you. The question had sounded smoother in his head, but now he thought he sounded vaguely frightening- sharper and more desperate than he’d hoped.

You blanched, eyes wide and mouth open to a little “O” shape that made Eddie’s heart flutter. 

You were so cute. How had he ever ignored it?

You grinned a little, “Take me out like… assassination, take me out, or…?” 

“No,” Eddie shook his head, laughing nervously, “I mean like, out. To a place. Or multiple places, if you want.” He was jumpy, his hands switching from his pockets to the strap of his backpack, to his hair, to the fraying edges of the friendship bracelet you’d tied around his wrist in July. 

“So when you say take me out, you mean like… on a date?”

There it was. You’d said it, that word. Date. It was out in the open now. 

You’d put the ball in Eddie’s court, and he should be happy about it. This was how it was supposed to be, right? He needed to be a man, take control, take the lead. But unfortunately, it had taken the majority of his bravery just to initiate this conversation.

“Do you want it to be a date?”

Just like that, he passed the ball to you. Eddie cursed himself, waiting anxiously for your response, completely at your mercy.

You looked down at your shoes covered in his doodles, at the red plaid of your flannel that you wore because you’d bought it in hopes that if he started to associate you with his favorite color, he might like you more. Like you the way you liked him.

You couldn’t say the words either… couldn’t speak them into existence without fear of sounding too desperate, too eager. So instead, you nodded yes to your doodle covered shoes and smiled at the dragon he’d drawn on the left toe.

Eddie beamed- inwardly, of course. Couldn’t let you see exactly how happy he was that you felt the same as him- he needed to be calm, to be cool. Girls liked calm and cool.

 “Then it’s a date, Sweet Tart.” He ached to sling a triumphant arm over your shoulder, but shoved his sweating hands into his pockets instead. 

You snuck a glance at Eddie, your smile refusing to leave no matter how cool you were trying to appear. Be cool, don’t act too desperate, you chided yourself. 

“It’s a date.” you repeated, beaming up at him. “When were you thinking?”

“Well,” Eddie shrugged as you both came to a stop by your locker. “Finals are next week and then we’re off for Christmas break, so I should be able to pencil you in for next Saturday night.” He leaned against the adjacent lockers, a smug smile shining down on you. 

“Pencil me in, huh?” you giggled, replacing the notebooks and folders from your last class with your supplies for the next. “I’m flattered you could fit me into your busy schedule.”

“If there’s one thing my schedule always has room for, it’s you, Ace.” 

Swooning. That was the only word for what those words made you do. You weren’t sure if Eddie was aware of the effect he had on you, but you were pretty sure you wouldn’t be able to help it if he was. 

You were actually grateful for your final exams the following week- they gave you something to focus on other than your date with Eddie. Which meant that the moment you’d finished your last exam on Friday, that date was the only thing on your mind.

Your date with Eddie. The words alone were enough to make you smile to yourself. You’d been harboring this crush on him for the better part of this year, and now he asks you on a date? Was it possible that he had felt the same way all this time? 

“You sure you’re cool if I don’t stay for the whole session tonight?” you’d asked Eddie as he’d prepared for Hellfire that afternoon, triple-checking that he wasn’t upset. It had become a routine for the two of you- your weekly presence as the one and only audience member for Hellfire’s in-game escapades. 

“Cool as a cucumber, Ace.” Eddie had replied, “You took three exams today, for crying out loud. Go take a nap.” 

When you finally conceded, he’d walked you from the gameplay table to the door, even going so far as to hold it open for you. Then, to your surprise, he’d taken your hand in his and brought it to his lips. 

“Go rest up.” He’d muttered, low enough so only you could hear. Then he’d brushed his lips against the back of your fingers, and you’d just about melted on the spot. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at 8, Sweet Tart.”

Your hand still tingled as you thought about the feel of his lips on your skin. Now, you wanted that feeling everywhere. 

Your body was on autopilot as you made your way through the school parking lot; slushed, muddy snow sat piled up in corners and untouched patches at the edges of the lot from the on-again off-again winter precipitation over the December weeks. Your booted feet marched on toward your car, your mind entirely occupied by thoughts of tomorrow. 

You were so distracted by that thought that you didn’t notice who was waiting for you, leaned up against the trunk of your car.

“Hey there, firecracker.” 

You stopped short when your eyes snapped up to see Alan, along with a couple guys from the basketball team. Their faces were pure predatory malice as Alan eyed you up and down. 

You paused a moment, your heart rate picking up a notch when you realized just how empty the parking lot was, given the hour that had passed since the final bell. 

“I have to get home.” you muttered, keeping your eyes on the driver side door and making your best attempt to brush past the jock leaned up directly beside it, but to no avail. 

“Not so fast, you little freak.” Alan stepped into your path, a cruel smile creasing his freckled face. “We just wanted to chat!”

“You,” your voice betrayed every ounce of disbelief that you felt looking up at the meathead blocking your path to your own vehicle. “-want to chat. With me?”

“I know, I know, you’re flattered-”

“I’m not.” 

“Well you should be.” Alan peered down at you with frigid eyes. “Lord knows no guy will ever want to be seen with you now that the Freak’s got his claws in you.” 

You felt a surge of indignant fire seep into your gaze. “Piss off, asshole.” You attempted to shove past him, but Alan took a step toward you, throwing off your balance. You had to grab the bumper of the car beside you to keep from falling over, clutching at the books in your arms to avoid dropping them onto the icy pavement below. 

“I even heard he branded you.” Alan’s hot breath sent an unwelcome shiver over your skin. “Sherrie said she saw you in the locker room with… some kind of symbol… on your upper thigh, I believe?”

A biting breeze whooshed past you, but you didn’t feel it- your body had already gone ice cold. 

“Sherrie’s lying.”

“You know, I don’t think she is.” Alan’s hands crept closer toward you, ghosting fingertips across the fabric of your skirt. “But if you want to prove it to us…”

You felt your stomach drop when one of Alan’s friends stepped behind you, boxing you in. They were like vultures- to them, you were already down for the count. Ready to be picked at and preyed upon.

Slapping Alan’s hand away, you attempted once again to squeeze past him and his goons, anxious for the safety of your driver’s seat and a locked door between you and them. Unfortunately, Alan had other plans. 

“Come on,” he crooned, “girls don’t get tattoos unless they want people to see them. Go ahead and show us.”

“Go. Away.” you gritted through your teeth. 

“The Freak’s seen it, hasn't he?” Alan pressed, his hand grasping the fabric of your skirt in his fist. “What, you’ll slut yourself out for him, but not us?”

“What the fuck are you dickheads doing?” 

You’d never been so thankful to hear Robin’s voice in your life. 

Alan sneered at the unfamiliar sophomore, subtly letting go of your skirt. “Who the hell are you?” 

Robin marched up to the boy standing behind you, powering her glare with just enough ferocity that he actually moved aside. Grabbing your shoulders, Robin pulled you a good five feet from Alan and looked you square in the eye. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, pulling your car keys from the pocket of your backpack. You were anxious for something tangible to fidget with, something to ground you in where you stood, away from Alan and his wandering hands.

Once she was sure you were alright, Robin turned the full force of her fury on the boys that stood around your car. 

“Mr. Dunne was right behind me on his way out here, so unless you want me to tell him that I just found you groping a female student, I suggest you scram.” 

You saw Alan weighing his options for a moment, but eventually he stuck his hands in the pockets of his letter jacket and- thankfully- took his leave. 

“Whatever, freaks.” he muttered, strolling away like a brat who had grown up believing himself to be invincible in a system that agreed with him.  

It wasn’t until the two of you were both sitting in your car and safe behind locked doors that you finally let out the breath you’d evidently been holding. “Fuck him.” you huffed. “Fuck. Him.”

“Fuck him.” Robin agreed with an emphatic nod of her head. “Has he ever even talked to you before? That seemed… super random, honestly, I’ve never even seen him look in your direction.” 

“I may have picked a fight with him after I heard him call Eddie and I freaks in class not too long ago.” you winced, remembering how brazen you’d been that day… you’d been so bold, so fearless, but that girl was nowhere to be seen today. Instead, you’d frozen like a cornered fox surrounded by hounds. It made you feel so small, you thought you might be sick. You hated feeling this way.

“Apparently,” you continued, “his girlfriend saw my tattoo in the locker room. He said he wanted to see it for himself.” 

Robin had been the first person- and only person- you’d shown your little bat to after Halloween. She’d been pretty impressed… after she’d stopped worrying about it getting infected, of course. 

“First- ew. Gross.” Robin grimaced. “Second- are you telling me you just change in the locker room with that thing out in the open?” 

“I’m usually super careful about keeping it hidden!” you argued, “But it is a possibility that I might have been a little rushed to get to my next class at some point… I guess I wasn’t careful enough.”

A short silence settled while you mentally kicked yourself. I should have known this would happen. How could I be so careless? 

“Well,” Robin started, suddenly chipper. You knew this tone; she was about to try and cheer you up. Good luck, Rob. 

“You’re going to drive me to your house and then we’re baking cookies and watching whatever movie you want.” 

While you were still far from what you would consider over what just happened, your interest was definitely piqued. “Whatever movie I want?” you countered. 

Robin sighed. “I know what you’re about to ask, and yes, we can watch The Dark Crystal.”

The beginnings of a smile stretched across your face. “And you won’t call any of the puppets creepy at any point?”

“Let’s not go that far.” she deadpanned. “I will watch it, I will eat cookies, and I will not suggest that we turn it off before the movie is over. This is my final offer.”

For Robin, that was a pretty good deal. Your beginnings of a grin had graduated to a full-on smile as you took her hand and gave it a grateful squeeze. “You’re a good friend.”

She returned your smile, and squeezed your hand back before letting go to buckle her seatbelt. “I’m a great friend. Now start driving, I’m hungry and we’re stopping for french fries.”

Part 7

Taglist: @rustboxstarr, @josephquinnsfreckles, @rozxartaki, @sheneedsrocknroll92, @melodymishahiddlestan , @sadlittlesquish, @clarafornerlyknownasclaire-blog , @stylesxmunson , @fishwithtitz , @elvendria , @carrotbunnies21 , @the-unforgivenn , @munson-blurbs, @writinginthetwilight, @ghost-proofbaby , @hellfire--cult

I added a few people to the taglist who’ve shown an interest in the series or have been my sounding boards during the writing process for this story. Hope y’all don’t mind!😊❤️

[just-cofffee]

Glimmers of the Past

- gojo satoru x reader

genre: just a little angst

In the midst of the kitchen, Satoru found himself surrounded by utensils and ingredients, determined to surprise Y/n with a delicious homemade dinner. However, his culinary skills left much to be desired. As he attempted to follow the recipe, the sauce burned, the pasta turned sticky, and the vegetables resembled more of an abstract art piece than an edible dish.

Y/n, observing the scene from the table, couldn't help but laugh at Satoru's desperate attempts to salvage the culinary disaster. Amidst laughter, she approached him and embraced him gently, reassuring him that the gesture meant more than the outcome. Satoru's eyes radiated adoration and love for the woman now in his arms, showering her with soft kisses all over her face.

Deciding to leave behind the culinary debacle, Satoru opted to order takeout. Together, they enjoyed an improvised dinner, sharing laughs as they relaxed on the couch, wrapped in blankets and watching cliché movies.

Satoru always made sure to demonstrate his love for Y/n. Despite his youth, he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. He was deeply in love with every aspect of Audrey: her voice, her soft hair, her smooth skin, and her exquisite aroma.

-

His heart ached with pain and betrayal as the evidence unfolded before him. Evidence confirming his alleged cooperation and collusion with Geto Suguru. First, the loss of his best friend, and now, the betrayal of the one he believed was the love of his life.

"I didn't do anything, Toru, it's false, you have to believe me," she pleaded, but Satoru was blinded by anger and pain. He shouted without listening, wounded to the core. You understood his pain, but he was also hurting you, accusing you unfairly with words filled with hatred and contempt.

"Leave, or you will regret it," he snapped, his tone icy and filled with hate, cutting you like a sharp dagger. It pained you to feel those bitter emotions directed towards you. You tried to approach, but his infinity was active, something that had never happened before. Wiping away your tears, you decided to leave…

-

And there you were, shining like an angel, ethereal as he remembered you. So close, yet so far away. He watched as you laughed, illuminated by the jokes of one of your fellow teachers. A knot formed in the depths of his stomach, rising up his throat like a blazing fire as he watched you share laughs with that man who was clearly flirting with you.

Satoru knew your gestures, your looks, your laughter, and he could sense that you didn't perceive the true intentions of that individual, just as it had been with him in the past. A familiar feeling of helplessness and pain washed over him as he watched the scene from a distance, trapped in a sea of turbulent emotions.

It had been more than six years since the last time he saw you, and, by all the gods, you were even more stunning. Your hair now cascaded like a waterfall down your back, framing your face with a beauty that had matured, yet still retained the same tenderness that had always characterized you. What never changed was your gaze, that pair of eyes that always hypnotized him, making him nervous like the first time he approached you. Those eyes, seemingly normal, were magical and unique to him, capable of unleashing a storm of emotions within him. Now, that last look you gave him continued to haunt him, filled with pain.

He didn't rest for a moment until he found the truth, and when he finally unearthed it, he was consumed by a burning desire to disappear. He loathed himself with a searing hatred that devoured him from within; he had falsely accused you. He fought to find you, but, as expected, you slipped masterfully through the shadows, out of his reach. There you were, just a few meters away, perhaps unaware of his presence, and your eyes, as if they could read his mind, observed him with a mixture of confusion and curiosity..

[infiniteeight8]

Desperate for those final few Can’t Find Out! So excited! So here is a prompt for one of them!

I'm sorry I made everyone wait so long for this! It's, like, three weeks past when it came up in my queue. But it needed some extra brain energy, so I had to wait for the right moment. I hope it lives up to expectations!

Edit: As usual, I forgot to link the rest of the series. Here it is: https://archiveofourown.org/series/3953044

-

Tony has brought Stephen food again. Not just take out, this time; Stephen is almost certain that Tony made this pasta himself. Possibly a family recipe. Tony hadn’t said so, but he was masking nervousness when he handed it over, and when Stephen made an involuntary noise of appreciation at the first mouthful, Tony had looked pleased in a way that you just didn’t when you were supplying take out.

The take out itself had been inappropriate, given their dynamics and mating status. This meal… This meal would be grounds for bond dissolution in some places. God only knew what Pepper thought of it; Stephen was certain that Tony hadn’t been hiding anything from her. Most likely, she’d rolled her eyes at Tony’s blithe disregard of social mores. 

Stephen, for his part, has long since abandoned any shame he’d once felt for accepting these gestures as if they were real. What harm does it do to pretend for a moment that Tony is courting him? Stephen is the only one who knows, and he’s careful to accept, but not respond. 

“That was incredible,” Stephen says when he’s wiped up the last of the sauce with a bit of bread and finished that off, too. 

Tony still has food in front of him; he’s been watching Stephen eat. “Thanks,” he says. “It’s been years since I made it; I was a little afraid it wouldn’t come out right.”

He had made it himself. “Years? Why so long?”

“Busy, mostly,” Tony says. Stephen waits, because it seems like there’s more to it. “The longer I went without making it,” Tony eventually goes on, “the more it seemed like I should save it for a special occasion.”

Stephen’s mouth goes dry. “I guess you gave up on that.”

Tony shakes his head. 

Oh God. Stephen knew he should have cut all contact after Thanos. He was going to tear Tony’s life apart without even trying, how could he have been so selfish? “Tony—”

“Have I ever told you how Pepper and I got bonded?” Tony breaks in.

Stephen snaps his mouth shut. “No.” He doesn’t particularly want to hear this story, but he probably deserves to.

“I had this big interview scheduled,” Tony says. “We were in the green room getting ready. Pepper was going over this endless list of questions with me. What they’d probably ask, things we’d told them were off limits, that sort of thing.” He pauses and Stephen nods for him to go on, confused. This doesn’t sound like a romantic story. “Probably three quarters of the questions on the list—expected and banned—were about my relationship status. I was supposed to be talking about Iron Man and clean energy and the expansion of SI’s medical technology division and all they wanted to know was who I was dating and what I wanted out of a marriage." Tony snorted. “So I complain to Pepper, of course, and she says, ‘At least they don’t shut you out of meetings because unmated omegas are ‘volatile.’” Stephen winces. He’s heard that one, too. Tony continues, “So I say, ‘Hey, if we got bonded, we could kill two birds with one stone.’”

Stephen waits for a long minute for the story to continue, but Tony just waits. “I… don’t understand,” Stephen says. He can’t understand. It can’t be what it sounds like. His heart starts pounding anyway.

“Stephen, Pepper and I were never a love match,” Tony says carefully. “We’re friends, but we got bonded for the convenience of our careers, not because we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together. I don’t consider myself mated, and neither does she.”

It feels like the world has dropped away from Stephen, like he might have accidentally slipped out of phase with reality. “But you love Pepper,” he says helplessly. “Fourteen million futures, Tony. I know you love Pepper.”

“Yeah, I do,” Tony affirms. “She’s my best friend. She’s been with me through everything. Of course I love her. I’d be wrecked if I lost her.” He had been, more than once, in those futures. “But that doesn’t mean our relationship is romantic. We’ve never seen each other that way.”

Stephen looks at his empty plate. He touches the edge of it with a trembling hand. “A special occasion, you said.”

Tony smiles. “Well. I’ve never initiated a courtship before.” He pauses for a long moment, then smirks. “Unless you’re still carrying a torch for your mystery alpha.”

That smirk. Stephen laughs—maybe just a little too sharply—and shakes his head. “When did you figure it out?”

“Not me,” Tony admits. “Pepper.”

“Of course it was Pepper,” Stephen sighs. He really should have been more discreet around her, but it’s hard to regret it now.

Tony stands and comes around the Sanctum’s kitchen table, standing next to Stephen and holding out both of his hands. Stephen pushes back from the table and takes Tony’s hands, letting the alpha pull him to his feet. Tony’s grip is gentle, but not at all tentative. 

“So what do you say?” Tony asks. “You’ve already had god knows how many lifetimes with me. You up for one more?”

As if there was any doubt. “Always.” 

Tony pulls him into a kiss, and Stephen finally comes home.

[coalswriting]

reader with a broken arm headcanons - lottie matthews

a/n - i was really unsure of what to write for this even though the person that requested gave me a descriptive prompt :')) i initially had written 500+ words of an actual fic but i scrapped it because i was really struggling to write it!! did some headcanons though so i'm sorry for any disappointment </3

(approx 1k words)

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

how it happened

you broke your arm during practice.

you were trying to catch up to laura lee to steal the ball off her.

you were having an off day, having slept through your alarm and coming to school late as a result, getting written up, and detention.

you just wanted to release your frustration on the ball.

you skidded on a mud puddle and were sent flying.

you shot your arms out to try and protect your face and heard a audible crack as you hit the ground.

you were lightheaded as lottie raced to your side.

she held your hand and told you to look into her eyes and match her breathing.

you groaned at the intense pain and looked down at the source to see your arm bent in a weird way halfway down your wrist.

you blacked out from the shock.

you woke up later, at the hospital.

your parents were on holidays for a few weeks so lottie had to sign you out and drive you home.

you had a small moment of panic in the car, realising you won’t be able to handle being alone and having to take care of yourself.

lottie offered to help you out, which you were very thankful for.

of course, she’d help you! you’re her girlfriend!

lottie trying to cook for you and failing

she’s not a good cook; she’s been pampered almost all her life, so when she offers to cook for you, you grimace and insist on getting delivery.

lottie is a bit huffy at first, but finally warms up to the idea because yeah. she’s not a great cook, and she understands. you do offer to teach her a few easy recipes once you’re feeling a bit better though!

honestly, the two of you eat SO much pizza that you start longing for home cooked meals.

one day when you’re particularly tired, lottie forces you to stay at home.

you decide to go online and collate a list of easy recipes for her to cook!

think tomato sauce, burgers, curries, you even find an easy recipe for homemade bread because you think it’d be fun to watch her bake something.

once lottie comes home, you show her the list and she’s so happy that she offers to cook for you straight away!

she makes you spaghetti bolognese – the pasta is way too mushy, the sauce is very watery and too salty, and the meat is burnt but you eat all of it because she put in the effort for you and her little puppy eyes are a great motivator.

lottie’s so delighted that she offers to make dessert and you convince her that you’re too full after her delicious dinner so that she won’t borderline poison you again lol.

the dinner she makes you the next day is way better; she only steady improves as she cooks for you every day.  

helping you dress up

the first few days, you just wear pyjamas but once it’s time to go back to school, you’re a little stressed.

you don’t really have any baggy clothes so you can’t just slip the cast through the arm hole.

thank the heavens that your girlfriend is taller than you are though!! her clothes are way bigger and your wardrobe ends up consisting of her shirts and jumpers.

you show up to school one day with one of her bright pink fuzzy sweaters, much to the shock of the yellowjackets. normally you wear less … loud colours, so everyone is hit with whiplash when you sit in the cafeteria with them.

van starts calling you barbie with how much pink you wear; taissa bonks her over the head every time, but it doesn’t really bother you.

lottie always jokes about the fact that you’re wearing her clothes.

“nice jumper, babe. where’d you get it?”

“lottie. it’s literally yours. you made this joke every single day for the past week. please stop. it’s not funny.”

cue van slapping her knee and almost falling over from how hard she’s laughing.

bath time + sleeping!

the first day you’re back from the hospital, you’re all muddy and tired.

you just ask lottie to grab a wet rag and wipe your face down.

the next day, you offer the same thing, but she refuses.

“you’re gonna get all stinky, (y/n). i’ll just help you bathe.”

she then proceeds to struggle immensely trying to wrap your arm in saran wrap.

anyways, twenty minutes later, you’re in the bath with lottie.

she’s sitting behind you and she pulls you back a little, your head resting on her chest as she shampoos your hair.

you’re so relaxed that you almost start purring. almost.

this becomes a regular occurrence and you both end up spending way too much time in the bath every time, just cuddling and enjoying the warmth.

lottie starts bringing bath bombs and running bubble baths so that you two can play around.

once you’re both out of the bath and in your fluffy pyjamas, you always watch a movie or tv show.

one night, you stayed up until four am watching all the home alone movies in order. why? because you wanted to rank them from worst to best.

lottie ends up passed out with her arms draped around you and her head on your chest. you fall asleep shortly after; halfway through the third movie.

you can’t really fall asleep alone because you can’t fully cuddle your shark plushie but thankfully your girlfriend sleeps with you every night, keeping you warm and hugging you.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

you kind of get used to lottie babying you, and though you feel embarrassed about it at first, she reassures you that it’s okay because she loves you.

she’ll also get protective of you, telling people in the hallway to back off or force them to apologise to you if they bang off you accidentally.

seriously, people learn not to hurt lottie’s girlfriend.

you definitely end up becoming the princess of the yellowjackets. again, van jokes about it the most and you start playing into the title because you find it to be quite funny.

once the cast is off and you’ve fully recovered, you’re a little sad that lottie won’t be at your house every night anymore.

but!! it’s okay because she invites you to stay at hers.

she’s too used to your presence now :3c