#figural butter dish

[iihih]

The Buttero Dish by Anissa Kermiche

If it’s a voluptuous butter dish you’re after, look no further, we found the best.  Artist, designer and sculptor Anissa Kermiche is known for using the female body, its anatomy and curves as sensuous designs for both her jewelry and homewares. Her butter keeper, the Buttero Dish, is a nod to both butter and Botero, the Colombian artist best known for his bloated, rotund depictions of people,…

[batemanofficial]

pastry chef at work talks a lot of big game for somebody who doesn't even make her own tart shells 🫢

[homunculus-argument]

I have come to discover that the most efficient way for me to get housework done is to allow myself to just do task grazing. I start one thing and once I've got the ball rolling, I may notice another task I could do while doing the first task, and just let myself wander around the house, bumping into something I could fix, fixing it up, and heading back off to a random direction, like a roomba with hands. I didn't plan to do housework today, but I decided to bake a cake.

There was no real need for a cake, but I allowed myself to bake one nonetheless. Getting started on the batter, the butter I was melting in the microwave popped over slightly, so I neded up washing the microwave plate and dome. Looking for cinnamon, I re-arranged the spices into a slightly more logical order. Turning the oven on, I noticed that the dirty oven tray inside - that we had left in there to cool since there's no way to wash it while it's hot - was still there, so I figured I'd wash it, too.

So while the cake was in the oven, I ended up washing the dishes from the sink, and discovered that there's no way to fit the oven tray in there with them. So it's best to wash the oven tray in the shower. Scrubbing the tray in the bathroom and rinsing it off with the showerhead, I noticed the burnt gunk collecting on the floor. Getting a cleaning rag and wiping the gunk off, I noticed the dust in the corners of the bathroom floors, and figured I might as well wipe those through.

Had I sent out with the intention to spend today cleaning, and made it my task to clean the whole kitchen and to mop the bathroom floor, I would've never managed to actually get up and go do it. I would've spent the whole day frozen in place, beating myself up about not getting up and getting anything done, and wasting the entire day achieving nothing and still being exhausted by the ordeal of spending the whole day fighting myself.

But instead, I let myself bake a cake.

[beloveds-embrace]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Matchmaking Buns: Part Two

Part One

What the bunnies look like

The evening of the promised dinner comes faster than you’d anticipated. With every passing minute, you flit from one end of the house to the other, adjusting pillows, checking on the simmering dishes, and shooing your furry “helpers” out of the kitchen for what feels like the hundredth time even if they thump at you. Between binkying across the living room, flopping lazily on the rug right on your path, and trying to sneak nibbles of any available furniture, your bunnies are in top form, thriving in their role as resident chaos agents.

Finally, the doorbell rings. You wipe your palms on your jeans, take a deep breath, and open the door, immediately greeted by four towering figures who seem somehow even more imposing in their casual clothes. Johnny’s already grinning, Kyle’s soft smile is reassuring, Price has a hint of amusement in his eyes, and Simon—well, Simon is as inscrutable as ever, though his gaze lingers on you for just a beat longer than expected.

“Welcome! Come on in and, uh, make yourselves at home. You’ll be sharing the space with the true homeowners, of course,” you say, gesturing toward the four bundles of fluff darting around underfoot, raising their heads in curiosity. “Don’t worry, they’ll give up the prime seats… eventually.”

Price chuckles, stepping into the living room as your spotted holland lop scurries past his feet. “I was almost expecting to see little bunny-sized chairs around here, the way you talk about them.”

“Careful, you’ll give her ideas!” Johnny laughs, watching as your grey Flemish giant noses around his ankle, clearly demanding a greeting. He squats down to give her a gentle scratch behind the ears, and she leans into his hand with that smug satisfaction only a beloved pet can have.

You usher everyone toward the dining table, where a spread of your best dishes awaits. You won't lie; you are extremely proud of what you'd prepared: a platter of roasted herb-crusted lamb, tender and drizzled with honey-balsamic, sits as the centerpiece. Nearby, creamy wild mushroom risotto with parmesan shavings, its earthy aroma irresistible. A vibrant salad of mixed greens, heirloom tomatoes, and crumbled goat cheese (it was a nightmare making this one with the way your bunnies were almost ready to paw-fight you for the greens). There’s also warm, crusty bread with rosemary-infused butter, and a golden vegetable gratin with layers of zucchini, squash, and potato, bubbling with creamy gruyere.

The smell of the food finally entices your bunnies to settle by your feet, eyeing the proceedings with their usual mix of suspicion and entitlement. Simon, catching sight of your mini-lop sniffing determinedly toward a bowl of the salad, picks up the bowl and sets it just out of reach with a faint smile- he has taken off the mask, and you have to tell yourself not to stare too much at how pretty he is.

“Thanks for sparing me from his wrath,” you say, laughing, after clearing your throat. “He’s usually the one ringleading all their mischief.”

The meal kicks off in earnest, and you’re surprised by how quickly everyone relaxes, including you. Price sets a warm tone, regailing you with stories while Johnny occasionally jumps in, keeping everyone laughing and chuckling. Kyle is quieter but genuinely interested, asking about the bunnies, your garden, even your job. Every now and then, you catch him sneaking tiny bites to one of your rabbits, who’s stationed at his feet, looking particularly pleased with itself.

“Looks like they’ve already trained you all,” you joke, nudging Kyle’s elbow as he hands over a piece of carrot to your flemish giant. You've been keeping an eye on them, ensuring he doesn't give them too much.

He grins back, his eyes twinkling. “Guess it’s hard to resist them when they give you those eyes, yeah?”

You sigh, directing a mock glare at your rabbits, who blink innocently back. “Tell me about it. They know exactly what they’re doing.”

As the meal goes on, you feel a shift in the atmosphere- an easiness and familiarity you hadn’t expected to find so soon. Simon is quiet, but every so often, you catch his gaze resting on you, his expression thoughtful, almost… fond. You’re not entirely sure how to read it, but each time, you feel a flutter of warmth. Price seems equally at ease, laughing and sharing stories that, more than once, have you all leaning in closer. Even Johnny, whose teasing often has you blushing, seems oddly protective, always ready to interject if you look the slightest bit uncomfortable.

Finally, as the dishes are cleared and the bunnies settle into a post-feast nap near your feet, you sigh contentedly, leaning back with a soft smile. “Thank you guys again, seriously. That rescue was above and beyond. I owe you all big time.”

Simon, who’s been absently petting your mini-lop, looks up, his gaze steady but warm. “Just watch out for them next time, yeah? Or you’ll end up owing us another dinner.” There’s a subtle tease in his tone, a faint spark of humor that catches you off guard from a man like him.

You roll your eyes, laughing as you try to brush off the warm flutter in your chest. “I suppose that’s fair. But if you all had fun tonight, maybe we could make this a regular thing?” You don't know why you suggest it, but the second the words are out of your mouth you regret them. They won't accept, this was just a "thank you and sorry for the trouble" dinner and-

Johnny’s grin is immediate, stretching wide as he exchanges a glance with Price. “You dinnae have to ask us twice, lass,” he says, his accent rolling thick and smooth. There’s a softness in his expression, a warmth that makes your cheeks flush. He winks, and you catch yourself stifling a giggle, relief blooming in your chest and making it easier for you to breathe.

After dessert (and showing them all the spots, nooks, and crannies you've made for your bunnies), they prepare to leave. Johnny gives your Flemish giant one last scratch behind her ear, and she rolls her head down to give his palm sweet little licks. Kyle leans down to scoop up your mini-lop, placing him gently back near the others, his fingers brushing yours for a moment too long. “You’ve got a good thing here,” he murmurs, smiling as he watches your sleepy bunnies pile together. “It’s nice to see someone care so much.”

Flustered, you smile back, stammering a little. “Thanks… they’re, uh, a handful, but they’re my little family.”

Simon, who’s already by the door, pauses, his gaze on you softened by some unreadable emotion. “Just keep us in the loop if they escape again, yeah?”

Your heart skips at his tone, low and almost teasing. “I’ll make sure to notify the official rescue squad.” You raise an eyebrow at him, trying to hide your grin.

As they finally step out, John turns back to you. His eyes are crinkling at the corners, and he holds your hand up to kiss your knuckles. "Next time, we'll be the ones to take you out, luvie."

Not a request, but he is simply telling you. (Un)surprisingly it has you blushing and nodding.

You watch them head down the driveway then, and for a moment, you stand there, caught somewhere between disbelief and hope. There’s an undeniable warmth in your chest, a realization that maybe this isn’t just about the bunnies after all.

When you finally close the door and glance down, four sleepy bunny faces stare up at you, blinking in unison as if to say, “You’re welcome.” Shaking your head, you scoop up the nearest one, your toasty holland lop, kissing it on the top of its soft head.

“Thanks for the assist, you little terrors,” you whisper, grinning. “Now I have a dinner to look forward to. Perfect.”

[evilvillain123456789]

i woke up one afternoon to discover my body was transformed into that of a pig. though it was shocking, my family loved me despite this, and fed me lots of yummy slop. I lost pieces of my humanity with every day that passed, and I began to lose my sense of shame as well. This resulted in me often shitting where I stood, and blatantly going into erstrus when the time came. My parents, still believing me to be a real person, and not swine, were disgusted, and ashamed, and scolded me any time I "misbehaved". Until the day came along, one day, when my mother looked deep into my eyes and could not find a single trace of the human soul within them. I saw her turn around to the other room and heard her sobbing, though it elicited no response from me. Heartbroken, she had a conference with the rest of my family, and they decided to spare themselves the pain of having to look at me, and sell me to the Farmer as a meat pig. I went with him peacefully, aware of my fate, but not caring. The farmer did not know that I used to be human, so after I became fit to slaughter, maybe even substantially larger beyond that, he did so without ceremony. I was butchered as part of a special order, with my entire carcass shaved and washed, organs washed and placed back within, and sold to one man, who paid a hefty price. He brought me to his house after a long time spent in a, somewhat dingy ice chest in the back of his pickup truck, dragged inside, and cooked me in a large oven. My meat looked tender on the inside, yet was perfectly browned and crisp on the outside. Potatos and other starchy vegetables were cooked in the same pan, with a good amount of butter, as my body, the fat that was rendered and dripped off of me treating them well. When I was done cooking, instead of dressing me up, and putting me on a table, he put me and the cooking dish on the floor. This made me curious. I figured that he would be eating me, or a group of people, but thinking back on it, I heard no other humans than him this whole time, nor any footsteps. He whistled and called, and after some time an extremely large pig slowly slid itself along the floor into view. When it reached me, it didnt hesitate to begin eating as fast as it could. The man looked on. After about 15 minutes, the other pig had eaten all of me, even my bones, the vegetables, and drank all the remaining fluids from the pan, and my conscious had reawoken inside of its mind, all my memories intact, seeing things from its perspective, though I couldnt control its actions, and it's inner thoughts weren't aware of my presence. I felt my share of the pleasure that comes from eating ones own kind, and the pig sluggishly both in speed and manner made its way back to its pen, and fell asleep. I did too

[harstyle]

the styles’ nanny

Summary: Y/N is a twenty-three year old uni student and Harry is a thirty-six year old single dad. Y/N is a part-time nanny and Harry is her employer. Y/N thinks Harry is hot, and Harry… well, he’s a bit confused.

Pairing: plussize-nanny!yn + older-singledad!harry

Word-count: 7.3k

Warnings: age gap (13 years), mentions of alcohol and drinking and lashing out during an argument, no happy ending yet

A/N: I don’t know why I keep writing characters that start out insecure but I swear it’ll get better later!! Let me know if you want to read more, I’m thinking maybe three parts? Also, the fact that y/n is plus-size doesn’t really become a big deal in the story, but that was how I originally had her in mind so I’m leaving it that way. Hope you enjoy!

Y/N was twenty three. She was twenty three, and she used to love being twenty three. She used to love going out to party, the feeling of alcohol burning down her throat, the rush of palpable excitement when having sex with people she’d never met before. She used to love that. But she didn’t anymore.

And the reason for that? One Harry Styles.

It was ridiculous, of course; Harry had other companions he could turn to before ever settling on her— oh and not to mention, he was her boss. Yet, it felt daring, like that time she’d fallen in love with her biology teacher or looked differently at her camp instructor in high school. Authority figures did something to her brain, and Harry was no different.

But of course there was a lot at stake and she would never actually approach the idea; it was a fantasy at most. And she thought… as long as she didn’t act on her brain’s poisoning, it would be fine.

“Y/N, did you hear me?”

“Oh,” Y/N was snapped back following a short distraction, the butter knife in her hand now seeming more dangerous than when she’d held it seconds before. “Sorry, Harry, what was that?”

She swore she could see an amused smile tugging at his lips for a brief second. She’d always wondered what he thought of her.

“Are you free next Thursday? I have this meeting until late and I doubt I’ll be home for dinner—I was thinking you could maybe put Jamie to bed? You can stay the night if it’s too late to catch a train, or just take the other car?”

Y/N’s work day at the Styles’ house ended at five pm most days in time for Harry to get home, but she did adore Jamie, so staying longer wasn’t remotely an issue.

“That’s okay, I can just stay the night like I did last time, if that’s alright?”

Harry had insisted when she’d begun working for him that she have a room in the house where she could take naps to rest or stay the night all together when it got too tiring to catch the train home, and the notion of it had pulled at her heartstrings. He was very considerate and that was rare in bosses.

Harry shook his head, waving her off with ease, “course it’s okay.”

“Great. I should get home, I have an important test coming up tomorrow. Am I good to go?”

He glanced at the clock, noticing how late it had gotten (he’d offered to cook dinner and Y/N had never been one to reject hot men’s company) and cursed quietly to himself. “I’ll drive you.”

“Oh no Harry, really, it’s okay!”

“It’s almost eight and I feel uneasy whenever I send you away in the dark. Sides, I’m sure Jamie will love a late road trip to your flat,” he reassured with a smile, standing up as if to restrict her getting a choice and starting to load the plates into the dish washer. “Grab your coat and I’ll wait by the door. I’ll get Jamie.”

Y/N did love the way he asserted his wishes to her, kind but dominant in his decisions. He never let her deter him and she, for one, didn’t mind it at all.

“Okay, thank you.”

“No problem, love.”

—

“Can I please just get one scoop? Please?”

“I’m sorry, buddy, we just don’t have any ice cream! I would let you have it if we did, but we don’t. Is there any other snack you’re interested in?”

Jamie was being fussy today and Y/N couldn’t figure out why. He’d been happy when she’d picked him up from school, raving on about his art teacher’s praise on a drawing he’d done with the widest grin resting lazily on his small lips. It had been at around three that he’d started whining at her, not wanting to eat even though he’d requested the grilled cheese and flicking through about twenty channels until he’d finally settled on not watching anything at all. Y/N had figured he was tired, but he didn’t want to sleep either, so she was left thoroughly baffled trying to find ways to tame his mood.

But he wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop whining and crying, wouldn’t stop flailing his tiny arms and legs, wouldn’t stop pouting at her. Jamie had the best behaviour Y/N had ever seen on a boy, really, so this outburst worried her. “I just want ice cream!”

“Jamie, we don’t have any ice cream. How about I get you ice cream tomorrow, hm? And today we’ll have something else? Come on, remember how we learned about compromise?”

Y/N was trying, pulling Jamie into her lap to comfort him even though he didn’t care for any of it. His face was red and angry and nothing she said registered in his brain. He cried into her shoulder instead, gripping at her sides in terror. “You’re being mean to me.”

“Hey, that’s not very nice, I’m trying to help you bud.”

“Please, I just want ice cream.”

It was kind of cute how even in his state of devastation, he still managed to be polite to her.

“And I hear you, Jamie, but we don’t have any right now. Will you settle for Oreos? Or chocolate?”

He merely shook his head.

Y/N breathed a grateful sigh when she heard the front door being unlocked, still bouncing Jamie up and down in her lap in hopes that he’d settle down just a bit. She was sure Harry’d heard the crying from the front door because his steps were fast and his expression of concern clear.

“What’s wrong, bub?”

Jamie reacted with a devastating whine, calling for his dad and reaching his arms out begging to be carried. Harry shot Y/N a look of mixed confusion and apology, leveling the boy out from inside of her lap. He mouthed the question she knew he’d been thinking and felt bad when all she could offer in return was a shrug because she knew it wasn’t the ice cream anymore

Harry sung in whispers into his ear in the hopes of calming him, bouncing him around on the spot. He pressed kisses to his forehead, drawing circles on his back. It worked better than when Y/N had done it, Jamie’s sobs having soothed into few hiccups and sniffles.

Y/N couldn’t help but admire how naturally skilled Harry was at being a father. She knew a little bit of the history— his fiancée at the time leaving him for another man months after having given birth to Jamie and having to raise him by himself. He was a busy man and Y/N could tell that he felt bad about being unable to do things like pick up his son from preschool or spend all day playing in the den, but he was still a better father than hers had ever been. He was a great father.

Not long after his crying had died down, Jamie fell asleep in Harry’s arms. Y/N finally breathed a sigh, relieved to catch a break. She loved taking care of Jamie, but jesus had today been hard. Harry carried him up to his bedroom, careful as to not bother him and advised Y/N to wait for him to come back.

Whilst Harry was putting Jamie to bed, she decided to clean up a bit. She went through the array of toys Jamie had taken out and discarded after a short minute of playing with them, and placed them back in the drawers. A smile tugged at her lips when she saw the dino plush toy she’d gifted him when she’d first started working for this family months ago— he still played with it all of the time. In fact, Harry had once sent her a photo of it sitting next to him in the car when they’d gone on vacation in the summer. She recalled tearing up because of it.

“Hi, sorry for taking so long.”

She swore she almost jumped in reaction to his thick voice, gripping the plush tightly against her chest in shock. Harry allowed himself a chuckle, raising his hands just enough to surrender. “Sorry, should’ve knocked.”

Y/N’s only response was a forced chuckle. It still felt weird to be in a room with him by herself, without the presence of a cute five year old to tend to. It was moments like these she felt guilty about fancying him. Most of the time Harry was merely a ghost around the house and whenever he settled back in, she would leave. She rarely ever had time to utter more than a quick ‘see you tomorrow’ and rush off home. It wasn’t like he was there, so her thoughts about him didn’t seem too off putting— now, with the company of awkward silence engulfing them, she couldn’t help but feel disgusted by herself.

“Think he’s getting sick,” he then added.

“Probably,” she agreed. “I don’t think I’ve seen him like that before so it was just a bit worrisome.”

“Yeah, he only really gets like that when he’s sick, so I think it’s safe to say… you’re alright, though?”

“I’m fine, just a bit worried, as I said.”

He smiled like he found that amusing, “he’ll be okay. Are you hungry? I was going to make pasta for dinner.”

“Oh, are you sure?”

Last time she’d had dinner here, Jamie had sat next to her. It hadn’t been just her and him.

“Yeah. Why don’t you put the dino down and we’ll go make it together?”

In an instant, her cheeks heated up. She hadn’t even noticed she was still clutching to it for support and figured he must’ve thought she looked so stupid welcoming the comfort of a plush toy. Another awkward chuckle escaped her as she threw it gently into its container, bucking down to lock it away as well as her memory of these last two minutes, hopefully.

Harry was a good cook, but that wasn’t really surprising at all— in fact, she couldn’t imagine there were many things he wouldn’t excel at. Y/N, on the other hand, she was terrible. She’d burned so many things in her apartments kitchen that she couldn’t keep count even if she tried. So naturally, he took the lead in every task she did, from cutting onions to seasoning the salmon.

“Wait, no, y’can’t— here,” she couldn’t help but giggle as he took the knife from her hands, cutting into the flesh himself. He huffed, but she knew it was teasing. “You’ve gotta learn how to cook.”

“I know how to cook basic things, just not some five star gourmet meal. I think you’d be surprised what I can do with some seasoning, eggs and tomatoes.”

“I have no choice but to take your word for it, do I?”

“Guess not. Can I do something else? I feel so useless.”

He clicked his tongue, not even sparing a glance her way. “Go sit on the counter and look pretty.”

And at first, Y/N didn’t know how to respond to that. Did she just… literally sit on the counter? Probably not. It was… a joke, right? How did he expect she would react to such a bizarre request? For a second the guilt she’d been feeling about potentially being unprofessional subsided in a flush.

Then he finally let his eyes settle on her and she just about fainted at what he had to say, “what? Do you need help getting up?”

She was 99% sure at this point that he just got off on pestering her, what with the dino, and now this? Prior to these last two weeks he’d never even spoken more than five words to her, and now he was inviting her to dinner. He probably found the confusion written all over her face amusing.

She could probably indulge a little then, right?

“Yeah, I do.”

He didn’t just laugh, though, like she’d expected him to— no, he ran his hands under hot water, wiped his hands on his (very) expensive trousers and walked toward her. He motioned to the counter as if asking her to get closer and—

“Wait, no, I can do it.”

He immediately stepped back, hands dropping from her waist and smirk molding his mouth.

“You can now?”

“Yes.”

He held eye contact for a few more beats before moving away with a solid nod.

What the fuck was that?

Y/N had expected him to dismiss her, uttering something along the lines of ‘I was only joking’, but that? Never would she have thought that that would be the response.

It was funny, too, because he never could’ve carried her up without at least a bit of struggle. She knew what he was used to— thin women, supermodels even, and she was neither.

So despite the confusion, she got up on the counter like he’d asked. On her own.

And when he’d started asking her about normal things like family and uni, Y/N slowly eased out of her awkward stance. She told him about her mother, her brother, and left her deceased father out of it. He smiled, nodding along to her words whenever the situation allowed it and kept his eye on the food.

A blink was all it took for him to announce dinner and the two of them sat at the table together, peacefully quiet.

It was around six thirty when the patter of tiny feet sounded through the house, from the stairs to the kitchen. Both of the adults waited patiently, eyebrows raised in surprise that the little gremlin had decided to wake up after only having slept for two hours.

“Daddy?”

Y/N almost melted at his sweet, buttery voice.

Harry hummed, “is that you, bub?”

He finally poked his head into the room, carrying a plush toy in one hand and rubbing his sleepy eyes with the other. He studied the room before settling his green irises (clone of his dad’s) on Y/N.

“Y/N, you’re still here.”

She smiled, a pity smile, and answered in a sweet tone, “I am, bud. Is that okay?”

He merely nodded, stalking closer. Harry pulled him up into his lap, kissing his forehead before letting him rest against his front.

“I wanted to apologize for being mean before.”

Her stomach did another flip.

Was this a dream, or did a five year old just apologize to her on his own incentive? She swore these Styles boys surprised her every day!

Her eyes flickered to Harry and she watched as a proud smile stretched his mouth. He met her gaze, the grin undeniably wide, and shrugged as if to say didn’t tell him to.

“That’s okay, Jamie, I understand you were frustrated. Are you feeling better?”

He nodded again, although it was weak and subtle, “my throats itchy.”

Harry’s smile faded with his confession and he pressed the back of his palm to his son’s forehead, “why’d you get out of bed, then, silly? You need to rest if you’re sick.”

“Missed you, daddy.”

She could see that same guilt she’d seen so many times before manipulate Harry’s features again, and her heart broke a little bit for him. She couldn’t keep track of the amount of times she’d wanted to just break and say you’re a wonderful father to him, but stopped herself in fear of overstepping.

Knowing he wasn’t going to say anything soon enough, too lost in his own thoughts, she went on for him. “Tomorrow is Saturday, Jamie, how about you go rest so you can have a full day with your dad tomorrow? S’not nice spending weekends sick in bed, as you know.”

In a manner that was so much more than cute, Jamie’s fingers trapped his chin to appear deep in thought, and then he nodded. “That makes sense.”

Y/N almost laughed, “doesn’t it?”

“Will you be here too, Y/N?”

Jamie knew very well that Y/N wasn’t here on Saturdays, so she guessed he was only implying that she should be. An invitation of sorts.

But she really couldn’t handle being around Harry on the weekends as well as on weekdays, so she shook her head gently, “no, but I’ll be back on Monday, is that okay with you?”

To show his dismay, he jutted his lip out in a pout. “Can’t you come over for lunch?”

Harry nudged him, “Jamie, remember how we talked about what Y/N does when she isn’t here with us?”

“School. But there’s no school on Saturdays!”

“She does school, you’re right. When you get older, there’s so much you have to do for school that it never stops, not even on weekends. And you know what else she does? She meets up with friends, she plays tennis, she goes shopping for groceries. There’s tons she has to do besides spend time with us, yeah?” He never met her gaze as he spoke to Jamie, and it was better that way— he’d probably have caught her loved up eyes if he dared to do it. He remember details about her she didn’t recall telling him about. As if it hadn’t been enough, he added onto it, “plus, I reckon she’d appreciate a break from us, huh? We’re definitely not the only boys in her life, so we should share once in a while. No matter how much we like having her around.”

It was almost magical, the connection Harry and Jamie shared with each other. Nevermind what he’d said to make Jamie understand (she definitely hadn’t missed that last sentence— or the idea of ‘other boys’ altogether), it just made her happy to listen to them converse. It was healthy, a bit serious when need be but mostly light and protective. He did everything in his power to preserve Jamie’s innocence, especially about his upbringing and the whole mother issue.

After a long train of thought, Jamie slowly nodded his small head, “okay. Fine. But I get you Monday! No other boys Monday through Friday.”

Y/N couldn’t help the laugh that tumbled from her mouth, incessant and silly. “Okay, Jamie, I promise I won’t let other boys come between us Monday through Friday, okay? Is that good for you?”

“Me and daddy, though. He’s the only other boy allowed.”

She giggled again, avoiding Harry’s gaze but nodding nonetheless, “sure. Daddy too.”

She felt Harry shift out of her periphery.

“Okay,” he finally settled, outstretching his arm across the table, “pinky promise?”

She did the same, but just before Jamie had a chance to interlink his much smaller finger with hers, she pulled back. “If I pinky promise you on this, will you pinky promise me that you’ll finally go rest?”

He hummed in agreement.

She welcomed the promise, letting her finger link with Jamie’s for a few seconds until he felt ready to let go.

“Now go lay down. I’ll see you Monday, okay?”

“Kay. Can I have a hug?”

“Of course,” she cooed at him, arms already outstretched the moment he’d climbed down from Harry’s lap. Jamie gave the best hugs, so she figured Harry would as well. She’d never gotten to test that theory, though. “Okay, good night.”

“Night.”

Jamie took slow steps (he was much like his father that way, taking his time in everything he did) and slowly disappeared into the main room, eventually stalking up the stairs as both Y/N and Harry listened for it.

“Thank you,” Harry then broke the silence. Her eyes flickered toward him, eyebrows drawing together in confusion, but a nervous smile playing on her mouth. “You’re so good with him.”

“It’s my job to be good to him.”

“It’s your job to take care of him, but you’re not… you’re doing much more than just be nice to him and I appreciate that. So thank you.”

“He’s a great kid, so… not a very difficult thing to do.”

The air had somehow become thick and unwavering, unspoken words wafting between their bodies across the table and back. Harry looked like he wanted to say more but his jaw stayed shut in place and she certainly wasn’t going to pester him about it. It was already difficult to keep in mind that despite the lighthearted dinner, he was still her employer, and that the boundaries they had been practicing since the beginning of her time here were slowly being blurred and tested.

So it didn‘t really matter what she felt whenever he spoke to her, she had to preserve herself and her position here.

She feigned a glance at the clock to justify looking away and sat up in her chair, “I should go home.”

His nod was curt, “okay. I’ll get the keys.”

“No, don’t worry, I have to stop by somewhere else before. I’ll manage.”

It was a lie, of course it was.

“Fine.”

As Y/N made her way back outside, she regretted declining his offer and the farther she walked away from the house, the more she thought about the things they could’ve talked about had she let him grab his keys and escort her home. If he would walk her to the door like last time, without Jamie in the car of course, and bid her a proper goodbye. How maybe, if they’d inched close enough, they would share a moment of hesitation before kissing. Her imagination ran wild with it and she knew that it wouldn’t really happen, but the chances would’ve been greater had she just been bad.

Shit.

—

Y/N was crying.

She was bursting into tears outside of a bar looking like a pathetic, lost idiot— and it just wouldn‘t stop. She couldn’t recall anymore what exactly she‘d expected before going into the date she‘d spontaneously agreed to as a result of her mother‘s pleas, but it certainly hadn‘t been such an embarrassing let down. Her shoulders slumped as she thought back on her date‘s words: I don’t see this going anywhere, but you’re a really nice girl. Friends?

And why was she crying? She was crying because she knew what he’d really meant was: you’re not my type at all, and this was a waste of my time. How did she know? The way he’d looked at her, with a sparkle of disgust in his eyes, the tone he’d used; pitiful and mean. How he’d looked at other, skinny girls while Y/N had been planted directly in front of him and lastly, how he’d left before the date had even ended.

Y/N hadn’t left the bar as soon as he had, no, she’d stayed until now; closing time. She’d drunk herself to exhaustion, pulling shot after shot and even worrying the barista who went to her psych class at uni. Before she’d known it, the clock had struck three am and four hours had passed since what’s-his-face had left her to rot in there.

She had no idea what to do, she could barely even form a thought. It didn’t matter that she’d been rejected— this wasn’t about that, it was about something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Since the beginning of time relationships had been sparse and dreadful, so another notch on her belt couldn’t have mattered so much as to bring her to a multitude of tears, but she did feel unlovable and undesirable in the way she had throughout all of her life. People had told her things would get better if she waited it out, but they’d lied. Guys were still assholes.

There was really only one person she felt like contacting, and that was Harry. He’d been on her mind all weekend. She’d been wondering if she ever crossed his mind, if for a sliver of a second he allowed himself to think about her in the way she thought about him, and felt a disgustingly sour taste in her mouth when she realized the answer had to have been no.

But Y/N was drunk, and people did stupid things when they were drunk— so without much afterthought, she used the remainder of her battery on dialing his number. He answered after the first ring and her mind wandered to question the plausibility of him being awake at this hour.

“Y/N?”

She was struck watching the road in front of her, unable to answer. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.

What had she done?

“Y/N, is everything okay?” another wave of tears overwhelmed her senses and as a result, she sobbed right into the speaker, and heard shuffling on the other side. “Sweetheart, where are you? What’s happened?”

“This guy— he just— he was so mean and he left me here—“

“Where? Where are you? Who left you?”

“The viper.”

“Y/N, that place closed twenty minutes ago. Are you inside?”

“No, she… she said I need to get out, so I did, but I didn’t know where to go cause m’drunk, and I…” there was a pause in which she realized how stupid he must’ve thought she was, “I don’t know what to do.”

“Okay, listen to me. Please stay there, don’t move, and send me your location. I’m coming to get you.”

She had no fight left in her, so she nodded to herself. Harry didn’t see, obviously, but he hung up with the hope that she’d understood him clearly.

When he arrived not fifteen minutes later, he put his car in park and hopped out to find Y/N sat on the floor, a lazy smile pulling at her lips when she laid eyes on him.

“Harry, hi! I was just thinking about you!”

He said nothing, a tick in his jaw as he helped her up on her feet, grounding her stature. She nuzzled her head into his shoulder and he kept a steady beat to bring her to warmth as quickly as possible. Y/N got the idea, aimlessly buckling up and failing miserably until he offered assistance.

“Thank you,” she murmured to him, though he refused to give a verbal response. He merely nodded, jaw still locked in place before he closed the door. Y/N watched as he walked over to the other side and opened the door.

He drove in silence and Y/N tried to be okay with that. She stared ahead, mind still gloomy, with her lips jutted out in a pout. The silent treatment made her feel like a scolded child, like Harry was her angry father who refused to speak to her because she’d come home past her bedtime. She looked over to scan over his features, make sure the crease between his forehead had subsided at least a little, but it hadn’t.

After the longest minute of her life, she finally asked, quietly, “are you mad at me?”

And when he didn’t say anything, her heart dropped.

“Oh,” she whispered.

Y/N didn’t dare to say anything for the rest of the ride. When they got back, Y/N opened her own door and hopped out, refusing to wait for Harry to help. He sighed, she could hear, but she just slowly trailed after him.

“Up on the counter,” he grumbled, grabbing a glass of water to help sober up. She took it from his hand.

“Harry, I’m sor—“

“Drink the water.”

She almost flinched at his angry tone.

Y/N was halfway done with the glass when he scoffed, unable to bite his tongue any longer, “I’m angry because you were irresponsible. First you go on a date with some dickhead—“ she opened her mouth to protest, but failed to when he put up a finger to halt her, “then you get yourself drunk and sit outside of the bar alone in a stingy area. Something could’ve happened to you, then what?”

All Y/N could say was, “it didn’t,” and it was the weakest argument she could’ve thought of.

“It very well could’ve and you’d have your stupidity to thank for it.”

Her heart banged again. She didn’t like getting reprimanded by Harry, nearly at the end of her rope anyway. She‘d never seen this side of him before, stern and miserly. Clearly Y/N had only really seen one version of him and had gotten lost in the illusion of it all.

In a last attempt to make him understand, vulnerable and naked, she let herself sniffle, “I don’t think anyone is ever going to love me.”

She‘d expected it to pull at her heartstrings more than it ended up doing— ironically enough, she felt fine confessing to him. Maybe it was the fact that she‘d bottled it up for so long that it was nice to finally admit to it, to allow somebody else to step into her shoes. Of course, every confession came with a tinge of embarrassment (it wouldn’t be a confession otherwise), but this one was still manageable. And yeah, maybe it was the alcohol coursing through her system, but who cared?

“What?”

“No one loves me. I’ve never… guys have never liked me enough to want to brag about it, or keep me around for longer than a month, and… and I do get it, cause I come with a shit ton of baggage, but it just… it takes a lot to be motivated about things that way. I’m twenty three and I’ve barely experienced what it means to love someone and actually have them love you back.”

The display of vulnerability floated heavily through the air.

He was silent for a second. He did that sometimes, she noticed, especially when he was processing things.

Once he did open his mouth, though, he knew exactly what to say, “you can’t let some immature boys get to you like this, you hear me? Tell me one good asset the guy you went on a date with had.”

Y/N shook her head, not because she couldn‘t have if she‘d thought about it hard enough but because she had no energy to continue this conversation any longer. He wouldn’t get it

“See? No guy is worth crying over, especially not on some dirty pavement outside of a bar.”

He truly did have a point there, she supposed.

But it wasn’t just about that, so she told him exactly that— well, at least tried to, “it’s more than… I don’t… I don’t feel good enough.”

“You’re being a bit silly, sweetheart.” She registered how sweet he’d gotten again, finger brushing against her knee and features softening just enough to convince her of safety. He probably felt bad for her. “You’re plenty good enough.”

“Y’don’t get it,” she murmured, “you don’t understand what it feels like to get rejected solely because of your looks.” Y/N had always felt slightly weird talking about her appearance with people who weren’t her closest friends, and even then she felt judgment coming from them. Each time they asked if she would come clubbing with them to score boys, she was never able to honestly express that she‘d never wanted to go because it was always her who was left riding home in an uber alone. And it wasn’t like she felt ugly— in fact, there were instances she felt so confident nobody could’ve told her anything, but then there were those few others… and her whole system came down crashing.

“What do you mean?”

He couldn’t be so daft, could he?

“You’re— you just don’t fucking get it, okay? It’s… whatever, I don’t care.”

That took some courage too, courage she only registered after having uttered the words, but she couldn’t say it. She couldn’t mutter the words this guy didn’t fancy me because I’m fat, because she still had more class than that— even drunk. Ever the childish, pouty person she was, she had more shame than that.

She buried her face in her hands, breathing out, “I’m sorry. Sorry, that was rude of me.”

“It’s fine,” he placed a warm hand on her thigh, thumb stroking soothingly. With a sympathetic look in his eye (confusion too, she guessed), he tried to pacify her concerns, “you need sleep, everything will be better when you wake up.”

He was probably right about that.

“Okay.”

As he escorted her up the stairs, she couldn’t help but let her eyes trail over his features, watching as they hardened and softened based on the turmoil occurring inside of his mind. She wanted to reach in there and grab onto clues, grasp an understanding of the workings of him, but he made that nearly impossible. She would look away if he caught her eye, cheeks heating up every time she was captured by his darkened green irises.

He opened the door, allowing her to take the first step. She didn’t really need the help, but she couldn’t complain when his hand posed on the small of her back so he could maneuver her onto the sheets.

“Do you want a change of clothes, Y/N?”

“Um, if you have something?”

She doubted there was anything in his huge closet that would fit her in the way she preferred, but the idea of spending the night in jeans was just as dreadful, so she took the chance and nodded.

He came back later with a stack of clothes perched on his left hand, the other holding another glass of water. “Anything else?”

Y/N paused for a moment to think and shook her head, “no. But just—“ she swallowed around the lump in her throat, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

She couldn’t believe the words she spoke next, no thought invested into them: “will you come into bed with me?”

Time refused to pass, the ball was in his court.

When he gave a subtle nod, it was like god and the universe were sending good karma her way. Her compensation for the night. “Just until you fall asleep.”

Y/N scooted to the other edge of the bed, reaching down under the blanket to rid herself of her jeans and pull on those grey sweatpants. Surprisingly enough, they fit extremely well. Harry laid down over the blanket (to prevent getting too comfortable, probably) and perched himself onto his forearm.

Another bold wave met with Y/N’s courage as she reached out her hand to trail over his chest. Harry swallowed thickly.

“You’re really nice t’me.”

“You deserve to be treated well.” The snort that left her was completely involuntary, but it still made Harry frown. “You do.”

“Everyone does,” she later mumbled in agreement. He seemed to dislike the way she’d surrendered, though, because he did that thing with his jaw whenever he was ticked off.

What he didn’t like was the implication behind her tone that she only deserved respect because everyone did, regardless of her own character. She was disregarding her beauty and her kindness, her character, and reducing it to a commodity when it wasn’t.

He’d always had difficulty expressing his feelings, though, so he stuck with silence. Stone cold silence.

It pertained for five more minutes until he watched as sleep slowly overtook her figure, peaceful breaths cascading from her mouth. She looked so pretty asleep; relaxed, void of concerns and the crinkle in her forehead from tonight’s events dissipating into its initial form.

He wondered if she’d ever given him other implications of being an insecure girl— if she had, he’d caught none of them. He never would’ve thought somebody so effortlessly beautiful and kind as her could think to deserve less on such extreme levels. It made him wonder if anyone had ever treated her as she deserved; he noticed once that whenever she spoke about her family, she failed to mention her father. It seemed men had disappointed her in more ways than one.

There was inner turmoil bothering him. He didn’t know what he was feeling for his child’s nanny, but there was surely no other woman he felt as eager to take care of— picking her up, driving her home, clearing a room for her.

It was terrifying to allow himself these few minutes of observation because he feared the impure thoughts which would cross his mind. Not perverse, but intimate. She deserved more than him, he was sure of it.

He left the room after another five minutes, trying to be as subtle as possible as he walked to the door. It was later than four am, so he stopped by his son’s room to check on him. When he saw nothing out of the ordinary, he finally carried himself to his own bedroom.

He would lie awake until sunrise.

—

Y/N had never woken up so panicked before, chest heaving and mind elsewhere entirely. Her head was pounding and her heart rate palpable, she was sweating all over and she could only recall last night in small, blurry tidbits.

God, and she had to face Harry. On a Monday morning.

After maybe ten minutes of lying around and procrastinating, she finally moved herself out of bed. She pulled on her clothes from last night, drank the water that was situated on her nightstand and tidied up in the bathroom before going to search for him. She looked upstairs— no trace of him, so she cascaded down the stairs and made her way to the kitchen. On the way there, his office caught her eye. The door was cracked opened and at a closer peek, she saw him sitting at the desk with his hand buried in his hair, mumbling something. She knocked, he flinched.

“God, Y/N, you scared me.”

“Sorry,” she gave a sheepish smile, “are you busy?”

“I—“ he sighed, shaking his head. It was when he spoke into the phone lying on his desk that she realized he’d been one a phone call. Before she could backtrack, he’d muttered an ‘I’ll call you later, Stace’ to them and hung up for her. She stood there, fingers interlaced in front of her body and balancing on the balls of her feet in intimidation.

He didn’t look happy either, and that was probably because ‘Stace’ was Jamie’s mother. She would call every few months, he’d told her, and cause some sort of havoc— from wanting to talk to Jamie on the phone to wanting to see him in person. When asked why he didn’t like letting her see Jamie, he’d given Y/N a very vague answer; wouldn’t do any good. She’d settled with that back then, having sensed the energy shifting.

Y/N felt bad for him now, the stress assuming control of his features almost overwhelming to look at.

He was already glancing up at her expectantly, but the words disappeared from her brain and all she wanted to do, really, was comfort him.

“I— are you okay?”

It was a visceral reaction he had to those few little words, the furrow in his eyebrow deepening, “yes, why?”

“Because… well because you were talking to Stacie on the phone—“

His scoff interrupted her pity stutter, “so you’re listening in on my conversations now?”

Oh, she was no longer sorry; she was scared. “No! No, I’m not, I swear! I was walking past looking for you and I heard you mumble something, I don’t— I would never…” and he must’ve known that. He must’ve known that she would never, ever listen in on his conversations, nor try to overstep the line by doing that (obviously she’d fucked up last night, but aside from that). He knew her, he’d trusted her for long enough for her to know that he knew that, so his accusation ticked her off.

But he looked terrifying right now; eyes dark, eyebrows furrowed, closed off stance, and nothing like the Harry she’d gotten to know well. And she had no idea if it had been last night or this that had finally pushed him over the edge.

“So why bring it up?”

“Because you— because you’ve talked about it before and I was just— I wanted to check on you!” She was stuttering like an idiot, she was aware, but with her comfort bubble gone, her speech wasn’t a reliable asset anymore. She’d always been terrible at communication and even worse at confrontation. And he must’ve known that because he was using it to his advantage— and that was mean, because he knew she would never. He knew. Didn’t he?

“It’s not professional, Y/N, but I’m sure you know that. I’m sure you know that last night wasn’t either, but you keep fucking pushing me.”

And that… well, was partly right.

“I know last night wasn’t…” she shook her head, “it wasn’t professional, I know that. I don’t know why I called you, I don’t get it either, it just happened, really, and I wanted to apologize. I understand if you—“ she peered down toward her hands, swallowing the lump in her throat, “if you don’t feel comfortable with me being here anymore. With your son, I mean, I’d totally understand.”

Y/N thought that was quite sensible of her. Of course, if she could get a chance to have a repeat of last night, she would take it in a heartbeat— but she couldn’t, so this was all she could do. She loved working here, giving it up would hurt, but she understood if that was what needed to be done.

“You just… you can’t fucking call me at three am in the morning drunk off of your arse—“

“I know that—“

“Clearly you don’t!” And she detested how his voice raised. “And clearly you don’t get that there are things you just can’t talk about; like Stacie, or your own relationships, or whatever the fuck else you’ve brought up to me.” If she felt like a scolded child yesterday, then she’d had no idea how bad it could get. “I’m your— I’m your employer, not your fucking therapist. I’m not here to clean up your fuck-ups, pat you on the head and tell you it’s alright.”

Her eyebrows furrowed because she knew that too, and she found it borderline preposterous that he would imply she didn’t.

There was a 180 here, and she was becoming less and less understanding.

“I told you I don’t know why I called you, Harry, I don’t know! What am I supposed to say? I was terrified and sad and don’t ask me why, but you’re the only person who actually gets what I’m talking about half of the time, so it just happened!”

“You act like I’m somehow responsible for you.”

Her frown deepened; she hated the notion that he had to take care of her in some way, as if she was incapable of it on her own account. “On what basis? I think you might be pressuring yourself into that, Harry, because it’s fucking ridiculous. I never made you be any type of way.”

He released a frustrated breath, “you have to stop worming your way into our lives— you’re our nanny, that’s it. You don’t ask me about my personal life, you don’t call me in the middle of the night to make me worry and you don’t ask me to get into bed with you.”

“You act like I don’t know that!”

“Evidently you don’t.”

“Yes I d—“

“Just—just stop. Stop talking.”

It shut her up. It did not only that, the increase of his volume had made her flinch on the spot. She wasn’t a fan of confrontation, as mentioned before, but what she despised even more was yelling. She couldn’t stand yelling, fighting, accusations being thrown in the air with no regard to anyone’s feelings. It was an extremely sensitive thing for her and she definitely hadn’t expected to experience it with him today.

Y/N saw him a little differently in this light. The sternness with which he delivered those words, strict and mean, reminded her of her childhood. He saw her weakness, saw the stress she was under, and did nothing to relieve the situation. Instead he’d yelled at her.

Her hand was shaking a little and tears were forming in her eyes. She couldn’t let him see it, though, the weakness. She couldn’t allow him to see that a simple instruction had made her want to cry.

“I can’t deal with you today, Y/N, so please just… just go.”

She left without another word— straight up turned around and closed the door behind her with shaky hands. She couldn’t stand him right now, but even more she couldn’t stand herself.

She’d fucked up so badly.

And maybe… maybe she needed to quit.

-

part two!

And there we have it! don’t hate me for that ending it was necessary!

[aothotties]

Some more Farmer!Reiner for everyone

Warnings: MDNl, Cunnilingus (f. receiving), fingering, a lil fluff at the end.

◝꒰ ´ ˘ `♡ ꒱

Farmer!Reiner becomes your new best friend within the first few weeks of your stay.

Farmer!Reiner who learns that you're opening up a small bakery in town and would love to be business partners.

Farmer!Reiner brings you your order with a few extra cartons of eggs or gallons of milk just because he can.

Farmer!Reiner does these things out of the kindness of his big heart, and in hopes that you'll let him take you on a date.

Farmer!Reiner is shocked when it's you who asks him out before he even gets the chance to.

Farmer!Reiner promises to be on his best behavior for your date tonight so that he won't scare you off.

Farmer!Reiner is about to lose an internal battle with himself when he sees how divine you look.

You invite him over to a home-cooked meal and on the off chance the night takes a turn, it's better to be a few feet away from the bed.

Reiner knocks on the door with flowers in his hand and you take a nice long look at him. His blonde hair is washed and styled handsomely, large muscles are bulging under his shirt, Christ, and the way his thighs are screaming under those jeans.

Reiner is no better if not worse than you are. His eyes steadily trail down your curvy figure, if the word perfect had a picture in the dictionary, he's sure the hat they would use one of your pictures to capture the meaning. All he can do is fantasize about what you're hiding under that long skirt, the way your dark skin shimmers due to your body butter entices him.

Farmer!Reiner manages to act civilized while you two have dinner and dessert.

Farmer!Reiner falls in love with you by the second every time he eats more forkfuls of your delightful chocolate cake.

Farmer!Reiner doesn’t let you move a muscle after dinner and insists on doing y’all’s dishes himself.

Farmer!Reiner holds back a moan when you jump up onto the counter next to him and rub his shoulder, mumbling a sweet “thank you”

Farmer!Reiner gets distracted by you telling a story and sprays you both with the faucet.

Farmer!Reiner is standing between your legs while wrapped up in a large blanket since you don't have any clothes his size.

Farmer!Reiner can't help but draw small circles on your thighs while you tell him your entire life story.

Reiner can’t help himself from leaning in just a tad bit too close to attach your lips, but it’s okay because you wanted this just as bad if not more.

Your wraps wrap around the blanket covering his shoulders and he pulls you in as close as he can. You both sigh in contentment as the tension slowly leaves the room with each kiss.

The blanket falls to the floor as he pushes you down so your back is flat against the countertop. You barely have time to react to how quickly your panties are removed and his lips are wrapped around your clit.

“Reiner!” You exclaim, you grip his soft blond locks between your fingers as his tongue switches between your nub and dripping hole.

His poor cock twitches at the sound of his name falling from your lips, his pants growing tighter by the minute. He tests the waters but inserts a finger in your cunt.

You hum at the sensation of his thick finger massaging your walls while his skilled tongue lapped at your clit like a madman.

He adds another finger next to the first one and your back arches off the counter, the scene in front of you has you insanely close.

You make eye contact with Reiner as he gives your bulging clit all the attention she craves. He curves his fingers to rub against your g-spot and you let out a long moan.

“I-I’m coming! Fuck Reiner I’m coming.” You warn, your body twitching in pleasure as you release onto his tongue and fingers.

He drinks up every last drop and pulls away from you to give your poor pussy a break. He stands up fully and wipes his mouth with his thumb.

“Are you okay, I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry.” He helps you to your feet, grabs the fallen blanket, and covers your bare half.

“Reiner you’re fine, trust me I enjoyed myself. You’ve got nothing to worry about, are you okay?” You ask, nodding down to the bulge in his pants.

“Don’t worry about me, I want our first time to be special. Or at least not in your kitchen maybe?” He suggests and you let out a chuckle.

“Yeah, that might be a good idea for next time.” He places a kiss on your forehead and takes you to the couch.

A movie plays in the background as you two doze off at some point in the night. His clothes are long forgotten in the dryer, but this will be a night to remember

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

hii congrats on 5k!! i love your writing ! if you’re still celebrating could i request a carmy blurb where maybe you’re syd’s besite and carmy has this biggggest crush on you (im talking this mf is Yearning) and she gets on him sooo hard about it like teasing him and reader and him end up together ? TIA <3

Not So Secret.

carmen berzatto x female reader

warnings - cursing.

written for my 5k celebration- post here, masterlist here, inbox here.

“You’re gonna stare a hole through her fuckin’ head.”

“Shut up.”

Richie laughs, following Carmens eyeline to where it’s fixed on you.

You’re stood in the restaurant with Sydney, both of you giggling at something she’s showing you on her phone. When you look up, you smile at Carmy, all soft and sweet and like butter wouldn’t melt. He almost melts, a puddle of yearning on the kitchen floor.

Sugar appears next to the two of you, holding out a piece of paper.

“This is a really rough draft of what we kind of want them to look like. Obviously you have full control, but this is kind of the vibe?”

When Carmen mentioned wanting a more personal touch on the menus, Sydney quickly offered your services. You’re the most artistic person she knows, gifted with naturally gorgeous handwriting that almost looks like calligraphy. Plus, she knows how much everyone at The Bear likes you, having been a part of their transformation. It’s a win - win.

“Yeah, I get you. So you want the title words like Dessert in more of a cursive, and then the actual dishes and descriptions in a typeface?”

“Yes! Do your thing. We trust you.”

She gives you a side hug, careful not to hit you with her bump.

“I’m gonna need some nice paper, and probably a new calligraphy pen so I can start from scratch. I’m gonna head to the craft store, and I’ll be back.”

“Carmy will go with you!”

Richie shouts it from the doorway, where he’s been not so subtly watching the conversation. Carmy blushes, clearly caught off guard.

“He needs to go to the craft store too, right Cousin? Good. Go. Bye!”

Carmy’s practically being pushed out the door, uncomfortable and flustered. You smile reassuringly, grabbing your bag and walking over to your car.

“You’re okay with me driving?”

“Course. Shouldn’t I be?”

You laugh, and he can’t help but grin, the sound settling nicely into his ribcage to warm him up.

“I’m a good driver, I promise. Despite what Sydney might say.”

He looks worried but gets in anyway, ever trusting you and anything you do.

He can’t help but sneak glances at you as you drive. You’re completely focused on the road in front, bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you concentrate. Carmy feels heat bloom across his chest at the action, wishing he could reach out and release it for you before you draw blood.

A text chimes through the air, startling you both. You press the button on your steering wheel so your car can read the message out loud.

From Sydney: Carmy. Tell her immediately or I’ll lock you in the walk in freezer. Sick of you acting like a lovesick puppy. This is your chance. Don’t blow it, asshole. We’re all tired.

Both of you freeze, your hands tightening on the wheel. Carmy wants to throw himself out of the moving car, but decides against it at the last minute.

You pull the car into the craft store parking lot, choosing a space and yanking the handbrake on. You turn to him, looking at him for the first time since the bombshell.

He’s blushed all over, chest heaving and bottom lip pulled between his teeth. You almost want to reach out and release it for him, before he draws blood.

“Carmy.”

“I think, uh, yeah, I just - that was clearly sent to the wrong person. Not meant for you.”

You laugh, suddenly, and it spooks Carmy so much that he jumps out of his skin.

“Yeah, Carm. That I figured.”

He laughs with you then, unsure and nervous. You reach out and place a hand on his knee, trying to calm him down. It just makes his heart lurch.

“What’s Syd talking about? Tell me what?”

He looks down at his lap, hands knotted together.

“I think you know.”

“Wanna hear you say it,” you whisper.

He finds the courage to meet your gaze, taking a deep breath.

“I like you. So much. I can’t stop talking about you to anyone and everyone that’ll listen - to the point that everyone at The Bear gives me so much shit for it. Sydney won’t get off my back, either. She says I’m ‘yearning’.”

You chuckle, rubbing patterns into the material of his jeans with your thumb.

“They’ve all made bets,” he continues, “about if I’ll ever tell you or not.”

“Who bet on you? And who against?”

“Syd and Richie against me. Marcus too. Tina and Sugar are on my side. Not sure why.”

“Wanna make Tina and Sugar some money?”

He quirks a brow questioningly, eyes going wide when you lean over the centre console and plant your hands on either side of his face. You’re so close to him that your breaths tangle together, one set of lungs working overtime.

“Kiss me, Carm.”

He doesn’t think twice, closing the gap and pressing his lips to yours. You tangle your fingers in his hair, trying to pull him impossibly closer. His hands find your back, tugging you into him as much as the limited space allows.

You whine when he bites at your lip gently, and he has to pull away to take a steadying breath before he passes out.

“You should get your eyes checked.”

He tries to process for a moment.

“Huh?”

“You must be blind if you can’t see how much I like you, Carm. How much I’ve always liked you.”

He grins at you, bright and white, and you shake your head before leaning in to kiss him again.

When you don’t make it back into the restaurant that day, everyone has never been happier to not see the both you.

[lunerabo]

chef’s kiss

cw: sub!Uraume, dom!AFAB!Reader, cunnilingus, fingering, name calling, pegging, anal, hair pulling, degrading praise, free use kink, Uraume’s genitalia isn’t described (but everybody got a bootyhole so 👀), sukume involved but it’s not serious, set in the Heian period, implied cannibalism

It is no small thing to gain the recognition of the lord Sukuna himself.

It would not have cost him much had he overlooked your predictive skills, but it pays to have a guess at the future. Your talent has failed him not once since being accepted into the fold, and you can see in him that since meeting you and listening to your advice, he’s decided that perhaps the rapidly changing social tide is something he should start paying more attention to.

To say it has granted you an important seat is an understatement—and it is from this very seat that you take notice of another lovely gem in your lord’s sparse collection of trusted characters.

Uraume, his own chef, whose work you would not be ashamed to admit you had stolen to taste for yourself once or thrice. Sukuna certainly seems to like keeping talented people around.

It was one blessed evening that they spoke to you at last, voice as smooth as butter and musical as birdsong, only to be wasted on the unsavory threat of including you in their next dish if your thievery continued. You know they would have, too. You know what’s being served on those platters.

But they would have followed through only if you hadn’t been patient—if you hadn’t played your cards just right—and, perhaps, if you hadn’t been so damn good at figuring out how to read them.

They failed to notice how you notice everything. How you notice how eager they are to follow orders from only one specific master, and that if that master handed the leash to someone else, they now belonged to them. They failed to recognize just how much influence you had over that master, and perhaps you did, too, for you had expected to take your lashings and be sent away when having experimentally asked him if he might lend you his chef for a time. You’d not missed how he had taken them to his own personal quarters some nights, so it wouldn’t be lost on him what exactly you were asking for. But, amazingly, he’d said yes, so long as they are returned able to do their job.

So, them having actually visited you in your own private room has you a bit stunned.

You’ve predicted downfalls and uprisings, then wars to conclude them, all of which you estimate will happen in your own lifetime. But you couldn’t have predicted this.

Your lord’s comely chef, yukata hung seductively loose about their pale neck and shoulders. Loaned to you, as a gift, in exchange for your services.

Uraume’s expression is unreadable, but there’s an almost pleased look tugging at the corners of their lips. A scent lingers in the air around them, some expensive perfume you would never have found made just anywhere. They’ve taken extensive measures to prepare.

“You bathed before coming. You used imported soaps, of—“ you give the air another quick whiff—“Dutch make. You also have not yet eaten this morning.”

“All of this is true,” they answer. “Yet you have not been present to see it.”

“I use the present to tell the past just as much as I use it to tell the future.”

Slender fingers glide across the front of their yukata, as if to take it off, but opting instead to tease you with the idea.

“It is much more impressive to tell the future, however. Such as, for example, what you will make of me now that I’m here.”

They’re closer now, and you’re not sure when that happened, but you’re not complaining.

“That depends entirely on what you are now.”

Their clothing seems to melt away as they undress, yet the kiss they press to the corner of your mouth is arctic.

“Whatever it is you wish me to be.”

They tug at your own clothes, bring the both of you to a kneel on your futon, where they slip their icy hands under the fabric and peel it down over your shoulders.

They sink to their knees gracefully, parting yours. Their icy lips drag across your skin, and they seem to take their time admiring you. They don’t rush; they’ve been instructed to make sure you enjoy it. And despite it being merely an order, the manner in which they perform it is anything but mechanical.

Their mouth is on you in an instant, and you had prepared to keep up the smug, composed, superior act to keep this scene rolling smoothly, but a lapse in judgement has you forgetting that Uraume is a pro. They are no stranger to having their mouth used, and the skill they’ve gained from that is evident.

The way they lap at you feels eager, but their expression doesn’t seem to line up with it. It’s a task, you remind yourself—this same focused, pensive expression is one you’ve seen when they’re cooking, when they’re writing, even in everyday conversation. Their hungry mouth betrays them, and their blank expression cannot hide how they enjoy your taste.

They’ve been eyeing you too; though this you’ve felt more than seen. Uraume may deny it but your penchant for mischief despite your status has earned you an unlikely pair of admiring eyes, and a brief glance between their legs tells you everything they’ve been thinking as they’ve watched.

“You’re excited to be here, aren’t you?” You ask, still and relaxed as they pick you apart.

“Any order of lord Sukuna’s is one I will execute with enthusiasm.”

An amused frown plays at your lips.

“Did you just lie to me?”

Uraume blinks, a bit caught off guard. They didn’t, not really. None of what they said was technically untrue. Yet the friendly and jovial tone you take with them as you say that feels like a sign of danger, like there’s no correct answer.

“If you’re going to spell mistruths to a soothsayer, I would suggest at least speaking of things they cannot see in front of them.”

Most of your predictions are bullshit. Educated guesses. You’re just good at noticing things, understanding cause and effect when the answers aren’t in front of you. But you don’t even need to employ this skill to be able to plainly see that Uraume fancies you, far beyond what their master orders.

They shed you of your clothing, and their body betrays them under your touch. Your hands are as sure as death, and they have the poor thing dripping all over your fingers as you work at them. Soft bangs and fine eyelashes tickle your bare shoulder as they rest their head there, perhaps too embarrassed to show anything past a neutral expression around someone new.

“A beautiful whore you are,” you remark. “Does Sukuna loan you out to others as well, or am I special?”

“You are.”

“How lucky am I, then! I must be important.”

Their breath trembles as you play with them, their thighs tensing every so often under your gentle touch.

“You are important. Think of how—ahn!—Lord Sukuna would have f-fared without your help.”

“I’m sorry,” you begin, voice dangerously friendly and sweet, “surely you aren’t implying our mighty and beloved master would have fared poorly if someone hadn’t aided him, are you?”

The switch in their tactics is easily spotted. Rather than keep composure, they collapse, bare chest to yours, arms slung loosely and affectionately around your shoulders. Uraume’s fawning, in the hopes that they might appeal to your sympathetic side, desperately trying to convince you that that is not what they meant. They’re just a little bit disoriented from your touches, they swear! It’s certainly not that they don’t think highly of their lord.

Unfortunately for them, sympathy isn’t a word in your vocabulary.

“Tsk tsk, and I was considering being sweet to you. How would he punish you for such a comment, I wonder?”

You pull hard at a fistful of their hair, practically peeling them off of you as their head tips back and their spine arches.

“You have thirty seconds to prepare.”

They scramble, tight lipped and wide eyed, as you turn away.

What you grab is, you recall absentmindedly, expensive. Well carved and polished ivory, soft yet strong leather pinned to the base of the unmistakably phallic shape it boasts.

It’s fantastic handiwork, you muse for perhaps the thousandth time, as you fasten it about your waist and thighs. But perhaps a bit of a novelty; things like this tend to be bought more for one to tell others about how much they paid for something so frivolous and strange, not to use them.

Uraume sighs, and the sight you turn to see has your pulse racing.

They work at themselves with nimble and well oiled fingers, their rear pointed sharply upward while their head rests on the futon, and they gaze directly at you through the gap between their leg and arm. But, you think, they aren’t working hard enough.

You pull their hand away, reaching around and taking the small vial of oil from them. You’re at their side, tucking your knees under them, before pouring copious amounts of the stuff down over their hole. Your fingers glide upward, gathering it on their tips, massaging over the pert, puckered opening as if to relax them.

But the pace you immediately set with those fingers is brutal, inhumanly rapid, as you show them just how you want them loosened for you. A long series of brief, shocked, rhythmic noises force themselves from Uraume’s lips as their breath hastens to something shallow and ragged. Something that could almost be laughter if it didn’t sound so much like crying.

You give them a break, or so they believe. They nearly thank you, preparing to take a moment to gather themselves, but you begin again before they get a chance. Your hand is so forceful, so powerful, and your fingers so deep. Have you always been so talented? So mean? Something in them hopes you’ll be mean the next time around, too.

“Oh, don’t hang your head, pet. You like it, don’t you? Quit acting so glum,” you giggle, grabbing them by the jaw and forcing their head back up.

“Mm, this is a position you’re well acquainted with, isn’t it? You take to it so naturally. You’re being such a pretty slut for me...”

You stop again, this time for good. They nearly sob, unsure if in relief or in wanting more. They glance up at you, and instantly know that they’re in for it. A deceptively kind, gentle smile crosses your face, eyes half lidded, a soft glint to them that almost gives away your true intentions. The kind of perfectly crafted mask to be expected from a professional bullshitter, but they know better than to speak their mind lest they dig themselves deeper in the hole.

They shudder almost violently just feeling the dip of your weight on the futon behind them. You’re not half as gentle as your expression suggests, but they’re quite loose, not to mention trained to take bigger; perhaps it’s not such a huge deal. Judging by how they collapse rather than begging you to wait or stop, it isn’t an issue at all.

“Now, how would he have taken what you said?”

You’ve never seen the polite, composed, clean-cut chef so fucking messy. Their hair, normally neatly framing their face, splayed out across the sheets and tangled in your fist. Their hands, always so sure and steady as a practiced chef’s should be, grab aimlessly at whatever they can, gripping and releasing again and again.

It’s hard, you remind yourself, that’s why they seem to struggle with it. Flesh gives under pressure; ivory doesn’t. You can never hope to fuck Uraume the way Sukuna does. After all, he has two of what you lack entirely. But this—this feeling is new to them, that much they make very clear.

So, as is the obvious response, you familiarize them with it hard and thoroughly.

They ball up their fists, bringing them in close to their chest as you force their face down, hunching over for a better, deeper angle at which to fuck into them.

They cry and wail, but it’s too muffled in the linens to tell if they’re actually saying anything.

“Go on, pet. Cum all over the fucking place. Nice and hard for me, yes? Give the launderers some work for when they come to collect these sheets.”

Uraume convulses at your command. How you wish you could feel them, sucking you in and tightening around you as you drill them. They tremble and twitch, and their gaping hole makes a sucking sound as you withdraw from it.

They’re a sweet little thing before you, reduced to something small and pathetic under your touch. Their hole clenches around nothing. It still feels good, poor thing.

You click your tongue.

“Awww, I didn’t think it’d wear you out so much. Poor fool. I’m surprised, considering you take much bigger and much rougher on an almost weekly basis. Am I really so good at it?”

They collapse, crying out upon realizing how sensitive they are as the bedding brushes between their legs. You click your tongue in mock sympathy.

“Oh, come here, sweet thing,” you coo, looping your arms around theirs and pulling them into your lap. Your fingers card through their thoroughly mussed hair, parting the knots, straightening it out. They breathe against you as you do, back pressed to your breast.

“Would you like me here more often?”

You grin wickedly at the offer.

[zvdvdlvr]

to the heart

cred: @/cafekitsune

Being John’s wifewho is a badass cook and finally meets the team!!

     Your mother always said that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Being married to the one and only John Price could only further confirm her statement.

     John was a military captain- forming, training, and leading men and women into missions that could very well take their lives. As well as gain muscle and a family, military folk also gained an iron stomach. At least in John’s case.

     The way he casually scooped up half the lasgma in the big pan made you wonder how he had survived off of packaged meals. John just shoveled down mouthful by mouthful as you eargerly awaited his reaction. Making something John wouldn’t like is borderline impossible, but you wanted to make only the best for the man that protected you and your loved ones in ways you couldn’t even imagine.

     When John finally asked you if you’d be open to meeting the men he unofficially adopted, you were immediately filled with a mix of excitement and anxiety. Your husband had refrained from the gory details of the missions he preformed but entertained you with stories of his team goofing off or doing something impressive (John was more proud of those men then he let on and you could tell). He had told you that the way he had described your cooking had the men salivating.

     You had decided to make a classic meal on the evening they were to dine with you. A simple but tasty spaghetti and meatballs dish. For the side- recipe you’d seen from Instagram- you cooked up a dozen fluffy pull-apart garlic/cheese/butter muffins (all dishes were John approved, of course, he’s eaten everything you’ve made). You debated a salad, but figured you’d just offer instead of set out a bowl in case they didn’t want any lettuce or anything.

     John pulled you out of the kitchen when he heard the sound of an engine come closer to your secluded country-side home. “They already love you with the way I talk about you, love. Don’t worry your pretty little head,” he murmured, pressing a sweet kiss to your forhead as he les you out to the porch.

     Eventually you found out John was exactly right. You greeted everyone with a hug- which was surprising to you that Simon seemed to melt into you like he hadn’t felt a good hug in years because, according to the stories John told you, Simon was anti-touch. Kyle was a sweet young man and you could tell how mich he admired John. Johnny was a handful, you observed. He immediately started taking cracks at Simon after he pulled away from the bone-breaking hug he gave you and recieved a sharp punch to the shoulder.

     “Plates and bowls are right there. Silverware’s on the table,” you said, gesturing to the respective items. “Come on, J,” you said, urging your husband up from his spot at the table.

     John carried your plate and his in one hand and weapped his hand around your waist with the other. “Are you doing alright so far, love?”

     You nodded with a bright smile. You easily got along with John’s teammates and they seemed to get along with you. And you could only hope that they liked the food you made.

     Luckily for you, though, you didn’t have to wait long for your answer.

     You were sitting down in your seat beside John when you heard a noise that sounded like a gasp and a whimper.

     Two spots to your left, the fork in Johnny’s hands shook as he chewed.

     “Is- Are you okay?” You asked skeptically. You’d avoided using any foods you’d known they were allergic to, so what was the problem? Did he not like it? Did the spaghetti go bad? Were the meatballs moldy? Did you add the wrong spices to the pull-apart muffins?

     “Lass… I need you to send me ma this recipe. I don’t- this is- serve this at my funeral, cap, bury me in this,” he babbled as he shoved forkfuls of noodles into his mouth.

     You breathed a sigh of relief, incredibly grateful for Johnny’s compliment and reaction. You looked at Simon and Kyle. To your surprise they too practically licked their playe xlean before bouncing back up to get an even bigger heap of spaghetti.

     John watched you through moist eyes and soft smile. The way you fawned over his team like a mother duckling made his heart race in ways he didn’t know was possible for a man his age. He didn’t have to tell you how much he cared for Simon, Kyle, and Johnny. You knew because you always knew- even when John couldn’t form the words to say anything. Seeing you all interact made his heart swell. John felt complete; pure, even. At times he wasn’t sure if he deserved this small but solid family, but he knew he would fight tooth and nail to protect each and every one of you.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 7: It's Not A Date

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary:  When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you neve expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you're around him the more you hate him, but you can't help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team.  (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!)

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Slow Burn, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy.

Word Count: 4K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), sexism, swearing, mentions of sex, sexual innuendo, sexual tension. Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

A/N: This chapter is just a little bit smaller than the others and it's a little bit of a filler, but I promise that it is preparing for the coming angst!

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Spotify Playlist 🪴

“I can’t believe you let him around those children. What were you thinking?” Annie asks wielding a curling iron like a sword. "He's a terrible influence!"

It was t-minus one hour and thirty minutes before the party started and Annie was doing your hair and makeup for the mission. Butcher decided that Ben and you would infiltrate and see if you could find anything suspicious inside, while Butcher, Frenchie, and Mm watched the streets outside the building.

Your chair was turned away from the scuffed vanity in Hughie's bedroom at the apartment the team shared. Why he had that you weren't sure, but you figured it must be for Annie. Her makeup bag, hair spray, gel, cream, curler, flat iron, and other paraphernalia was littering the soft butter colored top. There were more things sitting there than you knew the names of.

Annie had always been better at things like that than you. She'd done your hair and makeup for every high school dance and date you went on, so you'd agreed to let her do your hair and makeup for the mission. Not to mention you trusted her not to make you look too over the top or absolutely ridiculous.

As soon as she had gotten you into Hughie's bedroom she had practically pounced on you, demanding to know everything about the past few days that you had spent living in the apartment with Ben. You'd foolishly told her that you'd had to babysit the Wilson's children last night and she was horrified that you let them anywhere near him.

Granted you also would have had the same reaction if someone had told you that they had let Soldier Boy around little children.

But he wasn't terrible to them. You think to yourself. He was actually kind of sweet. It was the first time that you'd ever associate that word with Ben, but you believed that it was true. You remember how he sat with Marty at the kitchen table and allowed her to make a friendship bracelet for him. A bracelet, that he hadn't thrown away, despite what he'd told you after she gave it to him. You'd found it on the sink in the bathroom this morning when you got up, given a place of honor in the ceramic jewelry dish you used for your bracelets.

After Ben had gone out on his "date" you'd cleaned up, made your last cup of noodle, and then went to bed hoping to forget exactly what Ben was doing. The problem was that you were disappointed and you had no idea why. You'd tossed and turned thinking about Ben and the time you'd spent together watching the kids, until finally falling into an unsatisfying slumber.

Ben had sauntered through the front door at 3 am smelling like perfume and sweat, his hair tousled and standing up like someone had ran their fingers through it, while you were drinking a calming herbal tea from your favorite mug at the kitchen table in a post-nightmare haze. You'd had them your whole life following the accident that took the lives of your parents and was thankful that one hadn't hit when Ben was home. You didn't want to explain to him why you had woken up screaming and gasping for air just as you’d done since you were twelve years old.

When you'd first moved in to the apartment and you'd had the nightmare, Mike had banged against your front door, shouting for you to answer. He'd thought that someone was trying to kill you in the middle of the night, but you'd explained to him that you had nightmares and that you were okay.

The next time it happened, Mike's mother had left a large basket of herbal tea and homemade muffins outside the door of your apartment. Even though the muffins were almost inedible, it was incredibly sweet. You might not have wanted to date Mike, but he and his mother were some of the sweetest people you'd ever met.

When he saw you up, Ben had made a comment about you waiting up for him and stated that he was ready to go again if that's what you wanted, but you'd only waved your hand and rolled your eyes while taking another sip from the mug. You weren’t in the mood, not when you could still feel the chill of sweat against your skin and hear the sound of metal on concrete from the dream. He had sat at the table across from you and asked why you were still awake, you'd lied and told him that you couldn't sleep. You knew that he knew you were lying, but he only shrugged and went to take a shower while you finished your tea and fled to your bedroom to avoid him coming out in a towel again.

"He wouldn't leave. What was I supposed to do? Make him walk the plank?" You respond as Annie inserts the warm curling iron into your hair.

"He's just so-" She tugs your hair back as she curls it.

"It wasn't as bad as you think.” You consider thinking about how he let Martha make him a friendship bracelet and how he had held Joshua and made Joshua laugh. "He was actually kind of nice to Marty and to Josh.”

"Nice? Are you crazy! The guy's got a nuclear reactor in his chest and an uncontrollable temper. Why do you think it would be okay for him to be around children?”

"He didn't get angry or lose control. And I can't believe you're chastising me about this, the other day you were all for Ben and me sleeping together!"

"That wouldn't involve children." She takes another piece of your hair, gently wrapping it around the curling iron.

"Yeah, but it would still be him close to another human being-"

“He seems to be perfectly in control when he has sex. Or else there would be a string of destroyed apartments all over manhattan.”

"I can't believe you." You huff.

"So?"

"So what?"

"Have you guys kissed again?" She asks.

"I shouldn't have told you that." You grumble under your breath. "And can you keep your voice down? Ben can hear you."

He was in his old bedroom getting ready for the mission. The bedroom was exactly next to Annie and Hughie's bedroom, and you were sure that he was listening to Annie and you talk.

Because he can't keep his big nose out of anything. You think. Or rather can't keep his perfectly structured nose out of other people's business.

"I'm sure he has better things to do than listen to the two of us talk." Annie responds, but she begins to blast the ABBA gold album from her Bluetooth speaker, filling the room with the sound of 'Our Last Summer' "Come on-"

"Come on what?" You open one of your eyes to glare at her. "I told you it wasn't going to happen again."

"Why not?"

"You know why not. Ben is- Ben. And I don't want to waste my time with someone who's not interested in having a relationship." You shut your eye again to avoid her gaze.

"It's not a waste of time if he looks like that-" She trails off, inserting the curling iron one more time.

"I will agree that Ben is good-looking, but that's all he is. He doesn't care about other people, he only cares about himself and what feels good." You say it, but for the first time since you'd met Ben you weren't sure if it was true. Not after he spent his entire day yesterday helping you with the kids and not after he had bought you that bookshelf.

He cared enough to get that for you. A little voice whispers. But why? You wonder again. Why would he care about something as little as a bookshelf?

"You're making that face again." Annie says. "Did something happen?"

"No. I mean- he-" You sigh to yourself. "He keeps confusing me."

"How?"

"Well the other day he bought me a bookshelf."

"What? Why?"

"Because he said that stack of books in my bedroom was annoying him." You roll your eyes behind your eyelids.

"Why was he in your bedroom?" Annie's smirk is audible and you feel your cheeks heat.

"Shut up. He needed some clothes and I had some from the last time Darren stayed with me-"

Annie audibly groans when you mention your brother's name. They didn't get along. She thought that he was manipulative and that he used you. But you didn't see it. He was your brother, your blood, the only family you had left beside your grandmother and Annie.

"Please tell me he's not coming by soon. If he does I will be busy doing anything else."

"I don't know why the two of you can't just get along-" You sigh.

"Because he's the worst." Annie states loudly, dropping the curling iron and bringing the mascara brush up to your eyes.

"Can we please not have this conversation again?"

"Fine. Close." Annie holds up the mascara brush to your eyes. "Did you at least join one of those online dating apps or try to go on a date?"

"It’s been 3 days since we last talked about this-“ You feel the gentle stroke of the brush against your eyelashes.

“So?”

“No I haven’t.”

"Y/n-"

"I know, I know. I mean Jake did try to ask me out the other day but-"

"He WHAT?" Annie squeals, awkwardness about your brother forgotten. "Next time lead with that! Did you go out with him? Did you guys talk all night long?" Annie is hoping from foot to foot now, practically dancing to the music still blasting from the speaker on the dresser.

"I said no." You open your eyes to look at your friend.

"WHAT! Why?" She looks like you kicked a puppy. "He's so perfect for you! He likes plants and he's funny and he's got a great sense of humor, plus he's gorgeous and he's interested in you-"

"First he wanted to do something today and I knew Butcher had plans for me. Second, I didn't know he was asking me out, Ben told me he was." You close your eyes again so Annie can continue to do your makeup.

"Wait, Ben was there when he asked you out?" 

"We went to IKEA to get a couch for the apartment and Jake showed up and asked me out." You explain.

"You took Ben to IKEA?"

"He'd never gone there before, can you believe that?" It made you smile as you remembered how surprised he had been when you went inside. You’d had fun with him, walking around, testing out the couches, it almost felt… normal. And you kind of got the impression that Ben had a good time too. It was kind of cute when he did everyday things, when you saw him in normal settings and he was just a little bit awkward because he still couldn't figure out how to act in another time period.

"Yes I can, he's a million years old. Let's circle back to you saying no to the PERFECT man."

"He's not a million." You defend Ben. "And Jake's not perfect." You frown to yourself, thinking about the fact that Jake wasn't a supe. It wasn't something that you had cared about before, but ever since Ben brought up the idea of you "snapping Jake in half" it scared you.

Because what if I did? What if I hurt him? You didn’t know how Ben had sex so often with people who weren't supes. Maybe he just doesn't care if he does. Or maybe he’s done it so much that he’s able to control himself.

"What do you mean? I thought you liked him?"

"I mean I do. He's kind and he understands me and he loves plants as much as I do, but-" You shrug, feeling Annie begin to apply eyeliner. "I don't want to make things complicated. I mean we work together, he’s my boss. What if it doesn’t work out? Then I’d have to quit and I like my job.”

“I mean that’s kind of hot-“

“Hot in what? A sexual harassment kind of way?”

“No. It’s not harassment if it’s two consenting adults.”

“I’m still not sure that it’s a good idea.” You mutter more to yourself. But this time your mind didn’t go to Jake and you having a relationship even though he was your boss, instead it goes right to Ben. You can't help but slip into the fantasy of dating Ben, of you and him trying something new-

You shake off the image. He doesn’t want a relationship, doesn’t think that’s important. The thought is almost like a mantra, trying to convince yourself to push past Ben’s charm and good looks, but this time it makes you consider something else. Maybe he doesn’t think it’s important now, but maybe he used to think it was before Countess.

You’d heard the stories, seen the newspaper articles and clips of film of Ben and her together, remembered what Hughie said that Ben had wanted a family with her that Ben had told her that he loved her. That meant at some point in Ben’s life he had loved someone else, cared for them, wanted to be more than just fuck buddies.

Maybe he's just afraid to fall again, because he's not sure someone else will be there to catch him. Maybe Ben doesn't want to admit that he cares for anyone else because he's afraid that they'll push him away or stab him in the back the way that Countess did. And maybe he hides it all underneath the macho attitude.

Ben is strong. He told me that he didn't need anyone else. You press your lips together in a tight line. But I think he does.

You hated that she’d hurt him. You hated that she’d pushed him away, told him she never loved him, and stabbed him in the back. You couldn’t imagine doing that to someone, telling them that you loved them, and manipulating them with the promise of love. It almost made you nauseous to consider it. It made you want to travel back in time to the moment she stabbed him in the back and shove a bouquet of sunflowers up where the sun don't shine.

You pause on the thought. You weren't a terribly violent person, but if someone ever hurt your friends your anger was legendary, practically divine. You'd never thought that you'd want to do something for Ben, but you were realizing more and more that Ben was becoming your friend. You weren't sure how you felt about that.

“Alright what if he wasn’t your boss.” Annie gently brushes eyeshadow over your eyelids. “Then would you go out with him?”

“But he is my boss.”

“Use your imagination.”

The song has ended and there’s an awkward pause between the end of it and the slow beginning of the next one.

“I mean yes?” You shrug. “I can see myself with him. He’s the kind of person I’d want to date. He cares about other people, he remembers what kind of coffee I like, he actually contributes to the conversation, he makes me laugh, he actually gets my jokes, he’s nice to sit with, he doesn’t get under my skin-“ As you list each of those things you couldn't stop your mind from comparing Jake to Ben. You didn't know when Ben became the level by which you judged other men, but it had happened sometime in the past few days and you didn't know what it meant.

But Ben did remember what kind of coffee I like and he does contribute to conversations, well, he contributes with a disgusting comment… The thought trails off when you remember the small conversations that you'd had with Ben that weren't sexual in nature, when the two of you watched the movie on the couch and talked briefly about your parents, when Ben asked you how your day was the other day back at the apartment, and when the two of you talked on the couch while the children slept between the two of you. In those moments you had seen another side of Ben, the side that he seemed to hide away from everyone else, but not from you, not all the time.

Plus Ben is kind of funny sometimes, disgusting but funny. Doesn’t understand my jokes. And yes he gets under my skin but sometimes it’s kind of exciting and nice to have that happen. With Jake sometimes he’s just too happy or too eager to agree with me.

"Hmm." Annie considers. "How did Ben react when Jake asked you out?”

You don’t answer immediately. “Normal.”

"You hesitated"

"No I didn’t."

"Yes you did! He reacted didn’t he?!” Annie pokes you with her finger

"No he didn’t.” You lie.

“He did! Holy shit he was jealous wasn’t he?”

"No he wasn’t.” You swat her hand away. "He was just opinioned."

He sure looked jealous. You think to yourself remembering the way he glared at Jake from the other side of the room. The memory of the way his eyes darkened when he told you exactly why he wasn't jealous and exactly what he would do to you to make you forget all about Jake sends an involuntary shiver down your spine.

"Yeah. Opinionated over why you shouldn't go out with Jake because Ben wants you all to himself." Annie crows.

"Shut-"

"But it doesn't matter. Because Ben's going to have a heart attack when he sees you wearing this." Annie steps back from you. "My work here is done. Try to make it to the mission without ripping each other's clothes off."

"We are not going to-"

Annie spins your chair back to the mirror and your next words dry up.

Your hair is perfectly curled back from your face, the lipstick is a dark shade of crimson that makes your lips look fuller and more plump, the eye make up is dark and dusky making the color of your eyes pop against the darkness in a mysterious alluring way that seems almost hypnotic, and your face is shaded and contoured so well that you look dangerous and sexy.

"I'll take the silence as a 'Thank you Annie! You're so beautiful and talented and you're the best friend I've ever had!'" She laughs, standing back behind you with her arms crossed over her chest.

"I mean all of that is true, but-" You stand up from the chair to get a better look. "You've really outdone yourself."

"Well thank you. Had to. It's your first date with Ben." She makes goo-goo eyes and you try to punch her in the shoulder, but she dodges it.

"Shut up. It's not." You look down at the dress that Butcher picked out for you to wear. "I love you, but I hate Butcher."

The dress was a red scrap of fabric that clung to your curves, but left very little to the imagination. It was completely backless with an exaggerated wrinkle that fell just over the top of your ass. The front was sinched at the back of your neck secured only by a small piece of fabric that you were afraid would break at any moment and fell open in a "v" that stopped just under the swell of your breasts. There was a large prominent slit that cut up the left side of the floor length gown that stopped just shy of the top of your thigh. Annie had cinched a black choker around your neck to match the black pair of stilettos you wore

Personally, you though that the stilettos were overkill, you had no idea how the hell you were going to run after the supe if you saw him, let alone fight him.

"You look so hot." Annie says pleased. "You really should wear that all the time babe. I'd take you out to dinner just to show you off."

"You're the worst." You groan.

"I love you too honey." She winks. "Now come on. Butcher and the others are waiting for us." She turns off the speaker and walks out the door of the bedroom, but you linger there, looking at yourself in the mirror one more time.

You'd never worn anything remotely like this before, but even you had to admit, you looked good.

“Come on Poppet. You can’t hide in there forever.” Butcher chuckles from the living room.

He’s having too much fun with this. You huff to yourself finally leaving the bedroom to make your grand entrance, grabbing the black bejeweled clutch as you do.

Butcher, Frenchie, Annie, and Hughie are waiting outside the door while Kimiko sits on the couch scribbling away.

Hughie's mouth drops open,  Butcher gives an approving shrug, and Frenchie lets out a breath.

"You look beautiful." Frenchie takes your hand and gives you an appreciative twirl.

"Shut up." Your cheeks redden.

Hughie is still looking speechless at you. "I told you." Annie states elbowing him with a proud smile.

“You look-“ Hughie stutters.

“Good enough to eat.” Ben finishes, appearing in the hallway to your right. His hand traces the curve of your hip, thumb ghosting over your bare back.

“Just because I’m dressed like a hooker, doesn’t mean my brain’s not working.”  You slap his hand away ignoring the warm feeling that remains where he touched you. You could feel your heart beat begin to pick up in your chest.

“Baby I love your brain-“ Ben smiles, eyes tracing your figure. “But I’ll be damned if I don’t love your body more.”

You felt your cheeks turn the same shade as your dress with his compliment before you can stop them. It was difficult to pretend that you didn't feel any attraction for him, not when he looked so good.

He had trimmed his beard and brushed back his dark hair, so you could see his emerald colored eyes gleaming. He was wearing a black suit with a white button up shirt, but chose not to wear a black tie, instead unbuttoning the top few buttons to give just a hint of his muscular chest beneath.

Why does he have to look so good all the damn time?

“Shut up.” You grumble turning back to Butcher. “So are you happy? I dressed up, my IQ dropped a billion points.”

“Ecstatic poppet.” Butcher grins taking a sip from the cup of tea in his hand. “Now remember anything happens, you detain the supe, no killing."

“He’s talking to you.” You elbow Ben.

Ben shrugs. “I won't apologize for doing my job."

You sigh again and walk towards where Kimiko is writing in one of her workbooks on the couch. 

"You look hot." She signs at you.

It had been difficult to learn the sign language she used, but you liked to think that you had a handle on it so you could understand simple conversations. When things got too confusing she would use her phone.

"I know. I was mad at Butcher at first for picking this dress, but I kind of like it." You sign back. "Don’t tell Butcher I said that."

She crosses her fingers over her heart. "Soldier Boy is looking at you."

"He’s always looking at me. I'm glad I can't read minds. I don’t want to know what he’s thinking."

Kimiko snorts, raising her hand to sign "I think the look on his face says it all."

You half turn and look at where Ben is again, he’s not talking to Butcher like you thought he was, he’s staring at you, pupils dilated, eyes darkening in a way that makes your heart feel like it's beating so hard it'll explode out of your ribcage.

No. No. Keep it together. Heart of a warrior.

"You two have fun!" Annie smirks widely, taking a picture of Ben and you like you're going to prom and you know she's going to send the photo to taunt you with it later.

“Shall we?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Ladies first.” Ben smirks.

 You roll your eyes at him as you walk to the front door of the apartment. “Don’t pretend to be a gentleman Gramps. We both know you just want to look at my ass.”

“I’ll never get tired of looking Doll, especially not when you’re wearing something like that.”

A/N: I know this chapter is a little bit of a filler, but I wanted to give Annie and the reader some time together, aka. Annie telling the reader to do the one thing that we ALL know she should do. 😂

Taglist:

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[auroracalisto]

day #7: candy canes

anthony bridgerton x gn!reader, 542 words a/n: hope you like candy canes cuz you love them in this pookies

The holiday season always kept Anthony rather... on edge. Always something to do, something to plan, something to buy. It was as if he could never get away from it, no matter how hard he tried.

But one thing that always remained the same were the sweets that his mother would buy from the Christmas market in preparation for the holiday. She would do it herself—no servants could pick out the candy she wanted (and she had learned that long ago).

Chocolates of all kinds, some with raspberry creams and some with orange rinds that made such a delicious crunch when you bit into them. Butter mints that were so soft and delicate and were kept in a small, glass dish.

Anthony's favorites that his mother always bought were the candy canes.

She would buy just enough to keep many in stock for just a few days (the curse of having such a large family). Of course, she would go back out and buy more as she had the money to do so, but she did try to buy in bulk. It was the only way, really.

But now that Anthony was married and had his spouse in the same household as his mother and siblings, he noticed that they had gone missing far sooner than he had anticipated. In fact, he had been meaning to grab a candy cane for himself when he noticed they were all gone.

He set out on a mission to figure out what exactly had happened.

All fingers pointed to his spouse—to you, his most favored of all people.

Perhaps not right now.

"You've truly gone and had them all?" he asked.

If you weren't sure before, you knew now—he was judging you, and rather harshly.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you said, hiding one of the pieces of candy behind your back—not very inconspicuously, it seemed.

Anthony breathed through his nose, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

"You have it. I see it there."

"You are being silly, Anthony," you said, sitting on the edge of your shared bed. "I have nothing." You kept your hand behind your back, not wanting him to take it.

Anthony narrowed his eyes. "Oh. So what is in your hand, lover?"

"Nothing is in my hand."

"And you lie," he snorted. "Show me."

"Absolutely not. Mind your business."

At that, he walked forward, taking your jaw between his thumb and forefinger. He glanced at your back and saw it—the last candy cane.

"You fiend," he scoffed, reaching forward to take it.

You let him, not wanting to put much effort into it. You had already had four just that day.

"I am no fiend," you said.

"What number would this make?"

"Hm?"

"Candy canes, love. How many candy canes would this have made?"

You pursed your lips, glancing at his hand.

He narrowed his eyes at you and let go. "You are a right mess," he chided, but the scolding nature isn't serious.

"Will we get more?" you tentatively asked.

He rolled his eyes. "Of course we will," he said. "Although I may send you with my mother to get them. Then you can tell her you've ate most of them."

[ialreadymadeyouapromise]

𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐔𝐏.

PAIRING: evan buckley x fem!reader WARNINGS: misunderstandings, no use of y/n GENRE: angst, fluff, idiots to lovers SONG INSPIRATION: waiting all night - ella eyre WORD COUNT: 4.4k

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“come on, you’ll love him!” evan said, leaning forward over the table. his eyes were wide, earnest, and a little too excited for your comfort.

you shot him a skeptical look over the rim of your coffee cup, raising an eyebrow as you sipped slowly. “that’s what you said about the last guy, and he thought supernatural was a documentary.”

evan groaned, dropping his head back dramatically like the weight of the world rested on his shoulders.

“uh huh.” you put your mug down and crossed your arms. “i’m starting to think you’re intentionally sabotaging my social life.”

“first of all, rude.” evan leaned back, his hand running through his already tousled hair. “second, this guy is different. he’s smart. funny. likes dogs–”

“everyone likes dogs, buck,” you cut in, unimpressed.

he leaned forward again, resting his elbows on the table and giving you that lopsided grin that always seemed to get him out of trouble. “fair point. but he’s also a firefighter. you already have that in common. and he’s got a great sense of humor, i swear. you’re gonna hit it off. i can feel it.”

“mhm” you said, your voice flat. “because your matchmaking track record is so stellar.”

evan winced, but his grin didn’t falter. “hey, third time’s the charm, right?”

you sighed, tapping your fingers against your coffee cup as you studied his expression. he looked so hopeful, like he genuinely believed this would work. it was hard to stay mad at someone who cared so much, even if his previous attempts had been disasters. 

still, you weren’t convinced.

“why are you so determined to set me up, anyway?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him. “i didn’t ask for your help, you know.”

evan hesitated, and for a moment, his usual carefree demeanor slipped. his grin faltered, and something flickered in his eyes. a vulnerability you weren’t used to seeing. it was there and gone in an instant, so quick you almost missed it, but it left you with an uneasy feeling.

“because…” he paused, looking down at his hands as he fidgeted with the edge of his sleeve. then, he met your gaze again, his expression softer than before. “i just want you to be happy, that’s all.”

the sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, tugging at something in your chest you didn’t want to acknowledge. you opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. instead, you just stared at him, the weight of his words settling between you.

when the silence stretched too long, you rolled your eyes and muttered, “fine. but if this goes south, you owe me.”

evan’s face lit up, his grin returning. “deal.” he leaned back, looking far too pleased with himself. “you won’t regret this, i promise.”

“mm-hmm,” you said, picking up your coffee again. “we’ll see about that.”

the date was set for friday night at a new restaurant that everyone had been raving about. it was one of those places with dim lighting, sleek decor, and a menu filled with dishes that sounded just fancy enough to justify their price. 

you weren’t sure if it was the kind of spot you’d choose for yourself, but evan insisted it was perfect.

after a last minute call to a friend for a second opinion. you decided on a black dress that made you feel confident. it was simple yet elegant, the kind of outfit that walked the line between effort and ease. you paired it with your favorite heels, the ones that made you a little taller but didn’t leave you regretting your life choices after an hour.

a swipe of your favourite lipstick completed the look. you weren’t expecting to fall head over heels for some random guy, but you figured it couldn’t hurt to look your best.

when you arrived at the restaurant five minutes early, the air smelled like garlic, rosemary, and sizzling butter. the hostess greeted you with a polished smile and guided you to a small table near the window. you had the perfect view of the bustling street outside, where couples strolled hand in hand and taxis honked impatiently.

you glanced at your phone one last time to confirm the details. his name was alex, and according to evan, he was tall, dark haired, and charming in a low key, unpretentious way. you imagined a guy with an easy laugh, someone who could carry a conversation but didn’t dominate it. the thought calmed your nerves, at least a little.

as the minutes ticked by, you alternated between checking the door and pretending to be engrossed in the menu. you ordered a glass of wine to keep your hands busy and your mind distracted. when ten minutes passed, you told yourself he was probably stuck in traffic. fifteen minutes? maybe parking was a nightmare.

by the time twenty minutes had gone by, your confidence started to waver. you tried not to let it show, smoothing your dress and keeping your posture upright, but the excuses in your head began to sound hollow. you resisted the urge to pull out your phone, not wanting to look like someone who had been stood up.

at the thirty minute mark, the reality of the situation was impossible to ignore. your stomach twisted as the truth set in, he wasn’t coming. you stared at the candle flickering in the middle of the table, wishing it would burn down faster so you had an excuse to blow it out and leave.

heat crept up the back of your neck, a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. the restaurant suddenly felt too crowded, the noise of laughter and clinking glasses grating on your nerves. you wanted to crawl under the table and never come out, or better yet, disappear entirely.

you took a sip of your wine, willing it to soothe the knot of disappointment in your chest. so much for first impressions, you thought bitterly.

you pulled out your phone, your thumb hovering over the screen as you debated what to say. frustration and embarrassment warred inside you, but ultimately, you decided there was only one person who needed to hear about this disaster.

you: your friend stood me up. this is officially the worst date of my life.

you stared at the message for a moment before hitting send, feeling both annoyed and vindicated. evan had been so insistent, so sure this guy was perfect, and now you were sitting here like an idiot with a full glass of wine and no date.

the reply came almost instantly.

buck: what??? no way.

buck: stay put. i’ll be there in 15.

you blinked at your phone, rereading the message twice to make sure you hadn’t imagined it. a mix of disbelief and relief settled over you. typical buck, always jumping in like he had to save the day. it was infuriating sometimes, but at this moment, you were just grateful you didn’t have to endure the rest of the evening alone.

the waiter arrived with your wine as you tucked your phone away, and you nodded your thanks, taking a slow sip to calm your nerves. the wine was smooth and rich, but it did little to soothe the knot of frustration in your chest. 

you glanced around the restaurant, feeling more self conscious than ever. it wasn’t like anyone here knew you’d been stood up, but the knowledge gnawed at you anyway.

exactly fifteen minutes later, the sound of the restaurant door opening pulled your attention. you looked up to see evan  walking in. he wasn’t dressed for a night out, just his usual jeans, leather jacket and a fitted shirt that clung to his broad shoulders, but somehow, his casual confidence made him stand out among the suits and dresses in the room.

he spotted you immediately, his face lighting up. with an easy stride, he wove through the tables, his hand brushing the back of a chair or two as he navigated the crowded space. when he reached your table, he slid into the seat across from you, his expression softening into one of genuine concern.

“i’m so sorry,” he said, his blue eyes searching yours. “i swear, if i see that guy again, i’m gonna–”

“buck,” you interrupted, holding up a hand to stop his rant. his protective streak was endearing, but you weren’t in the mood for it. “it’s fine. these things happen.”

his frown deepened, clearly not convinced. “no, it’s not fine. you didn’t deserve that. you deserve someone who’ll show up and actually appreciate you.”

the sincerity in his voice made your stomach flutter, the warmth of his words catching you off guard. you looked away, fiddling with the stem of your wineglass as you tried to brush off the sudden rush of feelings.

“well,” you said after a moment, glancing back at him with a small smile, “you’re here now. so, technically, you’re my date.”

his lips twitched, amusement flickering in his eyes. “guess i am. you cool with that?”

you laughed, the sound easing some of the tension lingering in your chest. “honestly? yeah. you’re already better company than that alex.”

that earned you a smile. the kind that lit up his whole face, made his eyes crinkle at the corners, and had an annoyingly infectious effect on your mood. the warmth in your chest spread further, making you feel unexpectedly… at ease.

“well, then,” he said, picking up the menu you’d been pretending to study earlier. “let’s make the most of it. i hear the steak here is incredible. you in?”

you tilted your head, watching him for a moment as he scanned the menu with genuine interest. he was so easygoing, so quick to step in and turn a bad situation into something bearable.

“yeah,” you said softly, a real smile tugging at your lips. “i’m in.”

for the first time that evening, you felt like the night might not be a total loss after all.

after finishing your meal, which had been filled with laughter and the kind of effortless banter that always seemed to flow between you and evan, the idea of sitting through dessert felt unnecessary. instead, you both decided on a walk, letting the crisp night air clear your heads after the warmth and hum of the restaurant.

the streets glowed under the soft light of streetlamps, their golden halos reflecting off the damp pavement, remnants of a brief rain earlier in the evening. the world felt quieter now, the chatter of passing strangers and the occasional honk of a car fading into the background as you and evan strolled side by side.

“sorry again about tonight,” evan said after a while, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans. his tone was sincere, tinged with the kind of guilt you knew he couldn’t help but shoulder.

you glanced over at him, your heart softening despite your initial irritation. “don’t be,” you replied, your voice lighter than you felt. “i ended up with the better date anyway.”

the corners of his mouth twitched upward, a chuckle slipping from his lips. “well, you’re not wrong. i’m way more fun than alex.” his teasing tone was paired with a grin so mischievous it pulled a laugh out of you despite yourself.

“low bar,” you said, bumping his shoulder with yours as you walked.

“true,” he admitted, still smiling. but when he glanced at you, his expression softened. his gaze lingered just a moment too long, something unreadable flickering in his blue eyes before he quickly looked ahead.

you continued walking, the easy flow of conversation gradually giving way to a silence that wasn’t uncomfortable but rather companionable, steeped in the kind of understanding that only came with knowing someone as deeply as you knew evan.

the city noise faded into the background, leaving just the sound of your footsteps echoing off the empty streets and the occasional rustle of a breeze weaving through the trees above. for once, neither of you seemed in a hurry to fill the quiet, content to simply exist in each other’s presence.

a sudden gust of wind swept through, carrying a sharp chill that had you instinctively wrapping your arms around yourself. the brisk air bit at your skin, you shivered despite your efforts to ward it off.

evan noticed immediately. he always noticed. without missing a beat, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders in one fluid motion, the fabric still warm from his body.

“buck, i’m fine–" you started to protest, reaching up as if to push it off.

“nope,” he interrupted, his tone firm but light. his hands stayed on your shoulders for a beat longer than necessary, steadying the jacket as if daring you to argue. “you’re cold. take the jacket. end of discussion.”

the corners of your lips tugged upward, a small, soft smile breaking through. you pulled the jacket tighter around yourself, the scent of his cologne. a mix of something woodsy and clean, enveloping you. “thanks,” you said quietly, the word holding more weight than usual.

evan gave a little shrug, as if it were nothing, but his lips curved into a smile that reached his eyes. “anytime,” he replied, his voice gentle.

for a moment, you both slowed, your steps falling into sync as the night wrapped around you. the warmth of his jacket against the cool air, the steadiness of his presence beside you, it all felt oddly intimate, like you were sharing something neither of you dared to name.

“you’re too good sometimes, you know that?” you said, breaking the silence after a while. your voice was teasing, but there was an edge of sincerity to your words.

evan glanced at you, raising an eyebrow. “too good? is that a bad thing?”

“not bad,” you admitted, smiling. “just… unfair to everyone else who has to live up to it.”

he laughed at that, the sound rich and easy. “well, i wouldn’t want to disappoint,” he said, his tone light, but the way his eyes lingered on you as he spoke sent a faint flutter through your chest.

you fell into another quiet moment, your steps taking you closer to home. the city seemed to fade away entirely, leaving just the two of you walking together under the glow of streetlights, the rest of the world forgotten.

when you reached your apartment, you both slowed to a stop at your door. for a moment, neither of you spoke. the street was quiet, the soft glow of a nearby lamppost casting long shadows on the pavement. you turned to face evan, the night air carrying a weight you couldn’t quite name.

“thanks for tonight,” you said softly, fiddling with the edge of his jacket. “i really mean it. you didn’t have to come rescue me.”

he shrugged, but there was a vulnerability in his expression you didn’t see often. “of course i did. i wasn’t about to let you sit there alone, thinking you weren’t worth showing up for.”

your heart stuttered at his words, the sincerity in his tone catching you off guard. you opened your mouth to respond, but the way he was looking at you, his eyes searching yours, like he was seeing parts of you even you didn’t understand, stole the words from your tongue.

the silence stretched, filled with a charged tension that made your skin prickle. you could feel your heartbeat quicken, a warmth blooming in your chest that you didn’t want to name. the space between you felt impossibly small, and yet, you found yourself wanting to close it.

“evan,” you started, your voice barely above a whisper.

“yeah?” his voice was soft, tentative, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear what you were about to say.

you hesitated, your breath hitching as you tried to find the right words. but there were none. not for this. so, instead of speaking, you acted. your heart was hammering so hard you were sure he could hear it as you leaned forward.

time seemed to slow as you closed the gap, the world around you fading until all you could see, all you could feel, was him. your lips were a whisper away from his, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours.

but just as you were about to close the distance, he took a step back, his eyes widening in surprise.

“oh,” you breathed, the weight of what you’d just done crashing down on you. “oh my god. i–i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean–”

“wait–” evan started, his voice filled with panic, but the rush of humiliation already had you moving. your hands fumbled with his jacket, your fingers trembling as you shrugged it off and thrust it toward him.

“here,” you said, your words tumbling out in a rush. you couldn’t bear to look at him, couldn’t stand to see whatever emotion was written on his face. “thanks for… for everything. i–i’ll see you at work.”

“hang on, just let me–” he tried again, his tone urgent, but you were already turning away. your shaking hands found your keys, and you all but bolted inside, the door clicking shut behind you before he could get another word out.

the second you were safely inside, you leaned against the door, your chest heaving as you tried to calm the wave of mortification threatening to drown you. the silence of your apartment only made the memory of the last few minutes louder, every detail replaying in excruciating detail.

“what were you thinking?” you whispered to yourself, pressing the heels of your hands against your burning face. the warmth of his breath, the way he’d looked at you, the moment he’d pulled away. it all swirled in your mind, a chaotic mess of embarrassment and regret.

you slid down to the floor, wrapping your arms around your knees as the weight of it all pressed down on you. you’d ruined it. whatever you and evan had, it was over now. there was no coming back from this.

and yet, as you sat there in the quiet of your apartment, part of you couldn’t help but wonder. if he’d pulled away… why had he leaned in so close in the first place?

the next morning, you woke up with a pit in your stomach, the memory of last night replaying in excruciating detail. every glance, every word, every fleeting touch seemed magnified in your mind, and no amount of tossing and turning had been able to shake the heat rising to your cheeks.

you could barely bring yourself to look in the mirror as you got ready for work.

by the time you pulled into the firehouse parking lot, you’d come up with a plan. a simple, effective strategy to survive the day. avoid evan at all costs. it wasn’t exactly foolproof, but you figured if you kept your head down and stayed busy, you could process everything later without risking further humiliation.

but as soon as you stepped inside, your plan crumbled.

evan was waiting for you.

he was leaning casually against the wall near the entrance, his arms crossed, but the second he saw you, he straightened up, stepping directly into your path before you had a chance to slip by unnoticed.

“hey,” he greeted, his tone neutral but his eyes searching your face like he was looking for answers.

your breath hitched, your carefully rehearsed avoidance strategy vanishing in an instant. “hey,” you replied, keeping your voice light and cautious, deliberately avoiding his gaze as you tried to sidestep him.

“can we talk?” evan asked, his tone softer now, almost hesitant.

the question sent a fresh wave of panic through you. you shook your head quickly, brushing past him as if escaping the conversation would erase it altogether. “there’s nothing to talk about,” you said, your words tumbling out in a rush. “let’s just forget it happened, okay?”

evan’s brow furrowed, and you could feel his presence close behind you as you hurried toward the lockers. “no,” he said firmly, his voice low but unyielding. “i don’t want to forget it.”

his words stopped you in your tracks, the weight of them sinking in before you could take another step. your heart raced as you slowly turned to face him, your eyes wide and guarded. “what are you talking about?” you questioned him.

evan’s jaw tightened as if he were struggling to find the right words, and for a moment, he looked almost vulnerable. “last night,” he began, his voice softer now. “it wasn’t–it didn’t mean nothing to me. and i don’t think it did to you either.”

your chest tightened, a thousand thoughts swirling in your head, each one more chaotic than the last. but before you could respond, a voice cut through the tension.

“buck! we need you up here, now!”

bobby's voice rang out from across the room.

evan’s head snapped toward the sound, his expression flickering with frustration as he glanced back at you. he looked torn, his eyes darting between you and the source of bobby’s call.

for a second, it seemed like he might ignore the summons entirely, but the urgency in bobby’s tone made the decision for him.

“don’t go anywhere,” evan said, pointing at you with a look so pleading it made your stomach flip. “we’re finishing this conversation.”

you didn’t answer, your throat too tight to speak as you watched him jog up the stairs. the air seemed to settle heavily around you in his absence.

this wasn’t over. not by a long shot. and judging by the look in evan’s eyes, it wasn’t something you’d be able to run from, no matter how much you tried.

you managed to avoid him for most of the day, staying busy with your own tasks and sticking close to others whenever you were in common spaces. but you couldn’t dodge him forever.

later that evening, as the firehouse settled into its quieter rhythm, evan cornered you in the kitchen while you were refilling your water bottle.

“seriously?” he said, blocking your exit with an exasperated look. “you’ve been dodging me all day.”

“i’ve been working,” you said defensively, avoiding his gaze.

“you know that’s not what i mean,” he said, his tone softening. “we need to talk about last night.”

“no, we don’t,” you said quickly, gripping the edge of the counter. “it was a mistake, buck. let’s just move on.”

his brows furrowed, and he stepped closer. “it wasn’t a mistake. not for me, at least.”

your breath caught in your throat as his words hung in the air.

“look,” he continued, his voice low and earnest. “i know i messed up last night. i didn’t mean to make you feel… embarrassed or rejected. i was just surprised, okay? i wasn’t expecting you to–” he stopped, running a hand through his hair. “i wasn’t expecting you to feel that way about me.”

you stared at him, your pulse pounding in your ears. “well, i don’t,” you said weakly, even though the lie sounded hollow to your own ears.

evan gave you a look. a knowing, disbelieving look that made you embarrassed. “you’re a terrible liar,” he said softly, stepping closer.

“buck, don’t–” you started, but your voice faltered when he reached out, his hand brushing yours where it rested on the counter.

“i’m not trying to make this harder,” he said, his tone gentle. “i just… i need you to know that last night wasn’t one sided. i didn’t pull away because i didn’t want to kiss you. i pulled away because i panicked. you caught me off guard.”

you blinked at him, your mind racing as you tried to process his words. “you… panicked?”

“yeah,” he said, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “i’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you how i feel for weeks, and then you just… did it. you were brave, and i froze.” he hesitated, his voice dropping lower. “i didn’t mean to hurt you. that’s the last thing i wanted.”

the honesty in his voice left you momentarily speechless.

“you really hurt me, buck,” you finally admitted, your voice shaking slightly. “you pulled away like... like i was wrong to even try.”

his face fell, and he stepped closer, “i know,” he said quietly. “i’m so sorry. you didn’t deserve that. you didn’t deserve to feel like you were wrong, because you weren’t.”

his hand finally brushed against yours, tentative but warm, and your resolve faltered.

“i don’t know if i can...” you trailed off, the words tangled in your throat.

“hey,” he said softly, dipping his head slightly to catch your gaze. “i’m not asking you to forgive me all at once. i just... i need you to know that i feel the same way. i’ve felt this way for a long time.”

the weight of his confession left you momentarily speechless. he took another small step closer.

“i should’ve told you sooner,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper now. “i should’ve been braver.”

you let out a shaky breath, your walls crumbling under the warmth in his gaze. “i want to believe you,” you said softly.

“then let me show you,” he said, his tone tender but sure. his fingers curled lightly around yours, his touch slow and careful, like he was giving you every chance to pull away. “if you’ll let me.”

your heart pounded as he leaned in slightly, his movements deliberate and unhurried. you hesitated for a moment, the echo of last night’s hurt still fresh.

“buck...” you started, your voice barely a whisper.

“tell me to stop,” he said, his lips only inches from yours now. “if you don’t want this, tell me to stop, and i will.”

you didn’t tell him to stop.

instead, you closed the gap, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was tentative at first, testing the waters. evan let out a quiet, relieved sound, his hand sliding to your waist as he deepened the kiss, his movements slow and deliberate, like he was savouring every moment.

when you finally pulled back, your forehead resting against his, you were both breathing hard, the air between you charged with unspoken promises.

“i’m still mad at you,” you murmured, though there was no heat in your voice.

“i know,” he said, his lips curving into a small, lopsided smile. “i’ll make it up to you. i promise.”

you let out a soft laugh despite yourself, 

the warmth of his presence melting the last traces of doubt.

reblogs and comments are appreciated ᯓ★

© ialreadymadeyouapromise 2024.

[ginnsbaker]

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (12/?)

Part Summary: You know Leigh well enough to recognize that she never acts without intention. She must have agonized about this too—about that kiss, about you. And she's making it difficult for you to guess just what conclusions she had come to in the time you were apart.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 6.500+ | Warnings: Smut | Author's note: I honestly don't know what else to write in the summary without giving too much away, so without further ado… P.S. No cliffhangers this time ;)

Masterlist | Part I Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI

-

A week after Thanksgiving, as the icy Maine wind whips across the tarmac at Rockland Airport, you find yourself holding a container of lobster cakes—your mother's way of sending a piece of home back with you. Despite her protests about you cutting your visit short, she spent last night in the kitchen, crafting your favorite dish, the smell of butter and ocean filling the house. “Eat these when you miss home,” she had said, pressing the container into your hands with a sad smile. The decision to leave early was anything but easy.

You initially planned to stay five more days in Camden, but Leigh's radio silence prompted you to book a direct flight to Los Angeles. It was eating you up inside; you had to go back. The familiar dark screen of your phone kept you on edge; you hadn't expected Leigh to strictly follow through on her promise not to contact you. She had a way of doing the unexpected. Or maybe you've been so wrapped up in your thoughts that you underestimated how deeply she wanted you that night. And perhaps you've overestimated your own anger, believing it would even slightly lessen your feelings for her.

Sitting in the window seat with the whole row to yourself, you stare at your phone as the flight attendant's voice crackles over the intercom, signaling it's time to switch to airplane mode. Impulsively, you tap out a text to her.

Belated Happy Thanksgiving, Leigh. If you’re free tomorrow evening, maybe we could talk? Perhaps over dinner?

It’s straightforward, maybe too much so, but it’s sent before you can overthink it.

The flight attendant's voice fills the cabin once more, reminding everyone to switch their devices as the plane is about to take off. You comply, toggling the setting and sealing off any immediate replies. The engines roar to life, and as the plane ascends, you try to push away the knot of apprehension tightening in your stomach.

As you wait to fall asleep, you think about Leigh—whether she’s seen your message and what she might be feeling. You wonder about the time apart, recalling the old saying that distance makes the heart grow fonder.

Or does it make it forget instead?

-

You touch down in L.A. just as the date ticks over to December 1st, the clock a little past midnight. The moment the plane reaches the gate, you grab your phone and switch off airplane mode. There's a message from your mom, checking in to see if you've landed safely, and you text her back to let her know you did. Suzie has also texted, saying Foreman called in sick and asking if you can cover at the clinic later. You shoot back a quick reply, saying you just landed, you'll catch some sleep, and might be in late in the morning.

But there’s nothing from Leigh. No text, no missed call, nothing to indicate she received your message or is interested in meeting.

You sigh and, without thinking, tap her name on the screen. The call goes through, and the phone rings as you make your way through the late-night crowd at LAX. It continues ringing, unanswered, until it finally clicks over to voicemail. You mutter a soft curse under your breath. Of course, she's not going to pick up—it's 12:30 in the morning. You consider sending a quick apology text but then reconsider, figuring you've already pushed enough boundaries by calling her this late.

Instead, you slide your phone back into your pocket and head toward baggage claim. You weave through the half-awake travelers and the sterile glow of the airport lights, finally spotting your suitcase trundling along the carousel. You heft it off and make your way through the automatic doors. You glance one more time at your phone, half hoping for a notification, but it's blank. With a sigh, you head for the exit, feeling the exhaustion settle in.

-

You check your inbox first thing in the morning, but there's still nothing from Leigh. You don't have time to overanalyze this again because you're already running late for work.

-

The whole day is swamped, with emergencies piling up alongside a packed schedule of immunizations and follow-ups. Suzie mistakenly booked an entire week's worth of scheduled vaccines for today, a Saturday. She explains that the clients requested to move their appointments to the weekend, adding, “We're closed on Sundays, so I thought today would work.”

You try to hide your frustration, not wanting to lay the blame on her. Your nerves are already frayed, and every hour that passes without a word from Leigh has you feeling more on edge.  As you tend to your patients and give instructions to the staff, you feel the pressure building, a headache beginning to throb behind your eyes. The never-ending stream of clients leaves you with no time to catch your breath. Between each appointment, you plaster on a polite smile, but inside, you're counting down the minutes until you can check out of, well, everything.

As the clock hits seven, you can't take another minute. The clinic has been a madhouse since the doors opened. You barely glance at Suzie as you callously tell her, “Close early. I'm tired.” Without waiting for her response, you trudge straight to your office and slump into your chair, eyes closed against the harsh fluorescent lights. Resting your head back, you exhale slowly, letting the tension drain from your shoulders. The fatigue wraps itself around you like a fog, and for a moment, everything falls away.

A few minutes later, you hear a gentle knock. It's Suzie, standing in the doorway with a paper in her hand. Without opening your eyes, you mutter, “What is it?” Your irritation seeps through, but you’re too drained to rein it in.

Suzie hesitates before stepping into your office, her expression unreadable. She extends the paper towards you. “It's my resignation letter,” she says quietly.

Your eyes snap open, and the paper feels heavier than it should as you take it from her hands. You’ve been nothing short of awful to her all day, snapping at every turn. 

“Is this about today?” you ask. 

She gives you a small, weary smile and points to the date on the letter. “I wrote this last week, right after you left for Maine.”

You glance down at the letter and see that it’s dated exactly a week ago. “Why didn’t you give it to me sooner?”

“I didn’t want to ruin your vacation,” she says softly. “I know how much you needed that break. And honestly, you’ve got enough on your plate right now without me adding to it.”

You can feel the burn of frustration and shame behind your eyes. “You’ve been a rock here, Suzie. I don’t want you to go. Please reconsider.”

She shakes her head gently. “I’ve thought this through. It’s time. I care about this place, and about you, but I need to move on.”

You let out a long breath. “I see. Still, I'm sorry today was so rough,” you say, looking up at her wistfully. You try working your puppy eyes, and for a moment it seems effective as her expression softens into a frown. 

But then she says, “It’s not the clinic or the work I do here. I got an offer for a research position; it's something I've always wanted to try.”

That makes you smile. If that’s the case, then you’re truly happy for her.

“I understand. I wish you hadn't felt the need to keep this to yourself, especially with everything else happening today,” you say, still clutching the paper tightly in your hand, crumpling it slightly.

Suzie shrugs. “I didn't want to add to your stress. Don’t worry, I’ll count the 30 days' notice from today, not the date on my resignation, so you have time to find someone to replace me.”

From that, you know her mind’s already made up. As you read her letter again, your eyes start to sting. You glance back up at her, your vision blurring. “Suzie, thank you,” you mumble thickly.

“Hey, it's okay,” she says gently. “I'm not leaving town. We can still grab lunch whenever. I know how glued to your desk you get, so I'll drag you out for a bite now and then.” You let out a shaky chuckle, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand.

“It's just—I’m going to miss you, and I don’t know how I'll replace you,” you say with a sniffle.

“Missing me is a given,” she says, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. “Actually, I might know someone interested in my job.”

Your ears perk up at that. Good help is hard to find these days, especially with more demands from applicants and a tight job market. “Who?” you ask, curious.

Suzie turns around as if she's going to leave without answering, but then she glances over her shoulder, her smirk widening. “Sara.”

-

A little while later, you catch Suzie just as she's finishing up in the lobby.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll lock up. You’ve done enough today,” you say, sending her home. She gives you a grateful smile, slings her bag over her shoulder, and wishes you a good night before heading out.

Finally alone, you take a moment to decompress. Clasping your hands behind your back, you stretch, trying to release the day's tension. A dull ache climbs up your spine, reminding you how tight your muscles are. Unable to hold the position for more than a few seconds, you relax, the discomfort too much to bear. It's hard to tell whether it's from the long-haul flight yesterday, your age creeping up on you, poor posture, or all of the above. 

On a whim, you book a late-night yoga session at the Beautiful Beast, hoping to relieve the tightness in your back. It’s been a while since your last visit.

Afterward, you head to the small bathroom in your office to get ready. It's basic, not meant for much more than washing hands and changing scrubs, but it’s all you've got. Stripping off your day's clothes, you step into the shower, letting the hot water beat down on your back. The steam fills the tiny space, and the heat melts a bit of the stiffness away. After a quick rinse, you towel off and slip into your yoga gear. The stretchy fabric feels liberating after being in stiff work clothes all day. You roll up your yoga mat, tucked behind the office door, and switch off the bathroom light.

As you're about to head out of the clinic, you check your phone, hoping to see something from Leigh. There's nothing—she hasn’t even read your last message. The stonewalling feels all too familiar, and you're tired of it.

You slide into your car, letting out a weary sigh. As you start the engine, thoughts of Suzie's suggestion to hire Sara sneak back into your mind. You can't help but chortle at the idea—it’s so unexpected, almost comical, considering how you know Sara and her standing friends-with-benefits proposition. It feels far-fetched, and knowing Suzie, she was likely just teasing.

The drive to the fitness studio is as mechanical as it gets. You're hardly aware of the turns you take until you park in front of the building. You step out, mind still elsewhere, and open your car door—right into someone walking by.

“Ow!”

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—” you start to say, cutting yourself off when you see who it is. 

Leigh, of all people, is rubbing her elbow, wincing. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail, and she’s wearing a plain white shirt under a jacket, paired with simple black tights. 

“See me? Lovely excuse,” she quips, her eyes fixed on her arm rather than you. Her expression is primed to unleash more frustration when she finally turns to meet the source of the blunder.

 “I—” Leigh stops, visibly surprised to see you. Quickly, her face smooths into something more neutral. “Y/N. You…you really should watch it.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” you say, rubbing the back of your neck. “Are you alright?”

She rubs her elbow once more, then nods slowly. “Just startled me a bit, but I’m fine.”

Once you both regain your bearings, you unconsciously begin rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet, hesitating despite the things you’ve rehearsed in your head all week. Your text message inviting her to meet tonight lingers at the forefront of your mind. But before you can bring it up, Leigh catches you by surprise.

“So, you’re heading in for a class?” she asks casually, as if the last time you saw each other didn’t end with a kiss and a confrontation that put the aforementioned kiss on hold.

“Uh, yeah, yeah, I am,” you reply. Then you remember Leigh doesn't work here anymore, but with her mother owning the place, it's no surprise to see her around occasionally. 

Still, you ask, “How about you?”

“You mind if we walk while we talk?” Leigh suggests.

You nod, a little thrown off but managing to say, “Sure, just let me grab my stuff.” 

She waits a few seconds as you gather your belongings, and then you both start walking toward the building. Leigh sets a brisk pace, always a step ahead, and you find yourself almost hurrying to keep up with her.

“I just got back to working here again,” she says after a beat.

Surprised, you ask, “Oh, how did that happen?”

“Long story,” she replies with a slight shrug, her eyes focused ahead.

Unsatisfied with her vague answer, your eyes drift to her lips. Memories of that last kiss flood back—their soft, velvety feel and that distinct taste that’s all hers, like fresh water after a long, grueling hike. It's a taste that's unmistakably Leigh, nothing else like it. As you walk together, you struggle to stay present. This isn’t at all how you pictured your reunion with her would go. Not by a long shot.

“Leigh,” you call out, stopping abruptly. Your voice comes out higher than intended, quivering a bit. You clear your throat and try again, “D-Did you get my text yesterday?”

Leigh glances back over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. “No.”

The bluntness leaves you momentarily stunned. You wait for her to follow up, to ask about the text, but she doesn’t. As you both step into the Beautiful Beast studio, you start to ask if you can talk later, but Leigh gets there first.

“We can pick this up later, Y/N. We should really get to class,” she says, heading into the room full of waiting students without waiting for your answer.

You're left more stumped than ever. Last time, she was almost on her knees, begging for forgiveness. Now, she's acting like nothing happened. How did everything change so much in just a week? With a head full of questions and doubts, you roll out your yoga mat and try to focus on the practice ahead. You can't help but wonder if the kiss you shared with Leigh really happened or if it was just a mirage of your desires.

You struggle through some of the poses, wobbling and nearly toppling over more than once. Leigh, however, doesn't chide or correct you as she used to; she mostly leaves you alone, focusing instead on helping others who are struggling more than you. It makes you feel strangely isolated, even though you know she's just fulfilling her role as an instructor and there are plenty of beginners in tonight’s session.

As the hour winds down, Leigh's soft “Namaste” signals the end of the class. She bows gracefully to the students, and you don't waste a moment, rising immediately to make your way to her as she rolls up her mat.

“Leigh.”

“Hey,” she responds breathlessly, not looking up. Other students pass by, thanking her, and she responds with smiles and cheerful “see you next times.” You stand there, feeling awkward as you wait for a turn.

When the last person leaves, Leigh finally looks up at you. “What's up?” she asks.

You find yourself stuttering, still fixated on the text message. Feeling a bit pathetic about how much it’s affecting you, but you shake it off, remembering why you cut your visit to Camden short. It was because of this—because of her.

“Leigh, can we talk? About... you know, how we left things that night?”

Her face remains jarringly impartial as she wipes down her mat. “Talk? Here? Right now?”

You quickly shake your head. “No, I don't mean right this second,” you clarify, watching her closely to gauge her reaction. Are you the only one feeling like you're on a tightrope? 

“You haven't had dinner yet, right?” You try to sound nonchalant too, but it's a struggle.

She looks around the emptying studio as if she needs a moment to consider. After a few beats, she nods. “Sure, why not? I’ll just change and meet you out front.”

You can't help but smile, mainly out of relief that she said yes. “Great, see you in a minute,” you say, realizing you need to change into drier clothes too.

Fifteen minutes later, Leigh steps out, looking refreshed as if she didn't just burn through a few hundred calories leading a rigorous yoga session. She's wearing a cozy gray sweater and cargo pants, a much more laid-back look compared to your jeans and cardigan.

As she draws near, she tilts her head slightly and says, “I actually brought a car. Have you thought of where we're going to get dinner?”

You scramble to think of a suitable place. In-N-Out pops into your head—quick, easy, but completely wrong for the kind of talk you need to have. You can't imagine hashing out your feelings under the harsh lights of a fast food place, over burgers and fries.

“Um,” you stammer, looking around like inspiration might hit you in the face. 

“How about we head to your apartment?” Leigh suggests out of nowhere. “It's closer, and we could grab some drive-thru on the way.”

You blink at her suggestion, surprised she'd even consider it after everything that went down last time at your place.

“There's only one parking spot,” you say blankly. “And the street has no parking after 10 p.m.”

Leigh seems unfazed, offering a quick solution. “Then we’ll just take your car. I can leave mine here.”

Your nerves flare at the thought of having her back in your apartment. Your tongue feels heavy, and you can't think of a single reason to tell her why it’s a bad idea.

“Okay,” you say slowly. “Let's do that.”

You head to your car together, fumbling with the keys as you unlock it. Leigh slips into the passenger seat, and you take a deep breath before starting the engine. You pull into a drive-thru of In-N-Out and Leigh scrolls through her phone, picking out what to order. 

You know Leigh well enough to recognize that she never acts without intention. She must have agonized about this too—about that kiss, about you. And she's making it difficult for you to guess just what conclusions she had come to in the time you were apart.

-

The takeout is spread across your dining table, a small feast that Leigh ordered for the two of you. Boxes of fries, nuggets, and burgers crowd the surface, enough to feed a group. You barely nibble on a fry while Leigh is already finishing her cheeseburger, wiping her fingers with a napkin and eyeing the remaining food.

“You weren’t hungry, huh?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Guess not,” you reply, wiping away the residual salt from your fingers.

Leigh takes a sip of her drink, washing down the last bite before looking at you with purpose. “Mind if I go first?” she asks.

You narrow your eyes. So, she's eager to dive right in. “Sure, go ahead,” you say. You observe Leigh closely for the first time in what feels like ages. Concealer cakes beneath her eyes, settling into the natural wrinkles there. She’s still undeniably beautiful, but there's a tiredness to her now that’s hard to miss. Her cheeks, usually lifted by her prominent cheekbones, seem hollowed out more than usual.

“I guess I want to start by saying that I'm…” Leigh trails off, her eyes darting around as if the right words might be hidden among the packets of ketchup and silverware. “...a horrible person.”

You open your mouth to protest, but she cuts you off smoothly.

“No, listen. You were right. I ignore you out of nowhere. I take advantage of your kindness. And it’s not just you—I’ve been doing this with everyone around me for a while now. I haven't cared about what others think or feel because I was focused on being true to myself, always playing the ‘dead husband’ card. I’ve taken everyone's patience and understanding for granted, and I’m really, really sorry.”

You sit back, stunned. The whole evening, you'd braced for a different kind of conversation. You expected Leigh to say the kiss was a mistake—just a result of nerves or a lapse in judgment driven by jealousy. You had been so sure she'd shut you down, just like all the other times. 

“You're sorry?” The words slip out unbidden, tinged with surprise and skepticism.

“Yeah,” she says, looking you square in the eye. “I know it's hard to believe, but I really am sorry for how I've treated you.”

It’s going well—too well. Your mind struggles to accept it, but your heart?

“I thought you were going to say that night was a mistake. That the kiss meant nothing,” you whisper so faintly, almost as if you don't want her to hear.

“It kept me up for nights,” Leigh replies just as softly, “and that doesn’t usually happen to me over a simple kiss.”

Your heart soars.

She doesn’t regret it. She’s sorry. This is all going too well.

“It was on my mind the whole time, even when I was all the way across the country,” you whisper wantonly. 

The corners of Leigh’s lips twitch upward, and you can't tell if it's a good sign. Her saying she’s just as affected blinds you to any other cues that might suggest otherwise.

“There’s something else I need to tell you,” Leigh says darkly, leaning back into her chair with a weary slump. “Because I’m done living in half-truths and half-realities. I can’t handle any more surprises.”

You feel a flash of confusion, trying to stitch together what Leigh might say next. She knows about your cheesy alter-ego on her advice column, the details of your past with Matt. But half-truths? What does she mean by that?

Leigh meets your gaze, and there’s something about her stare that tells you she’s coming apart, yet she's clenching every muscle to keep herself intact. You want to reach across the table, to offer a touch that might steady her, but her hands are hidden, clenched in her lap beneath the table. Her shoulders hunch, making her seem smaller, as if she's trying to fold into herself.

“Leigh, just tell me,” you urge, though not impatiently.

She exhales slowly, the breath you hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “I broke up with Danny,” she finally says, and for a brief, absurd moment, relief washes over you. 

That's…it? 

Your smile starts to form, naive in its inception, but it’s quickly stifled as Leigh’s voice drops lower, and her next words cut through the nascent joy. 

“And then he said something I didn't think could drive the dagger Matt left in my heart any deeper,” she says slowly, like she’s having a hard time dragging every syllable.

Leigh takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling deliberately. “He told me he was pretty involved when you and Matt got together. That you first knew him as Nick, and he helped Matt reach out to you.”

Your heart sinks. You had almost forgotten that night with Danny when you discovered his real identity and how he fit into everything. He'd begged you to keep quiet, and in his desperation, you agreed—not because he pleaded, but because you believed Leigh was happy with him. It wasn’t your secret to reveal, not then.

You've known this all along and never said a word. Your throat tightens as panic sets in, your heart racing with the implications of having kept this from Leigh. Guilt pricks at you, cold and sharp.

“I…” Your voice falters, and you swallow hard, thinking, This is it, this is how I lose her. 

“I didn’t think it was my place to say anything,” you say. “I thought you were happy with him. I didn’t want to be the one to—”

“Y/N,” Leigh interjects softly. Her tone stops you cold—it's not angry, just… defeated. Which, somehow, feels worse. She looks down, twisting a napkin between her fingers. “I’m telling you this because I’m finding out that secrets can be just as hard to handle as loss.”

You nod absentmindedly, still processing, and move to clear the table in a daze. Wrapping up the leftover food, you tuck it into the fridge. The mundane task doesn't ease the tightness in your chest, but it gives your hands something to do.

“You’re not upset I didn’t tell you?” you ask, like you can’t believe you’ll come out of this conversation unscathed.

Leigh takes her time to answer. With your focus on tidying up, you miss the way her hands ball into fists. When she finally speaks, her voice has a steely edge for the first time this evening.

“At first, I was livid, of course. But Danny bore the brunt of it. He claimed he wanted me, but he was never on my side. If he were, he would’ve never helped Matt cheat on me.”

You finish tucking the last container into the fridge and lean back against the counter, your eyes on Leigh. She's staring out the window. How is it that she’s telling you these things, yet it still feels like she’s not revealing anything at all?

“I should’ve told you sooner,” you say softly. “I’m sorry.”

Leigh gets up and walks toward you. She stops so close that your breath catches. You remember the last time she was this near, how the world blurred, and how hard it was to think clearly. You can see the way her jaw tightens as she takes a breath.

“It wasn’t your secret to tell,” she says.

“But—” you start to say, though the thought fizzles out as she steps even closer.

“You're okay in that regard,” she murmurs, her voice low. 

In that regard? 

You want to ask what she means, but Leigh shuffles nearer still, her eyes searching your face. She's so close now that you can see the faint reflection of the kitchen light in her eyes, specs of yellow in darkened green. It’s nothing short of dazzling.

“Do you forgive me for last time?” she asks quietly. 

A lump forms in your throat, and all you can think about is how desperately you don't want to mess this up. You had forgiven her long before stepping onto a plane back to Maine. It happened as soon as you let her walk away that night, but you just couldn't accept how easy it was. 

You nod, unable to trust your ability to speak. 

Leigh's eyes soften as she watches you. Her fingertips brush against your jaw, her touch feather-light. 

“Is it okay if I kiss you, then?” she asks, both careful and seductive.

Your resounding yes comes in the form of you closing the gap, your lips meeting hers like an arrow striking its target. Leigh’s arms wrap around your shoulders instinctively, her fingers brushing the back of your neck, and you pull her in even tighter, deepening the kiss. Her breath mingles with yours as she sighs softly against your mouth, and it’s only then that when you feel all of her that Los Angeles starts to feel like a second home.

There are still questions, an unending list that always surfaces around Leigh, but they evaporate one by one when her tongue flicks out, seeking entrance. You surrender, lips parting, allowing her to taste you. The kiss grows with a messy urgency in seconds. Her hands roam down your back, gripping tightly as she presses in, as if trying to melt into you. You draw her nearer, your chests flush together as the kiss becomes wet and breathless.

Your apartment is silent except for your soft pants and the slick sounds of your lips meeting.  Doubts about your ability to please a woman creep in after such a long hiatus. But before these thoughts can take hold, Leigh takes charge. She grabs your hips and gently guides you backward toward the bedroom, cutting off any chance for you to slow things down.

She breaks the kiss just long enough to slip your cardigan off your shoulders and whisper, her breath warm against your lips, “Should we take this somewhere more comfortable?”

It seems almost unfair for her to pose that question while simultaneously moving to your neck, drawing a soft groan from you. Her teeth gently graze a sensitive spot just below your clavicle, applying pressure that promises to leave a mark, then soothing it with her tongue.

Leigh smirks when she feels you struggle for breath, much less for words. Your knees buckle slightly, but she holds you up with a firm grip, guiding you back until you bump against the edge of the bed. 

You know you're on the verge of something that might change everything, but right now, you're entirely Leigh's. There's no space to consider the implications, to remember that she was Matt's grieving widow just months ago. Right now, she's just the girl who holds your attention completely, the one who couldn't get rid of you even if she tried.

Leigh tumbles with you onto the bed, her thighs straddling your hips. With practiced ease, she removes her shirt and bra all at once, leaving her bare above you. The sight strips you of any last coherent thought. She isn’t the image of perfection peddled in glossy and well-curated social feeds; her body is beautifully real. Her tits look heavy and asymmetrical, round as grapefruit; her nipples pinkish-brown, pebbled and inviting. There’s a soft fold in her belly, and an overwhelming desire washes over you to kiss it. You think you might die just from looking at her.

You look up at Leigh and tell her, reverently, “You’re so devastatingly beautiful.” 

Leigh's cheeks flush as she tries to hide her smile behind her hair. “You don't have to tell me that,” she whispers. “You already got me into your bed.”

You chuckle, nerves still humming under the surface. “You were just as beautiful when devouring a cheeseburger.” Both of you laugh, the sound light and easy, allowing some of the thick sexual energy to dissipate slightly. 

You find yourself relaxing just enough to admit, “I'm not sure how to touch you right, but I want to make you feel good.”

“Just do whatever feels good for you,” she suggests, her expression softening further.

You scrunch your face a little at her, letting out a small chuckle. “That’s the thing—I haven't been getting much action myself.”

Leigh’s smile spreads wider into something mischievous and you swallow dryly at the sight. She shifts off your lap and settles at your side, propping herself up on one arm to look down at you. “Let me help you with that,” she murmurs, her voice low.

You're no longer smiling, feeling your face flush as you ask, “What do you have in mind?”

Instead of answering, Leigh’s fingers trace down to the button of your pants, deftly unfastening it. She gently scratches the skin beneath with her fingernail before sliding the zipper down. You watch as she bites her lip at the sight of the wet patch on your underwear before glancing back up at you. Her pupils are wide, the deep green of her irises barely visible in the surrounding darkness.

“Take them off,” she instructs softly.

You swallow heavily and do as she says, trying not to cover yourself despite feeling incredibly vulnerable. You haven't been naked in front of anyone in so long, and you're embarrassed by how exposed and wet you are right now.

Leigh watches you closely, and you can see the desire burning in her gaze. With her free hand, she reaches for you, her touch gentle, coaxing your thighs open as she trails her fingers up your inner thigh. You draw a sharp breath and close your eyes, expecting her fingers to graze your wetness next.

But Leigh surprises you—and herself—by guiding your right hand just below your navel, her fingers warm and sure on your wrist. Her times with Danny were about dominating and taking, but with you, she wants to give, to watch, to soak up every moan, every breathy reaction, every shiver. She wants to see you take pleasure for yourself, deriving her own pleasure from it.

“Start there,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your ear. “Tease yourself.”

Your hand hovers there, and she gives a slight nod of encouragement. As her touch slips away, you begin to explore the softness of your own skin, tracing light circles below your belly button. You utter a soft, “Fuck,” when your fingertips graze your slick, discovering just how turned on you really are. The filthy noises it creates make you whimper.

Leigh watches you hungrily. “You should be doing this more often,” she murmurs, eyes tracing the movement of your fingers now glistening with your own arousal. “You're so fucking hot. It's such a shame.”

The sound of her voice makes you arch your back further, hips bucking as you start a wide circular motion against your clit. Exerting every ounce of control not to come right away, you focus on the sensation of Leigh's eyes on you and the stimulation from your own fingers. You want to hold out, to let her watch you teeter on the edge. Your teeth dig into your lower lip, trying to curb the wave of pleasure building inside you.

Leigh's voice is a soothing command, whispering, “That's it, be patient. Don't rush it.”

“Fuck, Leigh, I’m—” Your words die in your throat as she lifts your shirt slowly, exposing your nipple to the cool air for a brief moment before her mouth engulfs it. The sensation of her sucking, then laving your nipple with her tongue, circling it, mimicking the motion you're doing on your clit, sends a jolt through you. Little flicks of her tongue to the tip of your nipple drive you crazy, and you gasp, your body responding eagerly to her touch.

Your rhythm stutters as she discards her pants and panties in one swift motion, leaving her gloriously bare. The sight of her naked body ignites a strong wave of desire to touch her instead, but Leigh pins you with a warning glare, silently telling you not to stop.

She straddles one of your legs, and you gasp when you feel her warm, wet pussy against your knee as she starts rocking against it. You position your leg to give her better leverage, and she starts sliding against you, her tits bouncing with each motion. Leigh's sucking on your nipple becomes sloppier, more frantic, until she can no longer concentrate and releases it with a wet pop.

“Oh, fuck, Y/N—” 

Leigh’s face contorts in pleasure as her drenched folds meet your thigh over and over, sweat dripping down between her breasts from the strain of holding herself up above you. The sight of her fucking herself against your leg is nothing short of mesmerizing. You increase the movements of your fingers, rubbing harshly at your clit as you watch Leigh, her breath coming in short gasps. Her eyes flutter closed, and a soft moan escapes her lips. The sound drives you wild, and you curve your spine, lifting your hips to meet your own hand.

Sex with anyone else has never felt this good before, and she hasn’t even properly touched you yet. It’s intoxicating, the way she takes her pleasure and gives it to you all at once. You’re lost in the haze of it all: the smell of Leigh’s arousal, her sweat-soaked skin, the sight of her tits bouncing and her face flushed with desire.

With your free hand, you grab the back of Leigh's head, guiding her down towards you. “C-Come here,” you manage to say, your voice breaking with need. 

Leigh obeys, her mouth meeting yours in a frenzied kiss. You swallow each other's moans, the taste of her lips sending a fresh wave of desire coursing through you. It's this simple, sweet connection of lips that utterly dissolves all your defenses.

A keening moan escapes you as Leigh slides a finger inside you, pushing deep to the third knuckle, causing your head to tip back and break the kiss as the tightness in your belly becomes too much. “Leigh, can I—” Your voice is a mere whisper, your body trembling with the effort to hold back.

Leigh's eyes meet yours, and she nods vigorously, her breath coming in short gasps. “Yes, come. Come with me.”

It's too much—the sight, the sounds, the feel of her—it’s all too much. With a final, shuddering whine, you let go, your orgasm crashing over you. Your body convulses, muscles clenching and releasing as you ride out the intense pleasure. Moments later, Leigh follows, her body shaking as she comes, her moans mingling with yours. Leigh’s face is a picture of bliss, her eyes half-closed, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. You try to memorize it before she collapses on top of you, a sweaty mess of tangled limbs and satisfied sighs.

Blindly, you stare up at the ceiling, trying to catch your breath, feeling Leigh's hot puffs of air tickle your neck as she catches hers. Slowly, you circle your arms around her waist, keeping her on top of you, acutely aware of every point where your skin meets hers, the warmth spreading between you. 

You bury your nose in her hair and breathe in deeply. This act feels more intimate than anything you had done moments ago. The simple closeness, the quiet afterglow, the way you can actually feel her heart beating steadily against your chest.

Minutes pass in comfortable silence, your thumb tracing lazy patterns on her back. Her breathing gradually evens out, each exhale growing softer and deeper. Realizing she's fallen asleep, a contented smile spreads across your face. You press a gentle kiss to her temple, letting your lips linger there for a moment. Carefully, you reach for the covers and draw them over both of you. You hold her close until your own eyelids grow heavy, and you drift off to sleep as well.

[coralinnii]

Congrats on 2.7k! The villain(ess) saga is my bread and butter hehe.

Anyways Id like to request borderline desperate Jamil trying to figure out Readers fav food as they can and will literally eat anything without complaint(even Lilia's cooking lol). Thank you 💖

‧₊˚✧A Dash of Sweetness ‧₊˚✧

↳ Reader S/O who eats anything

feat: Jamil  genre: fluff (like shojou manga level sweetness) note: no pronouns used with the reader, idiots in love, kinda oblivious!reader, roughly 1k words,

Random storytime, my big bro once got hungry and cooked himself eggs while the rest of us were out, and no one told him the eggs went bad. He was absolutely fine the entire day and none of us would have known if not for my bro saying it’s weird that the egg he ate was green. Yet, he said the french toasts I made once were bland T_T

Anyway, this took a while because I honestly didn't know how this story will end up, hopefully you enjoy it ^_^

2.7K Followers Writing Event 2023

Jamil can deny all day and night, but he really likes to see you enjoy his cooking. For all the times he told you that he already has his hands full with Kalim, there was suspiciously always a warm lunchbox filled with aromatic meals made by yours truly. All for that bright smile of yours whenever you would finish off the “leftover” meal that Jamil would generously share with you. 

When Jamil realized that others have fed you, his hidden competitive nature rose. While there were many competent students with skills in the kitchen, within Jamil was a desire to see a special shine in your eyes when he cooks your favorite dish, a visual only for him.

But be it due to pride or embarrassment, Jamil doesn’t seem to be the type to be upfront with his intentions, nor does he take the straightforward tactic. Instead of asking you directly, he would ease his way through conversations with your friends just to find out your most favored dish per chance. But that turned out that that was harder than he expected. 

Day after day, Jamil would hand you a new type of dish and watch your reaction for the slightest hint of preference. Perhaps a raise of your eyebrows, a slower time to take in the taste, anything. He's racking his brain and looked for every sort of dish and recipes from all parts of Twisted Wonderland for the slight chance he comes across a dish to your absolute liking. But each time, you simply smiled graciously and thanked him for sharing with you, not that he disliked it since he did get to spend more time with you through all of this. 

But each attempt makes him all the more impatient, and curious. If you looked this beautiful just eating something good, Jamil wondered how you’d look if he served you your most favored dish? Would he see your eyes light up with joy, your body shaking with excitement, your cheeks so cutely puffy and full with every bite, maybe even bring him into a spontaneous embrace filled with so much gratitude, perhaps even a kiss…  

“I’m getting ahead of myself.” Jamil hid his face in embarrassment, but the burning ears and racing heart revealed how much he wanted to see that side of you.

You found it odd how often it’s been that Jamil was offering you leftover food this past week. You’re certainly not complaining but it’s always something new everyday. Sometimes Jamil would hand you a meal mixed with aromatic spices, other times an array of sugary sweet treats and pastries. It could be a simple stew that warms your soul one day, or it could be a unique cuisine with a variety of paired side dishes. 

But every day, you would notice that he would glance your way occasionally as you partake in this gracious meal, and it’s making you a bit antsy. 

“You’ve been watching me for a while.” Your voice seemed to break whatever concentration the Scarabia student had. “Is there something you’re expecting me to say?” 

Like a deer in headlights, Jamil flinched and felt a small wave of embarrassment when he realized he was caught watching you. He was sure that he was being discrete, but he supposed that as days went on he had gotten a tad bit restless and hasty. He got sloppy, he cursed to himself.

Quickly shaking his nerves away, he replied with a smile to ease you. “I’m simply glad the food is to your taste.” 

You were hardly convinced by that. Was he experimenting with dishes, you wondered. You tried to offer some insights and compliments which seemed to satisfy the long-haired upperclassman, but you felt a sneaky suspicion that he was hoping for something else. 

“Jamil, I’m really happy that you’ve been sharing all this food with me.” You said as you settled the lunchbox to your side. “But I don’t think I’m the best person if you're looking for a detailed review on food.”

Ah yes, Jamil was aware of your generous palate. While trying to discreetly find your preferences, Jamil first assumed you had a sweet tooth when you praised the Heartslabyul vice-housewarden for his sweets. But then, Jamil overheard you enjoying your visits to Mostro Lounge so perhaps you had a pension for seafood…Then, he was thrown for a loop when he heard from a giddy Lilia that he was delighted to see you have such a rigorous appetite, having tried and finished the beef-seafood-fruit stew he made for his dormmates. 

You...were not picky, to say the least.

You felt a pang of shame for your lack of refined judgment in cuisine. “Your food is really good. Sorry, I don't know what else I can say about it that is helpful to you.”

That’s it. Jamil saw an opening. “Perhaps, I could make your favorite food,” his voice sounded as though it was a spontaneous thought. “Then it would be something you can speak more on a personal level.” 

All other attempts to learn your food preferences failed in the past, but now there was an opportunity to learn firsthand from the source. It wasn’t strange, was it? It was simply the flow of the conversation, and all the long-haired upperclassman did was offer an option. What an auspicious break for Jamil.

But when Jamil looked to you to gauge your reaction, you surprised him. 

You stared at him, eyes wide with shock. Your lips quivered and shook, as though your body was nervously processing his words, which deeply worried Jamil. Has he somehow offended you? How?! 

Finally, you spoke. “You would make something…just for me?” 

“Yes, if that’s something alright with you?”

All this time, you were under the impression that Jamil was offering you food that couldn’t be finished, and you were content with taking whatever was offered, happy that the vice-housewarden thought of you in some way. But having Jamil make something homemade purposely with you in mind… to think of you as he makes the effort to do something, hoping you will enjoy it. A sweet gesture made for you, and you alone.

Feelings of butterflies filled you as your cheeks felt hot at such thoughts. You felt your lips quiver as a goofy smile crept its way onto your face, but you tried to hide your giddiness behind your fingers.

You thought for a bit, then softly you replied. “Curry would be nice.” 

Hmm? Jamil was surprised. That’s his favorite…  

“Then, we can eat together.” You smiled nervously. “I think sharing with someone you like makes food taste better.” 

Such a lovely sight of two shy fools. One was grinning oddly while the other was hiding his shamefully burning face behind his hood.

[strawberryblue-blog]

could you do a smut where ruben x reader are at a Man City dinner and he starts touching her under the table

Bad girl —Ruben Dias.

summary: request.

warnings: yes. +18. smut, public fingering, etc.

words count: +1.5k

The evening was going on with warmth as conversation flowed easily among those present. Tonight you had come to dine at a luxurious restaurant in Manchester with the teammates of your boyfriend, Ruben Dias, who was laughing next to you as he commented something with Bernardo. It was a splendid night, everyone was happy to close a new year and finally be able to rest. The other girls and girlfriends were also laughing and talking about things.

Next to you, Jack and Sasha were joking about the name they were going to give to their baby, who was supposed to be born at the end of the month. Everyone was attentive to the details of her birth, even you were excited to meet the little one. Your relationship with all of them was magnificent, they were wise and educated women, hardworking and independent and you admired them very much.

The table is decorated with an ivory linen tablecloth, silver cutlery and cut crystal goblets reflecting the dim light of the chandelier. A small floral arrangement, discreet but exquisite, adorns the center. In front of you, the first glass of champagne is already poured, bubbling with an elegance that seems to permeate the atmosphere.

The sommelier approaches to recommend a special wine that harmonizes with the seven-course tasting menu. Each course was a work of art, a caramelized scallop on a mirror of black butter, followed by a wagyu carpaccio with pearls of white truffle. As you take a sip of the wine, an aged Merlot from a limited vintage, you feel the flavor melt in perfect sync with the dish.

The conversation continued as time went by, talking about trips you dream of taking, ambitious projects and shared memories that make you laugh. You felt confident, amused and excited, though a little heated by the recent hand on your thigh.

Ruben had held it there for the entire time as you made after-dinner conversation, his skin soft against yours. Although you tried to ignore it and act like it wasn't happening, your body was beginning to feel self-conscious from Ruben's touch. He knew exactly how to make your hair stand on end and make you feel needed and wanted.

You were wearing an innocent white silk dress, which draped over your figure, your legs were somewhat (a lot) uncovered, showing your skin but they were covered enough by the table so that no one could see too much. However, Ruben seemed to have all your attention on you, especially on your thigh.

You sighed as his fingers caressed your exposed skin, contouring figures on your thigh, as if seeking to get your attention. His perfume, a pure sweet scent, made you feel a little dizzy. But you paid it no mind as you continued to talk to Sasha.

His fingers squeezed your thigh and made you jump in place, watching him out of the corner of your eye as Ruben smiled slyly at you. Again, his fingers slipped further inside, caressing you. You placed your hand over his and ran it, giving him a quick glance to read the intent in his bright eyes. When you were distracted again, listening to Ines talk about Carlota and some advice to Sasha, Ruben's hand returned to your skin. Warm and ticklish. You hid your smile as you stirred in place when his hand moved in, unintentionally (or unwillingly) brushing against your black panties.

A wave of heat shot through your back as his fingers stroked up and down your slit, playing with you. You froze, the voices echoing in your head and fading as your breath hitched. You blinked as Ruben moved closer to you, resting his lips against your ears before whispering.

"You're already wet and ready for me" he murmured slowly making you bristle.

How could you not be? On the way out of the restaurant, he had slapped your ass, he had kissed you in the car, he had been making a jealous scene when you got to the restaurant. Ruben had been more annoying (in a good way) than usual. And you knew it was because of your dress. He wanted to have you but it wasn't the time.

You disguised it with a smile, as if he had said something funny to you and looked around seeing that no one was really paying attention but embarrassment consumed you. Yes. You were damn wet. Even with just one touch.

Ruben moves away from you again but his hand is still between your legs, this time, he circles your inner thigh and caresses it gently, looking to make you melt. You swallow saliva trying to hide that your breathing has accelerated and nod towards the girls who continue talking and telling their experiences.

His fingers slip into your center again, stroking your slit again, up and down, over and over. Moisture begins to cling to the lacy fabric and Ruben can feel how wet you are through the thin fabric. Damn. His smile widens and you can see him out of the corner of your eye as you squirm under his touch.

"That's for not listening to me, bad girl" he whispers as he comes close to your ear again. "I'll punish you so bad you'll be begging me to fuck you in that dress while I rip it off your body."

He had been insisting all night that your dress was too revealing tonight and that he was going to punish you. But touching you in front of his mates and your girlfriends? He was crazy! Besides it was no big deal, it was just a milk white silk dress that contoured your figure with a slit up one leg and a pretty plunging neckline but covered all that was necessary. Yes, maybe a little risqué for tonight but you liked it and the girls had encouraged you to wear it tonight.

Anyone looking at you right now might think you were innocently whispering like most couples here tonight, though it was quite the opposite.

Under the table, Ruben's hand was still caressing your clothed center making room inside your panties as he ran it to the side. The heat in your belly tightened and you almost let out a gasp but concealed it by sipping from your cup. He caressed your entrance, stimulating the area, spreading your juices all over your center. A small touch on your clit made you jump out of place and bite your lip hiding a moan.

This was torture. Every pore of your body burned, Ruben's fingers kept playing with you while you were engaged in dissimulation and fake smiling when what you wanted was Ruben to fuck you hard and hot. But you try to inhale and exhale in search of calming your gasps.

But his fingers keep caressing your lips, applying some pressure on your twitching button. He's determined to play with you and you won't be able to stop him and you're really thankful that everyone is busy enough with their conversations and drinks. Because when one of his fingers digs deep inside you, you turn to Ruben and your eyes roll back in pleasure. Ruben moves closer and you lean on his shoulder, dissimulating as another of his fingers penetrates you and he begins to move it, slow and torturous. This is so pleasurable and embarrassing.

Sweat begins to trickle down your back and your nipples grow hard against your hidden bra and ache, in need of attention. In need of Ruben's lips.

You want to scream and you want his fingers to fuck you hard but all you get is a slow, deep movement, leaving you trembling. You squirm in your seat, spreading your legs wider so that his fingers touch your bottom, making room in your tight, hot walls. His thumb caresses your clit and you begin to feel the pressure in your belly, driving you wild.

It's a fucking punishment. You can't even enjoy it properly, you're worried that no one is watching, pretending how to endure it and trying not to make a fuss. Because if anyone found out, it would definitely be a scandal. But Ruben doesn't seem to give a shit because his three fingers are still pumping inside you, he's unperturbed as if nothing will happen with his smile as he finger fucks you.

You're a mess. Letting yourself go in pleasure as waves of heat lunge against your body and your legs tremble as you feel your orgasm close. His fingers stay there, inside you, wet with your wetness as he smiles and you sigh for calm.

Your chest burns, your vision blurred and your head dazed. You are so close, so close that you feel the fire inside you. Your eyes threatened to close and you want to scream as you are about to orgasm but suddenly everything stops.

The pleasure. The heat. The feeling.

It stopped.

Ruben removed his fingers from your center, leaving a void inside you. Leaving you on the edge of pleasure. Cutting off your orgasm.

The pressure seems to drop in your system, like a bucket of cold water you are in shock, still feeling the spasms in your body. You swallow saliva looking for some sanity when your gaze goes to his.

He says nothing but you understand everything. He is playing with you and his words are sacred to Ruben.

He will make you beg until you die for him.