#shop counters Sydney

[writers-hes]

Request: carmy/reader, jealousy

“you’re so mean to me.” (c. berzatto x reader)

You friend sees you at the Beef while you were helping out at the counter. Carmy feels insecure. (mean!carmy, angst to fluff, just :(, sydney is such a sweetheart, protect carmen at all cost, not sure if there are spoilers, unedited.) - ACCEPTING REQUESTS!

He comes to the Beef with authority and an air of confidence. Richie noticed that he had a designer shirt on, the monogram of some brand littered on it. The shoes on his feet could cover some expenses at the Beef. You were helping out at the counter that day. Carmy has been telling you how stressful the Beef had been since day one and you decided that on your days off, you’d go down to the shop and help. Carmy wished you didn’t come that day…not if he was there.

The first time you came, Carmy was bewildered. He was a blushing, babbling mess when his girlfriend came to help. “Ayo, Jeff, stop staring and give the girl a job!” Tina teased, making Carmy’s ears turn red. 

“Alright, Chef,” he said, looking at you, finally breaking out of his trance. “Come to the office and I’ll…orient you,” he takes your hand and brings you to the back office before you could say hi to his coworkers. “Syd, cover for me!”

“Yes, chef!” 

He locked the door behind him and kissed your head. 

“Hey, baby. What are you doing here?” he asked. His voice was soft, dripping with vanilla and honey.

“It’s my day-off and you’ve been telling me how much you needed another person at the counter and I decided to come down and help out. I’m sure Richie could help me,” you said. “But if you think that I might disrupt the system, I can leave and stay in the area! We can go on a date after your shift,” 

Carmy could just melt. How were you so considerate and beautiful and kind to him? He was so sure that he didn’t deserve you. He was almost certain that you were too good for him. Too good for everyone.

“I promise, I won’t mind whatever you choose, Carm.” you said, smiling softly at him. You could see the gears in his head turning. 

“No, no. I want you here,” said. “I want you here.”

“Okay. I’ll stay,” he hears, and you kiss him softly. “I’ll go to Richie and ask him to teach me the basics, okay?”

“Alright,” he said, pecking your lips “Just come to the office if you’re not feeling it, okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod, leaving the space and leaving a lovesick Carmy in the office. 

“Hey, guys! Sorry if I’m here on short notice. I’ll just keep out of your way and help Richie out, okay?” you asked. The kitchen hums and releases a series of “sure”, “okay”, and “thank you’s.”

“Chefs! I’ll take care of family today,” Carmy said a few moments later. He was watching you joke around with Richie. He was teaching you the basics and teaching you how to take orders. 

The first time you helped out, Carmy was tense. He didn’t want anything to happen to you. Nothing to touch you but soon, once you were well-integrated in their system, the kitchen found themselves looking forward to every Wednesday when Carmy was calmer, less annoying, and less rude. It’s like you take out every bad thing in him. 

-

Not today though. Not when Richie saw your eyes widen in recognition, an instantaneous sweet smile plastered on your face.

“Ayo, cousin!” he calls, while you almost literally jumped over the counter to talk to this guy. 

“Lawrence!” you greeted, taking him in a hug. “How are you? Richie, this is my childhood friend, Lawrence. Lawrence, this is Richie,”

Richie could only give a grimace and a half-assed wave. Where the fuck was Carmy?

“Wait for a bit,” you asked. “Sit down, okay? Your sandwich is on the house.” You looked at Richie to ask if he could cover for a few minutes and he nodded. He shouts at the order in the kitchen.

“Who’s that asshole?” he asked, getting a glass of pop. 

“My childhood friend,” you said. “We grew up in the same street together,”

“What does he do?”

“Finance…I think? It’s been a while since we last talked. I think last year?” you wondered. “I didn’t even know that he was still in Chicago because we saw each other in New York,”

“Carmy knows him?” 

“No, I don’t think so. I don’t talk about him alot. I think Carmy only knows him as a childhood friend,” you said. “They’ve never met each other.”

Richie gives you the drink and the sandwich that Tina prepared. You uttered a thanks before walking to whereLawrence sat. 

“I didn’t know you worked here,” he said, taking the sandwich from the tray. 

“I didn’t know you still lived here,” you said. “The last time that I saw you was in New York. I thought you were a big finance guy?”

“Ah, I quit,” he shrugged. “Decided to start my own start-up here in Chicago. I had enough savings and well, you know,”

“Of course,” you nod. “I don’t work here. I just help out once a week because everything’s been so busy,”

“Hm,” he hums. “My employees have been raving about the sandwiches here since the new management took over. Decided to try it out and sure enough, you were there.”

“Fuck! Where the fuck were you?” Richie asked Carmy when he finally came through the back door. Some rich asshole has been wooing your girl in the seating area. Says he’s her childhood friend or some shit,”

“Who?” Carmen asked, removing his jacket. 

“Your girlfriend took a break to talk to a customer, Jeff.” Tina said. Carmy frowned, walking briskly to you. The staff huddled, intrigued at how this could unfold. Carmy has never felt jealousy before. He’s never had to deal with girlfriends and their guy friends that definitely look at you too long. He’d never have to deal with Lawrence who was so obviously flirting with you. He’d never have to deal with you accepting it. The jealousy consumes him.

“Carmy! Come here,” you said when you finally noticed him. He’s been standing there for minutes while you listened to this guy drone on about how bored he was with his money. How you were probably meant to see each other again. 

“Hey,” Carmy greets the guy in front of you. A chair scrapes loudly on the floor, reverberating in the whole restaurant. He sits down. 

“Carmy’s the owner of this place,” you told Lawrence. “He’s my boyfriend.”

“He is?” Lawrence asked and Carmy could feel him sizing him up in his dirty white t-shirt. “I’m Lawrence. We grew up together,”

“Oh,” Carmy said. “Uh, babe, can I talk to you for a minute in the office?”

“Sure,” you said. “I have to go,” you told Lawrence, who stood up as well. His sandwich was half-eaten and it annoyed Carmy. Had he no respect to at least finish the food in front of the chef who made it? Asshole. 

“No, it’s fine. I’m leaving too,” Lawrence said. “I have a meeting around here. I’ll see you?” he asked. 

“Of course,” You removed your hand from Carmen to hug Lawrence and it fucking hurt. Lawrence kisses the side of your head before sparing a glance to Carmy. What an asshole. 

“What was it, Carm?” you asked, smiling. You were almost forgiven because of how sweet you looked but Carmy have always felt things too intensely. He couldn’t stop what came from his mouth and it was too late. Too fucking late and the damage has been done.

“Go home,” he said, coldly. Your face fell and Carmen wanted to take it back. He felt you recoil yourself away from him, as if he’s hurt you. As if he burned you.

“Bear?” you asked softly.

“Go home,” he repeated. You frowned, grief-stricken but you nodded. 

“Okay,” you whispered. “I’ll…I’ll just get my stuff from the locker,”

Carmy looks away from you and you clear your throat. Walking away from him, you saw the staff pretend like they weren’t listening.

“Hey, guys. I’m going…going home,” you said, trying to stabilize your wavering voice. Tears were threatening to spill but you blink them away. “I don’t feel well, and I realized I have this…thing to attend to.” you lied.

“Of course, sweets,” Tina says. “Get home safely, okay?” she asked. 

“Yeah. I’ll let you know once I’m home.”

“I’ll come with you,” Sydney says, glaring at Carmen. 

“No, it’s— “

“It’s just a few blocks away. I’ll take you.” she says, and you nodded, walking to the locker room with her. 

“Sorry for being such a bother,” you said while you waited for her to change into her outside shoes. 

“You’re not,” she reassured. “Let’s go?”

-

“I didn’t know what I did wrong,” you said, walking away from The Beef. “I was just so excited to see my friend. We grew up together, you know? In the same street. Went to the same school and we haven’t seen each other in a year. I didn’t know what I did for Carmy to be so mean.”

“It’s okay,” Syd says, not wanting to get in the middle. “Just explain things to him, okay? You’re the only person he listens to.”

“I guess,” you nodded, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “I just…he’s never been that way to me before. It feels new and I don’t like it,”

Syd, who’s been on the receiving end of Carmy Berzatto’s anger, wanted to protect you from him but it wasn’t her place. She wanted so badly to tell you to let him cool off.

The remaining walk back to your apartment was quiet. You both didn’t know what to say, where to start. 

“Do you want to come in?” you asked Sydney. “Refresh a bit?”

“No, I’m fine. I might be needed at the restaurant,” Syd says. You nod, going in for a goodbye hug with your friend. “I’ll see you?”

“Yeah. Thanks for walking me home. Stay safe, okay?”

-

The kitchen hated Carmy that day. He was ruder, more annoying, more…insufferable. Tina said that he handled the situation wrong, Eibrahim and the others, except for Richie agreed. So, when Sydney comes back, the first thing she say was, “What the fuck, Carmen?”

“Stay out of it, Sydney,” Richie warns but Sydney did not give a fuck. Seeing her friend so defeated, so sad stirred something in her. Maybe she was biased because she actually liked you

“She was crying all the way from here,” she said. Carmy felt like he was going to throw up. “Grow up, Carmy. Just because you can’t handle that she has other friends, doesn’t mean you have to take it out on her.”

“Fuck off, Sydney.”

Sydney stands, taken aback. She was just trying to help.

“Fine,” she says, blinking. “But if you come to an empty home, don’t take it out on us.”

-

Sydney’s warning rang in his ears as he drove home. He was anxious but his anger superseded every emotion that he was feeling. That was why, when he opened the door, he immediately looked for you. 

“Who was that?” he demanded. Anxiety and anger had such a bad mix and he knew it. He couldn’t stop. That friend of yours made him feel so insecure. 

“Carmen,” you sighed. “He’s my friend. Lawrence. I told you about him before,”

“Carmen?” he chuckled. He’s just Carmen now? “I don’t like him.”

“Why?” you asked, exasperated. “He’s nice. I was actually so excited for the two of you to meet until you ruined it. He’s my friend that I haven’t seen in over a year, Carmy. Wasn’t it a natural reaction to be excited?”

“What? You’re telling me that I ruined your little date in my restaurant?” he asked, voice raising. “That’s nice. Sorry for bothering you,”

“We weren’t even doing anything wrong!” you said, walking away. You didn’t want this—you just wanted to talk about things without screaming. 

“Hey! Get back here, I’m talking to you!”

“Talk about what, Carmen?” you asked. “You’re not listening to me. Okay? What is there to talk about?”

“You let him all over you like that! Took a break just to spend time with him,” he sneered. “And-and he looked at you like you were his. You let him kiss you. You let him do things to you and you just fucking accepted it.”

“What?” you asked. “Lawrence and I grew up like that There’s nothing wrong with it,” you tried. You were probably being too defensive, not letting Carmy explain his side but you were hurt when he dismissed you just like that. When he let you go without a kiss. He just looked away when you were pleading with him. 

“So, you’d rather defend your old fucking friend instead of trying to fix this bullshit,” Carmen spits. “Heard,”

“What?” your heart dropped. “Bullshit?” The first tear falls like it was rehearsed. It broke your heart to hear Carmy call you relationship bullshit when you’ve spent the best days of your life with him. When you helped him through the nightmares…when he took care of you. “Bullshit, huh, Carmen?”

You couldn’t form a string of coherent sentences. Your mouth was agape, trying to process what he just said. Fix this bullshit. Fix this bullshit. You nod, pursing your lips to stop yourself from crying. 

Bullshit. It was when you stayed up late to make sure that he slept peacefully, threading your fingers in his golden hair so he could feel your presence. Bullshit. It was when you picked him up from some bar downtown because he decided to drink with Richie. Bullshit. It was when you sacrificed your days-off just so you could spend more time together. Bullshit. It was when he showed up on your first date with flowers that you pressed in between the pages of your favorite book. Bullshit. It was when Carmen told you that he loved you because you made him a burnt grilled cheese sandwich. Bullshit. Bullshit, bullshit. It was ringing in your ear, breaking your heart in a million pieces. 

“Fuck, baby,” Carmen takes it back when you moved to walk towards the door. “I’m sorry— “

“Is that all it was to you?” you asked. “Bullshit? Is that why you dismissed me so coldly earlier? Because it’s bullshit?” Tears are on your face now and you wipe them away. “It’s bullshit, huh?”

“Baby…”

“Don’t,” you said. “Fuck, you’re so…so mean,” you said, crouching on the floor to shield yourself away from him. “I…I don’t know what I did wrong,” you whispered. “And I’m sorry if my actions hurt you but that’s how I grew up with Lawrence. I didn’t know that I was hurting you but, fuck,” you sobbed. “You’re so mean to me, Bear.” You didn’t mean it as an endearment, and he knew that.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he says, crouching down to your level. “I didn’t mean to say that. I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispers, taking you in his arms. You didn’t want to fight back. “I’m sorry for-for doing that. For projecting my insecurities on you. I just…he has life figured out and I could never give you what he could give. I’m sorry, baby. I’m so fucking sorry,”

“I don’t want him,” you sniffled. “I’m with you, you know? Please…please, don’t call it bullshit. Because it’s not…for me, at least.”

“It’s not bullshit. I’m sorry, so fucking sorry for saying that. I’m so sorry,” he rambles sincerely. “You’re the best person that I’ve met. I love you. I love you so much that the thought of anyone else loving you drives me mad. I’m sorry,”

“You were mean to me,”

“I was, baby. I was,” he said. “I promise to stop myself from being mean. I’m so sorry. I don’t-don’t want to lose you. Please-please don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave.”

“I’m not going to leave you, Carmen.” you cooed, and you felt his arms tighten around you.

“Not that name, please. I’m just so fucking sorry for saying that and making you feel bad. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” you said. “I’m sorry too. I should have been more considerate. I love you so much, Bear.”

“It’s my fault. All my fault,” 

“It’s not.”

“Can we-can we go to bed?” he asked, pulling away from you. You nodded. That night, when you were half-asleep, you felt his calloused hand caress your cheek. You’d never tell him, but you heard him. Loud and clear.

“I love you,” he whispers. “You don’t know how much I love you and I’m sorry. I love you.”

A/N: No Carmen Berzatto taglist yet! Also, if you’re waiting for the Tommy Shelby fic, you might have a to wait a week more before I release it. I want to release a chapter every week and I haven’t written the second chapter for this week yet. Thank you for reading! Don’t forget to leave comments and reblogs :)

[answer2jeff]

' treat me tonight '

a/n: this is (debatably) some of the best smut i've ever written but i'm still new to the field ! give ya girl some suggestions if desired.

song : i know we could be so happy baby.

warnings : fluffy smut, fem!reader, oral (fem receiving), piv sex (unprotected), both reader and carmen have a bit of a praise kink, brief hairpulling, the "L-word," established relationship, gets a little rough towards the end, back scratching, porn with no real plot. not proofread

word count: 2.6k+

MDNI : i am not responsible for your media consumption.

NSFW under the cut — last warning!

"Try it," Carmen cupped your jaw as he lifted the wooden spoonful of creamy, tomato soup to your mouth, thumbing your bottom lip gently so you could carefully swallow every last bit. He enjoyed feeding you, if he was being totally honest. Even if this had been upon your request. Making his girl happy with what he did best was nothing short of a blessing to him.

"Mmm," you hummed in amusement, swallowing before smiling contently and nodding your head. "'S great, Carmy. Fuckin' delicious."

Long days at work dealing with insensitive clientele and immature coworkers seemed to be so easily remedied by Carmen's cooking. You weren't sure if it was because it was him catering to you and loving you the one way he always knew how, or if the food was just that fucking amazing. Maybe a little bit if both.

"Yeah? Alright," he chuckled a bit, grabbing the ladle beside the pot and scooping the simple, yet beautifully crafted tomato soup into a ceramic bowl. He seemed to know exactly how you liked it, despite him asking you if you enjoyed it every. single. time.

You accepted the bowl with a sickly sweet smile on your face, giving Carmen a kiss on his clean shaven cheek to thank him for his gesture before hoisting yourself up onto the kitchen counter. Carmen just stood with his arms crossed against his chest as he leaned against the dining table, candidly watching you enjoy the warm bowl of soup

"So," you slurped some of the soup as you paused, "I'm thinkin' of giving Syd that top we found the other day."

Thrifting had become of recent liking to you anD Carmen. Just shopping and mooching around Chicago in search of vintage pieces. Mostly to actually wear, but partly to collect or regift to fellow friends. Last time you two had a day off, you found a beautiful vintage button down. A white base with downward blue stripes with a finely stitched breast pocket containing a 'V' pattern. The cuffs were cinched perfectly. It was a little baggy, too, which you knew Sydney would love.

"Ooh, yeah. I, uh, I really liked that. I think she'd really love it," Carmen nodded, "You gonna get 'er somethin' else with it? Like, to pair with it? Or just the shirt?"

"I was gonna ask you to help me with that, actually," you pointed a finger to Carmen, turning away for just a moment to gently place the empty bowl and spoon into the kitchen sink.

Carmen always thought you had a good eye for other people's tastes. Not just in fashion. The world seemed unpredictable to Carmy. But you made it look so easy, so loving to just know what people wanted. He always wished he had that kind of understanding for people. But for now, he'd admire such a trait you had.

"Hm?"

"I remember she mentioned something about having all these cool tops n' jackets and such, but, like—hardly any nice pants other than those fuckin' jeans she loves."

"Mhm," he stepped closer to you and planted his hands on your shoulders. But you soon reached for them and planted them on your hips, earning a little upward curl of his lip.

"I know you loved those nice jeans like they were your babies 'till you had to sell them," you frowned, entangling your fingers in his messy, blonde curls while your other hand rested on the back of his neck.

"Fuck, I know. Really wish I didn't have to," he tried to let out a breathy laugh to compensate for the genuine disappointment.

Fuck, did he love those pants. Pants were the one piece of fashion Carmen didn't have to second guess himself on. From jeans to slacks, he knew how to pair every possible fabric. And he never knew how to flatter the upper half of his body, so he always wore those dammed white t-shirts.

Not that you were complaining.

Especially right now, the t-shirt highlighting his broad shoulders and exposing his thick arms plastered with sentimental tattoos you always loved. You began to run your hands up and down the exposed skin. He glanced down at your patterned touch, flattered.

"Yeah, yeah. Well, anyway, I need you to help me look for a nice pair of jeans for Sydney. Can y'do that for me, hun?"

Carmen nodded rapidly, his eyes drifting from your lips and back into your eyes. His thumbs rubbed intricate little circles of adoration into your thighs.

"Yeah, baby," he smiled. "This weekend, maybe? I can take a couple hours," tilting his head, he held your chin to pull your face just inches away from his own. Something about your tendencies to make the ones you loved happy with little surprises just warmed him.

"Mhm. That works," you sighed, planting a soft kiss on his lips before wrapping your arms around his neck.

Carmens immediate suggestion just struck something in you. Months ago, he would've thrown excuse after excuse (although valid) as to when he couldn't be available, but never when he could. You felt proud of him.

"You're so good to me, Carmen."

"Yeah?"

He was learning. He was loving.

"Mhm," you barred your bottom lip behind your teeth, giving Carmen's arms a squeeze. He exhaled sharply and wondered where this could've been going.

You drove him a little crazier than he ever liked to admit. A delicate hand reached away from your hip and up to your face. He thumbed your bottom lip, the reflection of the kitchen light shining against your mouth that was glossy with a mix of both of your salivas. Carmen gazed at you in awe, a little embarrassed when he realized how long he'd been staring.

"I—" he shrugged, struggling to find the words, "I'd do it all for you, baby."

Whispering back as he began to cave in, he leaned into your neck and placing an opened mouth kiss on the skin. The smell of your perfume and the natural scent of your body was so familiar to him. It distracted him enough to let his hands roam up and down your torso before repeating that same motion on your thighs.

"Want you t.." you swallowed, your eyes shutting harshly when when he sucked a bruising hickey onto your skin.

"Want me to what, sweet girl?" Carmen mumbled, the butterflies in your stomach raging when his teeth grazed against the spot. You gently anchored your hand into his hair and pulled him away from your neck so you could see him again.

"Want you to treat me tonight," you whispered as your hands travled up to his shoulders.

He wished you could be more specific. But with your pretty eyes, your kiss-swollen lips, your thighs spread against the cold marble counter as they spilled out of your cotton shorts, how could he tease you any longer?

"That I can do."

—

Carmens body seemed to loosen up and relax as his rough hand slid down lower on your back to grab at the waistband of your shorts. You practically melted to his touch. He kissed you again, smiling against your lips as you giggled into the kiss once he slid your shorts down to your ankles. You nodded when he pulled away, ensuring him that he was on the right track.

"Need you t'spread, baby," his hand pried between your soft thighs.

"O—okay," You bit the inside of your cheek as you slowly spread your legs apart. The wet spot of arousal in the middle of your panties was completely in view now. Feeling Carmen's eyes drifting downward, you accidentally drew your knees closer together again.

"Hey," Carmen whispered while he looked into your eyes for an answer, despite your gaze being glued to the floor.

"You okay? We don't have to do thi—"

"No, no," you shook your head, "I want to. Just..not used to it. That's all."

It was true. You'd only tried oral about twice. And it went great, you couldn't deny. But you still struggled to literally open yourself up to him. You just needed a little encouragement.

"You don't have to hide, baby. You look—you are beautiful," he kissed your forehead, "so, so beautiful. Okay?"

Finally feeling some reassurance, you tried again. You spread your legs once again and let Carmen peel your soaked panties down your legs to where your shorts had been. He gave you one last look to see if you were ready, to which you happily nodded.

In the sweetest gesture, Carmen removed his own t-shirt so you wouldn't be alone. He unbuttoned his jeans and tossed them somewhere near the dining table, being left in just his boxers that outlined his slowly hardening cock.

"Thank you," you chuckled.

"Of course."

Carmen began trailing kisses from your neck down to your shoulder blade. His hands gently lifted your tank top over your head before cupping one of your breasts, his fingertips playing with your hard nipple as he kissed you one last time. He sank down to his knees, hooking your calves over his shoulders. You scooted a little closer to the edge of the counter to give him the best access to your throbbing cunt.

"Yep. Right here, baby."

He had you exactly where he wanted you.

You finally looked down at him after avoiding direct eye contact for the past few minutes. His blue eyes fully encapsulated you. He looked gorgeous between your thighs. Especially when he sucked little hickeys that wouldn't actually last against your inner thighs that made you squirm.

"You look pretty like this, bear," your hand reached to brush a loose curl out of his face. The flush that colored his pale cheeks was cute.

"You think so?" Carmen grinned. He relished in the feeling of having such gentle yet everlasting control. In his own kitchen, his beautiful girl in his hands, her thighs around his head, fully willing and wanting to let him take every part of her he could ever imagine.

You were nothing short of perfect to him.

Not wanting to waste any more time, and without preamble, he licked a bold stripe from your entrance to your swollen clit. Your breath hitched in your throat when his grip on your thighs tightened. He started to create a sense of rhythm, roughly sucking on the sensitive mound of nerve endings before soothing it with kitten licks and flat-tongued strides.

Your hand tugged at a handful of his curls. He groaned at the sensation, swirling his tongue around you to feel every fucking inch of your pussy.

"Fuck, Carmy..."

"You got the prettiest pussy, baby. So good and wet for me," he mumbled against you, his eyes still remaining closed. He needed to focus, or else he might fall apart at the sight of pure, filthy pleasure on your pretty face.

"Shut up—" you protested.

Your thighs began to shake as your head reeled back. Carmen hesitated for a moment, wiggling his fingers around anxiously before pulling his mouth away from your vulva and ever so carefully slipping in 2 large fingers.

A long, drawn out moan escaped your mouth the moment he curled his fingers upward into your g-spot. The idea of staying quiet was out of the fucking question. Oh, and now that Carmen's tongue was back on you? Forget it.

"Oh my fucking g—fuck!" you smacked your hand over your mouth, your other hand still entangled in your lovers hair. Pulling and tugging and earning the sexiest groans you'd ever heard in your life.

The sound of your voice slowly raising in pitch was enough for Carmen to change his pace. He inched himself even closer, and at an otherworldly speed flicked his tongue repeatedly against your clit. Over. And over. And over again. But his fingers slowed down to avoid overstimulating you. He needed this to last. Blissfully.

The knot in your stomach that indicated your teeter against your orgasm taunted you.

"Carm, I'm—" you took a short breath moaning incohereant babbles along the lines of 'so fuckin' good, just like that, baby' until you blurted, "I'm probably not gonna last any longer..'S too much."

You'd grown so desperate to cum that your hips ground back and forth, the tip of Carmens tongue perfectly brushing against your sensitive clit while he used the hand that was once fucking you to squeeze the fat of your breast. With his other hand, he reached down to palm his throbbing cock through the thin fabric of his boxers. He pulled his erection out from the cloth and stroked himself slowly, the final moan of "fuck," shortly followed by your name before he harshly sucked on your clit once more, was enough to throw you over the edge.

"Oh, fuck, Carmy!"

After the last couple minutes of him practically making out with your pussy, your body finally allowed itself to release, your legs shaking vigourisly as you tried desparately to catch your breath. You could literally feel a pulse-like sensation on your clit from the orgasm.

It was dirty, filthy; cumming on Carmen's pretty face right on top of his kitchen counter.

But fuck, was it hot.

—

"You think you got another one left in there for me, baby?" Carmen cooed, wrapping your legs around his hips and drawing you in so close that your breasts were pressed against his bare chest. He peppered kisses along your jaw until he resided on your lips, his tongue slipping in to create a sloppy, passionate mess of a kiss.

His clothed hard-on pressed against your clit, which was nearly fully recovered, lacking the overwhelming sensitivity it had just a couple minutes ago.

"Maybe you should find out," you teased against his ear, nipping at the skin of his neck right underneath. You gently pressed your hand against his chest, backing him up just the slightest bit so you could slip his pre-cum soaked boxers with ease.

Without another thought, Carmen carefully lined himself up with your pussy. The head of his dick passed between your folds to build anticipation. Your hands gripped his shoulders, slippery with sweat, once he finally began to push his raw cock into your hole, your arousal serving as a perfect lubricant.

"Fuck," he rasped as he watched his cock disappear into your pussy in awe "so fuckin' tight for me. So pretty n' perfect."

The two of you hardly waited to allow every thrust and slap of skin against skin get messy and rough. With Carmen desperately needing to cum and you anxiously needing to feel him inside of you, there wasn't much consideration for a slow fuck.

"Fuck me, Carmen."

With that, Carmen dug his hands into your hips and pulled several inches out of you before slamming back in. You somehow moaned louder every time. His face contorted to pure, ravenous pleasure and lust as moan and groan after groan writhed from his throat. Your nails clawed at his back, earning a "shit," and his teeth sinking into your shoulder as you ground back and forth against him to achieve the perfect thrusting angle.

"I love you," he whimpered, fucking whimpered his adoration for you. He was completely pussy drunk, his thrusts turning fast and short unlike they were when they started out.

Those words made your heart pound in your head. Sure, you'd exchanged 'I love you's' during the last year or so of your relationship, but you couldn't recall a time it was said during rough-kitchen-counter-sex.

"I love you so fuckin' much, Carm," you sobbed in a fit of utter horniness and overwhelming sense of pleasure, feeling Carmen's thick cock and squeezing your warm, gummy walls around him.

"I'm gonna cum, angel, I—"

"I know, baby. Go ahead. W-want you to fill me up."

Almost as if the universe had been working specifically in your favor, you managed to reach your orgasm just seconds before he did. Every drop of your arousal went down his thigh, while his cum perfectly filled up your cunt. He pulled out slowly watching the white and sticky semen drip down your hole.

"Was that your idea of me 'treating you' tonight?"

[meazalykov]

open goals

lena oberdorf x bayern!reader

part one here - part two - part three here

summary: love wins at bayern munich

warnings: angst, one mention of childhood neglect, this part is very long too, enemies to lovers.

after some time, in february 2024, everything changed. 

you get home after training one evening, still feeling the unease that you can’t quite place. you try to shake it off as you walk through the front door, tossing your bag to the side, and head straight for the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

your mind is still spinning with all the weird little moments from today, but you can’t quite put your finger on what’s bothering you. 

everyone being so nice, so... attentive. well, your european teammates have always been the sweetest– sometimes clingy– but today feels different. your intuition tells you so. 

your fingers drum against the counter as you stare off at nothing, you try to brush it off as paranoia. it was probably nothing, they’re being the best teammates that they are.

the pink iphone of yours buzzes just as you take a sip of water, and you glance down to see your national teammate’s name flashing on the screen. 

relief floods you; it’s been a minute since you last talked to her, and you need some normalcy right now, something that feels comfortable and familiar. you quickly swipe to answer.

“heyyyy!” you greet, trying to sound casual as you lean back against the counter.

“hey girl,” she laughs, her voice bright and cheerful. 

“god, it’s been forever since we last talked. i got bored and saw your contact so i figured i’d call you. i hope i am not interrupting?”

“you aren’t. i just got home.” you smile.

“okay cool! how are things? how’s training?”

“oh, you know, same old,” you say, forcing a smile even though she can’t see you. 

“just finished up for the day like i said. bayern’s... good. how’s everything with you? i know you just transferred from lyon to chelsea last month. how is everything? you’ve been at lyon since forever.” 

“forever as in a few years? ha i am doing good. the girls here are sweet.” your teammate says, you can hear the comfort in her voice. 

“thats great! jess mentioned that you were getting comfortable.”

“yeah, yeah. honestly, the problem is getting used to a new routine,” she groans dramatically, and you laugh, feeling yourself relax a little. 

“can’t wait to catch up with you when we’re back together at the national camp. what about you? how’s georgia doing? and the others?” your national teammate continues. 

you feel a little warmth spread through your chest at the mention of your bayern teammates. 

“oh, they’re great. georgia’s, well, being georgia as always. sydney’s loud and chaotic. nothing’s really changed, y’know? just the usual chaos.”

“sounds about right,” she says, chuckling. 

“but hey, speaking of georgia... she told me that you were getting a new tattoo soon by her? something about matching with some of the bayern crew?”

“yeah, actually, later tonight,” you reply, glancing at the clock. 

“heading over to georgia’s shop in a bit. i’m not getting one today, though—sam is. but... yeah, we’ll all be there.”

“oh, nice,” she says, and you can hear her moving around on the other end, probably putting dishes away or something. 

“what’s sam getting?”

“not sure,” you admit with a shrug, even though she can’t see it. 

“i think it’s a symbol or something. you know sam—always something meaningful.”

“classic sam,” she says with a fond chuckle, and for a moment, everything feels light and easy. just a normal catch-up between friends.

but then her tone shifts a bit, a hesitant edge creeping in. 

“hey, uh... you’ve been good, right? like, with... everything going on?”

you blink, confused by the sudden change in topic. 

“yeah, i mean... yeah, everything’s fine. why?”

she hesitates, and you can hear the hesitation in her voice. 

“i just... i don’t know. i thought you might be, um, worried. about... well, about the rumors and stuff.”

“rumors?” you repeat, furrowing your brow. “what rumors?”

“about lena,” she says softly, like she’s not sure how you’re going to take it. 

the smile on your face drops from the sound of her name. 

“you know... her possibly transferring to bayern.”

you freeze, the air catching in your throat. “what?” you say, your voice coming out sharper than you intended. 

“what do you mean… transferring? lena’s at wolfsburg. she’s been there forever and i remember lea mentioning something about her signing a renewal with them.”

there’s a pause, and you hear her take a deep breath. 

“yeah, i know, but... haven’t you seen the news on social media? like, there’s a bunch of talk that she might be coming to bayern. i mean, it’s all just rumors right now, but... i figured someone would’ve mentioned it to you. i thought... i thought you knew.”

you shake your head even though she can’t see you, trying to process what she’s saying, but it feels like she’s speaking another language. 

“no, no, i didn’t know. why would... why would lena come to bayern? that... that doesn’t make sense.”

“i mean, she’s one of the best players in germany,” your teammate points out, her voice still soft and cautious. 

“it kinda makes sense for her to move to a big club like bayern... i’m sorry– i know you hate me for saying that–but i didn’t think you’d be finding out like this. shit shit shit, i’m sorry, y/n. i honestly thought you knew.”

“no,” you say quickly, trying to keep your voice steady even as your mind is racing. “no, i... i had no idea. i mean... lena and bayern, that’s... that’s not possible. it can’t be real.”

“it’s all just talk right now,” she reassures you, but you can hear the uncertainty in her voice. 

“look, maybe it’s just rumors, you know how these things go. people are always saying players are going here and there. remember when the news said that you were leaving munich to go to new york?? that never happened! but... i dunno, i’ve been seeing it all over my timeline.”

you feel your heart pounding in your chest, and there’s a dull ringing in your ears as you try to make sense of everything. 

“you’re... you’re joking, right?” you force out a laugh, but it sounds shaky. 

“please tell me you’re joking.”

“i wish i was,” she says, and your stomach drops. “i can send you the links if you want to see for yourself.”

“fine,” you say, feeling like you’re on autopilot now, the panic starting to build in your chest. 

“send them over.”

the moment the call ends, the links start coming through—one after the other, headlines that make your eyes blur with disbelief. 

“wolfsburg star rumored to be signing with bayern…”

“lena oberdorf could be on the move…” 

“bayern munich set to sign germany’s young talent…”

it’s like the words swim in front of your eyes, and your breath catches in your throat.

you stare at your phone, feeling the world shift beneath your feet. it feels like everything is closing in, like the room is getting smaller and smaller, and all you can do is sit there, trying to remember how to breathe. 

lena. at bayern. in the same locker room as you. wearing the same crest as you. doing the same cheers and learning the handshakes. it feels like a nightmare, but you’re wide awake.

she’d never come here. she’d never... never follow you to bayern. not after everything. you told yourself.

but then again, lena was always one step ahead, always getting to you when you least expected it. 

what if it’s true? what if she really is coming here?

you shakily text your teammate back—hey, i’ll call you later,—but you know you won’t. not now. not while your head is spinning like this.

you make it to georgia’s tattoo place, just about two minutes late but munich traffic during rush hour was busy. the bell above the door chimes as you step in, and the familiar smell of ink and antiseptic fills the air. 

georgia’s setting up her tattoo gun for sam, who’s chatting animatedly with ana, lea, and sydney on the side. usually, you’d be joking around with them, too, but today you’re barely holding it together.

georgia looks up, smiling as you walk in. “hey, you made it! ready to watch the magic happen while sam panics the whole time?”

“shut up!” sam protests. 

you force a smile, but it feels fake, plastered on. you can’t focus on anything but the whirlwind of thoughts spinning in your head. 

“yeah... yeah, sure,” you mumble, feeling like your voice is coming from someone else’s mouth.

sydney notices the look on your face and frowns. 

“y/n? what’s up? you have the same face you made when we got knocked out of the champions league last month.”

you swallow hard, your voice wavering as you ask the question that’s been clawing at your mind the entire way over. 

“did... did you guys know about lena? that she’s... coming to bayern?”

the room goes quiet, and you see the way georgia’s shoulders tense, the way sydney exchanges a look with ana. 

no one speaks for a moment, and the silence feels like it’s crushing you.

lea is the one to break it, stepping forward and reaching out to touch your arm gently. 

“y/n, we didn’t want to tell you until we knew for sure. it’s all rumors right now—lena hasn’t told me anything about that yet. nothing is confirmed, okay?”

“yeah,” sydney adds quickly, crossing her arms, her voice firm. 

“look, lena’s a good player. if she’s coming to bayern, it’s not to make your life harder. she probably wants to be close to her friends, her family... you should know that this isn’t about you.”

“but it feels like it’s about me,” you admit, hating the tremor in your voice. “it’s like she’s... she’s invading my space, and i... i don’t know what to do about it. what if she comes here and makes everything... worse?”

you tell yourself you’re a professional, and lena is too. you tell yourself that maybe things will be okay. but the past still grips your chest tightly, reminding you of every moment of anger, every tackle, every taunt. and deep down, you know you’re not ready to let that go. not yet.

when lena confirms to the public that she will join bayern after this season ends, with the bayern pages itself posting pictures of lena signing the contract beside bianca-- you feel dread.

“what if she takes my spot? what if she bullies me in the locker room when you guys aren’t around?” you found yourself blurting out to pernille, magda, and tuva in the lounge room the following morning.

“what if she… i don’t know, what if she ruins everything and i’d have to move clubs?”

“süße erbse,” tuva said gently, placing a hand on your shoulder. “you really think we’d let that happen? lena’s good, but you’re y/n l/n. we love you here.”

“yeah,” pernille added with a grin, “you think lena can come in here and take away our süße erbse? not a chance.”

you wanted to believe them, but there was still a knot in your stomach. it wasn’t just about your spot on the team. 

it was everything—years of being belittled by her, the way she made you feel like you were always playing catch-up. and now she was going to be…here. in your everyday life.

when july rolled around, the first day lena officially joins bayern, you’re tense before you even get to the training ground. 

everyone– aka the girls from the german national team–have been buzzing about her arrival for weeks, and the news has followed you around like a shadow—reminding you every day that your former rival, the person who pushed you to your lowest, was now going to be your teammate. 

it doesn't sit right, and as you step into the locker room that morning, you can’t shake the discomfort in your chest.

there she is, standing by her locker, looking...different. softer than the lena you’re used to seeing in the green and white of wolfsburg. 

now, she’s wearing the same red bayern training kit as you, and it makes something twist inside your stomach. wrong. that’s what it feels like—just wrong. 

you want to turn around and leave, just pretend you forgot something in the parking lot and stall for time, but she spots you before you can move. 

her eyes light up, that familiar spark dancing in them—but it’s not taunting like before. it’s... welcoming. she gives you this big smile, the kind that makes her eyes crinkle at the edges, and suddenly it feels like the room is too hot, too small, like the walls are closing in on you.

“y/n, hey,” lena says, and her voice sounds...kind. friendly. nothing like the voice you remember yelling at you on the pitch, taunting you with every mistake. 

she walks toward you, like she’s genuinely excited to see you, and you want to flinch away. 

“i’m really glad to be here. i know we’ve had a past, but i hope we can leave all that behind and be teammates. put the rivalry aside, yeah?”

you force a smile, but it feels more like a grimace. “hi,” you manage to say, your voice cracking slightly. 

you can barely meet her eyes, your gaze dropping to the floor because looking at her feels like staring straight into the past—the tackles, the taunts, the years of feeling like you were always playing catch-up. 

“it’s nice to finally be on the same side, don’t you think?” she continues, still smiling, as if she’s trying to ease the tension. 

“i’m looking forward to working with you. i’ve... always admired how you play.”

the words are so dissonant, so out of place coming from her, that you can’t help but scoff quietly. 

admired you? this is the same woman who spent years making you feel like you were never enough, who relished in getting under your skin every chance she got. and now she was just going to act like that history never existed? like she never made you a joke, like you’re supposed to be grateful for her kindness now?

“right,” you say flatly, unable to keep the sarcasm from your voice. “well... welcome, then.”

you turn to walk away, unable to deal with the tightness in your chest, but the moment you take a step, lena calls after you, her voice softening. 

“y/n, wait—I really mean it. i don’t want there to be... any bad blood between us. i want to start fresh.”

you pause, but don’t turn back to look at her. every muscle in your body feels tense, like you’re coiled to spring away, and your mind is racing with every bitter memory. 

“yeah, well... some things aren’t that easy to forget,” you mutter before walking off, feeling like you’re practically running away towards the training grounds.

your heart hammers in your chest as you make your way to the pitch, trying to shake the feeling of discomfort that lingers. 

you hate how your voice sounded, how nervous you were—like a little kid facing down a bully. 

get it together, you're a twenty-one year old adult. you tell yourself, trying to block out the way she looked at you, like you were someone she actually cared about. 

you don’t know this lena, and you’re not sure you want to.

as you head out to the pitch, you see sydney standing by the goalpost, and you practically breathe a sigh of relief. 

your best friend on the team, your fiercest defender when it comes to lena, sydney notices immediately that something’s up when she sees your face.

“she talked to you, didn’t she?” sydney asks, her voice sharp. she’s always had your back when it comes to lena, never liked the way she treated you. 

all of the other girls at bayern hated how lena treated you, but sydney was more vocal about it. 

“what’d she say?”

“just... some bullshit about wanting to start over,” you say, shaking your head, your voice dripping with disbelief. 

“like she thinks we’re just going to be best friends now or something. like all of the shit she put me through doesn’t matter.”

sydney’s expression hardens, and she glares over at lena, who’s standing off to the side of the pitch, looking a little lost and unsure as lea talks to tuva. 

“what did she expect? that she’d walk in and everything would be fine and dandy?” she scoffs, rolling her eyes. 

“she’s got a nerve, acting like you’re just supposed to forgive her instantly.”

“yeah, well, i’m not,” you say, your jaw tightening. “not yet. maybe not ever.”

training starts, and as the drills go on, you feel lena’s eyes on you a few times—quick glances, like she’s gauging whether to approach you again. 

but every time she makes a move, sydney is there, blocking her path or shooting her a look that says, not now. eventually, lena seems to get the hint, and she keeps her distance, sticking close to lea.

after training, as you’re cooling down, you see lena approach sydney, her expression uncertain but determined. 

“hey, um... is y/n okay?” you hear her ask, her voice low. “i didn’t mean to... i don’t know, make her uncomfortable.”

sydney, to her credit, doesn’t sugarcoat anything. “look, lena,” she says firmly, crossing her arms. 

“you know what happened between you two. you know what you did. don’t expect her to like you immediately just because you’re being nice now. give her space. she’s not... ready for this.”

lena nods slowly, looking over at you from across the pitch, her face falling slightly. “yeah... yeah, i get it. thanks.”

you don’t know how much she means it—you don’t know if she really understands how much damage she did, how much she’s hurt you over the years. and you’re not ready to find out, either. all you know is that seeing her in the same kit, wearing your club’s crest, feels like a betrayal. and it’s going to take a lot more than nice words and pretty smiles to change that.

throughout the preseason she tried to engage with you more, but every time, you shied away. it wasn’t that you couldn’t talk to her—it was that you didn’t want to. 

not after how she made you feel.

lena, for her part, noticed. she wasn’t stupid. she saw how you avoided her, how you never quite met her eyes. so one day, after a particularly awkward training session, she turned to her best friend lea for advice.

“why does y/n hate me so much?” lena asked, frowning as they sat together after practice.

lea glanced at her, “obi, are you serious?” 

lena sighed,

then lea sighed. “well, it’s pretty obvious, lena. you’ve been pushing her around and treating her like shit for years.”

lena blinked, clearly taken aback. “what do you mean?”

“i mean, you’ve made her life miserable on the pitch,” lea explained patiently, even though lena pretends like the last three years didn’t exist.

“people have been making jokes about her because of you, and you…you’ve entertained it. you’ve never let up, even when it wasn’t necessary. of course she’s going to resent you. you made her feel small.”

lena was quiet for a long moment, her brow furrowing. she hadn’t thought about it that way before. 

she’d just always seen it as competition, as banter. but now… now it made sense. “i didn’t mean to,” she murmured.

“yeah, well,” lea said, “that doesn’t change how she feels.”

then, as if things couldn’t get more complicated, lena tore her acl before the olympics in the summer. it was brutal, seeing her go down like that. and even though you resented her, a part of you—deep down—felt sorry for her. 

you knew what it was like to be sidelined for months due to the same injury, to watch everything you’ve worked for slip away.

so, you did something you didn’t think you’d ever do: you texted her through instagram.

*hey. i’m sorry to hear about your injury. i hope you have a smooth recovery.*

you stared at your phone for a long time after hitting send, unsure if you’d regret it. lena responded quickly, thanking you, and trying to start a conversation. but you didn’t give her much, keeping your replies short, not really engaging. 

you weren’t ready to let your guard down yet, even if she is on the same team with your teammates protecting you.

over the next two months, lena tried again and again to reach out, but you kept her at arm’s length. 

it wasn’t until one day, after a particularly long rehab session, that she finally cornered you, her eyes soft but determined.

“can we talk?” she asked, her voice gentler than you’d ever heard it.

you sighed but nodded, deciding it was time to hear her out. the two of you found a quiet spot in the training center, and she looked at you with something almost like regret in her eyes.

“i didn’t realize…how much i hurt you,” lena began. 

“i thought it was just part of the game, you know? but lea explained it to me. and i finally get it now. i’m so sorry.”

you crossed your arms, looking down at your shoes. 

“you made me a joke, lena. you acted like it was nothing, but i had to hear it from everyone. people comparing us, praising you, and making me feel like…like i wasn’t good enough. and you encouraged it. you made me feel small.”

lena’s face softened, and she stepped closer. 

“that was never my intention. i never meant to make you feel like that. i admired you. you’re…goodness, y/n, you’re incredible on the pitch. you’re so fast, and the way you move with the ball—it’s like art. and off the pitch, you’re…you’re kind. you’re good to people. i didn’t realize how much that meant until lea pointed it out.”

you blinked, taken aback by her words. “what?”

lena sighed, running a hand through her hair. 

“i’m saying i like you. i’ve liked you for a while now. i just didn’t know how to show it, so i acted like an idiot. i get it if you hate me. i probably deserve that.”

you stared at her, completely caught off guard. 

“you’re joking, right? are you serious? you can’t just say something like that after everything. how can you feel that way after everything you’ve said and done to me?”

“i’m not joking,” lena said softly, her eyes meeting yours. “i like you, y/n. and i’m sorry. i really am. i know i hurt you, but if you give me a chance, i’d like to make it up to you.”

you swallowed hard, trying to process everything. part of you wanted to stay angry, to hold onto the grudge you’d built up over the years. but another part of you—one that you didn’t want to admit existed—was intrigued. 

was it possible that lena oberdorf, the girl who had made your life hell on the pitch, actually had feelings for you?

“i don’t know,” you said slowly, your voice tight. “you hurt me, lena. you pushed me around for years. you made me feel like i was less. i’m not just going to forget that because you have a crush.”

lena nodded, her expression serious. “i understand. i’m not asking you to forget. i’m just asking for a chance to prove that i’m not that person anymore.”

you hesitated, your walls still firmly in place. “if i even consider this,” you said carefully, “you need to apologize. really apologize, not just say it because you think it’s what i want to hear.”

lena met your eyes, her voice steady. “i’m sorry, y/n. i’m sorry for the way i treated you, for making you feel like you weren’t enough. you’re more than enough. you’ve always been.”

you felt something shift in your chest, a soft crack in the armor you’d built up over the years. maybe, just maybe, lena meant it.

“okay,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “we’ll see.”

after months of unease, things start to shift. lena is at bayern now, and even though you’re not thrilled about it, you’ve accepted that she’s not going anywhere. 

she’s on the sidelines for every training session, every game, with that same determined look in her eyes, even though her acl injury keeps her off the pitch. 

despite the resentment that still lingers, you can’t help but feel like you’re softening toward her, little by little. 

you've been bayern’s top scorer so far this season. after every game, lena comes onto the pitch to congratulate everyone. she goes around, hugging your teammates, and when she gets to you, her arms open, but you freeze. 

“um– can we do a handshake?” you suggest awkwardly, offering your hand instead of leaning in for the hug. lena hesitates but nods with a small smile, shaking your hand.

“good game,” she says quietly, eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary.

“thanks,” you mumble, trying not to meet her gaze for too long. 

it goes on like that for a while. lena is kind, trying to talk to you, but you keep your distance. until one night in the champions league group stage against brann. 

you’re in form, dominating the game. after the final whistle, you feel unstoppable, and for once, when lena comes up to you, the usual wall you’ve put up doesn’t feel as necessary. 

“that was an incredible performance,” lena says, her voice softer than you expected. “that goal of yours was fucking amazing!.”

something in her tone feels different, more genuine. you swallow, feeling a strange warmth in your chest.

“thank youu!” you say, and before you realize it, you’re leaning into her for a hug. it’s quick, but enough to catch lena off guard. when you pull back, you notice her slight smile, surprised but pleased.

lea sees it, of course. she catches your eye from across the pitch and raises an eyebrow, smirking as if to say, finally. you roll your eyes at her but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

the next game, however, things take a turn. you go down with a minor ankle injury—nothing serious, but enough to keep you out for a week. you’re frustrated, but during that time off, lena reaches out again. 

"hey, do you wanna grab lunch?" she asks one afternoon after recovery workouts, catching you as you’re leaving the facility. 

you hesitate, unsure. 

“maybe... georgia can come too?” you suggest, hoping for a buffer. 

lena raises an eyebrow, but she nods. 

“sure, if that makes you more comfortable.”

later, georgia tells you, “sorry, luv, i can’t make it. i have some appointments at the tattoo shop today. you’ll be fine without me though.” 

you groan, realizing you’re stuck going alone.

the lunch ends up going better than expected, despite your initial reluctance. 

lena is... different. she talks about her recovery, how tough it’s been not being able to play, and how strange it’s been being around you in this new context. 

“i just want to say i’m sorry again,” lena says halfway through the meal, catching you off guard. she’s picking at her food, avoiding your gaze. “i know i’ve apologized before, but... i was really awful to you for a long time.”

you blink, surprised at the sincerity in her voice. “yeah, you were,” you admit quietly, not really looking at her either. “but... i guess it’s not as bad now. you’re trying, at least.”

lena smiles at that, small but genuine. “i am. i mean it, y/n. i really... i really do like you.”

you stare at her, the words hanging in the air. “you’re serious about that? you’re not joking? you actually... like me?”

lena’s eyes flick up to meet yours, and she nods. “i do. i know i haven’t given you many reasons to believe me, but... it’s not a joke. not anymore.”

you don’t say anything for a moment, processing her words. later, you find yourself going to lea about it.

“is she serious?” you ask her, sitting on the edge of your bed one night after training. “like, does lena really have a crush on me or is she just... messing with me again?”

lea tilts her head, looking at you carefully. “she’s serious, y/n. i’ve known lena for years, and she’s not the same person you faced on the pitch. she’s not as bad as you think.”

“really?” you furrow your brow. “because all i’ve seen is her making my life hell.”

lea sighs, shaking her head. “yes, she’s my bestfriend y/n. you only saw her bad side because you were rivals. but back when we were at essen, or even with the national team, she’s... she’s kind. she was always the first one to help out, the one who looked out for the younger players. she just got competitive with you.”

“you’re saying she’s always been kind? because i’ve literally never seen it.”

lea nods, crossing her arms. “i’ve seen it. she’s not just this tough girl who wants to win everything. she’s actually really thoughtful. she’d always bring coffee to the team early in the morning. she once helped a teammate get to the airport when she missed her train... little things like that.”

you’re quiet for a moment, trying to imagine this version of lena. “huh. i never knew that.”

“you weren’t supposed to,” lea shrugs. “you guys were always butting heads, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t care. i think... i think she just didn’t know how to show it. especially around you.”

you chew on that for a while.

in november– it hits you suddenly one evening after training before the uwcl match against arsenal. 

as you’re sitting on the edge of your bed, wearing comfy pajamas, your heart is pounding for no reason that you can explain. 

it’s like a creeping realization that crawls up your spine and won’t let go: you’re developing feelings for lena.

you bury your face in your hands, groaning softly. 

“god, i’m so stupid,” you mutter to yourself. you can't believe it—lena, the girl who made you feel like absolute shit for years, the one who seemed to thrive on making you look bad on the pitch, the one who’d taunted and tackled you like you were nothing.

how could you possibly like her? how could you feel anything for someone who made you feel so stupid and worthless?

but now, things are different. ever since lena joined bayern, she’s been... well, kind. showing you this softer, gentler side that you never saw before. helping you during training, throwing out compliments here and there, catching you off guard with that stupid smile that makes you blush. and the more you see of this side of her, the more it eats away at you.

lena is genuinely sweet. she’s... attractive. and that scares you.

you need to talk to someone—someone who understands, someone who won’t judge you. so, you go to madga and pernille, the two adult players you trust most on the team. 

they're like your mentors, the big sisters you never had, and when you knock on their door late that night, you’re practically shaking with nerves.

“y/n?” madga’s voice is gentle as she opens the door, concern immediately clouding her features. 

“what’s wrong?”

“can... can i come in?” you ask, your voice wavering. 

“of course,” pernille says, stepping aside to let you into their shared apartment. the space is cozy, a few blankets draped over the sofa, the faint smell of tea lingering in the air.

you sit down heavily on the couch, madga and pernille sitting on either side of you, giving you their full attention. “it’s about... lena,” you begin, hesitating, feeling your hands tremble in your lap.

madga and pernille exchange a look—one that you can’t read, but they don’t interrupt. they just nod, encouraging you to continue.

“i—i think i might... like her,” you finally confess, your voice cracking on the last words. “and i can’t believe it, because for so long i hated her. she made my life miserable on the pitch, and now she’s being all... nice, and i’m... i’m starting to see how... god, how attractive she is, and it’s terrifying.”

pernille reaches out, placing a hand on your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “it’s okay, y/n. it’s okay to feel conflicted.”

“i’m just... i’m so angry at myself,” you admit, tears threatening to spill over. “she used to be so awful to me, you know? every time we played each other, she’d do whatever she could to make me feel like i was nothing, just... trash-talking, tackling me, all of it. and now... now i’m supposed to believe she’s this sweet, thoughtful person, like she’s always been? and the worst part is... i do believe it. and it’s like i’m losing control of how i feel.”

madga lets out a small sigh, nodding as she processes your words. “people are complicated, y/n. we all have different sides to us. it sounds like... maybe lena was just showing you one side back then—the competitor, the rival, someone who was tasked to throw you off of the game. but maybe that’s not all she is. you’re getting to see the real lena now.”

you shake your head, staring down at your hands. “but why now? why show me this side now? why couldn’t she have done it before? when i—when i actually hated her?”

“because it’s hard to show your softer side when you’re up against someone who you see as your biggest challenge,” pernille says softly. 

“maybe she didn’t know how to show you who she really was. but that doesn’t mean it’s not real now.”

“i just don’t know what to do,” you whisper, feeling so lost. 

“i don’t know how to feel about her. some days i want to push her away, pretend like she’s still that girl who used to treat me like crap. and then other days... i can’t stop thinking about her. about the way she smiles, how she looks at me. i stare at her arms too sometimes– gosh why am i saying that UGHH i don’t know if i can trust it. trust... her.”

madga wraps her arm around you, pulling you close in a gentle side hug. “it’s okay to be scared. it’s okay to feel all of this. but you don’t have to figure it out all at once. let it happen, y/n. let yourself feel what you feel.”

“but what if she hurts me again?” you say, your voice light. 

“what if this is all just... a game to her? what if i’m just going to be a joke again?”

“noo way. if so, we will stop that,” pernille says, smiling softly. “whatever happens, we’ve got your back. but you have to let yourself feel it, even if it’s scary. if you’re really seeing a different side to lena, maybe that’s worth seeing. or... maybe not. but you won’t know unless you let yourself try.”

you nod slowly, letting their words wash over you. maybe they’re right—maybe you’re overthinking it. but the fear is still there, lingering, because falling for someone like lena means trusting her, and you’re not sure you’re ready for that.

but as you sit there, sandwiched between madga and pernille, you take a deep breath and let yourself relax. maybe, just maybe, it’ll be okay. maybe this could be something real. and if it’s not... at least you know you won’t be alone.

by now it’s december, and it’s nearing christmas. the bayern locker room is filled with excitement. everyone’s talking about their plans for the holidays—family gatherings, trips abroad, dinners with loved ones. 

you sit in the corner, pulling off your ivory colored cleats slowly, hoping no one will ask you. you’ve always been good at hiding it, but this time it feels harder. 

there’s no family waiting for you, no friends flying in from home. just you.

sam kerr is the first to bring it up, naturally. she’s sitting across from you, leaning back with her phone in hand, already talking about her plans. 

“so, y/n,” she starts, her tone casual, but there’s a glint of curiosity in her eyes. 

“what are you doing for christmas? heading home, or what?”

you freeze for a second, then plaster on your usual smile. “uh, yeah. i’ve got a friend visiting,” you lie, trying to keep your voice light, like it’s no big deal.

the entire locker room listens.

"oh?" georgia raises an eyebrow. “which friend? anyone we know?”

you laugh awkwardly, shaking your head. "nah, just an old friend from back home. you wouldn’t know her."

"that’s nice," ana chimes in from the other side of the room, clearly not sensing the tension behind your smile.

“i’m jealous. all my friends are still stuck at their parents’ houses in colombia. it's family overload." ana continues.

you nod along, trying to seem as normal as possible. “yeah, well, it’ll be nice to catch up.”

but then, tuva joins in, her usual sharp instincts picking up something. she looks at you, her eyes narrowing slightly. "you’ve never mentioned this friend before. how come?"

you feel your stomach tighten. "we... we don’t talk much. they’re in university. we are just, you know, catching up for the holidays."

tuva tilts her head, still studying you, but thankfully, she doesn’t push further. instead, the conversation shifts as the others talk about their own plans again. but you can feel the tightness in your chest, the weight of the lie sitting uncomfortably on your shoulders. 

you can’t help but wonder if any of them can tell.

as you finish changing and start heading out, georgia catches up to you. 

“hey, y/n,” she says softly, her voice just a bit quieter, as if sensing something’s off. “you good? you seemed... i don’t know, distracted earlier.”

you force a smile again. “yeah, just tired. it’s been a long week.”

georgia doesn’t look convinced, but she lets it go, offering you a soft smile. “well, if you need anything over christmas, let me know, alright? we can always meet up if your plans fall through.”

“thank you,” you mumble, appreciating her kindness but knowing you’ll never take her up on that offer. 

you’ve gotten used to spending the holidays alone, and this year will be no different.

christmas day arrives, and true to your word, you’re alone. 

you walk to your favorite café, the one where the baristas know your order without you even having to ask. 

the streets are quiet, the festive buzz from days prior now fading into a peaceful stillness. you’ve got your true crime book tucked under your arm, planning to spend the afternoon reading, just like every year.

as you step inside the café, you smile at the baristas, leaving a generous tip in their jar. 

"merry christmas," you say, offering them a small nod before settling into your usual spot by the window.

outside of the team, outside of football, you consider yourself to be a loner. due to childhood trauma involving neglect, you don’t talk to your family. in fact, football was your escape from them. 

you never made an effort to have friends outside of the clubs you played for. the hobbies you have never involved meeting other people. you’re aware that you shouldn’t have your life surrounded by football, but it was the thing that saved you. 

even “she” couldn’t break you from playing football for those three years. 

you’re halfway through the first chapter of your book when the door swings open. at first, you don’t pay much attention, too focused on the pages in front of you. but then you hear familiar footsteps, and out of habit, you glance up. your heart drops when you see who it is.

lena.

you immediately duck your head, trying to hide behind your book, but it’s too late. lena stops mid-step, her eyes widening in surprise as she spots you. 

she pauses for a moment, clearly taken aback, before heading straight toward your table.

“y/n?” she asks, her voice carrying a mix of confusion and curiosity. 

“what are you doing here?”

you swallow hard, forcing yourself to look up. “uh... just grabbing a coffee,” you reply, your voice stiff.

lena’s eyes flicker with suspicion as she pulls out the chair across from you and sits down backwards on the chair, her arms resting on top of the wood.. 

“where’s your friend? the one who was supposed to visit?”

your pulse quickens, and for a split second, you consider keeping up the lie. 

but something about the way she’s looking at you, her brow furrowed with genuine concern, makes you crumble.

“they... they couldn’t make it,” you admit, your voice quieter now. “something came up.”

lena studies you for a moment, her gaze softening. “you’re lying,” she says gently, but there’s no malice in her voice. 

“there was never a friend. you’re spending christmas alone, aren’t you?”

you sigh, dropping your gaze to the table. “yeah,” you finally admit, feeling the weight of the truth settle around you. 

“i’ve always spent it alone. it’s... just how it is.”

lena’s expression softens even more, and she leans forward slightly, her voice quiet but firm. 

“you don’t have to spend it alone, y/n. come with me. i’m not doing anything either, my parents are visiting my brother.”

you blink, surprised by the offer. “lena, you don’t have to—”

“i’m not letting you spend christmas in a cold café by yourself,” she interrupts, her tone leaving no room for argument. 

“come on. i’ve got rookie at home, we’ll cook something, and i can put on some disney christmas movies. it’ll be fun.”

you hesitate, glancing around the empty café before looking back at her. “i don’t know, lena...”

“please,” she insists, her eyes searching yours. “it’s christmas. no one should be alone.”

after a long pause, you finally nod. “okay. but only because you said disney movies.”

lena grins, standing up and grabbing her coat. “deal.”

“also, what’s a rookie? you said you’ve got a rookie at home.” you question as lena holds the door open for you.

“you’ll see.” lena smirks. 

in her apartment, the atmosphere is warm and cozy. rookie, her dog, greets you excitedly at the door, his tail wagging as he sniffs at your legs.

“awe who’s this?” you smile, going on your knees as you scratch the dog’s ears. 

“this is rookie!” lena says, admiring you and rookie interacting. 

“this is the rookie!!!” you squeak.

“he likes you,” lena says, smiling as she watches rookie lay in front of me.

“i’m a dog person, and a cat person too but rookie is so cute!!” you bend down to give rookie a scratch behind the ears.

as the afternoon goes on, you and lena fall into an easy rhythm. 

you help her prepare dinner, chopping vegetables while she stirs the sauce on the stove. 

it’s quiet, but not awkward—just peaceful. every now and then, she glances at you, and you catch her staring, but you pretend not to notice.

later, you’re both curled up on the couch, a disney movie playing in the background while rookie lies at your feet. you’re comfortable, your shoulder brushing against hers, and for the first time in a while, you feel... content.

“thanks for today,” you mumble, your head resting on the back of the couch as you glance over at her.

lena looks at you, her expression soft. “i’m just glad you didn’t have to be alone,” she says quietly. 

“you don’t deserve that.”

you swallow, feeling a lump form in your throat. “i’ve been alone for so long, i guess i just got used to it.”

the taller german woman starts to feel an ache in her stomach. everyday she wishes that she could go back and treat you normally on the pitch instead of being a bully. if she knew that you went through this outside of football, she would’ve left you alone. 

lena’s gaze lingers on you as she thinks, something unspoken passing between you. 

“you don’t have to be,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.

and in that moment, you realize it. the feelings you’ve been trying to push away for months, the ones you tried to convince yourself weren’t real—they’re there. 

but you still have to ask her something, to find closure to the past.

still curled up on her couch with a blanket over your legs, rookie still sprawled out happily at your feet. you never thought you’d be spending christmas with the one person who used to make you burn with anger every time you saw her.

lena is relaxed, and you’re getting there, too, bit by bit. you’re comfortable now—actually comfortable—and you can feel her warmth beside you, feel the weight of how things have changed between you two. the silence is easy, broken only by the soft sound of the movie playing and rookie’s gentle snores.

“can i ask you something?” you say softly, turning to look at her. your voice is careful, not wanting to ruin the moment but needing to know.

lena glances at you, her eyes curious, a small smile playing on her lips. “of course.”

you take a breath, trying to find the right words. 

“why... why did you hate me so much before? back when we were... rivals, i guess. you were so... aggressive, and it always felt like you had something against me. but now you’re... different. so what changed?”

lena looks away, biting her lip like she’s trying to decide how much to say. the tension of the moment makes your chest tighten, but you wait, giving her time. 

after a long pause, she finally speaks.

“i never hated you like i said,” she admits quietly, her eyes focused on the christmas lights twinkling across the room. 

“i know it felt like that, but... it wasn’t hate. it was... god, it was the opposite, really. i talked to lea and jill a lot back then, when i was at wolfsburg, and... i didn’t know how to deal with how i felt about you.”

you tilt your head, furrowing your brow in confusion. “what do you mean?”

lena sighs, running a hand through her hair. “i... asked lea and jill for help. i didn’t know how to get your attention. it sounds stupid now, but... the only way i knew how was... being that way on the pitch. the aggression, the pushing—it was the only way i felt like i could have a piece of you.”

you blink, trying to process her words, the way they seem to pull back the curtain on everything you thought you knew. 

“so, what... you acted like that just to get me to pay attention to you?”

“yeah,” lena says, her voice softening as she looks back at you, meeting your eyes. 

“i was so focused on... being seen by you, even if it was just you being mad at me. it was selfish, and i’m sorry for all of it. it’s not fair that i treated you like that. i feel terrible about it actually”

you’re silent for a moment, and then you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “you know... we could’ve been friends from the start. we had so many mutual friends, lena. it’s not like you couldn’t have just... talked to me.”

lena’s smile turns sad, almost regretful. “but i never wanted to be just friends with you,” she says quietly, the words hanging in the air between you. 

“i always wanted more. that’s why... i couldn’t just be nice and friendly like everyone else. it didn’t feel like enough.”

you nod slowly, her words settling into you like the last piece of a puzzle finally clicking into place.

 it’s like understanding something you’ve been grappling with for so long. “i get that,” you whisper. “it was... a lot, though. for a long time, i didn’t know what to make of it. of you.”

“i know,” lena says, and she reaches out, her fingers brushing against your cheek as she tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “but... i’m not that person anymore. i’ve changed. and i want to be better for you.”

you take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the past start to lift from your shoulders, piece by piece. you realize, in this quiet, cozy moment, that you’re ready to let it go. 

“i finally feel like... like i’ve gotten over the past,” you say softly, your voice steady as you look into her eyes. “and... i forgive you, lena.”

the words are like a release, freeing both of you from everything that came before. lena’s eyes soften, and without thinking, you lean in, pressing your lips to hers in a gentle, tentative kiss. 

it’s soft and sweet, like the world has slowed down around you. she holds your waist and lets you lay down on hers after you pull away. now you’re cuddling as rookie adjusted himself to sit on the other side of lena. 

“i think...” you whisper, smiling as you finally let yourself say it out loud. “i think i’m catching feelings for you, too.”

lena’s eyes light up, and she pulls you closer, her lips finding yours again, this time deeper, more certain. 

"merry christmas," lena whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple after you pulled away again.

"merry christmas," you reply, snuggling into her warmth, knowing that things have totally changed for the better.

part three

[noellawrites]

Girl Next Door - yandere!Carmy Berzatto x reader

summary: Carmy becomes obsessed with the sweet coffee shop owner next door.

warnings: stalking, masochism, breaking and entering, nudity, masturbation mention.

The coffee shop had appeared seemingly overnight. Or maybe Carmy just hadn’t noticed until you knocked on the door to The Bear with a big coffee traveler and an even bigger smile.

“Hello! My name is (y/n) and I own the coffee shop next door, River North Roastery!” you said without prompting once Carmy opened the door.

Carmy nodded in recognition, vaguely remembering Mikey and Richie talking about some cute young woman taking over the shop a few years back.

Your sunny disposition and high energy levels at seven o’clock in the morning were astonishing. Carmy hated it, but had to respect it.

You handed him the cardboard traveler and it weighed down his arm, causing him to set it down next to the door. You lingered in the doorway and continued speaking to Carmy.

“I just wanted to bring this by for you and your employees, since you’re all working so hard. Your brother would be really proud. I remember when I started working next door and he’d come in for a black americano, small. Really sweet guy,” you babbled on as Carmy remained silent.

“Uh, thanks,” he finally mustered, looking up and finally seeing your face. You were young, a few years younger than him, and you looked at him as if waiting for some sort of approval.

“You’re so welcome! And let me know if you need any help,” you said with a smile.

Carmy watched, entranced as you turned and walked next door back to your own establishment.

You stayed on his mind for the rest of the day, so unaffected that he could only nod as the rest of the crew talked about you.

"She's been there for a few years, wasn't always the owner though. Coffee's good but expensive," Marcus explained.

"Yeah, I think it's a family business of some sort. She definitely didn't build that place from the ground up. She's such a sweetheart though," Sugar recalls from the few times she'd been in your shop.

A flash of irritation ran through Carmy. It must've been nice, inheriting a family business that wasn't in fucking shambles. Not having to gut the place from the inside out, fish through stacks of improperly stored documents and pay thousands in back-taxes.

"I think she's around my age. I remember reading that story about her in Edible Chicago. She's championing sustainable coffee bean farming or something like that," Sydney piped up.

"Yeah, she's a nice piece of ass. I think Mikey tried to hit it, but of course she was creeped out, fuckin' Mikey. I would'a tapped that too," Richie chuckled.

A chorus of "ew, Richie!" and "ugh, gross!" rang out, causing Richie to put his hands up in surrender and leave to go smoke outside.

All this talk was pissing off Carmy even more. You seemed to have the perfect setup, managing a thriving business barely into your 20's. He'd bet anything that you didn't have to deal with someone like Chef Fields breathing down your neck, either.

He decided to do what he did best, though. Push his feelings down so deep that they had no choice but to eventually come out, even more toxic and volatile than before.

—

Another day passed with Carmy's thoughts only able to focus on you. The curiosity plagued him so deeply that at half past eight, the only thing he could do was walk over and order a coffee.

Blessedly, you were at the register, smiling and talking to customers as if they were friends.

As the line progressed, Carmy moved up towards you. When it was his turn, he stood right on the other side of the counter. Your eyes brightened and Carmy's eyes darted around, looking anywhere but at you.

"Oh my gosh, hi! It's Carmy, right? I'm so happy you came in. How are the renovations going?" you asked, smiling.

"Uh, it's goin' alright. Thanks again for the coffee, the team appreciated it," Carmy found himself saying.

"I'm so glad! What can I get started for you?" you asked, looking Carmy right in the eyes. Did you really have to do that?

"I'll, uh, take whatever my brother used to get,' Carmy answered, dropping his eyes the floor.

"Okay, perfect. Anything else I can get for you?"

"Nah, just the coffee."

"Alright, Mr. Berzatto! I'll have that ready at the end of the counter," you say kindly, signaling to the opposite side.

"Uh, how much?" Carmy said awkwardly, reaching into his pocket where he's stuffed a few bills.

"Oh don't worry, it's on me today! And here, I hope to see you again soon," you wink, handing him a frequent customer card with one punch on it.

—

Carmy had hoped the coffee would be disgusting. He dreamed about pouring it down the front of you, soaking your clothes in steaming liquid and watching you cry. He shook the thought away when he realized it sounded like something Chef Fields would do. But maybe that was part of the appeal.

And as much as he hated it, the black americano was the best he'd ever had.

Every night, Carmy was always the last to leave. He sometimes even slept in the office, slumped in the ratty office chair, head resting on the cold tabletop.

But tonight, he had a plan.

Tonight Sugar was the last to leave, asking an annoying amount of times if Carmy was okay. His big sister could tell that something was off, but she would never find out just what it was.

He pulled on a baseball hat, shoving an old ski mask in his empty pocket and locking up the restaurant.

Carmy loitered in the alley across the street for at least thirty minutes, watching you rush around to close up the shop. He must’ve chain smoked at least eight cigarettes while he waited.

Then, at last, you exited the shop, locking it behind you and saying your goodbyes to the older male barista who’d helped you close.

You started on your way to the closest L train stop, jacket and purse pulled close to your body.

Carmy followed about five yards behind, making sure he could still see you while not being close enough to freak you out.

Carmy managed to slide into the same train car as you. He took a seat in the way back, head down to hide his face under his baseball cap.

He watched you, calm and happy, and realized he was finally submitting to his urges. Since the moment he’d seen you, he knew what he wanted. He wanted to see you scared, vulnerable, all your confidence gone. And he was so close now.

Before long, you got off at your stop so Carmy did, too. You didn’t live too far away from the stop, above a Chinese restaurant.

Carmy watched from a distance, waiting for you to click on a light so he’d know which apartment you lived in. He toyed with the bobby pins in his pocket; he could pick locks, but was slow at it. Mikey had always made fun of him for that.

You clicked on your light and Carmy’s plan sprung into action. He entered through the (blessedly unlocked) side stairs beside the restaurant, taking extra care to avoid any loud footfalls.

He had to remain extra quiet as he worked the bobby pins inside your lock. It seemed as though you were taking a shower, as he could hear the heavy pattering of water, but he couldn’t be too sure.

It took a few minutes but he was in. The apartment was so utterly you. You had a custom coffee stand complete with a thousand-dollar espresso machine and a variety of what looked like homemade syrups and extracts.

You had warm lighting, large rugs, everything seemed to make your apartment look cozier and admittedly large. The apartment was much bigger than it looked from the outside and bigger than his own.

Carmy took off his shoes and crept carefully towards the bathroom, where the shower was on. Light music drifted under the door, which made him furious for some reason. How could you live like this while he barely survived, trapped in his own mind day in and day out?

The shower turned off and he could feel his plan being set in motion. Carmy positioned himself beside the door, ready at any moment.

The moment you exited the bathroom, Carmy pounced. He slammed you against the bathroom door, covering your mouth with his hand to prevent your screams.

Your towel dropped to the floor and your eyes alone screamed for help, welling up with tears. You struggled a bit at first, but Carmy was much stronger than you and subdued you in no time at all.

Carmy looked down at your naked body, feeling a sense of pride. You looked exactly as he’d pictured while he jerked himself off in the dead of night. And you belonged to him now.

[imaginingaustin]

homebodies

summary: living in ohio with austin while he's on location filming for the bikeriders.

austin x female!reader

a/n: i got this idea after this interview, while he was talking about what he does at night once he gets home after filming. hope you enjoy!

being a celebrity's housewife was something that you never saw for yourself. especially to the beautiful blue eyed, sandy brown haired angel on earth that you got to call your husband.

of course, you still did work remotely for the marketing firm you'd worked for for years. you loved your job, and getting to work from home was even better for you. this allowed to travel with austin while he was on location for work, getting to spend time with him and explore some of the most beautiful places in the world.

you were with him in sydney while he was filming elvis, london while he was filming masters of the air, and budapest while he was filming dune. 

now, you and him had a cute little rental home in the suburbs of cincinnati while he was working on his next film, the bikeriders.

shortly after you arrived in ohio, you and austin settled into your routine pretty quickly. you would get up to have breakfast together before austin would leave to head to set. while you were at home during the day, you would work your hours in the morning, and once you were done, you would run errands around town. the first few days, you were exploring as much as you could to find restaurants and coffee shops, and other local places that you would make mental notes of to take austin to on his days off. 

about once a week, you would join austin on set for a quick lunch when he had particularly lighter days and was only filming a few scenes.

"god, you're handsome." you said softly, watching as he started to slip back into his costume before having to go back to film. "i really like this rugged look." you said, placing your hands on the lapels of his jacket. he smiled down at you and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, the scruff of his mustache tickling your nose. he wrapped his arms tightly around your waist as you deepened the kiss. your moment was quickly interrupted by a knock on his trailer door, his PA calling him back to set.

“i guess i better get back.” he said with a deep sigh. “i shouldn’t be home too late tonight.” he said, kissing you again.

“no worries. ill see you when you get home.” you said with a smile. you walked with him out of his trailer and back to set, saying a quick hi to everyone before sharing your goodbyes with austin.

“i love you.” he said softly as his lips met yours.

“i love you too.” you said with a smile, kissing him again. you let him get back to work before heading back to your car to make your way back home. 

while you waited for austin to come home, you started to make a plan for dinner. deciding on a simple meal, you ran to the grocery to store to pick up your ingredients, immediately starting to cook once you returned home. you turned on some music and got lost in your own little world while you danced and sang around the kitchen. 

you were so distracted by the music that you didn’t hear when austin came in, kicking off his shoes and setting his bags down by the door. he stood at the edge of the counter, watching you dance, his heart swelling in his chest at the sight of his beautiful wife. he was obsessed with you, in every way. 

you finally turned around and your eyes landed on his. your heart jumped, startling at the sight of him, but you quickly melted in his gaze. you moved over to him and he wrapped you in his arms, spinning you around the kitchen, quietly singing along to the words of the love song that played. 

“dinners almost ready.” you said, pressing your lips to his. he nodded and let you go, moving to take his things to the bedroom. he came back into the kitchen and started setting the table. the two of you moved around the kitchen quietly while you prepared to eat. you poured two glasses of wine and sat down with austin to start eating. 

you listened intently as he talked about his day. he told you about the scenes he filmed and how well everything was coming together. they were almost finished filming the movie, and he was excited that they were close to being able to release it. 

“im excited to see it! you always come home raving about your scenes and the people you get to work with. im sure that will come across in the final product.”

“i just never thought id get to this point of my career, where i’ve been able to work with people that i’ve admired since i was just starting out. im still honestly kinda start struck every day.” he admitted, a redness rushing to his cheeks. 

“you’re a superstar, babe. you deserve this. and im so proud of you.” you said, and he smiled widely at you. 

“i cant tell you how much your support means to me. you’ve always been here for me, and i love that get to share this life with you.” he said taking your hand in his. 

“this is for life. through thick and thin.” you said, running your thumb over his wedding band. “i love you.”

“i love you.” he repeated, leaning over to press a kiss to your cheek. “for life.”

you finished dinner and cleaned up the kitchen, settling into the couch once you finished. you watched as austin scrolled through the tv, searching for a movie to watch. you leaned deep into the cushions, tightening your arms around austin as he leaned his back into your chest as the movie started. 

you sat there watching the movie, and after a while, your fingers mindlessly began playing with austin’s hair. 

“mmm, thats gonna put me to sleep.” he laughed. you looked down at him and his eyes were already starting to fall closed. 

“movie’s almost done, we’ll go to bed afterwards.” you said, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. 

as the film concluded, you muted the tv before the credits started, knowing the music would be loud. austin had fallen asleep in your arms and you didn’t want to jolt him awake.

“aus, babe. the movie is done. let’s go to bed.” you said as you pushed him up. he sat up slowly and he swayed away from you, catching his balance before standing off the couch. he stretched his arms out as far as they could reach and let out a loud groan. you stared up at him, watching his every move. your eyes landed on the frame of his face, his facial hair glowing in the dim light of the living room. 

“what? why are you looking at me like that?” he slurred, eyes barely open.

“i just think you’re really pretty.” you smiled.

“i think you’re prettier.” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. he laced his fingers with yours and pulled you up from the couch, leading you off to the bedroom. 

[benevolentthorn]

Where I think the counselors would work off-season:

Laura: I feel like her family would own a farm in North Carolina and that she would work with the different animals on the farm. She upkeeps their enclosures, feeds them, etc and provides horseback riding lessons for kids. She gained her love for animals from helping on the family farm starting at a young age.

Max: I don’t know why but I could see Max working at a movie theater concession counter. It’s not his favorite job in the world and he complains a lot to Laura about it but he enjoys seeing different movies come out and sneaking himself snacks when no one’s looking. I could also see him being good at math and tutoring middle schoolers on the side.

Jacob: I could see Jacob working at a sports and gym center as a sports instructor; most likely for either football or soccer. Jacob really loves his job because he loves sports and working with kids! He’s really enthusiastic with the kids he teaches and is always cheering them on to do their best! He’s really funny too and makes the kids laugh and he’s good at cheering up kids if they make a mistake. The kids love him overall. Sometimes Nick and Kaitlyn stop by to work out in the gym with him.

Emma: Realistically I don’t think she would work, since she’s an influencer and she gives me “rich parents who give her a credit card with large spending limit” vibes, but for the sake of this post I will say she would probably work a few days a week at Sephora. She really enjoys all of the different makeup and skincare products and would probably use her employee discount to go shopping frequently. She loves buying new products to review on her YouTube channel. She seems unapproachable and judgy to customers, but she’s actually very sweet and loves helping customers pick out products! Would probably quit the minute she encounters a karen though 😭💀

Abi: Pre game I feel like Abi would have worked at a lush in the same mall where Emma works. She mostly enjoyed it because she loves the different scents of the soaps and bath bombs. However, rude customers would make her very anxious, especially post-game. Post-game, I feel like she would start working at a café but not just any cafe….a cat café!! Abi LOVES cats and she enjoys making all of the different types of drinks. I feel like Abi would especially love boba and would come up with different boba recipes while working there. She also doesn’t encounter any karens because who would be a karen at a cat café of all places?? She loves playing with the kitties in her free time and Emma and Nick frequently stop by to see her, get drinks and pet the cats.

Nick: Nick always was in the restaurant industry. Pre game, he worked at a small restaurant in downtown Sydney as a waiter. Diners loved him but he was very shy and kind of awkward as a waiter, which is what made him consider working in the kitchen instead. Post-game he moved to America permanently and took a line cook position at, you guessed it, an Outback Steakhouse LMAO. He mostly enjoys the job, however he complains about how inaccurate the menu is for an Australian themed restaurant 😭💀. He mostly enjoys the job but sometimes he gets stressed out and becomes the Australian Gordon Ramsey. He works near the cat café where Abi works and likes to stop by to visit her and get coffee during his lunch breaks. He stays extra longer if he’s having a stressful day and pets the cats.

Dylan: Dylan works at a music/record store both pre and post game. He loves the job because it’s not very stressful and he gets to discover different kinds of music just by stocking the shelves and looking through all of the records and CDs that come in! I feel like Dylan would have a wide range of music knowledge and taste and would especially love classic rock and older pop music. The owners love him and he is frequently named employee of the month! He is very chatty with customers and will have their ear for long periods of time nerding out about different bands and artists!

Ryan: Ryan’s first ever job was at a hot topic in the same mall where Abi and Emma worked. He mainly picked up the job to save up for animation school and to help support Sarah and his grandparents. Due to lack of hours, he moved to a Spencer’s shortly before the events of the game. It didn’t take long for him to quit though because he got annoyed with the amount of jokes he would hear about “the back” (if ykyk 💀). Post game, Ryan got even more interested in the paranormal. For this reason, he took up a job at an antique store located right next to the record shop Dylan works at and he really loves it. The owners pay him well and when he’s alone, he likes to investigate the history on all of the antiques and see if he can encounter any spirits. Since they work right next to each other, Dylan and Ryan like to visit each other frequently like the lovebirds they are 💕

Kaitlyn: Kaitlyn first worked at a dick’s sporting goods, since she enjoys sports and fitness. She somewhat enjoyed the job up until one day when she got into an argument with a karen, which resulted in her getting fired. Jacob, like the great friend he is, put in good word for her at the center he works at and helped Kaitlyn get a job as a receptionist for the gym area. She enjoys the job much better and she eventually gets promoted to a fitness instructor position, where she hosts her very own fitness classes! She also gets to bully Jacob as much as she pleases 🤭

If you enjoyed this post, please send me headcanon asks! I really would love to share all of my thoughts on the characters! 💕

[melanieph321]

Ruben Dias x Reader - Summary Fling Part 4/10

Part 5 and Part 6 are out on my Patreon for free!

Summary - Reader has landed a research job at a marine biology lab in Portugal. She is, therefore, staying with her sister and her sister's Portuguese boyfriend for the summer holidays. There she meets Ruben Dias who is on vacation with his friends after the 2024 Euros. However, the two meet under the circumstances in which Ruben believes that Reader is a prostitute.

Enjoy ☀️

The University of Algarve housed arguably the best marine biology lab in the country. Although this is where you'd be doing most of your research, it was the marine station, located closer to where land meets sea, that excited you on your first day at work.

"Y/N, you made it!"

You were welcomed to the station by a familiar face, Gavin Phillips, who you met earlier at the Zoomarine. He was the first one to welcome you at the door and made sure to give you a thorough tour of the facility.

"This is where we bring in our samples from the sea. We usually gather the data here before documenting our progress back at campus. And as for you, who's doing your research in marine ecology, I'll gladly let you know that this is where you'll spend most of your time."

It smelled like fish, the whole room did. It wasn't a welcoming smell, however, a smell that you'd have to get used to. The lab was impressive though. You watched how the students, dressed in white coats and sterile gloves, were tuned in as they worked at their assigned stations. They looked busy, but with a loud whistle, Gavin had them all drop whatever they were doing, shifting their attention your way.

"Attention everyone! I'd like to introduce our newest addition to this lab. This is Y/N, fresh off the plane from Sydney, Australia." Collective oh's and ah's spread amongst the students, who regarded you curiously. "Y/N is here to add knowledge to our marine ecology squad, so please, anything she needs, I expect you to assist her with that."

"Thank you Gavin." You said, immense heat patting your cheeks. The students all took their time to greet you one by one. One student was even chivalrous enough to let you use his equipment since yours hadn't arrived yet. It was a great first day, one that got you really excited for the future.

"Ugh. What is that smell?"

You returned home quite early that afternoon. You were excited to show your sister the white lab coat you had been given. However, she couldn't bring herself to be in the same room as you until you faithfully rinsed yourself off in the shower.

"And don't forget to shave your legs!" She shouted. "I'm taking you dress shopping."

It was a nice way to spend some quality time with your sister. The last time you were living together the two of you were teenagers, with zero assumptions and worries in life. Although your sister hadn't changed much since then, her financial status definitely had.

"Here, try this on," She said, passing you another outfit through the dressing room curtains. It was Versace and Michael Kors, all brand names that she was urging you to try on.

"Does it fit?" 

"It's too tight." You complained.

"Y/N, it's supposed to be tight. Tight is good."

"No." You pulled open the curtains, showing off your ensemble of stylish clothes. "Tight is painful."

"God, you're gorgeous. You have to wear that out of the store."

"What, no. Maki." It was too late. Your sister was quick to rush over to the counter and pay for your items. You wore it out of the store and shamefully made your way down the street.

"Stop it Y/N, you look stunning. Just look at all the men checking you out."

"I don't want to be checked out."

"No, not even by Ruben Dias?"

She got you there. "Ruben? What about him?"

"Well, apparently he hasn't stopped asking about you since the night you gave him the time of his life."

How could you forget? It was the time of your life too.

"How do you know that?" You asked.

"I dunno, Diogo has been hanging around that Beach Club a lot. It's where famous people like Ruben like to hang out."

"Ruben is famous?"

"Yeah, he's super famous and not just here in Portugal but all over the world.

"Well, what is he famous for?"

"For playing football of course."

"You mean soccer?"

It's not like you didn't know what it was. It just wasn't the most watched sport in Australia, that's all. You had no idea that Ruben was actually a professional soccer player. How impressive.

"He actually just finished playing a major tournament with his country. They got knocked out though."

"Out of the tournament?"

"Yeah, I bet he's totally bummed about it too. You should totally try and cheer him up by sliding in his DM's."

"You think so?" You did have a great time with Ruben, he seemed like such a cool guy. Perhaps it was worth it to shoot your shot?

"Here, let's send a photo of you and have him rate your new outfit."

"What, no Maki."

It was too late. Your sister had already brought out her phone and stepped back to take your picture. You had stopped in the middle of the street, posing against a peach colored wall.

"Yeah, he'll love this." Maki said, inspecting the photo before sending it to Ruben via instagram.

"He's gonna think we're stalking him." You said, resuming your walking. "Not at all. He likes you, I promise."

"How do you even—"

"He replied!" 

You rushed to your sister's side, checking her phone.

"So sweet. Ruben rates your outfit as ten out of ten."

"Really?"

"I told you he was into you and look—" Your attention was drawn back to the screen where three dots had appeared in the corner. "He's typing!" Your sister gasped. 

The dots were soon replaced by a message from Ruben, asking if the two of you were close to a place called Quarteira. Apparently Ruben was there visiting a friend.

"We have to go. It's only a twenty minute drive from here."

"But, Maki. I have work tomorrow." Although Ruben's offer was tempting, you shouldn't get distracted from what you really came to Portugal to do.

"Come on Y/N, I swear we won't stay long."

"Promise?"

"Through thick and thin." She said, once again urging you to seal the deal with a pinky swear. Once you did, the two of you hit the road, off to meet Ruben and his friends again.

**********************************************

Your heart raced as you walked through the streets of Quarteira, a beautiful city near the beach. It seemed like a nice place for a family vacation as plenty of children were seen roaming the streets eyeing the gift shops along the road. 

You were so nervous, but excited to see Ruben again. As you and your sister looked up the address that he had texted you, you were surprised to stumble upon a small villa. Not too extravagant, but actually quite homely looking. You could feel your nerves getting the better of you as your sister rang the doorbell. The door soon opened with Ruben appearing in the frame.

"You guys made it!" He smiled and was even more handsome and charming looking since the last time you saw him. "Please, feel free to grab anything from the cooler. We were just getting started on the grill. I hope you're hungry.

"Yes, starving." Your sister moaned, teasing you as Ruben led the way through the lovely house, overlooking the beach.

"You better not fumble this, Y/N. He is so hot."

"Please, Maki, don't be so vulgar." You said, although you were also thinking it. Don't fumble this. Fortunately the meet up with Ruben and his friends turned out to be a really lovely night. It gave you a chance to get to know him and him you. Ruben was kind and attentive, asking you questions about your stay in Portugal as well as your life back home. He told you about his own life, and his passion for football. And how sad he was about Portugal being knocked out of the European tournament that was still ongoing as you spoke. Nevertheless, you found yourself laughing and smiling throughout the whole night.

As the evening wore on, Ruben even asked if you wanted to stay the night at his place, or in this case, his friend's place. You hesitated, feeling a pang of guilt. You had to work the next day, and you didn't want to be late during your first week.

"I would love to Ruben, but I have to be back early tomorrow," you said, trying to sound casual.

Ruben nodded, understandingly and was actually quite impressed that you were studying marine biology here in Portugal. "No problem, I completely understand. Maybe we can plan another night together soon?"

"I'd love to."

Maybe this was the start of something special. You thanked Ruben for a lovely evening, the two of you saying goodbye with a swift kiss on the lips.

Driving back to Faro with Maki, you just couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement since finding a summer fling had definitely not been on your Portugal bingo card.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

*Part 5 and Part 6 are out on my Patreon for free!

[bitchinbarzal]

Last Christmas | M.Barzal

this is my entry for @antoineroussel christmas fic exchange!

this is for you, @lhugh! happy holidays annie 🎄🤍

this fic does use they/them pronouns as they are annie’s pronouns! 🫶🏼

word count: 2,461 words

-

Last Christmas, you walked into December planning every festive activity possible; the Rockefeller Christmas tree, Nutcracker at New York City ballet, Radio City Rockettes even letting Mat show you up at skating.

That was until Mat dropped the break up bomb on you. You couldn’t really comprehend it all, too confused and hurt at once.

You were supposed to spend Christmas with Mat and the team at the Martin’s. You never answered Sydney’s texts after the breakup.

You spent Christmas alone.

You were thankful the islanders tanked their 21/22 season. It meant that they all left to go home as soon as possible.

That meant no islanders, no jerseys, no chants on the train home from work.

No Mat.

He went home to Coquitlam two days after the islanders lost to Tampa.

Mat spent his first summer in seven years bouncing around from place to place. He was out on the lake with Tyson for a few weeks and he visited Anthony and Emma when they bought their new home in Quebec.

He wasn’t home long with his family until he got a call, from Brock. His dad had died.

He asked if you and Mat could attend the funeral, his father really adored you both in the time he’d met you and he knew Mat well. Mathew agreed to attend, claiming you were busy but sent your well wishes.

He flew into Minnesota the day prior, dropping off flowers to Brock’s mom and she welcomed him into her home giving him a drink and thanking him for coming.

“He always liked watching you play, unless you played against Vancouver of course” she laughed, Mat gave her a smile “It’s a shame y/n couldn’t come”

“Yeah, it’s a shame” he mumbled.

Next he saw her was at the funeral, listening while she stood talking about her husband, the love she had for him, how much she missed him already.

All Mat could think about when he heard her words were you.

You were his best friend.

You were the person who knew him best.

You were supposed to be around forever.

When Mat got home after that trip he didn’t do much, he was no longer in the mood to go out partying, celebrating with friends.

Mat returned to Long Island in the end of August.

He frequented the coffee shop you guys often did and he even walked the route in the morning you did. He didn’t see you.

It wasn’t until week 3 of attending the same coffee shop that the barista, Logan said to him

“Mat, they don’t come in here anymore I’m sorry. Said they needed a fresh start after the breakup”

He silently nodded to the girl, hoping she hadn’t caught his face falling. He simply took his flat white from the counter and exited to building.

Contract talks started in mid-september.

The organization called in May to the office to discuss; throwing around money and perks.

He took the time to digest the information. He called him mom and dad to see what their opinions were on the whole thing, called his financial advisor and even called Anders but the number he kept hovering over belonged to you.

Everyone’s advice was along the lines of “you need to see yourself settling down in Long Island with a contract term like that” and he did, with you.

The deal was signed on October 4th.

@ny_islanders: “I love It here” says Mathew Barzal, after signing his 8 year extension to stay here in Long Island 💙🤍🧡

You read the tweet, saw the posts and the stories from your mutual friends. You wanted to text him — tell him congratulations, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

So instead, you simply put an orange heart emoji under the islanders post about his extension and scrolled on.

Mat saw it. His heart soared at the simplicity of it but yet the fact he knew you were still thinking of him, that you in some way still cared.

Late October, the leaves were starting to fall and hockey was beginning again. Mat wasn’t playing his best — missing goals, easy passes and a lot of falling over.

People started doubting him; calling him a fake, a money grabber and claiming they wished Lou hadn’t even drafted his extension papers.

Mat started to doubt himself too.

was he good enough?

should he have signed the papers?

was he worth the money?

was Long Island better off without him? were you?

There is was! The real problem.

Ever since that last December his mind had been stuck on you and really it shouldn’t have because it was his fault, he broke up with you.

If anyone asked Mat why you broke up he would say “We just wanted different things”

If Mat was honest with himself he would say “I was scared I wasn’t enough for them”

The first few months of hockey came and passed with not a single goal from Mat.

Lambert pulled him aside one morning at practice to tell him “You better get your head out of your ass son because one more game the way you’ve been going and you’ll be benched for the rest of this year”

The last game in November, against Philadelphia Mat was a healthy scratch.

His punishment was over by the next game but Lane told him in no specific terms he had to step up. Mat just groaned and mumbled a “Yeah, I’m fucking trying” before leaving the office.

It was harder now that it was December.

In summer he could just pretend things weren’t different.

You weren’t at his families house? You had to be with your mom.

He was alone at the casino event? You had work.

But Christmas, that was different. Christmas wasn’t something he could sweep under the rug and pretend you were busy.

You’d spent every Christmas together since Mat was eighteen years old. Your first Christmas in New York was an overwhelming experience and Mat thought it adorable at how excited you were about everything.

He bought you a necklace that year. It had his number on it, the gold chain necklace held the number thirteen on your chest and you never took it off.

It was a staple piece in your collection, whenever someone at one of your fancy work dinners or meetings would ask

“Hey why does your necklace have the thirteen on it?”

You would smile so bright, in such adoration and reply “My boyfriend, mat. He plays hockey for the New York Islanders and he’s number thirteen! but always number one to me” and everyone would laugh and call you cute.

You’d left that necklace behind the night you’d packed your stuff up to leave. Mat found it when he returned home from Boston on an away game to find you’d obviously been in and cleared out your belongings too while he was gone.

He took the necklace and posted it to your mom’s house, the only address connected to you he knew. He never knew if you’d gotten it back, not that it mattered much anyway because why would you want to wear it after you’d broken up?

Mat’s no goal streak continued up to the last game before Christmas, December 23rd and he was goal-less.

He was so frustrated at everything he couldn’t think straight about getting this goal. He was spending Christmas alone for the second year in a row — alone, without you.

He couldn’t stop thinking about you no matter how hard he tried. How you’d been here tonight wearing a silly Christmas jumper and cheering about the last game before Christmas.

They tanked the first period, Tkachuk got away with the puck leaving them up one by the end of the first. There were so many penalties, stupid penalties. It was a mess.

Second period, they equalised in the first few minutes with a goal from Beau before Brock got them up another which was matched not long after by Florida.

When the third period hit it was like something went off in Mat, that he had a surge of energy.

He got a goal, his first season goal! Then another and another with only a few seconds left on the clock.

Hat-trick. He got a hatty.

He’d done it. He finally scored a goal this season, they won the game and he got a hat-trick!

So why didn’t he feel like it was enough?

When he got back to the locker room, Mat pulled his phone out of his bag and looked at his notifications; texts from friends and family congratulating him on the goals, random emails but it was as though he was searching for something.

He clicked through the phone until he landed on what he wanted and pressed it before holding the phone up to his ear.

It rang twice before it connected

“Hello?”

“Um, hey! This is weird and I’m not sure why I’m doing this but I felt like I had to because, well because I scored my first goal of the season tonight. I scored my first season goal and I got a hatty too which I mean is a lot but I don’t feel like it’s enough”

Mat sighed, completely blocking out his team-mates listening to this conversation and looking on with sympathy

“It’s not enough because I know you’re not here-“

“-Mat-“

“No, please let me finish it’s taken me long enough to get the courage to call you. I was stupid for what I did last Christmas and I will wholeheartedly tell you that this year has been the worst year of my life and maybe you call that karma, I call it a wake up call that you… you’re the love of my life and that I want to be with you, I was scared and stupid but I’m better I will be better for you! I’m ready to be the man you need”

After his spiel, Mat took a deep breath awaiting your answer but instead was met with a dead line.

You hung up on him.

Mat looked dejectedly at him phone in hand before he got up to get dressed as he was very spitefully aware of the media and press awaiting him outside the door.

He breezed through media by giving them one word answers and a bored look, they usually let him away early when he did that.

Collecting his bag from the now empty locker room and sulking down the hallway towards the car park.

He wasn’t even looking up, instead opted for the wonderful view of his scuffed shoes. Paying so little attention he didn’t even see you standing at the end of the hallway.

“Nice shot!” His head whipped up, locking eyes with you almost immediately.

You watched his face go through a multitude of emotions before it softened and he muttered “What-“

“I was here Mat” is what you said, gesturing to the stairs you’d descended from your seat “I was sat up there and I watched it, I was cheering you on”

Mat was speechless, fumbling over his words and his eyes flickered across your body, trying to drink you in while you were stood in front of him before his eyes landed on your neck.

Lay on your black shirt was a necklace, the necklace.

The number thirteen lay to elegantly on your chest “You got it”

You looked down and smiled “Oh yeah, my mom sent it to my apartment” playing with it between your thumb and pointer finger.

A soft silence settled between you both, it wasn’t weird or awkward — it could never be awkward between you and Mat.

Until Mat broke the silence by asking

“Why are you here?”

You smiled gently “The islanders last game before Christmas has always been my tradition since I moved to New York you know that and so I never changed it this year, despite the circumstances” the last bit was a little snappy and he knew that.

“I meant what i said on that call by the way” you nodded curtly as a reply before holding out your hand for him to take

“How about you drive us around that neighbourhood with the good Christmas lights and we can talk, in the car eh?”

The Christmas lights, another tradition between you both.

Mat reached out, clasping his hand in yours and nodding “Yeah, let’s do that”

The lights on peoples home’s had somehow gotten better this year and you admired them all in a childlike fashion from the passenger seat of Mathew’s Range Rover.

“This is one of my favourite traditions we started” you say, still looking out the window. Your hand rested now on the console in the middle of the car.

Mat slipped his hand into yours, taking a leap of faith which paid off when you clasped it in yours and squeezed it.

“Yeah, i love it” he muttered, pulling the car into the side of the road now you’d reached the end of the street.

You turned to him now, waiting for him to say something.

“Listen, this is all really weird and I wish I was better with words because I would like to be able to tell you the million and one ways in which I absolutely adore you and regret what I did last Christmas every single day. However, what I can do is promise you, I promise you that I will work everyday to prove to you how much I love you and how sorry I am — I ruined Christmas and I think that’s what hurts the most is that I tainted something you love so much-“

You cut him off then, your hands resting on his cheeks; forcing him to look at you and you said “Christmas is not ruined, Christmas has brought me back to the boy I love with my whole heart and being. Don’t you ever think that you ruined Christmas because sure it wasn’t fun last year but we will have a million more Christmas’ to make up for it”

He nodded, head moving slightly so he could press a kiss onto your palm “I’ll make every Christmas the most special just for you”

“As long as I’ve got you, baby any Christmas is special”

On Christmas, when Mat arrived late to the Lee’s for Christmas with the team he walked in smiling

“Sorry, sorry I’m late I had to pick something up!”

“Dude it’s Christmas Day where could you possibly have gone to pick-“ Anthony cut himself off when he saw you enter the house, gifts stacked up in your arms that you placed on the table next to the door before grabbing Mat’s outreached hand.

“Oh my god, it’s a Christmas miracle!”

[aestheticaltcow]

Coffee Run

Sydney "Syd" Adamu x Reader

Someone requested a Syd x fem reader story a few months ago, and here it is!

The Bear Masterlist

“Syd, it’s my turn to do the pick-up. You do it every time, and it’s not fair to you,” Natalie scolded as she watched Syd pull her coat on. 

Syd waved off the concern, “Psh, don’t stress it, Natalie. I don’t mind doing it.” she was out the door before Natalie could even respond. Pick-up orders from the coffee shop down the street were the highlight of Sy’d shift these past few weeks.

The owner- Jake or James- Syd couldn’t remember his name outside the fact he was some J-named millennia man who knew little about food but a lot about business. At the beginning of the summer, he came by with a flyer advertising his coffee shop's new summer menu items. Richie joked about him being a narc but admitted the shop made a good cup of coffee. 

Everyone had taken a turn doing pick-up orders, and when it was finally Syd’s turn, she met you, and the short interaction the two of you shared felt like it was going in slow motion. 

You were standing by the intricate espresso machine, quickly whisking matcha. Syd noticed the colorful friendship bracelets adorning your wrists first. Then, the neon rainbow chrome nails. Your fingers were decorated with a mix of chunky acrylic rings and a few shiny gold rings. Syd swallowed softly and nervously walked up to the counter. You called out that you’d help her in a moment, but Syd didn’t know how to respond.

As you turned to look at Syd, she immediately noticed your expertly drawn winged eyeliner and the little bat septum ring. She knew you were queer- or at least curious…

“Hi i’m Y/N. Welcome to The Barn, what can I get started for you babe?” your dazzling smile and plush pillowy lips were even more intriguing than your jewelry. Syd was sure she had a stupid starstruck look plastered across her face. 

“Uh, pick up order?” Syd managed to answer your question with a question that made you giggle in response. “Are you one of The Bears?” you asked. Syd’s eyes narrowed as she thought of an answer, “Sorta? I’m the CDC.”

Syd’s explanation left you confused; Syd noticed and quickly clarified, “Chef de cuisine- sorta like a kitchen manager. I collaborate with the chef execuif- head chef- Carmy. Short blonde guy with a stick up his ass.” 

You laughed at the explanation of Carmy and quickly asked, “So you’re like the second in command?” Syd nodded and watched as you picked up a travel tray of drinks and set it on the counter. “Here’s your order…” you trailed off as you turned away to grab a small paper pastry bag, “You like raspberry jelly cookies?” 

Syd nodded, and your smile grew larger, revealing a small green crystal on your incisor. “Then here is a free cookie. I’m a bit of a baker, and Jeremy- the owner, lets me try new recipes sometimes.”  

“Thank you. Oh, I’m Syd, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Syd. Have a good rest of your day.” 

~

“There’s my favorite regular. Hey Syd!” you greeted as Syd walked into the coffee shop that afternoon. Syd grinned in response to your greeting and walked toward the counter. You put down the inventory checklist you’d been finalizing and went over to the register. “How you doin’ babe?”

“Confused, overworked, and underappreciated. The Carmy special.” Syd laughed as she leaned her palms against the redwood counter. “Sounds like my hard-workin’ girl could use a fudge espresso brownie.” you casually flirted, hoping today would be the day she’d ask for your phone number or at least your Instagram handle.

“You know the way to my heart, Y/N.” Syd smiled, making you blush. 

After you handed Syd the drink tray and brownie, you sighed. “Syd, are you into girls?” the question came off more bluntly than you’d intended and Syd looked taken aback slightly but slowly nodded. “Okay. I’m in a band, we’re doing a garage sow on Wednesday- you should come.” 

“I’ll be there.” Syd smiled as she put the tray back down on the counter. She then pulled her phone out of her pocket and quickly unlocked it before handing it to you. “Put your number in, and I’ll text you tonight for the details.” 

“Cool. Have a good shift, Syd.” You smiled and handed her phone back. Your fingers grazed each other as she took it back. The promise of a text tonight and the idea of Syd coming to your show left your stomach fluttering for the rest of your shift.

[avenging-fandoms]

My Guy, My Angel

This is a part 2 of this fic I wrote and a second part was requested immensely.

tags: @wonderheartz @aphrcdites @hazehepburn @ssacharcoalgrey @hereforpedritopascalito @soulbounded-bylove @jessieisinafunk @auberosier @hrrhrr @one-sweet-gubler @sydney-1209

--

Pedro started to hate Starbucks. It wasn't your coffee. Any coffee or coffee shop. No matter what brand, flavor, anything he tried. It wasn't from you. It wasn’t made with your love, your touch. Your smile made the coffee taste better, as he always told you.

He painted a smile on his face every camera he was in front of. He put on a good front that he was okay, but he was hurting. He walked out on the one person who made him feel safe, all because his brain made him worry.

Pedro thanked his driver and headed into his house, throwing his suitcase on the floor and falling on his couch. He laid in the dimmed room in silence for a few minutes before pulling out his phone. He found a flower store and a big bouquet of roses to be delivered to you the next day.

Your first full day back at work after everything happened with Pedro, and you still didn't want to go. But you owned the place, so you had to go in.

As soon as you walked in, you noticed the flowers on the counter and smiled. "Guys, this is so sweet. Thank you"

"These aren't from us" Danielle smiles and your stomach drops. You grab the vase and practically run into your office, locking the door. You search through the petals for a card, and you finally found the small son of a bitch.

"My angel. I'm sorry for everything. Call me."

You fell slowly in your chair, a smile on your face as tears fall down your cheeks. You laugh into your hand as you stare at the card, wiping your cheeks and grabbing your phone. Your thumb hovered over the call button under Pedro's name, but you accidentally pressed it while violently shaking.

It rung once. twice. And a third time.

Pedro's knuckles softly knocked on the metal door, keeping his head down until you opened your door. "Hi"

"Hello Pedro" you nod and step aside, Pedro coming in. "Anything to drink? Wine, water?" he slid off his jacket and hung it up, kicking off his shoes at the door.

“A wine sounds great, actually” he half smiles and you nod, turning around and grabbing a glass. You stood on your tip toes to try and grab another glass, but it was no use. “I can grab- oh okay” you climbed on the counter and Pedro stood behind you, helping you get down and letting his hands linger on your hips.

“I got it, Pedro. I’ve been getting things myself for a while now. Couple weeks” you kept the passive aggressive comment at a low tone, but it still stung Pedro. He deserved it.

“Right.. sorry” the room fell silent and the glugging of the wine splashing into the glass. You gave Pedro his wine, and he brushed his fingers against yours. “Thanks”

You pick up your glass and held it out to him, and he clicked it with a smile. You tried to hide yours but you let it slip when you took a sip.

“You know I am a baker, not a chef. So unless you want to eat banana bread, cupcakes and cookies for dinner with wine, I’d say let order something out” you head to the couch and Pedro turns his body and leans his elbow on the island as he watches you.

You take out the menus and open them, looking at Pedro. “Are you going to come pick something out?” you ask and he nods, sitting next to you.

He was almost a cushion away. He was nervous. He was scared. His eyes had a permanent puppy dog look where he already hurt you once, he was petrified to do it again.

"You can come closer, P. I know you can't see that well" you wink and he moves closer. Your thigh was touching his. This was all you got after weeks and weeks of silence. You wanted more, you needed more.

"I'm feeling.. hmph" you smile and lean back in the cushion. "What?"

"Always so picky, Pedrito" you sigh and he hits your knee. He looks at all the menus, picking up menu from the burrito place a couple streets away. "Good choice"

You ordered the food and Pedro watched every second. The way you played with your necklace nervously as you talked on the phone. Chewing your lip and letting your sentences fade.

You hung up and put your phone on the coffee table, grabbing your wine and laying back on the couch with Pedro. The room was quiet. You were waiting for someone to break it. You knew it had to be you.

"So.. 45 minutes for our food. What should we do in the meantime?" you ask and he inhales.

"We should.. talk about what happened" you raise your eyebrows as you swallow the rest of your wine, putting the glass down in the table rather aggressively. "But I'm not going to talk to you when you're angry"

"I have every right to be angry" your head whips in his direction and he sits up. "You left me. Not an explanation call, text. Nothing. 3 weeks I watched you on my tv. Phone. Laptop. The tvs in my coffee shop!"

Tears were falling. From the both of you.

"You left me, Pedro. And that hurt me.." you inhale and get up, wiping your face. You turn 180 and look at Pedro who was still sitting on the couch. "I have never felt a pain like that before"

You looked at him with a trembling chin as he set his wine glass down slowly and wiped his face, looking at you and standing up. "I know. I know it hurt you. Instead of telling you what was going on, I just left"

"And didn't speak to me for 3 weeks" you crossed your arms and he walked past you, sitting at the seat against the island.

"A guy my age has experienced.." he raised his hand as he tried to get the words out, but tears came out of his instead. He dropped his hand and lightly slapped his thigh. "A great amount of loss. People leaving me. And.. and that night, the finale, you looked at me and all I saw was every way I could lose you"

The air was thick. His words were letters swimming in the air. His tears couldn't stop. You slowly stepped towards him, opening his legs and stepping in between them. Pedro immediately leaned his head on your chest and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you tightly into him like you could melt into his skin.

"Calm down, Pedro. Breathe. It's okay" you whisper as you rub his back, your breaths becoming synced as he listened to your words. "Thank you for explaining why, Pedro" your hand held his cheeks, his teary puppy eyes watching you in awe. "But I would never.. ever.. leave or abandon you. You are someone I met for the first time and knew you would be a big part of my life. And you are. I am in love with watching you do what you do"

Pedro smiles, hugging you again. "Thank you for not hating me"

"That's ridiculous. I could never hate you, my Pedrito" you hold his cheeks again and rub your thumbs over his beard, feeling his breath on your mouth. "Friends can kiss, right?"

Pedro smiled, hand rubbing over your chest and holding the side of your neck. "I think we're past that" his thumb laid on your jaw under your ear as he pulled you in, the other arm wrapped tightly around your waist. "I've missed you so much, my angel"

You smile, pressing your nose against his as you wrap your arms around his neck. "I missed you more, my guy" he smiles and pushes his head forward, finally connecting your lips together.

Pedro's fears and worries seemed to fade as he melted into the shape of your mouth. He saw bright colors and his brain only saw the good parts of life with you. And it was all he ever dreamed of.

You.

[goldengleams]

coffee crazy | nico hischier x reader

In which you're the coffee girl that he can't get enough of.

————————————————————————

"Coffee for Joan!"

You swirled around yet another drink, handing another customer their coffee. She gave you a large smile, thanking you for her drink and telling you you had made her morning. She was one of the regulars that you saw almost every day you worked at the shop. A smile was plastered on your face to greet the customers at the front. The large vintage clock on the wall of the coffee shop mocked you, reading 7:00AM. Only four more hours left of your early Friday morning shift at the coffee shop near your apartment.

Another day in northern New Jersey was underway, cars driving to and from the bustling highways leading into New York City. The winter snow was falling softly towards the ground.

You knew the morning rush was the busiest time of day for the local shop since everyone needed their early morning booster for the day. Your coworkers had all taken their positions at their respective station in the coffee assembly line, with you at the cash register to fill in for the girl who had called out sick late last night.

"And here are two cake pops for Sydney and Sadie! Have a good day at school, you two."

You handed two little girls cake pops from inside the glass case and turned to give their mom her drink. You knew most of the customers by name which always made them smile during the morning.

Suddenly, you noticed there was an unfamiliar face in the line. A tall man with dark hair was staring up at the list of various coffee drinks that the shop offered. He wore a black sweatshirt with black joggers and had a gray beanie on his head, so that just the ends of his hair could be seen. The unknown man had to be at least six feet tall, if not taller, and he definitely looked strong.

As he walked up to the counter, you were at a loss for what to say. You usually fell into quick conversation with the guest, but you didn't know his face. There was no reason to worry, you tried to remind yourself. You had taken at least 100 orders already so there was no reason to stress over one little interaction.

"Hi," he greeted you.

Your tongue struggled to move from where it felt like it was glued to the roof of your mouth. The stranger had an accent that you could pick up on, quickly melting your mind into mush.

"Hi, what can I get for you this morning?" You studied his face while he made a slight step backwards to verify his order from the board.

"I'll have a large red eye please," he said. His tired brown eyes met yours as you tried to remember how to use the computer in front of you. You desperately wanted to start some kind of interesting conversation with him but the whirring of the coffee machines kept you focused on the task at hand.

"That will be $5.50," you said, avoiding his eyes.

He quickly handed you a $10 bill and you started to count out his change, before he stopped you.

"Keep the change," he said.

"Are you sure? I can give you the change," you tried to argue with him, but he waved his hand. You raised your eyebrows in surprise but thanked him and took the change to put in in your tip jar.

"Hope the day goes well, you've got half the town wanting your coffee," he chuckled.

"Yeah, it's always busiest when it snows, everyone needs a hot drink," you replied. You looked away from his figure to grab a cup.

"Oh, it's Nico. Never gave you my name," he said sheepishly. He leaned in a little to see your name tag on your apron. "Thanks, Y/N."

Your breath hitched in your chest as you realized you had never asked what his name was. You wrote his name on the cup and started filling his order before you passed it along to a coworker. He flashed you a bright smile and moved to the pickup counter.

Nico, you thought. You'd remember that name.

--------------------------------------------------------

The next time you saw him was the following Wednesday. This time, Nico walked into the coffee shop in the afternoon when it was much quieter. You were over by the espresso machine and had just completed someone's order and setting it on the counter when you saw him.

This time, Nico was wearing a red and gray sweatshirt that had a New Jersey logo on it. He caught your gaze before it was broken by someone walking up to him. A teenager broke his attention and you could hear them asking him for a picture. You turn around to your coworker, Dan.

"What's that all about?" You whispered, trying to hide your voice in the mix of the soft music and the whirring machines.

"You're not serious are you? He's, like, the most important player on the team," Dan scoffed. He went around you to snatch a muffin from the glass case.

"Team? What team?" You questioned while bending over to get more cups from under the counter. You could see that their interaction was wrapping up, so you were getting nervous.

"He's the captain of the New Jersey hockey team, Y/N! I thought you said you liked sports," Dan rolled his eyes.

"You can't expect me to know everything about every sport! I only went to, like, two hockey games in college," you hissed, moving to bring the sleeve of cups up.

"Okay well just stand up before the hottie comes over, would you? Oh, and give him your number, this could be your coffee shop meet cute," Dan said.

You tried to stand up as quickly as possible, but underestimated where the counter was, bumping your head on the corner and letting out a curse.

"You alright down there?"

You froze. You were awkwardly bent over, arms under the counter and head just peeking over the top. Nico was now standing in front of you, looking at you with an amused smirk on his face.

"Yeah, uh, just grabbing some cups," you gestured to the sleeve that was about to fall out of your arms.

"God, I feel like I run this place by myself sometimes," you said, looking towards Dan, who shrugged his shoulders.

Nico let out a soft laugh as you struggled to place the cups in their spot and wiped your hands on your apron.

"What can I get for you today, Nico?"

His eyes lit up at the use of his first name. You couldn't help but swoon at how adorable he was.

"Good memory," he replied. "And I'll do a medium vanilla latte, Y/N."

He made small talk with you as he paid and you turned to start his order. Since there was no one else in line behind him, he followed you down the line as you made his drink.

"One medium vanilla latte for Nico," you smiled as you handed him his drink.

You swore that the heat from his drink traveled through your veins and tickled your heart. You always thought it was cliche to feel butterflies in your stomach, but you swore that whatever spell Nico had you under had to have been just that.

"Y/N, weren't you gonna take your long break right now?" Dan called to you. He was huddled up in the corner with two of your other coworkers.

"Um, it's not," you stammered out but were quickly cut off.

"Yeah, go relax, we've got it!" Dan flashed you a smile before coming over to untie your apron and lightly shove you towards the opening.

There was only a few feet of space between you and Nico now, and he was looking at you. You couldn't help but feel a little lost in the situation, not sure of where to go next.

"We could sit?" Nico offered, gesturing to the booth in the corner.

You nodded and followed him over, feeling excited yet nervous about what might happen next. You slid in the seat across from Nico. He took a sip of his drink while you tried to avoid making eye contact with your coworkers who were watching you from behind the counter.

"I'm really sorry about them, they're all teenagers that are nosy as hell," you said, letting out a chuckle.

You tucked your hands under your legs to try to keep them from bouncing up and down under the table. For all you knew, Nico could be dating someone and not have interest in the girl at the coffee shop.

While you were trying to think of something to say, you missed the warm look that Nico was giving you. He could tell that you were tense. He cleared his throat to catch your attention.

"I heard you say you've never been to an NHL game? You're pretty close to the arena, y'know," he teased you.

"Oh god, please don't tell me you heard that whole conversation?" You let out a light groan.

"Only the end," Nico assured. "You probably know I'm on the hockey team, but if you ever want to come it's always a fun time. It could be your third hockey game ever."

He twirled one of the strings of his hoodie in his right hand while looking at you. You couldn't deny the pull that his dark eyes held, especially when his hair hung right at the corners of his eyes, framing his face perfectly.

"I guess I might have to," you replied coyly. "But just to clarify, I do like sports, so I'm hopefully not totally helpless in understanding it."

He hummed in understanding.

"So what sports do you like, then?"

"Mainly football and basketball," you answered. "I'm trying to save up for law school and hopefully work in sports law someday."

You sat up a little straighter in your seat, feeling prideful at your confident admission to him. Your day to day life consisted of mainly working and studying, just going through the motions with many of your interactions. Saying your dream out loud made it feel attainable, which made you smile.

You and Nico chatted for a while at the booth. You learned about his hockey team while he asked you what college had been like and how your favorite teams had been playing during the season. He could tell how driven and inspired you were to achieve your goals, which he found insanely attractive. You got more and more comfortable, joking with him and making him smile. Eventually, he had to go and you had to get back to work, so you said your goodbyes and he promised to be back for more coffee soon.

You rounded the corner of the counter with a new confidence as you approached your coworkers.

“You look like you had a fun little break date,” your other coworker, Ellie, said with a smile.

“And I set it all up!” Dan chimed in.

“Yeah, he’s very nice,” you said smiling. “He said he’ll be back soon.”

Ellie and Dan shared a look, indicating that they knew something that you didn’t.

“Ok spill you idiots, I’m getting impatient!”

“Okay, okay! He may or may not have come in on Monday and may or may not have asked for you,” Ellie giggled. Mondays were your days off, meant for studying and catching up on chores around your shared apartment. The idea that Nico had come in looking for you made you giddy with excitement.

“He has a cruh-ush!” Dan teased, poking your arm.

Maybe you did, too.

--------------------------------------------------------

While at your shift two days later, there were no sightings of Nico, but you did get an interesting call right as the morning rush was dying down. You sighed, hoping you weren't going to have to answer a complaint.

"You're speaking with Y/N at The Daily Grind, how may I help you?" You answered, letting Ellie take over the register as you found a piece of paper.

"Hi there Y/N, this is Kayla and I, uh, have a big ask for you," she mused on the other end of the line.

"Oh, that's no problem. What were you looking to order?"

"Well, I'm an intern calling on behalf of the New Jersey Devils. After the win last night, our Captain wanted to congratulate everyone and he said he knew a great coffee shop," she started. "He said to make sure that I asked if you were there since you make the best lattes."

"Oh, that's really sweet. Tell him I said congrats on the win!"

You felt your cheeks flush at the idea of Nico offering to order everyone a treat for their win. Even if he didn't feel any certain way towards you, at least he was willing to support a small business.

"He also said that if you were too busy he would plan a big order for another day, he seems to know a lot about your shop," she chuckled.

"We can complete the order, no problem," you smiled as you went to write down the large order. "And, uh, tell Nico that I hope to see him around the shop soon."

After your coworkers heard you on the phone, they were only mildly surprised to find a bouquet of roses show up at the door with a notecard addressed to you the next day.

--------------------------------------------------------

Over the weekend, you worked, registered for the upcoming LSAT, and watched some hockey. The Devils had been on a roadie, terminology you had learned from Nico, and were now on a winning streak.

You had been hoping that Nico would come into The Daily Grind soon. Your roommate was so excited when you told her about the whole ordeal and was convinced he had feelings for you. Your heart swelled in your chest at the hope that she may be right.

While you were sweeping in the evening, you heard the bell on the door ring. Your coworker was on break so you walked up to the counter to greet the customer.

The man at the counter couldn't have been much older than you. He had deep blue eyes and damp hair that curled around the bottom of his ears, eyes focused on his phone in his hand. "Hi, what can I get for you tonight?"

He typed a message out on his phone, pocketing it in his hoodie and looking at the board above your head.

"What do you like here?" He asked.

"Um, I like our iced coffees and smoothies a lot, the caramel iced coffee is my go-to," you replied and he nodded.

"And what does Nico like to get?" He looked right into your eyes as he said it, trying to see what your reaction would be.

You froze in his stare before clearing your throat to repeat the drinks that Nico had ordered before.

"He seems to like our espresso a lot," you trailed off.

"Yeah, he seems to like this place a lot, talks about it all the time," he chuckled. "I'll just get a medium cold brew for now. I'm Jack, by the way. I play with Nico."

You chatted while you made his drink, heart beating a little quicker at the idea of being scoped out by his wingman and teammate. He told you about their most recent game and made sure to note how well Nico had played.

"When Nico feels strongly about something, he tends to go the whole nine yards, just so you know," Jack said while walking out. "He wanted me to tell you he'll be in soon!"

--------------------------------------------------------

Even though Jack seemed pretty sure when he said Nico would be back, you began to lose hope when a week went by and there was no sighting of Nico. No other Devils members came by to the shop to order anything nor did you get any calls from interns.

“Have a good night, Y/N,” Dan called. You were closing tonight so you said goodbye and started to clean up. "Don't stay too long, it's starting to snow again!" You promised him you were almost finished as he left you alone to your thoughts.

You hummed along to the song playing over the speakers. It was Love Story by Taylor Swift. You wished that you could have a love story but maybe now wasn’t the time. Nico was a professional hockey player who was undoubtedly busy with his schedule, so you couldn't blame him for his absence.

You must have lost track of time because next thing you knew, the big clock read 8:00PM. You turned the main light off and went to lock the door when you heard a knock against the window. Standing outside the coffee shop, illuminated by the outdoor lights was Nico. He had a smile on his face as he pointed towards the door for you to let him in.

"We're closed for the night, sir," you teased playfully as you let him through the door.

He stepped inside as you held the door open for him, brushing some light snow off of his puffy black coat.

"Hey, Y/N," he said. You moved to turn on the overhead light since the place was now pretty dark.

"Hi Nico," you said. Although you tried to hide how giddy you were, you were sure it slipped out just a little. "I figured I might see some other Devils players before I saw you again."

You could see his cheeks flush as you moved around him to keep straightening things up. Around Nico, the butterflies in your stomach were endless and you could barely sit still.

"I hope Jack didn't scare you, he kinda got the information out of me before I realized I had told him," he replied. You had your back turned to him but he knew you were listening, as you two were the only ones there.

"Well I hope you aren't sending your wingman off to all of the other coffee shops you frequent," you twisted around to see him and gave him a smirk.

He pushed his hands into his pockets and shook his head. He breathed out a soft laugh before mumbling something you couldn't understand.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, just thinking how I must be off my game pretty badly if you still think I'm trusting other people with my coffee order."

You rested your back against the counter, staring at him through a guarded gaze. You didn't pride yourself on being the most naive of people, but you knew you weren't always the most receptive either.

"I mean, I got the roses and everything, which were beautiful, but I just figured you were being nice," you said sheepishly. "I think I'm usually so focused on getting through the day that I forget to think about stuff like that."

"Well, I hope I wasn't too forward, Jack says I can be sometimes," he chuckled.

"No, no, uh, you're good," you said. "I guess I could just use the guiding sometimes. It's not everyday that you receive roses from a handsome guy."

You focused your gaze on your shoes as you heard footsteps come closer to you. Nico had approached you and stood right in front of you now. You cocked your head to the side, waiting for his next move.

"Can I guide you out of this shop and out to dinner with me tonight?"

You tried not to let your eyes go too wide as you processed what Nico just said. Was this how it felt in the movies?

"If you didn't realize already, I think you're very beautiful and kind, Y/N. I'd love to take you on a date, if you wanted," he trailed off.

"Nico," you muttered, a smile coming to your lips. "I would love to."

He reached for your hand and brought it to his lips to give it a small kiss. Even though you hadn't known Nico for very long, you could tell that he was a true gentleman. You quickly packed up your bag and closed the shop to join him on the first of many dates to come.

--------------------------------------------------------

Note: Hi guys! This is my first time ever writing for NHL so I hope you enjoyed it!! Feel free to leave requests or share feedback and more will be coming soon!

[meazalykov]

wrong number

bayern munich frauen x reader

1/6, 2/6, 3/6, 4/6, 5/6, 6/6

summary: fate brought them to you

you've been in munich for two weeks now, and life has been surprisingly calm. 

after the chaos of packing, traveling, and settling into your new apartment, you've finally found a routine. the apartment is cozy, mid century themed and tucked away in a quiet nice bavarian neighborhood with everything you need nearby. 

maple, your tabby cat, has settled in just as well as you, spending most of her days lounging in the patches of sunlight that filter through your windows. sometimes she lays on your balcony when it is warm outside.

remote work has kept you busy, but it’s not the same as the constant stream of activities back home. you've spent most of your free time exploring the neighborhood, finding comfort in the little things—like the coffee shop at the corner of your street. 

the barista already knows your order: iced mocha coffee with strawberry cold foam to have with a plain bagel with butter. it’s become a morning ritual, something you look forward to each day.

despite the quiet life you're living, you’re still in touch with the girls from the group chat. they’ve kept you in the loop, sending memes, talking about football, and, most importantly, making you feel like you’ve got friends here in munich. 

you’ve especially bonded with sydney, who’s given you tons of recommendations on places to eat and visit. you haven’t met any of them in person yet, though. 

the thought of it makes you a little nervous. would they be as friendly in real life as they are in the chat? would they recognize you?

this morning is no different from any other. you wake up, stretch, and check your phone. a few messages have already popped up in the group chat.

georgia: guten morgen guys! practice soon ugh, i’m so tired from the sprints last night. i need caffeine

sydney: always need caffeine. 

sydney: hey y/n 

you: hi good morning! 

sydney: try the new place i told you about yet, y/n?

you: not yet! i was planning to check it out this weekend.

tuva: y/n, if you don’t check it out soon, we’re gonna have to drag you there!! 

you laugh to yourself as you get out of bed. maple stirs from her spot on the windowsill, stretching her little legs before hopping down to rub against your leg. 

"hey, maple," you say softly, giving her a gentle scratch behind the ears before heading to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

within thirty minutes, you're dressed and heading out the door, your mind already on that iced mocha. the walk to the coffee shop is short, and you smile at the familiar sight of the cozy little café as you approach. 

it’s not too crowded this morning, just a few people scattered around with their laptops and books at the wooden glossed tables.

you step up to the counter, already knowing your order by heart. as you wait for the barista to finish up with a few other customers, the bell above the door rings, signaling someone’s entrance. 

you glance over out of habit, not thinking much of it—until you see a familiar face.

georgia stanway. from the group chat.

you freeze for a second, your brain trying to catch up with what you’re seeing. she’s dressed casually, a grey hoodie pulled over her head with matching joggers, but there’s no mistaking her. 

she’s one of the girls from the bayern munich chat, and she’s just walked into your coffee shop. you’re not sure what to do—does she even care enough to want to talk to you in person? you’ve never spoken to any of them face-to-face, aside from a few private messages with sydney about food spots.

you’re still debating what to do when georgia looks up and catches your eye.

for a moment, you're sure she doesn’t recognize you, but then her face breaks into a smile.

"y/n?" she asks, her voice tinged with surprise.

you nod, unable to stop the grin that spreads across your face. 

"yeah, hey!"

before you know it, georgia’s quickly walking over to you, pulling you into a quick hug. 

"oh my days, i didn’t think i’d run into you here!" she laughs, stepping back. 

"i’ve been waiting to meet you. what are you doing at this café?"

you chuckle nervously, still a little stunned. 

"i live just down the street. this is my usual spot."

georgia’s eyes widen. 

"no way! i live right down the street too. this is my favorite café."

"seriously?" you laugh. 

"i’ve been coming here almost every day since i moved."

"well, i guess we’re neighbors now," georgia says, still grinning. 

"small world, huh?"

you nod, feeling the nervousness melt away. georgia’s warmth and friendliness are exactly how she was in the group chat, and you’re already starting to feel comfortable.

"what are you getting?" georgia asks, stepping up to the counter with you.

"an iced mocha and a plain bagel with butter," you reply.

georgia raises her eyebrows, impressed. 

"fancy. i’m just going for a regular iced coffee today. practice from last night has drained me."

the two of you place your orders and find a table near the window, settling in for what turns into an easy conversation. 

you talk about the neighborhood, about your favorite spots so far, and about how surreal it is to finally meet each other in person.

"i can’t believe we live so close," georgia says at one point, shaking her head. 

"i knew you were in munich, but i didn’t think we’d run into each other like this. we were all planning to invite you to the games in order to get the chance to see you!"

"oh my– and me neither," you admit, smiling as you sip your iced mocha. 

"but this is nice. makes the city feel a little less big, you know?"

georgia nods, her eyes sparkling with excitement. 

"so, what have you been up to? besides chilling at this café."

you shrug. 

"mostly work. i’ve been working remotely, so i spend a lot of time here or at home with maple."

"maple?"

"my cat," you explain with a laugh. 

"she’s a tabby. super lazy."

"cute. i’m more of a dog person, but cats are cool!" georgia says, leaning back in her chair. 

"speaking of lazy, i have to head to practice soon, but we need to hang out again sometime. we all think it’s nice having a non-football friend."

you smile at that. 

"yeah, i’d like that."

before you leave, georgia pulls out her phone. 

"we need to send a pic to the group chat. everyone’s gonna freak out that we met in person!"

you laugh as she leans in for a quick selfie. 

"okay, ready?" she says, holding the phone up. you smile, and she snaps the photo. within seconds, it’s posted in the group chat.

georgia: *one photo attachment*

georgia: look who i ran into!!

the chat blows up immediately.

sydney: NO WAY.

klara: LUCKY???!!!!!

tuva: i’m dying omg 

lena: jealous af rn 

sarah: this is too cute. i can’t 

you laugh as the messages roll in, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. you hadn’t expected to feel this connected to them, but here you are, genuinely happy that you’ve met georgia.

"i knew they’d freak out," georgia says with a grin, pocketing her phone. 

"anyway, i gotta head to practice, but let’s hang out soon, yeah?"

"for sure," you reply, standing up as well. 

"i’m heading to the gym anyway."

"perfect timing," georgia says, pulling you into another quick hug. 

"see you later, neighbor."

"see you," you say, waving as she heads out the door.

as you walk back home, you feel a strange sense of contentment. you hadn’t expected to make friends so quickly in munich, but here you are, part of a group of girls who seem genuinely happy to have you around—even if the way you met was unconventional.

later that afternoon, after you’ve finished your workout and settled back in at home, you check your phone again. more messages have piled up in the group chat, and you scroll through them with a smile.

tuva: y/n, you should come to our game this weekend. we’re playing frankfurt at home

sydney: YES. you have to come. it’s gonna be epic.

lea: you don’t really have a choice y/n 

you blink, surprised by the invitation. you hadn’t even thought about going to one of their games, but now that they’re asking, you find yourself grinning.

you: lea i’d love to anyways! count me in.

the excitement in the chat is immediate.

kathi: yessss! it’s gonna be so fun.

sydney: we’ll hook you up with tickets and the seating stuff. don’t worry about a thing!

lena: you can sit with kathi and i! we can’t play because of our acl injuries

y/n: ouu

y/n: ouu to the seating, not you and kathi being injured

klara: don’t lie y/n

   kathi: ?? 

   lena: ????? 

klara: i’m kidding!

y/n: LMAO

ana g: see you soon y/n!

the day of the bayern munich vs. frankfurt game arrive a few days later. you’re feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. this is your first time attending a professional football match, and it’s not just any match—it’s your new friends’ match. 

these girls, whom you’ve gotten to know through a mistaken group chat, are now part of your life, and you’re here to support them. its out-of-body to you.

you stand outside the stadium, ticket on your phone, which sydney had sent to you earlier in the week. as you walk in, you can’t help but take in the electric atmosphere. fans are streaming in from every direction, wearing red and white scarves, chanting and singing in excitement. 

the energy is contagious.

after buying a pretty bayern-themed scarf from the merch stand, you wrap it around your neck for good measure. it feels like the perfect way to show support for your new friends, even though you’ve only known them for about a month. 

they’ve been so welcoming, and you can’t help but feel grateful for how things have turned out.

you glance at your phone, double-checking the seating section sydney had mentioned in her text. the ticket leads you to the family and friends section, which surprises you. 

you didn’t expect to be sitting somewhere so special for the team. then again, you didn’t expect to be here at all a month ago.

when you reach your row, you notice that the seats directly beside you are still empty, but that’s okay. you sit down, adjusting your scarf and the brown bomber jacket you’d chosen for the game. the late evening breeze is cool, but the jacket keeps you warm as you watch the girls warm up on the pitch below.

as you look out at the field, you spot all of the familiar faces from the group chat—they’re already practicing. you can’t help but smile, knowing you’ve gotten to know these players beyond just their professional personas. 

the same moment– you see two figures walking together along the bottom of the family and friends section, heading in your direction: 

lena and kathi.

you try not to stare, pretending you’re just casually looking around as they get closer to the section where you're seated. 

it’s impossible not to notice when they head directly toward you. your heart skips a beat, unsure of what to expect.

"y/n!!!?" kathi grins, stopping beside you. 

"hii its nice to finally meet you!"

"oh, hey!!!" you stand up, a bit flustered but smiling. 

"it’s so good to finally meet you guys in person."

kathi pulls you into a hug, and lena smiles as she steps closer, giving you a quick hug as well. 

"we were wondering when we’d run into you," lena says, her voice warm and teasing.

"same here," you laugh nervously. 

"i wasn’t sure i’d see any of you outside the chat."

"well, now you’re stuck with us," kathi jokes, sitting down on your left, while lena settles in on your right. 

"this seat taken?"

"nope, all yours," you reply, staying cool despite the fact that you’re suddenly sitting between two bayern stars. 

"so, you come here often?" lena asks, nudging you lightly as she adjusts her scarf.

you grin. 

"this is my first time at a soc- sorry, football match, actually."

kathi raises an eyebrow. 

"wait, you’ve never been to a football game?"

"not really," you admit, feeling a little sheepish. 

"i know how the game works, but i’ve just never watched it. i played basketball growing up in the states."

"basketball? that’s cool," kathi says, her eyes lighting up with interest. 

"i could never get the hang of basketball. too many rules."

"too many rules?" lena laughs, shaking her head. 

"you’re a footballer, and you think basketball has too many rules?"

"okay, fair," kathi grins, giving lena a playful nudge from around your shoulder.  

"but come on, football’s just easier to follow."

"yeah, yeah, whatever," lena says with a grin. 

then, turning back to you, she asks, "so. .y/n tell me– do you have any other friends in munich? or maybe… a boyfriend?"

you laugh, not expecting the question. 

"oh, no. definitely no boyfriend."

lena raises an eyebrow, intrigued. 

"really?"

"yeah," you nod, still smiling. 

"i don’t swing that way."

kathi lets out a quiet snicker, and lena shoots her a quick look—one of interest. 

kathi just rolls her eyes playfully, clearly aware that lena is trying to flirt. 

you, of course, are oblivious and continue chatting as if nothing is unusual.

"good to know," lena says, her tone lighter, almost teasing.

before the conversation can continue, kathi jumps in, steering it away from lena’s not-so-subtle flirting. 

"so, any hobbies? other than being in random group chats with footballers?"

"actually, yeah," you say, smiling at the memory of your last project. "i do ceramics."

"no way," kathi says, clearly impressed. 

"that’s awesome. i’ve always wanted to try something like that."

"you should! there’s a ceramics studio in downtown munich. i’m going to a class next week if you guys want to come with me on wednesday."

"i’m in," kathi says instantly, grinning.

"i’d love to, but i’ve got a thing with adidas that day," lena says, frowning slightly. 

"but next time for sure."

"no worries," you say, understanding. 

"it sounds like you guys are always busy with something."

"pretty much," kathi sighs, leaning back in her seat. 

"but hey, at least we get days like today to relax."

you glance over at lena and kathi, both of them sitting out of this gme due to their ACL injuries. 

"how are you guys doing with the injuries, by the way?"

"we’re getting there," kathi says with a small smile. 

"it sucks, but we’re doing okay."

"yeah," lena adds. 

"it’s tough watching from the sidelines, but we’re handling it."

just then, a loud cheer erupts from the crowd as the game kicks off. you turn your attention to the field, watching as bayern and frankfurt begin to battle it out.

about thirty minutes into the game, georgia breaks through frankfurt’s defense and scores a stunning goal. the crowd screams, and you, kathi, and lena all clap enthusiastically.

"that’s our girl," kathi grins, clapping as she watches georgia celebrate with her teammates.

you lean over slightly, grinning as you point towards georgia. 

"so how does someone kick a ball that far? seriously, that was impressive."

lena smirks and leans in a little closer to you, her eyes playful. 

"how do you shoot a three-pointer?"

you laugh. 

"practice, lots of practice. you’ve just got to get the right angle, arm strength, and—"

"so basically, the same thing as kicking a ball from outside the penalty box?" lena teases.

"i guess you could say that," you reply with a grin, enjoying the playful banter.

the three of you settle into the game, chatting in between plays and cheering for bayern.  

as you talk, you can’t help but notice people around you taking pictures. kathi and lena are well-known, and while you’re not used to the attention, it���s clear that people are curious about who you are. 

who’s the girl sitting with two injured bayern players? whispers and glances are cast in your direction from photographers and fans, but you try not to pay it any mind.

by halftime, the score is still 1-0 in favor of bayern, and lena and kathi stand up to stretch. 

"we’re going to the lounge," kathi says, glancing down at you. 

"you coming?"

you hesitate, unsure if you’re even allowed. 

"i thought that was just for family and players?"

lena laughs. "you’re on the list. we put you down as one of our guests. you’re our friend."

"seriously?" you feel a smile spread across your face, touched by the gesture. 

"that’s amazing. i had no idea."

"come on, let’s go," kathi says, waving you along. 

"you’ve got to see it."

you follow them to the lounge, which is a lot fancier than you expected. plush couches, tables lined with snacks, and a relaxed atmosphere for family and friends of the team to hang out during halftime. 

"you know– it’s so nice to have a friend who’s not a footballer," lena speaks. 

"i’m glad you guys like my presence," you admit, still in awe of how quickly everything’s changed since that random group chat.

“oh, i definitely do.” lena smirks. 

kathi roles her eyes at lena while smiling. 

"it feels like you’re one of us now." kathi says, nudging you. 

after the break, the three of you head back out to your seats just in time to see bayern score another goal. this time, it’s klara who fires a screamer from way outside the penalty box, sending the ball soaring into the back of the net. the crowd erupts, and you clap along with lena and kathi.

lena glances over at you with a playful smile. 

"i’ve got to say, y/n," she starts, her voice light but with that familiar teasing edge, 

"you’re really pulling off that look. the brown bomber jacket, the bavarian scarf—you're fitting in with the bayern fans already."

you laugh, tugging at the scarf and feeling a little flustered by the compliment. 

"oh, thanks. i wasn’t sure if i could pull off the whole ‘bayern fan’ look, but here we are."

"oh, you’re pulling it off," lena says, her eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than you expect. there’s something in her tone—something that makes your heart skip a beat—but you shrug it off, thinking she’s just being friendly.

kathi, sitting on your other side, shoots lena a knowing look. 

"careful, lena. you’re laying it on pretty thick," she says, grinning as she leans forward to catch your eye. 

"she’s just messing with you, y/n."

you chuckle, completely oblivious to the flirtatious undercurrent. 

"well, it’s working. i feel like a proper football fan now."

"you look like one too," lena adds, her smile widening as she casually adjusts the scarf around your neck. her fingers brush lightly against your skin, and for a brief second, there’s a flicker of something more in the way she’s looking at you. 

again, you chalk it up to her just being playful. after all, you’ve only known these girls for a month—there’s no way lena’s flirting, right?

"okay, okay," you laugh, trying to shake off the slight awkwardness you feel. 

"i get it, i look the part. but you two are the real stars here."

"oh please," kathi says, rolling her eyes. 

"we’re benched, remember? lena and i are just here for moral support. you’re the real star for coming to your first game and surviving sitting with us."

you smile, feeling comfortable with them even though you’re completely out of your element. 

"honestly, i’ve had so much fun already. i didn’t realize how intense football could be."

"you haven’t seen anything yet," lena says, nudging your arm. 

"this is just a regular league game. wait until you see the champions league.” 

"yeah, lena’s right. the energy in those games is something else," kathi adds, leaning back in her seat and stretching.

you nod, already imagining the bigger games. "i can’t wait to see more."

"and now that you’re here in munich," lena says, leaning a little closer, 

"we’ll have to make sure you come to more games. maybe we’ll even get you onto the pitch someday."

"me? on the pitch? you guys would concede twenty goals before the second half." you laugh, shaking your head. 

"i’m just here to watch. you guys are the pros."

"oh, i don’t know," lena says, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

 

"you’ve got the look down, you’ve got the enthusiasm. all you need now is a little practice."

"practice?" you raise an eyebrow, amused. 

"i don’t think i’d last five minutes on the field."

kathi grins, leaning in from the other side. 

"i think you’d surprise yourself. plus, you play basketball, right? you’ve got the coordination."

"it’s not the same thing," you say, laughing. 

"i’ve never even kicked a ball before."

"we’ll fix that," lena says confidently, her hand brushing against your arm again. 

"next time we’re at the training grounds after our injury rehab, you should come. we’ll show you how it’s done."

kathi watches the exchange, clearly picking up on lena’s flirty tone, but you remain completely oblivious. 

you just smile, nodding along as if they’re simply making friendly suggestions.

"yeah, i’m sure i’ll be a natural," you joke, but lena’s gaze lingers on you for a beat longer, and kathi gives her a subtle nudge.

by the time the final whistle blows after the game, bayern has secured a solid 3-0 victory, and the atmosphere in the stadium is electric. you clap and cheer along with the rest of the fans, feeling proud of your friends on the field.

"let’s go down and meet everyone," lena says, standing up and stretching.

"wait, meet everyone?" you ask, your eyes wide.

"yeah, come on," kathi says, grinning as she grabs your hand and pulls you toward the field. 

"we’re taking you down to meet the whole team."

you can hardly believe this is happening. as the three of you make your way onto the pitch, your heart races. you’ve seen these girls on instagram or in the group chat, but now you’re about to meet them in person.

as soon as they spot you, georgia, sydney, tuva, and the rest of the team come running over, laughing and cheering.

“y/n!!” sam kerr squeals as she jogs over.

"it’s the wrong number girl!" tuva jokes, pulling you into a hug. 

"i was starting to think you were a figment of my imagination." the norwegian continued. 

“no no, i am real!” you laugh as she patted your shoulder. 

"y/n!!!!" 

you look over to see sydney sprinting to you from the benches.

she nearly tackles you as her strong body pushes yours into a hug. shes happy just as you were. you’ve talked to her more individually than the rest of the girls throughout the month, so you are most familar with syd. 

sydney pulls back from the hug but keeps her hands on your shoulders. 

"finally! it’s so good to meet you in person."

you smile, feeling the warmth of her welcome. 

"yeah, it feels surreal, honestly."

"how’s munich treating you so far?" she asks, genuinely interested, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"it’s been great," you reply, nodding. 

"i’m still getting used to everything, but it’s such a beautiful city like you’ve said. i’ve just been trying new places, you know?"

"that’s awesome," sydney says, giving you an approving nod. 

"i’m glad you’re settling in. you’re gonna love it here once you get into the groove. georgia mentioned you live near her?"

"yeah, just a few streets down, actually."

"perfect!" sydney says, her smile widening. 

"do you have a ride home? i can give you a ride home if you want. i’m heading that way anyway."

you blink, surprised by the offer, but then you nod, grateful. 

"i was just going to take the bus home but that’d be great syd, thank you so much."

"no problem," she says, waving off your thanks. 

"plus, tomorrow, you should join us for lunch. by us i mean me and sam. we are going to get pizza if you’re interested!?” 

"that’s awesome, i’d love to" you say, clapping her hands together once as sydney pulls you in for a last hug– just happy to see you after speaking for a full month. 

you laugh, feeling a sense of ease settle in. sydney’s kindness wasn’t surprising since she has always been kind and humorous in her messages. 

a hand touches your shoulders and you see lena’s bestfriend– lea. the woman’s blonde hair and blue eyes complimented each other and you couldn’t help but smile.

"lea!!!" you laugh, hugging her.

"it’s so good to meet you," lea says, smiling warmly against your shoulder. 

"its nice seeing you in person rather than in pictures on my phone." lea continued. 

you blush, overwhelmed by how kind they all are. it feels like you’ve known these girls for years, not just weeks. 

as the hugs and introductions continue, you can’t help but feel like you’ve found your friends here in munich.

pernille and magda walk over, and you freeze slightly. of course you’ve talked to them in the groupchat but you’ve recently discovered that they’re one of the most iconic couples in women’s football. 

"so, you’re the famous y/n," pernille says with a grin, her arm coming to wrap around your shoulders. 

"uh, yeah, i guess that’s me," you say, feeling your cheeks heat up.

"you’re adorable," magda says, giving you a once-over before flashing you a smile.

"thanks," you mumble, feeling your face grow even hotter. these girls are all so effortlessly cool, and you’re still trying to wrap your head around the fact that they’ve accepted you into their world.

after chatting with the team for a while, discussing the game and making jokes, you realize just how lucky you are to have stumbled into this friendship. 

sure, it started with a wrong number, but now, standing on the pitch surrounded by these incredible women, you feel like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

as the night winds down, sydney meets you after changing and showering in the locker rooms. she grins as the both of you walk to her car, georgia already waiting. 

sydney agreed to take the both of you home. since you and georgia are neighbors and sydney lives a couple of minutes away.

"so, what do you think y/n? are you a football fan now?"

"definitely," you laugh, glancing around at the team. "i can’t believe you guys play that amazing sport."

“It's exhausting sometimes though.” georgia says from the passenger seat as you settle in the middle seat in sydney’s car. 

“i feel you. i mean i’m not a professional footballer, but i did play basketball for many years.” you say. 

“that's not shocking, you look athletic.” sydney says as georgia nods her head.

“thank you! i can’t believe the one and only sydney lohmann is complimenting me.” you joke and georgia laughs. 

"believe it," sydney says, reaching over her drivers seat to pat your left knee. 

"we’re not letting you go anytime soon."

part three here

[lesbiancolumbo]

your thoughts on 🐻 are really interesting to me as coming from someone more familiar with the fine dining facets of the show vs my world of people working in kitchens. like i’ve eaten at michelin starred places and can clock boloud onscreen but the majority of what drew me to it in s1 was the BOH stuff they captured pretty well— like seeing decent representations of the unrelenting pace of service in tight quarters, hearing people throw around “lowboy” and “cambro”, the breakdowns in the walk-in, watching them actually show real knife skills and make a big deal about food safety and cross contamination as a plot point. even the painters tape on 32oz deli containers. the copenhagen ep hit different for me because that was a little bit my trajectory in the industry too— starting at a greasy spoon and then making a leap upwards to the career path i’m on now based on the kindness of a boss who saw i’d accidentally discovered i was passionate about it. i don’t have as much a frame of reference for the part they’re leaning into now so yeah. it’s interesting.

thank you, and i should note for context that i'm not much more and a passionate but self-taught home cook. i've never worked a day in a restaurant (until i have my midlife crisis and quit my job and go to culinary school lol), but i've studied a lot on the subject and that informs my opinions here. but yeah, what i really love about s1 IS its attempts to capture that side of restaurant work because i think when we talk about restaurants, we talk about fine dining. we don't talk about rustic chefs, we don't talk about the line cooks and the italian beef counter around the corner (off topic but this is why i watch bon appetit's on the line video series and the nyt cooking on the job series religiously). i loved that the bear was exploring this world, and so to see s2 (and now s3 apparently since all carmy talks about in the promo is getting michelin starred) skew more fine dining was is a big "noooooo, WHY?" moment for me.

bear is at its best when it shows that to cook for someone, to prepare food and serve it to someone else and have them eat it, and then just like that, it's all gone, is an act of love. food and cooking is art, yes, but ultimately why do we cook? is it not, to quote that poem tumblrinas love, because we love you and we want you to eat well? like high brow and "low brow" cooking alike..... the goal is to feed people, to satisfy them, because we want them to eat well. i think of the moment when sydney cooks an omelette for sugar, the love and care she puts into the simplest of dishes. i think of sydney serving sandwiches off the side of the restaurant because the power is out. i think of the recipe for tomato sauce. i think of marcus and his cake.

somewhere in between then and now this show has forgotten why it was we flocked to it in the first place, what captivated us from that first season. if i want to watch pretty plates and fine dining, i can watch chef's table. i want my god damn sandwich shop back.

but hey - because of this, we're having these kinds of conversations. so i guess it's not for nothing lol.

[elanorjane]

Rumbelle Fic: Screw The Roses, Send Me The Thorns

Gift for kelyon.tumblr.com @kelyon for @rumbellesecretsanta 2022 rumbellesecretsanta.tumblr.com

Prompt: Mutually horny at family event 

Read on AO3

A/N: This is fiction, not reality. The romance is compressed into a very short time period. Remember: safe, sane, and consensual, friends.  Warnings: BDSM talk and actions

“I’d like to make a toast….” 

Mayor Regina Mills raised her Waterford crystal toasting flute. The sleek, pulled stem of her glassware was intricately adorned with an eternal flame. Her captive audience, seated, had been given plain flutes. Regina’s eyes roamed up and down the long dinner table. The stark black and white decor of the table matched the rest of the stately manor. In a nod to the season, blood red poinsettias were sprinkled here and there to dramatic effect.  

“To family,” she began. 

The mayor’s dramatic pause failed to hide Gold’s snort of derision.

Her dark eyes cut to him down the table.  

Gold lowered his chin and held up a hand in a gesture for her to continue her annual speech, but he couldn’t quite erase the evidence of his smirk completely off his lips.  

He felt his son lean over his right arm, feigning straightening his father’s dessert spoon. “You promised,” he murmured, as Regina droned on. 

“I promised I would attend,” Gold replied. “You failed to make any demands as to my demeanor.”  

Bae straightened, shaking his head, “Always the technicalities with you,” he hissed. “Always have to have the upper hand. Even with your own family.”

These people were Gold’s family only in the loosest sense of the word. But Mayor Regina Mills, by a twisted series of events, was the adoptive mother of his biological grandson. A child Bae, and himself, had not known existed until fairly recently. Gold’s own son had correspondingly reentered his life after decades of estrangement. Gold came to these little gatherings as a favor to Bae. It was one of the few olive branches he could muster in their still fragile relationship. Unfortunately, rebuilding a relationship with his son included regularly coming in contact with the whole damn town. 

“If you, Emma, and Henry want to come over for dinner,” Gold countered, “I welcome you. But this,” he waved his finger up and down the dinner table dismissively, “is not my family.”  

Regina insisted on holding these mock “family” gatherings every holiday season. He’d rather be at home in his library slowly sipping a scotch. Or in his shop balancing his ledgers for the end of the year. Better company, either way.

Bae looked down at his lap, tugging knots in his napkin as he shook his head. He sighed, leaning back over towards his father. “Thank you for coming,” he said evenly. “I know you’d rather be at home in your library with the drink of a lonely man. Or locked in your counting house with your gold.” Bae made both options sound distasteful. 

“Counting house?” Gold echoed. 

“Yeah, you know, like in A Christmas Carol.” 

“Oh, I know the reference. I’m just impressed you do. I didn’t know you read Dickens.” 

“What? No,” Bae scrunched his face. “Mickey’s Christmas Carol was on last night.”

Gold’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “Am I Scrooge McDuck in this analogy?” 

“I’m saying your Scrooge McDuck after he sees the three ghosts,” Bae placated. “See,” he waved his hand around the table, “you have family now.” 

Despite Regina’s accommodating table, the "family" seemed to grow every year, much to Gold’s dismay. This year the table was downright crowded. First Emma, his grandson’s biological mother. Then her parents, the Nolans, David and his equally insufferably sunny wife Mary Margaret. Then Regina and her idiodic sister, Zelena. In a display of her status as Mayor, Regina expanded these events to include Storybrooke’s most influential citizenry, at least by Regina’s standards. Besides the “family,” their gathering now included Jefferson, Regina’s stylist and decorator, Sydney Glass, her counsel, Dr. Archibald Hopper, town shrink, and a handful of other rotating characters, depending on Regina’s humor and who she was feuding with that season.

“You could use the opportunity to get to know people, like, network,” Bae tried again. 

“Son, I know everyone here. Half of them owe me rent and will use getting drunk at this event as an excuse for why they were late.” 

Bae, who dismissively shook his head through his father’s excuses, pressed, “I mean really get to know them. Let them know you. You could talk to David. He could be my father-in-law someday.” 

Gold considered Henry's other grandfather. David Nolan acted like they were friends every time he saw him, much to Gold’s bewilderment. But what Bae thought they had in common was beyond him. 

Gold glanced around the table, considering his other options. Occasionally his and the mayor’s business desires lined up and they worked in tandem when it suited Gold. But they could be at cross-purposes just as easily, which didn't inspire deep confidences. Beyond that, he didn't understand what sharing his personal life with these people had anything to do with his continued campaign to regain the trust of Bae, or Neal, as everyone else at the table called him. 

Bae elbowed him, “You could talk to Regina’s sister,” he wagged his eyebrows. 

Gold jerked out of his reverie, glancing over both shoulders in fear that Bae speaking her name would conjure her. 

“To what end?” he rasped, looking down past Bae to make sure Zelena remained in her seat well across the table and diagonal. While she was still seated, when Gold did locate her, she was looking straight at him. Accidentally meeting her eyes caused her to give him one of her wide smiles that made her look psychotic and him feel nauseated. Gold pressed back in his seat, thankful for Bae’s larger profile concealing him. He grimaced. That one accidental eye contact would cause him months of irritation while she took it for an invitation to try to engage him.     

Bae chuckled at his father's alarm. “It’s obvious she has the hots for you.” He shrugged, “Hey, some guys like crazy chicks. No judgment.” 

No judgment indeed. His son wouldn’t be nearly as tolerant if he knew what his father was looking for in a woman, if he was searching for one. But he gave up on finding companionship long ago. 

“If I wanted to interact with this many people I’d spend more time at Granny's eating overpriced hamburgers,” Gold grumbled.

A loud cough brought an end to their discussion. Regina had finally had enough of them murmuring to each other over her toast. 

“Fine, have it your way, Pop,” Bae whispered.  

“I always do,” he assured him. 

Bae scoffed at that, but the formal end of Regina’s speech kept him from retorting as everyone at the table raised their glasses. 

“By the way, I put your white elephant gift under the tree for you,” Bae told him over everyone's clinking. 

“My what?” Gold planned, as every year, to slip out right after dinner. “I don’t participate in that nonsense.” 

“You did this year.” 

Gold lifted his glass to his lips, “What, pray tell, did I contribute?” he asked before taking a long sip.

“A certificate for a month’s free rent.” 

Gold choked on his champagne. 

Bae slapped him hard on the back, smiling. “Very generous of you,” he shook his shoulder. “People are gonna love it. I bet it’s the most stolen gift this year.” He grinned at him. 

“I hope you are having a grand time at my expense.”

“I most certainly am,” he assured his father in his good natured tone. Satisfied, he turned away from Gold, being happily pulled into a conversation with Emma and Henry. 

The din of mindless small talk immediately rose around him. Hired wait staff reached at each guest’s left, placing the first course. Instead of dying down, the chatter increased to fawning over Regina's menu choices. The evening loomed long and tedious before him. As he avoided situations such as this at all costs, his ability to exercise control over his behavior for this long, or “behave himself”, as Bae would call it, had not been tested in some time. The room seemed suddenly more crowded than ever to Gold. He stopped short of pulling at his collar. He settled for smoothing a hand down his tie as he tried to focus on the meal in front of him. 

Later, when the waiters reappeared to clear the first course, Gold closed his eyes to momentarily block out the tiresome buzz around him. His right hand drummed against the tablecloth while his left hand twisted the stem of his wine glass in front of him. Under the table he struggled to placate his bad leg, which ached to be stretched. Worse than that, he was bored. And when he was bored, he was left to his own devices to amuse himself. He glanced at Bae, who was still smiling and laughing with his corner of the table. Only a quarter of the way through the meal and his restraint struggled to find a release valve. 

His eyes swept up and down the row of faces. Little pleasure was to be had at this table.

“Screw the roses, send me the thorns.” 

The low-pitched accent hooked his attention to the far end of the table.

The newest addition to the “family” met his eyes, revealing a bewitching pair of cerulean orbs. They danced with playful light, as if sharing a private joke. Miss French, the town librarian. Well, she will be if she ever got that mess of a library up and running properly. For week he’d watched her carry boxes and push bookcarts back and forth across the library in those ridiculous shoes she favored. His shop had an almost direct view across the street to the library and the constant motion had been very distracting.  

Despite their close vicinity, he’d never been this near to her before. He was amused to see the dark rimmed eyes and the throaty voice were in direct contrast to the rest of her cherub face. Despite the innocent and amiable energy radiating off her so strongly he felt it across the table, her eyes said she’d read some books in the restricted section. Her voice suggested she’d like to try some of the things she’d read. 

She was seated diagonally from him, next to Gaston LeGume. The librarian and the pet shelter caretaker, how quaint. As members of the community running town services under Regina’s purview, they warranted an invitation. They sat at the end of the table because that’s where Regina sat the newest, least politically savvy of the gathering. Regina wanted to either impress them or intimidate them. The librarian, he noted, looked neither. 

LeGume was prattling away next to her, but Gold didn’t register a word he said. Neither did she, judging from the open curiosity of her stare. Her remark was obviously in response to something LeGume had said, but the librarian regarded Gold across the table, like she was daring him to enter the conversation. Gold raised an eyebrow at her continued attention. Usually that was all it took to make a misguided townsperson scamper away. Instead of turning back to her dinner partner, the insolent little creature arched a thin shapely eyebrow right back.

The phrase that had piqued his interest was one he hadn’t heard in a very long time. She was too young to know the classic guide she’d inadvertently referenced, subtitled The Romance and Sexual Sorcery of Sadomasochism. Considering sadomasochism as “sexual magic” had always resonated with him. It was delicate, like he imagined a spell would be. It required the precise blend of trust and sensuality. Get it just right and BDSM could be intensely erotic and deeply intimate. Many years ago he was active in that community. He hadn’t dipped back in in a number of years. Mostly because he couldn’t find the right partner to join him in the dark, to make the formula he sought complete. It was always off, somehow, despite his efforts and care he took considering partners. The frustration over not being able to conjure the correct combination of elements forced him to abandon the community altogether and he’d begun to suspect the incomplete desire would haunt him for the rest of his life. 

It was Bae’s mother, of all people, who introduced him to the lifestyle. Ironically, at the time, he was neither a dominant enough dom or a submissive enough sub for her liking. It ultimately didn’t matter. The demise of that relationship, of wanting to understand what she’d wanted him to be, led him to exploring and discovering what he truly desired…power and control. Becoming a master dom had been the answer to all of his problems. He’d become known in the community as being the best. People came to him to get what they needed. They begged to spend time with him. The potency he wielded was heady. But he had never gotten what he truly wanted in return. In the moment, yes, but not long term. 

He’d thought he had it once, with a woman who shared a lot of the same hurt and a lot of the same ambitions as he. But in the end she’d wanted power and control more than she’d wanted to be with him. Love proved to be a weakness for both of them. He had been completely open and vulnerable with her and she took his love, along with his instruction and his training, and used it against him. First by trying to top from bottom, and then ultimately taking what she learned from him and applying it as a dom elsewhere, with other people.

But she’d taught him a more valuable lesson. That having anyone know what he truly wanted and needed, and why, was a vulnerability he could not afford. No one could understand, let alone accept, his complete need for control, inside and outside a scene. He'd been out of control too early and too often in his life. That’s why BDSM had appealed to him in the first place. He had to protect himself. He had to feel in control in order to feel safe. His buffer against the past - his father, his failed relationships, his own mistakes as a parent - were money, power, and control. And his need for those things started with his wardrobe and extended to the bedroom. 

While uninvited memories flickered through his head and the familiar weight of old aches settled in his chest, Miss French was being pulled back into conversation with LeGume. Her chin swiveled towards LeGume but her eyes hung on him. The spark he had seen there dimmed when he did nothing but passively regard her in return. The mischievous uptick to her lips visibly downturned. Just as her blue, uninhibited eyes were turning to LeGume and, he intuitively knew, abandoning him forever, something new emerged from the discomfort in his chest. A fresh, sharp pain, like an invisible string being pulled taut. The question came out of his mouth, unbidden.   

“Read any good books lately, Miss French?” 

It came out in his usual indifferent and condescending manner. He focused on smoothing a wrinkle in the tablecloth in front of him, as if her answer didn’t matter to him in the slightest. 

He’d interrupted LeGume’s blathering, who blinked and gaped at him like a fish. He shot Gold a look that he supposed was meant to be threatening. Gold markedly ignored him. 

Miss French wasn’t offended by his intrusion or tone. Instead, her eyes widened for just a moment before quickly recovering. Her entire body shifted to face Gold full on, incidentally giving LeGume the back of her shoulder. With a lift of her eyebrows and a subtle tilt of her head, she conveyed her triumph, her smile holding a hint of mischief. 

It was his first time experiencing the verve of her full attention. He sniffed, looking down to brush away a crumb on the tablecloth, waiting dispassionately for Miss French’s answer.  

“In fact I have, Mr. Gold.” It was the most words they’d exchanged since she arrived in town. Her being new could be the only explanation for her insistence in pulling him into conversation and the ease in which she conversed with him now. “It’s one I’d never considered until recently, but based on positive recommendations I finally tried it out.” 

He idly rearranged his silverware as he waited for her to name some romance or current fiction title. 

“The Story of O.” She was all politeness and formality as the French erotic novel rolled off her tongue. His eyes shot up in time to catch the perfect round shape of her lips. Her mouth lingered there until a sly grin spread across her face. “Have you ever read it?”

She’d tried to shock him, ostensibly in response to his resisting her efforts to pull him into conversation for so long. But he was satisfied to know that he’d judged her right. She did read books in the restricted section. He felt an involuntary twitch in the corner of his mouth at her, thinking him capable of being scandalized. Unlike her, he hadn't just read about it. He’d seen and done things she wouldn't find in any book. Even in the restricted section. 

“It’s an old favorite,” he volleyed back, making direct eye contact with her and letting it settle there authoritatively. “Though I haven’t had reason to revisit it in some time. Are you finding it,” he let the word hang in the air, “satisfying?” 

“Oh yes,” she answered readily, not even blushing. “Like any good book, it’s…” she leaned across the table, mimicking his cadence, “arousing some new ideas in me.” 

“As all good books should,” he spoke slowly and deliberately, emphasizing his words. He sat back in his own seat, his leg settled and his hands resting on the table. “You may have inspired me to pick it up again.” 

“I have it on my bedside table if you need a refresher,” she offered casually. 

The extra glint to her eye told him that she registered the suggestive meaning of her words, commanding his unguarded brain to produce a hazy picture of her lounging across white sheets on a brass bed, reading her one-handed novel, taking her bottom lip between her teeth when she reached a particularly racy excerpt. 

His gaze tightened with suspicion. What was she playing at? He inspected her glass. The wine in front of her wasn’t even half gone. Her eyes still shone clear. Her voice was controlled, not loud and obnoxious like Regina’s sister at the other end of the table. 

Memories stirred in him. Belle was being polite, respectful…and a brat. She reminded him of rebellious submissives he used to know. He’d refused to work with cutesy, teasing, playful subs who pushed back on his dominance and challenged his authority. But, he reminded himself, these were obviously empty words from a girl who read too much. 

She was playing a game with him, obviously. She’d led LeGume on long enough and thought she’d amuse herself by torturing him next. She thought she would be charitable by giving a lonely old man a thrill. Well, Miss French had vastly overestimated how far one little book and her feminine wiles, while admittedly bountiful, could get her. He set the boundaries. He set the rules. He set the expectations for behavior. And he’d never been known for tolerating blatantly rebellious submissives. 

"I hardly think that would be appropriate, Miss French" he replied, his tone cool and calculated. "Lending without a library card? How do you know you can trust me with your...prized possession?" His words were laden with subtle implication, matching her innuendo with a cold demeanor. 

“You misunderstand, Mr. Gold,” she placed both hands at the edge of the table, leaning as far as she could without leaving her seat. “I wasn't suggesting it leave the property.” 

With that, she added to the previously formed image, her laying across his lap in said bed, reading her favorite passages out loud in her smokey voice. That she would be so blatant in her attempt to provoke some reaction told him that she was getting desperate. She most likely never had to take her teasing this far before, because what man wouldn’t follow her instructions right into her bed? She’d never experienced loneliness, surely. But she’d never come across anyone like him, period. He massaged a thumb across his right palm, settling an itch that had started there. 

"One must be cautious about who they share their treasures with, Miss French," he finished with unwavering composure. 

His condescending and dismissive response succeeded in rattling her coquette act. Her sharp inhale was audible across the table, as if he’d stung her cheek with his palm. Her pale skin even reddened there as he stared at her impassionately. After which her lips pressed into a thin line, her jaw visibly tightening. 

Gold inwardly smiled and sat more relaxed in his chair. Miss French had been a diversion, even if she was not a worthy opponent. How could she even pose a challenge, given how transparently expressive she was? He could effortlessly decipher her every emotion. Unlike with most people, whom he found inscrutable and untrustworthy, Miss French telegraphed her feelings to the back row. As she struggled to rein in her emotions, he couldn't help the deep satisfaction he felt at her following his subtle command to cease her behavior. The weight of his limbs settled and grounded him. His breathing deepened and slowed. He felt more at ease at this table than ever before. Though, only being on the soup and salad course, Gold found himself perhaps regretting correcting her so quickly. There was still a long night ahead. 

“What book are you talking about?” Mary Margaret chirped from the other side of Belle, having caught part of their exchange. “My book club is always looking for recommendations.” 

The idea of virginal Mary Margaret reading the erotic novel by Pauline Réage was preposterous. He looked at Belle to see how she’d handle it, positive now she regretted her recklessness. He vowed to only step in if she lied about the title. Let the humiliation teach her a lesson for being so forward with him. 

She surprised him by looking to him to save her from embarrassment. He retained eye contact as he slowly picked up his glass and took a leisurely sip of wine, letting the flavors rest on his tongue. If she was looking for a knight in shining armor to come to her rescue, she’d have better luck with LeGume. Watching a gorgeous woman be publicly humiliated was rather mundane to him. Though he had appreciated the respite from the dullness of the evening, she’d better trifle with someone else. She squirmed in her chair, which just made the berry notes of the wine burst on his tongue. She wasn't made for BDSM, obviously, but watching her writhe in mortification was delicious. He smirked at her across the table. Who was having fun at whose expense now? 

He watched panic, annoyance, anger, and surrender flicker across her features in quick succession. But then, just as quickly, they were all replaced with grim determination. She shook back her shoulders, her chin lifting. 

“The Story of O,” Belle repeated for the benefit of the table, matching his challenging stare. “A French novel from 1954.”   

The title was met with silence. 

“Oh,” Mary Margaret said. “I’ve never heard of that one. I’ll have to look it up.” 

He knew it was more polite, empty words. Nobody at this table would look up the book. For one, Regina made them put their phones in a bowl on their way in. (He had kept his. He knew how to conduct himself at a dinner table.). Second, he'd be surprised if anyone in this town knew how to read. From what he could tell they seemed to spend the majority of their time running around like idiots.

Further veiled discussion on the matter of sadomasochism came to an end when several waiters appeared and dishes were cleared to make way for the main course. 

With the back and forth with Miss French finally subsided, Gold found himself searching for the relief he thought he’d feel. Instead, each clink of silverware and murmur of conversation at the table seemed amplified to his ears. He played with his ring. It twisted easily now with his damp palms. The banter with Miss French had stirred something deep within him, resurrecting a side of himself he thought long buried. He shifted in his seat, feeling the old familiar surge of adrenaline begin to trickle through his veins, like a damn that had sprung a leak, the pressure building behind the wall. But he had no outlet for it. Frustrated that this girl had done this to him against his will, he wiped his palms on his pants. His gaze searched for a safe place to rest. His plate would be the obvious answer, but none of the dozen side dishes before him looked appetizing now. Despite the turmoil roiling within him, there was a flicker of something akin to anticipation in him as his eyes inevitably found Miss French.

The image he found was a stark contrast to her earlier persona at the table. She poked at her food with her fork. The people around her made polite conversation but her expression remained vacant when called upon to respond, which was rare. Her chin wasn’t lifted in the haughty way she’d demonstrated earlier and her eyes stayed downturned. Rather than “corrected”, the word “unmoored” floated through his head. He investigated the people seated around Miss French. Perplexingly, no one else at the table seemed to notice her lack of engagement. LeGume and the surrounding guests made conversation and passed plates around her. Gold glared at all of them as he waited for LeGume or one of her friends to come to her aid. 

"I've always admired the intricate knotwork in table decorations,” he found himself saying to no one in particular. He picked up his napkin that was in an artful yet simple knotted fold. He rolled it around in his hands, then gave both ends a tug, “Adds a certain charm, don't you think?"

At the cadence of his voice, Belle straightened in her chair, her posture shifting from dejection to anticipation, hands resting delicately in her lap as her eyes lit up with renewed interest, fixating on Gold. A spark cracked down Gold's spine as he couldn't help but notice the immediate and eager reaction she had to him.

Just then the main course—a turkey—was placed in the middle of the table with much pomp and circumstance. The legs were crossed and tied over the bird’s cavity with kitchen twine.

“Yes!” She readily agreed with him. “Don't things look so much more delectable trussed up?” she chirped across from him. 

His gaze lingered on Belle, tracing her features as if attempting to decipher the hidden layers of meaning behind her words. The idea that she could possess any knowledge of his past felt unfathomable; in this town, his history remained a well-guarded secret. Yet, since their conversation had begun in this public setting, an unsettling sense of vulnerability had crept over him. A sudden rush of warmth swept through him, accompanied by the unnerving sensation of being under scrutiny from every corner of the table. However, a quick survey revealed that everyone else remained engrossed in their meals, utterly indifferent to their dialogue. Despite this, he couldn't shake the regret that had settled in, as their interaction stirred up memories that left him deeply uneasy.

As side dishes circulated around the table, he remained indifferent to the dinner companions seated on his left and right. Yet, under his observant gaze, Belle seemed to bloom. Her eyes sparkled with lively conversation, and her smile radiated warmth and charm as she engaged with those around her. With graceful movements, she effortlessly passed plates across the table, her gestures imbued with a natural elegance that drew his attention.  

"Oh Regina, these potatoes are delicious!" Mary Margret said. "Like..." she looked thoughtfully.

"Silk," Belle supplied, catching the unspoken challenge. She looked into Gold's eyes with a playful glint. Her eyes brightened even more as if she found herself incredibly clever. In that instant, she seemed to believe they were playing a clandestine game together, testing the boundaries of outrageous remarks in polite company.

"Exactly!" Mary Margaret echoed. 

“And whipped to satisfaction,” Miss French added. "Getting the perfect blend of flavors is all about command in the kitchen, isn't it?"

Her latest remark bore an uncanny resemblance to how he perceived BDSM as a form of enchantment or magic. Gold swiftly reminded himself that she wasn't a submissive; she couldn't possibly be. Despite her audacious words, she exuded an innocence that rendered her oblivious to the intricacies of BDSM. Moreover, she appeared too young to have delved into such experiences, although he had encountered his fair share of young individuals within the community. Unfortunately, most of them had proven to be naive. A safe word, some aftercare, and a hasty farewell usually marked the end of their brief foray into the scene. Miss French, with her eagerness to flirt with danger, seemed oblivious to the potential consequences. Gold, however, was keenly aware of how easily he could ignite her curiosity, leading her into uncharted territories where desire and danger intertwined.

He watched as LeGume offered her something rich and savory from a bowl. 

“Not right now, thank you,” she declined civilly. “I’d like to try a little restraint.” Instead she took a spoonful of something gray off her dish. He couldn't help but notice how she allowed the spoon to linger on her tongue longer than necessary before releasing it with a soft pop. "But this is delicious,” she countered. “I’ve never tried anything like it. Won't you try a bite, Mr. Gold?"

Offering him such a direct invitation to him in a public setting, he could take her over his knee for such impertinence. Turn her ass ruby red while she squealed and struggled in his lap. He’d punished teasing subs for much less. The pleasure he would take in wiping the cheeky smirk off her face and transforming it from shock to eagerness to please and then, finally, after she’d shown proper remorse, sensual gratification.  

LeGume confusedly exchanged his bowl for the bowl of gray stuff, lifting it between them. Gold didn’t spare it a glance. 

Instead he tilted his head with a faint smile, "Ah, Miss French, your enthusiasm for experimentation is quite intriguing. However, I've always found that some things are best left untested."

"I’d have to disagree in this case, Mr. Gold,” she boldly insisted. “The flavors in this dish are so intricately bound."

LeGume continued to hold the dish suspended between them, his eyes volleying between them. 

“Some would describe it as an artform,” she continued. 

“I would be inclined to agree with them,” he responded coolly, not moving his arms from his sides. 

With agitation evident in her movements, she swiftly snatched the dish from LeGume's grasp, her arm extending across the table in a decisive gesture. It was clear that she wasn't about to drop the issue, and Gold could sense the growing attention their exchange was attracting, a subtle buzz at the periphery of his vision. As his fingers closed around the opposite end of the dish, she didn't release her grip right away. Instead, she waited until their eyes met once more across the table. Her eyebrows raised expectantly, silently waiting for a response from him.

"Thank you, Miss French," he stated firmly, his tone carrying a sense of finality.

Satisfied with his acknowledgment, she released the dish, her expression turning more subdued.

"Yes, sir," she responded quietly, her voice holding a hint of deference.

The dish slipped from his fingers, upending half of it on the tablecloth and splashing some of its contents onto Dr. Hopper. The sudden noise and commotion drew curious glances from others at the table, including a puzzled look from Bae as Gold abruptly stood up.

The screech of Gold's chair echoed through the room as he pushed it back, a sharp contrast to the otherwise calm ambiance of the dining room. Taking a moment to collect himself, Gold drew in a deep breath to regain his composure. With deliberate movements, he retrieved his cane from where it rested against the back of his chair.

"Excuse me," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper as he turned and swiftly exited the dining room, leaving behind an unsettled atmosphere in his wake. 

As he walked down the hallway, the sound of talking faded and the oppressiveness of the dining room began to lift. But he itched. 

He knew where the bathroom was, the one reserved for guests and people who came to the house on business. Gold bypassed that one in favor of the larger one in the private living quarters of the house. He took his time, having sat with his bad leg too long. His cane clicked as he walked down the hallway, the lights dimmed to discourage guests from wandering into the private residence.

His footsteps reverberated sharply against the high ceilings, a sound that seemed too loud in the quiet surroundings. Gold came to an abrupt halt, his narrowed eyes scanning the space behind him. The echo ceased as he stopped, and after a moment's pause, he attributed the noise to the tapping of his cane. Shaking his head slightly, he realized that the combination of the pressure to behave in front of Bae and Miss French's teasing remarks had left him more on edge than he had initially realized.

That’s why he liked BDSM, he thought, it required total honesty or someone could get hurt. It was the “real” world where everyone put on masks and facades. He hadn’t truly been himself, he realized, since his time as a Master dom. The true essence of himself had been deemed unacceptable by society, leading him to retreat into hiding. The weight of this realization bore down on him, weighing heavily on his bones and leaving him feeling aged and weary.         

And then there was Miss French. Ironically, she’d enjoy the kink community. It was all about curiosity and continuous learning, something a librarian could appreciate. However, she would never receive such knowledge from him. Hopefully she was smart enough to do her research and find the local community and learn from them and not from some fumbling idiot who fancied himself a sadomasochist because of some problematic porn he watched. The mere thought of Miss French being misled sent a bolt of anger through him. She was a pampered pet who needed a certain kind of handling. Not by him, obviously, but someone with experience. Nevertheless, his mind couldn't help but wander into the realm of how he would guide and educate Miss French, an idea that brought a subtle sense of satisfaction to his thoughts.

Regina’s bathrooms were just as ostentatious as the rest of the house, with the white and black color scheme continued. Leaning his cane against the vanity, he steadied himself against the counter and studied his reflection in the mirror. His appearance remained unchanged from when he’d left the house that evening. Although his tie didn't require adjustment, he found himself straightening it nonetheless, a subtle attempt to regain composure. Yet, he couldn't shake off the sense of dishevelment that seemed to linger. Was it a consequence of passion, agitation, or perhaps both? These unfamiliar emotions felt out of place and uncomfortable within his own skin.

He turned on the faucet and ran his hands under cold water, then used them to blot his face and neck. He looked at himself in the mirror again, his gaze tracing the contours of his face with a mixture of detachment and introspection. The reflection stared back at him, a dual image capturing the essence of who he once was and who he had become. In the past, emotions flowed freely, unchained and unrestrained, revealing a vulnerable yet authentic version of himself. But the present brought a facade of coldness, control, and composure, a mask carefully crafted to conceal the tumultuous memories and lingering emotions stirred by the evening's events. As he stood there, the mirror became a portal to his past and present selves, each vying for recognition in the stark reflection before him.

"Enough," he muttered to himself, frustration evident in his tone. Enough with this endless dinner. Enough with Miss French's playful provocations. Enough with tormenting himself with memories of the past. He had endured the majority of the meal, and that would have to suffice for Bae. The boy wouldn’t understand, but there was no way he ever could, not without learning things about his father he most assuredly would not appreciate. Gold met his own gaze in the mirror once more. Despite not feeling it within, a sense of unwavering determination flickered in his eyes, a silent promise to walk out the door and away from Miss French, despite his inner dom telling him to take her firmly in hand. 

The door behind him clicked open quietly, followed by a soft snick as it closed. In the mirror's reflection over his shoulder, she appeared as if a figment of his imagination. Perhaps she was a manifestation born from his suppressed desires and self-imposed restraint. A flawless end to an arduous evening, he thought bitterly. He hesitated, reluctant to turn around and face potential disappointment if she turned out to be nothing more than an illusion. Yet, Belle's image persisted in the mirror, as if waiting for a command, or was that merely his own subconscious projecting onto the reflection? The tormenting thoughts that had plagued him throughout the evening spilled out. 

"Who are you?" he asked the mirage, his voice barely audible.

She responded with a serene smile, "Someone like you."

He snorted derisively. "Not likely, dearie," he retorted.

With a decisive pivot, he turned around, fully prepared to dispel the illusion and face the disappointment of his wishful thinking. He was unnerved by the resurgence of emotions he had long suppressed, all because of some bright, shiny young woman. Best to bring them to a halt with sharp disappointment than continue this torment. 

But there she stood, unnervingly real. Alone with him in Regina's bathroom, in a secluded corner of the house.

He observed her, standing composed and immaculate in her skirt and blouse. Despite her mischievous nature, there was an undeniable aura of brightness around the girl. Her eyes sparkled with innocence, her smile was infectious, and her laughter seemed to fill the small room with warmth. Everything about her seemed out of place in this dark, shadowy setting with him. If she had any inkling of who he truly was, she would surely take off down the hallway. He had never invited someone like her into his world of BDSM. She couldn't possibly comprehend the intricacies it demanded—submission, trust, honesty— especially in association with him. The moment he allowed his dominant side to fully surface, she would undoubtedly flee from the room she had so foolishly locked herself in.

His narrowed gaze bore into her, filled with suspicion. 

"Why are you here?" dropping any pretense of playful banter or games, his tone was now serious and demanding.

Her bravado faltered under the weight of his ruthless stare. She glanced down, momentarily losing her composure. If she struggled with a simple question, she surely wouldn’t be able to withstand a little punishment. 

Toeing her heels together, she managed to mumble, "I'm curious." Her eyes met his briefly, but the uptick at the end of her response told him there was a flicker of uncertainty in her. 

His bark of laughter caught her off guard, causing her to wince. He shook his head ruefully, a mix of disbelief and resignation crossing his features. So, this was nothing more than a fantasy for her—an attempt to step into a world she didn't truly understand, believing she would be safe with him. He chuckled inwardly at their shared foolishness. In his darker days, the old him would have relished such an opportunity—a naive and innocent ingénue coming to him seeking an arrangement. He would have used contracts, negotiations, manipulations—all to extract every ounce of desire and compliance from her. He felt a surge of excitement at her words, a temptation he fought to suppress.

She looked at him expectantly. How could she ever understand? For him, being dominant was not a mere roleplay or fantasy—it was an integral part of his identity that he couldn't switch on and off at will. The enormity of it had been suppressed for over a decade, but it still lurked beneath the surface, dangerously close to emerging over the past hour. This was real to him, and that was something no one else would ever truly understand.

“This isn’t one of your books, dearie,” he told her plaintively. “I’m not a knight in shining armor.” 

Her lips pursed, more comfortable with the exchange now that the topic had turned to her area of expertise, and she tilted her head. “You don't know what books I read.” 

“The kind with happy endings, surely,” he countered.  

“You’d call the ending of The Story of O happy?” she challenged.

He tipped his chin, conceding the point. “O being abandoned by her lover? Well, Miss French, I’d call that realistic.” She had the audacity to roll her eyes. “Everything that comes before that,” he trailed off, referring to the fantastical depiction of an underground society that in no way represented the actual kink community. Which begged the question…. He studied her in a way he didn't dare before. He rationalized it to himself that it was his job as a dom to be acquainted with her body. His inspection started at the top of her auburn hair, over her thin brows, expressive eyes, and thinly curved lips. He skimmed over the petite curves under her blouse, the belt that cinched in her waist, and down the vast expanse of exposed leg, the muscles shaped and lengthened from the height of her heels. The shoes, he thought, were the only thing about her that objectively did belong in a scene. She shifted as he boldly acquainted himself with her body. What could such a girl find exciting in The Story of O? Was it the submission, the whipping, the bondage? 

He could be a cruel dom. He could embarrass her. Demand her into the most depraved blowjob, make her cry, scare her, scar her. He’d done it all before and could do it again. But he took his position as Master seriously. BDSM was meant to provide personal freedom, self-expression, and above all, pleasure. In real BDSM, no one got truly hurt. From him, they got exactly what they asked for, even if they regretted it after the fact. 

“What are you so curious about exactly?”

When he looked deeply into her eyes, which he dared to now, he didn’t see hurt or desperation or trauma. She wasn't running to BDSM to escape. But what could her life possibly be lacking? What made her think he could offer her what she needed? And what made her believe he wanted to give it?   

He stepped closer to her, forcing her to look up into his eyes. “If you don’t know why you're here,” he warned, “by staying in this room, you’re asking me to help you find out. And my methods are untraditional, to say the least. So, I’ll ask you again, why are you here?”

In response to his intimidation, she gave him that defiant chin again he admired and found foolish in equal measure. Her eyes narrowed in a way he’d come to recognize as not anger, but sheer determination and force of will. 

“I think you’re lonely.” 

He blinked. He didn’t think he was capable of being shocked by anyone anymore. But her answer truly left him speechless. Once the stupor faded, anger was quick to rise in its place. First she teased him throughout dinner, drawing him out against his will. Then she pursued him to a private room. Her biggest offense, by far, was now pretending she knew anything about him. 

She thought she knew him and…pitied him for it? He ceased being a man deserving of pity many years ago, he’d made certain of it. He didn’t need her pity. He needed nothing from her. She had come to him. She’d played her games, gotten a rise out of him, and he’d kept a reign on his dominance throughout. The stress of repressing his true self over dinner, of trying to be a better man for Bae over the past few years, of never being good enough for anyone, come to a boil. And he only had one antidote for that. He felt another version of himself, long discarded, rising to the surface of his skin. 

“Turn around,” he commanded. He didn’t have to reach far for his alpha voice. It was low, slow, and precise. He didn’t, and wouldn’t, repeat himself. 

Her eyes grew wide at his tone, but she quickly spun on her heels so she faced the wall. Her swift response to his order satisfied him. Given a momentary reprieve from her eyes, he lingered just over her shoulder. He let the anticipation hang there. In response, she tensed and her breathing sped up. 

She believed she was stepping into a scene from one of her romance novels, those sensationalized portrayals of BDSM that tarnished its true essence. In her mind, she controlled this narrative, playing the role of a submissive because she viewed him as pathetic and easily manipulated. He was determined to shatter her illusions. He wouldn't allow Miss French to think she could outsmart him or take charge in this space. No, she had overestimated her own knowledge and underestimated him. This encounter would end swiftly, with him pushing her boundaries just enough to make her flee back to the comfort of LeGume’s arms. She wanted to play games? Fine. She could consider this her first lesson. He doubted she’d make it to a second.

He briefly scanned the room. In front of Miss French a hand towel hung through an ornate black ring on the wall. A string of decorative holiday bells dangled over the towel. 

He reached around her front and she jumped. He smiled to himself. Over before it begins, he thought again. He whipped the towel and bells out of the ring, tossing the towel on the vanity and shoving the ribbon and bells in his pocket to muffle them. 

“Bend over. Hands through the ring,” he ordered. 

He paused, waiting for her to balk and push back. A little discomfort and she’d be telling him to stop and reaching for the door handle. 

It was an awkward height, but she slowly hinged at the waist, reaching out her arms and draping her wrists through the towel ring. She self-consciously spread her legs and wiggled her hips to get in a more comfortable position. He watched predatorily as her skirt rode up with her movements. He allowed the pleasure he felt from a beautiful woman following his command to wash over him. It brought a calm he couldn’t get anywhere else. She took a hesitant breath and looked back at him.

In response, he moved to her side and splayed his fingers on her lower back. He held her eyes as he firmly pressed down so her back was flat. Her legs stumbled to adjust. She looked up at him apprehensively. He hooked her chin between his thumb and forefinger and and faced her back to the wall. She let out a breath and her eyes closed. The tenseness in her shoulders eased. Being firmly corrected produced a positive response, he noted. 

“Eyes down.” he reminded her, something she should already know if she was experienced and involved in the scene. Despite her ignorance, the dom in him urged him forward, to not let this opportunity go to waste. She had come to him. He controlled the scene. That relaxed him. 

“Your safe word," he demanded, watching her carefully.

She hesitated, a moment of uncertainty flickering across her features. 

“Did that not come up in one of your books? Tut tut, Miss French. I expect Storybrook’s resident librarian to be better read than that,” he chided, his tone tinged with disappointment. 

“If I can’t trust you to speak when required,” he whipped the discarded set of bells from his pocket. He tugged one from the ribbon, shoving the scrap ribbon and other bell back into his coat. He reached around her to where her wrists hung over the towel ring. He forced one hand open and pressed one of the bells into it. His fingers closed tightly over her hand. He paused to take in the feel of her soft skin under his. He was tempted to run a hand up her leg, from ankle to thigh, to compare the smoothness there. 

He squeezed her hand hard, so she knew he meant his next words. “Then this is your safe word. You ring it, the scene ends. You understand the rules?” 

“Yes, Mr. Gold.” Funny she didn't struggle to find those words. Her reply soothed the dom in him, assuring him that she could submit when necessary.

“Repeat them.” 

“If I want to stop, I shake the bell and it ends. It…it all ends.” Her voice broke at the end and he again questioned how ready she was for what was about to happen. 

“Perhaps you’d like to leave now and go do a little more studying?” he prodded, though inwardly, he regretted providing such an easy escape. It was a departure from his usual unrelenting approach. 

She replied with a simple, "No, Mr. Gold." 

Her hair had fallen to the sides of her face and from behind he could see her neck muscles strain to hold position. He could sense her eyes flitting about the room, trying to find a place to rest. The dichotomy of her struggle and determination to comply enraptured him. Despite her initial reluctance to divulge her motives, it was evident that she was here by choice. Her persistence conjured something within him, allowing his dominant side to settle more comfortably.

“In that case,” his tone darkened, “I suggest you keep your eyes down when speaking to me in this space. I won't ask you again.” 

Giving demands was like an incantation to summon the submissive in her. Her eyes went to the floor and she stilled. Miss French required a firm master. 

Now that she was in position, he hesitated. He’d never topped someone like her and he didn't believe she would last much longer. He wasn’t going to lay a hand on her, he decided. That way, when she inevitably went screaming from the bathroom, he could rightly claim that he hadn’t touched her. 

Her body wiggled in anticipation of what he would do next. He reached behind him where his cane rested against the vanity. He hefted it in his hand so he held the bottom and ran the gold hooked edge down the nape of her neck. 

She shivered from the cold metal, the marked weight, or both.  

“So what is it, Miss French?” he asked languidly, the cane taking a similarly slow trail down her spine. “What do you come to me for?” 

She exhaled and swayed in response. Something akin to euphoria bubbled inside him and he had to close his eyes to keep it from boiling over. It had been too long since he’d had to key in so intimately to the reactions and feelings of another person. The experience ensnared him in a mystical web of control and pleasure.

“To learn?” he questioned. “I don’t take on inexperienced students anymore. And I thought, based on your cleverness at the dinner table, that you’re learned everything you needed to know from your books.” 

The cane reached her ass and he let the weight of it press down on her. 

“Or do you come to me to be punished?” he hissed. His words evoked a shifting of her legs where her thighs rubbed together. His eyebrows rose at her response. He lifted the cane and let gravity bounce the heavy handle off of her bottom. She jerked but held position. “I can’t imagine what for,” he taunted. “Forget to renew someone’s overdue book?” 

He tilted his head and studied her. Could it be possible Miss French wanted a stern, disapproving master to punish her? True, she had surpassed his expectations by lasting this long. But if things progressed further, she would have to relinquish control completely. If he touched her, there would be no going back without her safe word. 

“Do you know what you’re playing at, little girl?” The cane hooked over the end of her skirt and slowly lifted it until it bunched on her back. She trembled and her breath became audible, but he didn't hear even a whisper of the bells. In fact, her fist tightened over them, as if to still them further. 

“I suspect you don’t,” he continued, admiring the midnight blue panties stretched over her ass. For the first time his control wavered and his cock twitched. He had kept himself firmly in check, prepared for her abrupt exit. Now his own needs as a Master demanded to be met. Enough with slowly brewing her submissive tendencies to the surface. The invocation of the dom/sub roles urged him to teach her the essence of their relationship: That her body was his to decide what to do with. 

“I’ve seen you, you know,” he growled. “Through the window of the library. Perched on your little stool. Reading your dirty paperbacks. Swiveling back and forth, back and forth.” He ran the handle boldly over her panties, between her ass cheeks, up and down. “Does it give you any relief?”  

She pushed back against the cane, trying to force him closer. When that didn't work she tried to lift up on toes, to dip the handle lower to the apex of her thighs. 

In response, he pulled the cane away completely. “Answer me,” he demanded. 

“No, Mr. Gold.” It came out in a rush. 

“What is this about?” he asked again.  

The words stuck in her throat, but she knew the answer. It was evident in the way her body twisted, her wrists rubbing against the ring, that admitting the truth was more uncomfortable to her than what he was doing to her body. She was thinking, not feeling, which meant she wasn’t in the proper subspace yet. 

She struggled to find the words. “I don't kn–”

The smack of his palm on her ass reverberated off the walls, the noise making her jump as much as the feel of his hand against her. She gasped in surprise, tipping to the side before catching and righting herself, but her wrists stayed constrained. 

“That’s for lying,” he told her seriously. “You never lie to me in this space.” It may look like just a bathroom to her, but by coming to him, by initiating this, she’d instantly transformed it into a sacred space. It was for her own safety. He’d hurt her as much as he needed to, but only if she followed the rules. “If you plan on doing so again, I believe you know where the door is.” 

She stayed where she was, but her body undulated, taking in the new stimulation. 

“If you want to continue I need to hear you say it.” He craved hearing her admit she wanted to stay in this scene with him, to let him do to her what he wanted, needed, to do. “What do your books tell you to say, dearie?” he prompted.  

“Please,” she responded immediately. “Please, Mr. Gold. Sir. Please. More.” Consenting words tumbled out of her mouth. When he was austere and patronizing, goading her to push past her limits, she responded beautifully. But she needed to be in harmony with him if this was going to work. 

“Very good, Miss French,” he praised. “But I’m afraid bratty, dishonest, teasing girls earn more punishment than that,” he said darkly. 

This time he slapped the back of her thigh. She lifted up on her heels, but came back down. He spanked her again, this time on her other cheek. As she swayed in response, he kept a steady rhythm on the meatiest parts of her ass and thighs. He left ample time in between each smack to allow her to explore the sensations, as well as read her response. Her hands weren’t draped through the ring anymore. Instead her fingers were wrapped around it, anchoring her as she twisted and shifted with each blow, the bell still clutched in one hand. 

“You hold position sloppily, Miss French,” he noted absently. “You are in desperate need of proper training.” 

She gasped at his evocative words. He moved to stand beside her. He faced the vanity where the mirror not only reflected himself but the pinkened thighs of Miss French. He hooked his left arm around her waist to hoist her spine straight and hold her in place. With his right hand he rained light stinging slaps down on her, including the sensitive place where her ass met her thighs. That elicited sharp intakes of breath and soft moans. Her head thrashed but he let that go in favor of admiring his work in the mirror. Her thighs were turning red in places now. He continued with quick, close slaps. She shocked him by opened her legs, inviting him to slap at her core. He pointedly moved further away. She hadn’t yet earned a reward. On the contrary, her continued efforts to top from bottom pissed him off. He grabbed the edges of her panties and shoved them between her ass cheeks. He smoothed a hand over her ass. Her skin was hot and silky under his palm. She hissed. He had no salve with him here. She’d bear his marks and the lingering pain from his correction for days, and that pleased the darker aspects of dom. His emotion was reflected in the quantity and intensity of his punishments because her adrenaline had kicked in and she was now gasping for breath.  

“Time for some truth,” he reminded her. “What do you come to me for?”As her dominant, his role was to delve into her psyche, uncovering her desires, fears, and needs. She hovered on the edge of surrender, on the brink of soaring freely, yet clung fiercely to this guarded aspect of herself. But the bell remained firmly silenced in her fist. The realization ignited a surge of anger within him. He raised his arm, intent on delivering a forceful blow. It was then that she seemed to anticipate the impending strike.

“I’m lonely too,” she blurted.   

His hand stilled at his shoulder. Sensing there was more inside her, he leaned forward and ran his hand up the inside of one shapely leg, a move meant to entice more information out of her, to communicate that he could give pleasure, not just pain. 

“More,” he demanded. 

“You’ve been watching me?” she panted when his fingers danced over the tissue paper thin skin of her inner thighs. “I’ve been watching you too. You’re as alone in this town as I am. But you’re so,” she struggled for the right word, “in control all the time.” 

His mind raced as he mulled over her words, the implications sinking in with each passing second. Her admission that she had been watching him, observing him closely, sent a jolt of realization through him. Their encounter, he realized, had been brewing beneath the surface long before this insipid dinner, waiting for the right moment to come to fruition.

“I’m not,” she continued. “People tell me I’m impetuous.” 

“I’m shocked,” he replied dryly. “Have you ever done this before?” 

“No,” she shook her head, proving all his suspicions correct. “But I’ve read about it. Extensively. I was…intrigued. I wasn’t lying,” she rushed out, sensing that her punishment was not yet over. 

It was a rare moment of vulnerability from her, a glimpse beneath the carefully crafted facade she presented to the world. Her admission brought to light the depth of her curiosity and the extent of her interest in him, surprising him with its intensity. This revelation added a new layer of complexity to their dynamic, a dance of power and submission, revelation and concealment. Each word, each action, revealed layers of their desires and vulnerabilities, weaving a complex tapestry of intimacy and control in the brightly lit bathroom of Regina's mansion.

He took everything he knew about her and reframed it in his mind. She desired deep, penetrating connection—a bond that went beyond the surface, one that delved into the depths of understanding and intimacy. But she didn't seek safety in the conventional sense. She craved adventure, excitement, and unpredictability, yet she also desired a sense of security and trust. These were contradictions that challenged him, and in that moment, doubt crept into his mind of whether he was truly capable of fulfilling the complexities of her desires and giving her the connection she sought without compromising either of them.

“No one understands me,” she whispered, her voice trembling with vulnerability. She paused, hoping for a response, a sign that he was still listening, still willing to understand. “Please. Please understand me. I’m alone. I’m always alone. Make me not alone, please.”

To his shock, he found that he did understand. In that moment, he saw beneath the layers she used to shield herself from the world. She was hidden, pent up, yearning for connection and understanding. Despite her outward appearance of confidence and control, she didn’t feel truly connected to anyone. 

Finally grasping what she needed, he realized that she sought release, a chance to spread her wings and fly freely. For her, BDSM would not just be a means of physical pleasure but also a path to personal growth and empowerment. Through BDSM, she could learn skills that would translate into every aspect of her life: how to claim her desires, negotiate for what she wanted and needed, set boundaries, and communicate limits.

She was hyperventilating, the physical sensations along with the vulnerability of what she’d just shared overwhelming her. He didn't spank her, just rested the weight of his full palm onto her bare ass. 

With gentle care, he gathered her hair in his hand and let it cascade over her right shoulder, revealing her profile to him. As he smoothed the strands away from her eyes, his touch conveyed a silent message: he was there to look after her, to bear the weight of her burdens, and she could trust him to do so. Then he rested his hand on her back, not pushing, just anchoring her. 

“Deep, slow breaths,” he instructed. Then he began spanking her again. This time he kept a steady pace of heavy, solid blows. Not hard enough she would need to stop, but strong enough that each time he struck her something inside her began to shake loose. Together they built a pace. She’d breath in deeply, he spanked her, and her breath would release in a whoosh. 

When she acclimated to that, he rachetted up the strength of his slaps but kept the steady, punishing pace. She grunted and moaned, her body and mind fighting the punishment as adrenaline, endorphins, and natural painkillers flooded her nervous system to soothe her. Surrender, he demanded, never relenting, surrender to me. Finally, she quieted, her eyes open and unfocused, in a deep trance-like subspace. A single tear escaped her, slipping down her cheek to land on the floor. 

“Good girl,” he praised and a soft sob escaped her. 

The hand resting on her back ran up and down her spine, the gentle touch in contradiction to the solid, punishing blows. 

“Let go.” 

The dam broke. Wracking sobs escaped her. He thrashed her all the while and he didn’t begin to let up until every last ounce of tightness in her body was released. When her sobs transformed to sighs and her wrists hung so loosely she dropped the bell he finally ceased. Her head came to rest on her arm, too heavy for her to hold up any longer. 

"Stand," he murmured gently, and supported her to rise and lean against the wall. With care he tended to her wrists and hands, massaging the circulation back into them. His touch was soothing and deliberate and the last tears of relief washed down her face. Her eyes were dazed yet full of vitality, her body slack but simultaneously buzzing with energy.

Suddenly, she flung herself across the small space between them and wrapped both arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. The strength of her embrace caught him off guard and he swayed slightly under its force, momentarily stunned. A delicate fragrance of roses enveloped them, reminiscent of her—sweet, fresh, with a hint of spice.

Pulling back, she wiped her tears with one hand, the other fisted in his lapel. 

“Sorry,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Just overwhelmed.”

Unable to resist, he brushed the wetness from her cheeks with his thumbs. 

“You apologize for nothing in this space,” he told her, “except not being honest with me.” 

She had performed brilliantly, navigating the complexities within her mind like a firestorm, emerging on the other side freer and more authentic. He suspected both of them felt a sense of release, intimacy, and freedom in the moment. He knew he felt more at ease here than he ever did at the dinner table.

Relaxed, she leaned into him, her eyes heavy. Twisting both hands in his jacket, she sought his support as he leaned against the vanity, gently holding her elbows and rubbing his thumbs along the silky skin on the backs of her arms. Though outwardly unchanged, inwardly he mirrored her relaxed state, loose and at ease.

“You're really good at this,” she sighed contentedly. 

A soft chuckle escaped him. “You should see what I can do in a proper dungeon and leather pants.”

Her laughter joined his, the sound carrying warmth and shared understanding.

She released a long, slow breath, her body swaying slightly in a dance of contemplation. "You're right, you know. You're not the hero."

His muscles tensed like coiled springs, every fiber of his being laser-focused on her, anticipating her next words with a mix of dread and anticipation. So she had finally seen through him, pierced through the layers of his facade to uncover the truth. She knew exactly who he really was now, and he braced himself for the inevitable recoil, the rejection that had become all too familiar. He swallowed hard, the weight of her newfound understanding bearing down on him like a looming storm.

"But you're not the villain either," she observed, her head tilting to the side as she studied him with an intensity that made him squirm. "You're far more complex than that."

Under her perceptive gaze, he shifted uncomfortably, feeling as if she had peeled back layers of his carefully constructed armor. He was exposed, vulnerable, in a way he hadn't allowed himself to be in years.

"You're exactly who I thought you were," she concluded softly, a warmth seeping into her words. "And I'm glad." Her gaze held a depth of understanding that left him feeling seen in a way he hadn't expected.

As their breaths mingled in the air, a soft glow seemed to envelop them, casting a spell of warmth and intimacy around their figures. She leaned in, her lips brushing against his, a tender touch that sparked a rush of sensations akin to a magical potion coursing through his veins.

In that moment, he glimpsed a future intertwined with hers. He envisioned waking up beside her, the morning sunlight filtering through the curtains, casting patterns of light and shadow across her serene face. With her by his side, he saw himself becoming more adventurous, embracing new experiences, and breaking free from the confines of his solitude. She was not one to sit back and let life pass her by. Constantly engaged, always testing her limits, she would challenge him in ways he had never imagined. But then, amidst the enchantment of the moment, a torrent of insecurities flooded his mind.

No one could ever truly love him, he thought. Not the real him, with all his flaws and scars. This connection they shared was nothing but a trick, a fleeting illusion born from a surge of endorphins and shared vulnerability. Once the magic wore off, she would see him for who he truly was—a broken man, unworthy of her affection.

She would undoubtedly use what she discovered about herself during their time together and blossom into a confident and empowered woman, no longer reliant on him for validation or fulfillment. The thought that she might eventually outgrow the need for his presence in her life, just as his past lovers had done, sent a chill down his spine. He had witnessed the cycle before. The deception, like a slow poison seeping into his soul, eroded the fragile trust he had dared to build. And then, the abrupt ripping out of his heart shattered the illusion of security he had clung to, leaving behind a hollow ache of betrayal. The thought of her wielding such power in their relationship terrified him. 

The way she looked at him, he realized with alarm, could only be described as adoration. No one had ever looked at him that way. Not even his wife. The prospect of Belle wielding such transformative power within their relationship was both exhilarating and petrifying. On one hand, he admired her growth and strength, but on the other, it stirred up his deepest insecurities. As her lips pressed against his with a newfound urgency, he realized that surrendering to her would be the ultimate act of bravery. 

“Dagger.” 

She stumbled backward with how hard he shoved her away. His grip on her shoulders tightened, a painful paradox of pushing her away while desperately holding onto her, as if trying to distance himself from the pain while refusing to let her slip from his grasp.

His safe word, he belatedly realized. His safe word had, unbidden, slipped from his lips. He had never used it before. The safe word, an unexpected intrusion in their charged exchange, hung in the air like an unspoken truth. It was a word never meant to breach their sanctuary of intimacy, yet now it stood as a stark reminder of their shattered connection.

"What?" Belle's voice quivered, the remnants of a smile fading from her lips, replaced by a furrowed brow of concern.

"You’re not going to do this to me," he hissed, his gaze searching her face for signs of deceit, his emotions a tempest of confusion and betrayal. "You think you can make me weak," he accused, his grip tightening as if trying to shake her from her supposed manipulation. "I knew it was too good..." His voice trailed off, the weight of disappointment heavy in the air.

"What are you talking about? This was working—" Belle's words faltered as she tried to reason with him, to salvage the unraveling threads of their bond.

"Shut up," he snapped, his desperation bordering on anger as he refused to be swayed by her attempts to explain.

"We work together!" Belle pressed on, her voice tinged with disbelief and hurt.

"Shut the hell up!" he retorted, his resolve hardening against the vulnerability threatening to break through his defenses.

"Why won't you believe me?" Tears welled in Belle's eyes, a stark contrast to the freedom they had shared mere moments ago. He had wounded her deeply, and a twisted satisfaction stirred within him at the sight.

"Because no one," he declared, forcing her to meet his gaze with an intensity that brooked no argument, "no one could ever, ever love me." His words hung in the air, final and heavy with the weight of his self-imposed isolation.

With a swift motion, he snatched his cane from the vanity and unlocked the door, rushing out of the bathroom and into the safety of the hallway. The door shut behind him with a decisive thud, sealing him away from the intensity of the moment he had just shared with Belle. As he hurried away, a knot of apprehension tightened in his chest, fearing that she might follow him, her presence a potent reminder of his own vulnerability.

Yet, even in the solitude of the hallway, he couldn't shake the turmoil raging within him. Their encounter had been electrifying, unlike anything he had experienced before, and yet he had held back, unable to give her what she desired. The realization left him feeling exposed, as if she had unearthed a weakness he had long buried.

Lost in self-reproach, he almost stumbled upon the entrance to the dining room, where the remnants of dinner lingered and conversations ebbed and flowed around him. A sudden clarity washed over him, a stark realization that he didn't belong in this room, surrounded by people and their casual interactions.

His shoulders turned instinctively, leading him back towards the hallway, but as he paused, he realized that it only led back to the bathroom. He stood there, caught between two worlds, suspended in a moment of uncertainty and introspection.

He hesitated at the threshold of the dining room, a wave of discomfort washing over him, being in such close proximity to all these people who didn't want or need him, leaving him adrift in a sea of purposelessness. He had left something meaningful behind only to return to this emptiness, a stark reminder of his own insignificance in this world of superficiality.

His thoughts drifted to Belle, to the warmth and connection they had shared, now replaced by a sense of guilt and regret. Had he hurt her? Was she in need of comfort, of the aftercare he could have provided? But he had denied her that, shattered the delicate balance of their scene and left her, and himself, broken in its wake. If he was capable of being any more broken then he already was, he thought ruefully. He’d failed Belle, like he had so many people in his life.

The decision of which direction to take was made for him as he realized he needed to retrieve his coat and escape the suffocating atmosphere of the dinner party. He had caused enough damage, both to others and to himself, for one night. It was time to retreat to the sanctuary of his counting house, a place he should never have left.

As he made his way towards the foyer and the promise of a hasty exit, he was intercepted by Bae, who tugged at his arm, urging him to join the gathering around the Christmas tree. He opened his mouth to object.

"Just ten more minutes," Bae implored, a touch of warmth in his voice. "It won't kill you, Pops."

He wanted to argue that ten more minutes might indeed be his undoing—it already felt like it had been. After experiencing a rare moment of authenticity and connection with Belle, he now felt hollow, a mere shell of himself. Reluctantly, he allowed himself to be guided towards the towering pine tree, his gaze instinctively searching the crowd for Belle. If he had to endure this evening, he reasoned, he might as well bear the weight of her silent reproach.

But Belle was nowhere to be found, and his hopes for self-flagellation were dashed as he realized she was absent. Only then did he tune in to the conversations swirling around him. No one mentioned Belle's absence; instead, they were engrossed in debates over the rules of the gift exchange game. Not a single person turned to him for an explanation or inquired about her whereabouts. He scanned the room once more, his heart sinking as he realized that no one seemed to be searching for her.

As the first gift was selected, he strained to peer over the heads and past the throng of guests, searching desperately for any sign of Belle. Why hadn't anyone noticed her absence? Even LeGume appeared entirely unconcerned as he laughed along with the festivities.

What kind of friends were they, he wondered, a sense of unease settling over him as he grappled with the realization that Belle had slipped away unnoticed. The monotonous game dragged on, each gift selected and unwrapped with forced enthusiasm. A cashmere scarf, a vintage board game, a gaudy piece of costume jewelry—Gold barely registered the items as they passed from hand to hand, the game's triviality gnawing at his patience. Why was he still here, enduring this banality?

Arguments erupted over stolen gifts, strategies debated over the optimal time to choose or steal. Gold grew increasingly restless, his discomfort simmering beneath the surface as he vaguely acknowledged a gift being put in his hands, being taken, and a new one put in its place.

Then, a sudden disruption—a puzzled inquiry from Regina about an extra gift left unclaimed. Regina scanned the people circling the tree and the dwindling number of gifts. Everyone looked at each other, perplexed. Gold's irritation flared, ready to unleash a scathing remark, but before he could, a soft voice spoke from behind them.

"I haven't gone yet," Belle's voice cut through the tension, and the circle parted to reveal her presence. She appeared composed, her attire restored, but Gold noticed the subtle dimming of her usual radiance.

He scanned the group, expecting someone else to acknowledge Belle's return, to question her absence or offer concern. Yet, to his bewilderment, no one seemed to notice the change in her demeanor. Belle avoided his gaze, a telltale redness around her eyes betraying her recent tears.

A prickling discomfort spread over Gold's skin, a primal urge to protect and comfort her as her dominant. He couldn't ignore her distress, couldn't bear the thought of her suffering in silence while the oblivious crowd carried on around them.

He shifted restlessly, grappling with how to communicate to her across the crowd. A weighty presence in his pocket drew his attention, his hand instinctively reaching inside. A jingle, amplified in his ears, resonated from his jacket—the leftover bell from their scene. Heat surged through him, an acute awareness of the personal and sacred nature of the bell clashing with the public setting.

Yet, despite his unease, everyone remained engrossed in the game. A giant inflatable pool float emerged from the wrappings, likely his son's contribution, followed by LeGume's bold theft of Belle's book from another guest. The pet shelter caretaker caught her attention and wiggled his eyebrows at her. Gold’s palm, which had so recently been on her ass, tightened on the bells. 

Gold looked down at the cheap bottle of alcohol in his other hand that he didn’t remember someone putting there. His gaze darted around the group, quickly calculating how to get Belle’s book into his hands. Amidst the chaotic unwrapping and stealing, he spotted the rectangular box with its familiar haphazard wrapping—the one Bae had placed there for him. It had been overlooked momentarily, nestled inconspicuously in the folds of the tree skirt. With practiced nonchalance, he meandered over to the tree, his fingers deftly palming the box as the game continued behind him. A quirky, artistic hat was unwrapped and stolen for a few turns. 

Returning the box to its place, he looked up only to meet the smug gaze of Regina's sister, her victorious smile igniting a wave of irritation. Ignoring her, he focused on the unfolding game, tension simmering beneath the surface.

When it was her turn, Zelena pounced for the pile under the tree, her hand closing around his gift. Gold felt a surge of possessiveness, every fiber of his being screamed to lunge forward, to reclaim what was not meant for her. But he held himself back, his glare directed at her instead. Unfortunately, his silent challenge only seemed to embolden her. Everyone else eagerly stared at the gift, all vying for a new twist in the game.

Zelena's expression fell as she lifted the ribbon from the box, revealing the dangling bell. A ripple of disappointment and confusion spread through the group. Gold felt his son eye him in suspicion and pointedly ignored him. The gift looked unnatural in Zelena’s hand and Gold had to force himself not to snatch it away from her and put it back in his pocket. 

“I thought I said there was a ten dollar minimum,” Regina grumbled. 

As Zelena shook the bell, its chime seemed to echo a silent tension that had settled over the gathering. Gold's gaze instinctively sought out Belle, their eyes locking across the room. But this time, he found her unreadable, her emotions veiled behind a mask he couldn't penetrate. It was a defeat more profound than any other—they were closed off to each other, locked in a silent standoff of unspoken feelings.

A voice broke the tension, asking if the game was over, but Regina's annoyed response clarified that Belle, having joined late, would be the final participant. All eyes turned to Belle, who appeared momentarily overwhelmed by the sudden spotlight. Clutching her current gift—a luxurious cashmere scarf—she seemed unsure of how to navigate the attention now focused on her.

“Belle, you can keep your gift or steal,” Regina reminded her. “Not that we don’t know what you’re going to do,” she grumbled, eyeing the gift greedily. 

Belle's gaze locked with Gold's across the circle, a chasm of unspoken words and unresolved emotions stretching between them. She caressed the soft folds of the cashmere scarf in her hands, the most coveted item now that the month's free rent certificate was safely tucked away in his pocket. In that moment, Gold's eyes pleaded with her, a wordless entreaty for forgiveness and understanding. His gaze was a mix of regret and longing, a silent admission of past mistakes and a fervent desire for reconciliation. "I'm sorry. I am an idiot," his eyes seemed to say, the unspoken words hanging between them like a delicate thread waiting to be woven into a tapestry of redemption and renewal.

For him, it wasn't just about the scarf or the bells; it was about the choice between clinging to old wounds or embracing a future fraught with uncertainty but filled with the possibility of healing and love. It wasn't about relinquishing control; it was about sharing it with someone who had the strength to handle it. And perhaps, in the magic of their union, he would find the courage to let go, to trust, and to love without reservation.

“Well,” Regina prompted.

Regina's prompting brought Belle back to the present moment. With a determined yet vulnerable expression, Belle stepped out from the group, extending the scarf towards Zelena, a gesture that spoke volumes about her decision and the path she was choosing to tread.

“A bell for Belle. How…quaint,” Zelena commented, confused but not asking questions as she grabbed the more expensive gift. She held the bell’s ribbon between her index finger and thumb distastefully as she dropped it into Belle’s awaiting cupped hands. 

Belle's eyes fell to the bell, the brass catching the light and casting a soft glow in her palms.

“It’s perfect,” she announced, looking at Gold. In that moment, as the bells exchanged hands, a silent understanding passed between them, a promise of second chances and the courage to choose love over fear.

With the game concluded, the group dispersed, their reactions ranging from groans to cheers depending on the gifts they held.

Alone by the tree, Gold watched Belle with a mixture of awe and gratitude. Her simple gesture spoke volumes, signaling her readiness to release old hurts and embrace the possibility of a fresh start.

He took a step towards her, his heart brimming with newfound hope and determination.

"Gold!" Jefferson's arm draped heavily over his shoulders, a gesture he only dared when the alcohol had loosened his inhibitions. He knew Gold's aversion to physical contact, yet somehow, Jefferson always managed to push past that boundary with a mix of familiarity and charm. "Don't be the party pooper. A few of us are taking the festivities outside. I raided Regina's stash and struck gold, no pun intended," he said with a wink. With his other hand he reached under his coat and flashed a series of hidden inner pockets bursting with purloined cigars and a bottle with a Glenmorangie label. 

Gold's eyes, however, were fixated on Belle, who had been pulled into conversation with Mary Margaret. The bronze bell he had gifted her now hung gracefully around her neck. To others, it might have seemed festive and sweet, but to Gold, it was a declaration of something far more primal, something that stirred the depths of his being in ways he hadn't felt in ages.

As Belle's gaze met his, a wave of heated intensity surged between them, reigniting the flame that he feared had died. The way she wore that bell, with a blend of defiance and surrender, spoke volumes about the unspoken desires and emotions that tethered them together.

It wasn't just a bell; it was a symbol of her choice, her willingness to be marked by him in a way that transcended mere trinkets. The resonance of its chime echoed their shared longing and the unspoken desires and tangled emotions that now bound them together.

In that fleeting moment, Belle became more than just a woman he desired; she was his anchor, grounding him in a reality where love and longing converged with an electrifying intensity.

With a subtle nod and a warm smile, Belle silently conveyed her assurance that their journey was far from over, encouraging him to embrace what lay ahead.

So he allowed Jefferson to momentarily tug him away from Belle. 

“I thought that might convince you,” the designer said, thinking it was the label on the bottle that had been the deciding factor.

As they ascended the winding staircase to the balcony, Gold felt a rush of anticipation mingled with a hint of trepidation. The crisp night air greeted him as they reached the open window overlooking the front garden. David Nolan and Bae peered at him from the balcony on the other side of the window, cigars already lit, beckoning him through. With a clap on Gold’s back, Jefferson vaulted over the ledge. Pulling out the purloined bottle, Jefferson cracked the seal and held it out to offer Gold the first taste. With that invitation, Gold threw his good leg over the low window ledge and propelled himself out onto the balcony to join his family.  

[buzzdixonwriter]

Tie Me Dingo Down, Sport [FICTOID]

The dingo floated into the butcher shop.

“Gawddamn dingos!” Sidney shouted.  Actually all of Sydney shouted, “Gawddamn dingoes!” several times a day, but this particular Sidney owned Sidney’s Sydney Butcher Shop – “We specialize in kidneys.”

This led to a lot of confusion regarding black market surgery procurers but that has nothing to do with our story.

The dingo floated a good seven feet above the floor (a little more than twp meters for those of you anal about such things).  Its big, bloated body gave it the impression of a filthy, furry, feces stained blimp swarming with fleas.

The dingo sniffed the delicious carnal smells of Sidney's butcher shop and did whatever the hell it is that dingoes do when they do the equivalent of smiling.  

“Shoo! Get out! Beat it!” Sydney shouted, flapping his apron in the general direction of the dingo.

The dingo ignored him, propelling itself along with a series of short, sharp farts in the direction of the meat counter.  

Sydney's wife, Bidney, came out.  Bidney is an old Irish name but Bidney was only middle-aged Irish.  “Sure, and what be the ruckus going on out here -- oh, for the sweet love of Mary and all the saints!  Get that dingo out of here!”  

“I'm trying, woman!” Sidney said, still impotently flapping his apron at the floating dingo.  “Useless,” Bidney said.  “How typical.”  This is a profound insight into the contentious nature of their relationship and how they were trapped with each other due to their strict conservative Catholic upbringing, but again, but again has nothing to do with our story about a floating dingo -- focus, people!  Focus!

Bidney ducked in back and emerged a split second later wielding a broom.

“Out!” she said.  “Out!  Out!  Out”

She started swinging wildly at the dingo, missing the first two times, hitting Sidney in the face the third time (accidentally?  Hard to say; resentment can run deep and subtly influence our behavior), finally swatting the floating carnivore on the side of its head, spinning it like a top in midair.

Now at this point we shall pause our narrative to explain how dingoes came to float.  The official explanation is that the e. coli bacteria in their gut mutated to produce hydrogen instead of methane, causing them to bloat up and float.  According to current theory, dingoes had been doing this for centuries but only recently learned how to regulate the expulsion of hydrogen to give them neutral buoyancy and provide direction, earlier victims of the mutation simply floating off into the upper atmosphere where they exploded.

That, or leprechauns did it.  Take your pick.

Back to our narrative:  The spinning dingo began slinging saliva and parasites in all directions.

“Woman, stop what you're doing!” Sidney shouted, but Bidney refused to listen and administered another blow to the dingo's head that would have earned her a tryout for the New York Yankees.  

Dizzy from spinning rapidly, the dingo exploded from both ends:  Vomit and feces, spraying the interior of Sidney’s Sydney butcher shop as well as Sidney and Bidney themselves. 

Bidney shrieked an outrage, swinging her broom overhead and down on the floating dingo, bouncing it off the floor and ricocheting it off all the walls, thoroughly contaminating Sidney’s Sydney Butcher Shop.

“What's all this then?” the state health inspector asked, pulling out his violations book as he entered the shop.

The dingo took this diversion to snatch a long string of sausages in its jaws before propelling itself out the door in a series of derisive farts aimed in Bidney's direction.

Sidney and Bidney looked at the health inspector, literally pointing their fingers at each other.  “It's his / her fault,” they said.

“I don't care whose fault it is,” said the health inspector, writing up a citation.  “This shop is ordered closed until you clean it up and it's reinspected.”

Sidney gloomily took the citation.  “We can clean this up in a day,” he said.  “How soon can we schedule a reinspection?”

“My current docket is booked through next February,” said the health inspector.  “However, for a small surcharge, I can put you on my expedited list and schedule you for next week.”

Sidney sighed.  It would put a massive dent on their credit card -- no vacation in Tasmania that year -- but a necessity to stay in business.  “Very well, we'll pay.”  

The health inspector handed him a card, eager to get out on the street to follow the floating dingo to the next catastrophic health violation.  “Send the payment to this address, I'll see you next week.”  

As the health inspector dashed out the door, Bidney said, “That does it, we're going vegan.”

 © Buzz Dixon

[katiedido2]

Meet Cute

I wanted to contribute a piece for Thunderpride, and Virgil wanted to take part. It's a very rare pair, I think, but Virgil was adamant about this. In my headcanon, Virgil is bisexual and biromantic.

I know nothing about coffee, not being a coffee drinker, but I did know Australians have a certain way of doing coffee. I hope I got it right.

This is set in the month following Jeff's return to Earth.

It's fun and sweet for a Friday. I hope you enjoy it.

-o-o-o-

Meet Cute

“Virgil?”

The voice behind him in the Sydney coffee shop caught Virgil Tracy’s ear. He turned towards a familiar person.

“Dr Furnier?”

Stephen Furnier smiled. “Hello, Virgil.” 

“Hello, Dr Furnier.” Virgil smiled in return. 

The men shook hands.

“You saved my life. I think you should call me Stephen.” He remembered how nice Virgil Tracy smelled when the IR operative had carried him onto Thunderbird Two. His cologne scent was light but very appealing. Stephen hadn’t been able to get it out of his head for weeks afterwards. 

“Okay…Stephen.” The two men smiled. “You’re looking good.”

“So are you.”

Virgil chuckled. “I meant since the last time I saw you, but thank you.”

“Oh!” Stephen blushed and then, scratching the back of his neck, chuckled. “How embarrassing.

Stephen Furnier was just as Virgil remembered him. Attractive, trim, and neatly attired, with that full head of blond hair he wanted to run his fingers through. Virgil was a sucker for blonds. Not wanting to get distracted and keen to put the other man at ease, Virgil asked, “So, what brings you to the wilds of Sydney?”

“Ah. I’m in Sydney for work. I plan to be here roughly a year.”

“There are certainly enough spiders here to keep you busy.”

The line moved, and the two men moved forward. 

“There are!”

Virgil chuckled. “Deadly and otherwise.”

“Actually, Australia has more non-lethal spiders than people think.”

They moved forward with the line.

“Oh. It probably doesn’t help that we only hear about the deadly ones.”

Stephen chuckled. “No.”

“Are you looking for any spiders in particular?”

“Not this time. I’m doing work for the Australian government. They’ve asked a group of arachnologists and herpetologists to study the effect of climate change on the ecosystems of spiders, lizards and snakes.”

“That sounds interesting.”

“It is!”

“Will you be working in Sydney?”

“Not the entire time. We’ll be going around the country. We’re trekking into Western Australia for a month in a couple of weeks.”

“What can I get for you two?”

Stephen and Virgil looked in surprise at the barista. They hadn’t noticed that the line had progressed so far. They looked at each other. 

Virgil tilted his head and held out his hand. “What do you say, doc? My treat.”

Stephen raised his hands in protest. “No, no. You saved my life. It’s my treat.”

“But you saved my life capturing the creepy spider.”

“Creeping banana spider.”

“Guys.”

The two men looked in the direction of the voice. The barista stood with their eyebrows raised. 

“Lumberjack, let the doc buy you coffee; you can buy him dinner, but let’s keep the line moving, okay?”

The two men blushed. “Um, sure.” “Yes, okay.”

“What’ll you have, Lumberjack?”

“I prefer Logistical Tree Feller.”

“Yeah, but it’s too wordy.”

Virgil shrugged. “Okay. Lumberjack it is. I’ll have a Long Black, please.”

“Okay.” The barista typed his order into the computer. They looked at Stephen. “And you, big spender?”

“Yes, um… may I please have a flat white?”

“Right-o.” The barista rang up their order. 

Stephen touched his thumb to the pay pad, causing a soft beep, indicating that he had paid. 

“We’ll call when your order is ready.”

Stephen stopped them. “Wait. Don’t you need our names?”

The barista cocked their head. “Do ya think there are more than one Doc and Lumberjack in here?”

Stephen frowned. “Umm…”

Virgil chuckled. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out…doc.”

Stephen blushed and chuckled. “Oh, yes. Of course.” 

They moved away from the counter and stood together. Virgil was enjoying talking to Stephen and wished to continue their conversation. He hoped Stephen felt the same. 

“Shall we find a table? We can keep talking…unless you have to go….”

“No!” Stephen blushed again. He glanced at Virgil from beneath his eyelashes. “No, my afternoon is free…and I want to continue our conversation.” He smiled when Virgil’s face lit up at his reply. 

“Okay.” 

They found a table near a window and sat. 

“I’ve been terribly rude. Virgil, I neglected to ask what you were doing in Sydney.” 

“That’s okay, doc-”

“Stephen, please, Virgil.”

Virgil nodded. “That’s okay, Stephen…I have a few days of R&R. I’m taking in a couple of museum exhibits, and I managed to get tickets for tomorrow to see Ming Ha at the Opera House.”

“Ming Ha? I’m not familiar with them.”

“She’s a classical pianist.”

“Oh. Classical music isn’t really my thing.” Stephen hesitated, wondering if he had said the wrong thing. He cleared his throat and spoke quickly. “Do you like classical music?”

“I do! I enjoy playing it on the piano, but I prefer jazz.”

Stephen’s face lit up. “I like jazz too!” 

The men smiled at each other. 

“Doc and Lumberjack!”

“I’ll get it.” Stephen rose and went to collect their coffees. 

Virgil looked out the window, watching passersby until his companion returned with the nectar of life coffee. An idea occurred to him, and he tapped a message into his phone. A moment later, his phone tinged. Reading the reply, he smiled and looked up in time to see Stephen returning with their coffees. 

“A tall black for the tall black-haired gentleman and a flat white for the spider guy.” Stephen grinned at Virgil while he set the cups on the table and retook his seat. “What are you grinning at?”

“I’m not grinning.”

“Virgil, you look like a cat who’s eaten a canary. What is it?”

“The coffee is called a long black, not tall black.”

“Oh.” The blond blushed. “Australian coffee rituals are very confusing.”

“They are if you aren’t familiar with them. You did okay ordering your coffee. Unless you didn’t actually want a flat white.”

Stephen sipped his coffee. “Mmm, this is exactly what I wanted.”

“Now you’re prepared for next time.”

“And I’ll try to remember it’s long black, not tall.” He sipped his coffee again and noticed Virgil grinning at him. “What? You’re grinning again…do I have foam on my lip?” He swiped his hand across his lips.

“Not, you’re fine.” Virgil paused, staring at Stephen’s lips. “Um….” He shook himself. “I checked on Ms Ha’s program, and she’s performing works by Jean-Michel Blais.”

“I’m not familiar with him.”

“He’s a modern Canadian composer. I think he’s still alive. Philip Glass was one of his influences, and some of his works have a jazzy feel.”

Stephen made a face. “Jazzy?”

Virgil laughed. “Oh no, don’t make that face. Okay, jazzy is a bad description. But his work is interesting, and Ms Ha is a talented pianist.”

“You don’t have to sell me on your evening plans, Virgil.”

“Yeah, about that.” 

Stephen looked expectantly at him. 

“I was wondering if you might like to come with me tomorrow night.”

“To see Ms Ha perform?”

“Yes, I have an extra ticket…” Virgil briefly wondered if he had misread Stephen’s interest. “Unless you have other plans, or there’s someone you’re seeing, then….”

“No.”

“No?” Virgil wilted slightly in disappointment. 

Stephen’s eyes widened at his companion’s obvious disappointment. “No, that’s not what I meant. No, I don’t have plans…and there isn’t anyone at the moment….” 

The two men looked at each other; neither had misread anything. 

Stephen smiled shyly. “I’d love to join you.”

Virgil smiled. “Excellent.” He sipped his nectar of life coffee. It was very good. “So, Stephen, what are your plans for this afternoon?”

“I haven’t any.”

A black eyebrow rose at this information. “There’s an exhibit at the Museum of Contemporary Art I’ve been dying to see, and it’s leaving after this week. Would you like to spend the afternoon with me?”

“I’d like that very much, Virgil.”

They grinned at each other and sipped their coffees.

-fin-