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bitemybutt · 1 year ago

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Desperate

Law x Reader NSFW!

Y'all, I wrote this at work, in between work, and in bed all on my phone so it is NOT proofread. But I just had to get this out of my head. Also this is pure smut, so no plot really. Hope yall enjoy!! Let me know what you think! MDNI!

WARNINGS: Female reader, dominate Law, female and male receiving oral, mentions of masterbation, saliva, vaginal penatration, fingering, light choking, hand necklace, aftercare, cuddling, SMUT, PURE FILTHY SMUT

Law had been desperate for a few things in his life, but a woman in any sort of romantic capacity was not one of them.

He may have enjoyed the touch of a woman every now and then...but he was never desperate for it.

That was, until you came along.

He wasn't sure when his need for you began, but it was slow, building over the two years you had been with the crew. He tried dismissing it, but soon his quick glances turned into lingering gazes, and innocent thoughts became blurred with visions of you bare before him.

Law knew that if he got his hands on you now, he would ruin you, and he would enjoy every last minute of it.

And that's where he found himself tonight: sat at his desk mind wandering to you. His paperwork was nearly finished and yet he couldn't focus anymore. You were always there, in the front of his mind. Law closed his eyes and leaned his head back against his chair. Your image was burned into his eyelids. And the thoughts came rushing in. He imagined what your nails would feel like digging into his skin, and what you would look like with disheveled hair and blown pupils, tears staining those pretty little cheeks as you beg to be fucked again.

Goddammit, he was losing his mind.

He wanted you...needed you, and yet he hadn't made any indication of such for fear of scaring you away.

He needed release and he found himself reaching for the button of his suddenly tight jeans. It would have to do, and had for some time now. Law nearly had himself free when a knock came at his door.

He gritted his teeth and redid the button and zipper. Who was coming to his door at this hour? He made his way to the door and opened it.

"What is it?" he grumbled before looking down. And then his eyes met yours. His breath nearly hitched at the sight before him. There you stood, hair tumbling around your face and cheeks tinged pink from embarrassment.

His eyes trailed down and saw that you were only wearing an oversized t-shirt, accentuating your plush thighs.

"Captain, I'm really sorry to bother you. I know it's late but I...I can't sleep. I've tried everything but my mind won't quiet. Do you have any medicine I could take? Or a tea? Anything really so long as I can sleep."

Law considered for a moment and opened the door more. He certainly could think of some ways to help you sleep...

"Come in," he gestured into the room.

As you slipped inside Law made his way to a bookshelf in the corner of his room where he kept specific medicines for sleep.

"Is this a normal occurance, y/n-ya?"

You didn't want to admit it, but it had been and you knew exactly what...or rather who the problem was. He was standing in the room with you.

"Yes. But tonight has been unbearable. I--" you stopped for a moment to consider your next words, "I feel like I'm losing it, Law..."

He stopped at the sound of his name spilling from your lips. You never called him that and he was in part glad for it, because he knew it would only add fuel to his burning desire for you. How many times had he imagined what his name would sound like as you cried it out?

When he turned around he saw you leaning against his closed door, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. When had the door shut? The room suddenly felt too small. Too hot. Focus Law, he told himself as he made his way back to you with two pills in hand. He held his hand out and dropped them into you open palm.

"Take these with a glass of water and you should fall asleep within thirty minutes." He tried sounding professional to cover for the fact that his heart was beginning to beat wildly in his chest.

You should have said "thank you" and left, but instead the words spilled out of your mouth before you could stop them, "Law...do you...have you ever had thoughts about someone that has...kept you up at night?" Your cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink and in that moment he knew exactly what you meant.

"What exactly is this about, y/n?" He played dumb but found himself stepping closer to you.

You looked up at him, forcing yourself to face the man that had been causing you so many sleepless nights. So many nights of feeling the warm slickness pool between your thighs. But then you lost your courage only to mumble, "it's stupid, nevermind."

But Law wasn't having it. He was moving closer still and you could feel your cheeks begin to burn hotter. "Law...?"

"Who's been keeping you so bothered?" his voice came out low and husky. He had tunnel vision. You were all he could see now and he was losing himself to you.

He placed a tattooed hand on the door beside your head and gazed down into those big doe eyes.

Your breath caught and you could feel heat beginning to build in your lower stomach. He was so close. So close now that if you leaned in you could kiss him. But instead, he moved in so that his lips were by your ear. "Who?" he whispered, and you inhaled sharply at the sensation that rolled through your body, the pills in your hand falling to the floor.

"You..." you choked out and now your whole body felt flush with embarrassment. But it was short lived because Law's lips were now on yours and his body moved to press you fully against the door.

He had finally snapped the moment it left your lips and without truly thinking, for once in his life, he acted on instinct. His lips moved against yours, soft but hungry and when he felt you reciprocate he ran his tongue along your bottom lip so that you would part for him. His tongue dancing with yours sent a heat through your core and your knees felt weak. The hand that had been on the door moved to cup your face and his other hand moved to your waist feeling the curve of your hip. His hand made its way down to the hem of your shirt where he then slipped under and gripped at your bare skin.

You were melting in his hands and you could feel your head begin to swim, your arousal apparent by the wetness you felt growing between your legs. You pulled away and looked up at him seeing nothing but hunger in his eyes. Oh, he would be your undoing. You would give him anything he asked of you. It took him no time to press his lips against the sensitive part of your neck and he trailed his tongue up to your ear.

"The things I want to do to you, y/n-ya."

A small moan escaped your lips and the heavenly sound was met with a low growl.

Your legs felt like jello. You were sure you soaked through your panties at this point.

"Then do them..." you were breathless as you looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. And then you were being picked up, your legs wrapping around his waist so naturally as if you had done this a million times. He moved you to his bed and laid you down, your shirt riding up exposing your stomach.

"Are you sure about that?" he asked as he hovered just above you. His hand was on your stomach and sliding further up until he reached your breast. His fingers moved to your stiff nipple where he gently pinched at it.

"Y-yes, Law..." you moaned softly.

He was so hard he could barely stand it. His cock was going to look so good shoved in that pretty mouth.

He moved to slide your shirt over your head and when he looked down at your bare chest he felt his cock twitch. Perfect peaks met him and he moved to grasp them, but then he felt your hands grasping at the buttons on his shirt. He let you work through them and when you got it off, you slid your hands over his tattooed chest.

You admired how beautiful his tattoos were and traced them for a moment. But then he grabbed your hands and pinned them above your head. His head dipped down to one of your breasts and he took your nipple in his mouth, sucking and rolling his tongue over it. You arched your back and a louder moan escaped your lips.

Law was starting to come undone with each moan that met his ears. He needed more. He needed to see that perfect pussy. He leaned back, releasing your hands and wasted no time in finding the elastic of your panties. He ran his finger teasingly along the band and watched you squirm.

"Tell me what you thought about when you touched yourself at night, y/n-ya"

Again your cheeks warmed and you looked to the side. Had he really known you played with yourself almost every night or was it a lucky guess?

"You, Law..."

His free hand grabbed your chin gently making you look at him.

"What exactly about me?" He wanted to hear the dirty details about your need for him. He pulled your panties down a little, trailing a finger further inside.

You supposed now was not the time to be shy, though it took you a few seconds to get it out.

"...Your hands...roaming my body, touching every inch of me. I-I thought about you slipping those pretty tattooed fingers inside of me." You felt your panties begin to slide down your thighs.

"And? I know there's more." Law was going to draw this out for as long as he could. His fantasies were coming to life before him.

"And your cock...filling me up. Pounding into me until I cant take anymore." The words coming from your mouth was pure exstasy to him. Your panties were now off and Law admired you for a moment before running a finger just above your folds.

"And do you think you deserve it?" he teased you as you moved your hips hoping his finger would slide further down. You were dripping onto his bedsheets.

One breathy "yes" from you and he ran two fingers along your slit and then inserted them into your warm and waiting cunt.

"Ah!" your eyes snapped shut and you arched into him. Was this really happening? You laying beneath Law, his fingers deep inside of you? He started slow, methodically pumping his fingers in and out but then he picked up speed and you let out a small gasp. Goddamn you were beautiful.

You grasped at the bedsheets and you tilted your head back when you felt him hit your sweet spot.

"L-law! Just like that" you cried out as he continued to hit it. If he kept going you were going to explode and cum all over his hand. Almost there.

But just before you could climax he abruptly pulled out his fingers and smirked. You collapsed and whined, your body shivering from the crash.

"Oh no, not yet," he purred as he put his soaked fingers up to your mouth. You opened obediently and he shoved them in, slickness met with saliva. Your lips closed around his fingers and you suckled at your own juices.

"Good girl," he crooned as he shoved them just a but further into your mouth causing you to drool. You made small whimpering noises and he pulled his fingers out. "Show me how you played with yourself," his mouth upturned into a wicked smile.

"Just like this..." your fingers moved to touch your clit, rubbing small circles and you let out a small moan as your other hand played with your nipples. He watched intently as he moved off of you and began working on getting his jeans off. He pulled them off with his briefs in one motion and your breath caught at the sight of his cock springing free.

Your mouth watered, and you stopped touching yourself to sit up. You needed him in your mouth now. You reached a hand out to grab it and ran it along the length of him admiring the softness of it. He let out a hiss at the touch and grabbed your chin and pulled your face forward. The tip of his cock coaxed your lips open and then your mouth. You flicked your tongue out and licked at the precum pooling at the tip and then put him in slowly, meeting his eyes.

Law stared into those big beautiful eyes full of lust and then in one motion shoved himself into your mouth. The size of him made you choke and he let out a moan at the sound. His moaning was music to you and encouraged you to begin bobbing and sucking at him. Your head moved slowly at first but the more you sucked the faster you got wanting to mouth fuck him until he came down your throat.

Law tilted his head back moving his hand from your chin and grabbing the hair at the back of your head. He pulled on it using it as leverage to shove himself into you.

"Greedy little thing, aren't you?" he teased, your chin glistening with drool. You answered by sucking harder, and he groaned. If you kept this up he was going to cum. You grew more fervent as he pulled your head back and pushed you back onto him. Your little noises were sending him to the edge.

"Mmm, you want me to cum in that naughty little mouth of yours?" his voice came out slightly shaky and you could tell he was going to bust.

"Mhmm," you nodded, your sucking becoming sloppy. He was covered in your spit the sight of which made you even wetter.

But then he pulled out of your mouth and let out a heavy sigh. Oh he was playing with you. You groaned and grabbed at him again, but he pushed you back onto your back his fingers back in your pussy, pumping hard and fast. You grabbed at his arms, your nails digging in. You were already close just from sucking him off, so it didn't take much to build to your climax.

You felt yourself peaking as your hips moves erratically against his hand.

"That's it, y/n-ya, cum for me" he whispered, hooking the tips of his fingers inside you and wiggling them back and forth. It was your undoing as your walls constricted and you cried out.

"Ahhh, Law! Yes, ah yes!"

The aftershock went through your entire body but he wasn't pulling out. Instead, he began wiggling his fingers again and dipped his head down, his tongue meeting your clit.

"Oh I'm not done with you," he said in between licks. Your legs began to shake and you grasped at his hair as he built you back up. Your clit was so sensitive now that each lick and suckle made you jolt and coupled with his fingers you felt yourself peaking again.

"Oh fuck!" You were almost there.

One more suckle against your clit and you were crashing around him again. Your fingers grasped his hair harder as you rode out your climax.

"That's my good girl," he said against your soaked cunt. When he pulled his fingers out he ran his tongue in between his fingers, cleaning up the grool and cum that covered them. The very sight was erotic to you.

Law still wasn't done with you though. He was going to stuff you to brim with his swollen cock. He wanted to feel your overstimulated pussy clenching around him.

He positioned himself at your entrance, his tip just brushing your clit which made you cry out. It was so sensitive now that it almost hurt.

"Fuck me, Law" you begged him, your body thrumming with the high of your climaxes. You weren't sure if you could make it through another one, but you were going to. You needed him inside of you.

"Begging for my cock?" he ran a finger down your cheek and smirked. His tip was poking at your entrance.

"Please...please fuck me," you begged again, spreading your legs wider for him.

"Since you've been so good, I'll let you have it." And then he pushed into you, going all the way to the hilt.

"Fuck Law!"

He was in pure bliss finally feeling your walls squeezing around him. He thought he never would. And you crying out his name only made him thrust harder.

You were so overwhelmed with stimulation that you could feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes but you didn't want him to stop. You were almost in a trance.

Law had his one hand on your hip, his other hand made its way to your throat. He wrapped his fingers around your throat applying light pressure. You didn't even realize how good it would feel but you enjoyed every second of it as he pounded you.

Law looked into your eyes, and there it was. Just as he had imagined: lust-blown eyes, with tears beginning to streak your cheeks. It was better than he imagined actually. You completely fucked out and spent.

The sight was going to make him cum. He wanted to fill you with his seed. He began pumping faster and his moans mingled with yours. You were going to cum again.

"Fuck, look how pretty you look with my cock buried in your pussy." His thrusts were hungry now, filled with need.

"Law...fuck Law, yes...yes" you could only whisper because you were so spent.

The hand Law had on your throat squeezed just a bit tighter as he reached the edge of his climax. "Fuck," he groaned, he was there. One more thrust and his head fell back.

"Fuck, y/n-ya!" At the same time, waves of pleasure hit you and your pussy spasmed around his cock. His orgasm was strong sending pulses to his cock and warm spurts of cum filled you up. When he pulled out he watched as his seed dripped out of you. What a sight.

The hand that had been on your throat moved to cup your cheek and you nuzzled into it. "Law..." you breathed. You reached up, covering his hand with your own.

"That was amazing," you rubbed his hand.

"You were perfect," he smiled and you thought you would do anything to see that smile more often.

He rolled off of you and went to the bathroom. When he returned he handed you a damp washcloth. You gave him a small smile and cleaned yourself up. When you were done, he took it from you and then crawled in the bed beside you. He laid his arm out, a request for you to move into closer. You snuggled into him, laying your head on his warm chest.

You felt the sleepiness begin the set in. And your eyes began to flutter closed. "Thank you," you managed to get out.

"For what?" he asked as he rubbed small circles across your shoulder.

"For helping me sleep."

He chuckled and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"The pleasure was all mine."

But you didn't hear him because sleep had taken you, so he snuggled into you and let sleep claim him too.

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drmslastmorning · 1 year ago

Note

Sixteenth Day Event Prompt:

Dream breaks Technoblade's trust in prison

A lesson on trust.

Characters: Dream, Technoblade

Words: 5.2k (one-shot)

Warnings: panic attacks, canon typical violence. nothing big.

During Technoblades stay in the prison, Dream gets a little desperate to prove that he is not to be trusted.

Being with Technoblade has lifted Dream’s spirits. It's lifted them a bit much for his taste, honestly. Considering everything the other has done has been quite simple: Exist, take up already sparse food, talk far too much bullshit and annoy the hell out of him. He's not a fan of how easily the piglin hybrid can read him.

Technoblade’s involvement itself is calculated: it's within the plan, it's accounted for. He hasn't accounted for the way he'd make him smile, and distract him from the hell that is the prison.

That shouldn't be a problem in and of itself, Dream measures. He can stay focused regardless.

He doesn't know if the company is within the plan. Of course, Technoblade would've been involved eventually: For the exchange of a favor. But he's been here for a few weeks now. At least, that's what Dream presumes from what little sense of time he's gotten left. He couldn't know for sure and the realization that he couldn't tell leaves his tail swaying nervously. It's somehow easier to sit with your thoughts on your own. Correction: it's easier to ignore them on your own. It's easier to dissociate when someone isn't constantly chatting or snoring your ear off.

Dream doesn't sleep. Technoblade does it far too much. He guesses it's how the other planned on passing the time, and it's not really a bad bet. It's not like there is much else to do. It gives Dream something to do: Study everything there is about Technoblade. Not really intentionally, of course. He's not intending to stare, but could you blame him, when he's the only positive interaction he's had in so long?

The piglin hybrid sleeps messily. Loudly . He eats a lot, and he knows just how to get on his nerves. Though, he guesses he was already well aware of the last two. They've shared a few meals and more arguments.

Dream's passed out only very few times in the time Technoblade has been here, to the point the latter is unsure he's seen it at all. He prefers it that way.

"What are you, anyways?" Rings the question and Dream knows the other didn't miss the way he flinches at the sudden sound. "W-what's that supposed to mean." He says it like a dismissive statement, much less like a question. It's clear he understood exactly what Technoblade means, but doesn't intend to respond unless further clarified. He knows he doesn't pry. "Y'know." Pink hair messily falls over his shoulder. He undid the braid a while ago, and redid it at least 20 times since then.

Dream does know. The pen slips out of his fingers and he curses under his breath as it draws a messy line across the paper, him desperately reaching for it not helping.

"I don't," he lies, "you're distracting me."

Technoblade raises an eyebrow, toys with a potato that he's sure is going to start growing mold within the next 24 hours. "Species-wise, of course." While Dream's gotten a very good look of the other, the piglin hybrid has been kept very.. in the dark, to say the least. Dream makes sure to hide his face, and Techno hasn't attempted to catch a glance whenever he was distracted enough. He'd feel like he's intruding, if he did. Surely there's a reason he always wore that mask, after all. It's rude, he's concluded. "You haven't really let me catch a glance."

"What's it matter to you?" He mumbles, retrieving the pen and annoyedly smudging at the ink that's now splotched all over the paper. Smudging it more isn't really helping, weirdly enough.

"It's something to talk about, Dream."

"I don't feel like talking."

"I know. You never do. It's kinda your thing." He snorts.

"That's-- that's not true. You know that's not true. I just- You already made me ruin this whole page."

"Put that thing down for 5 minutes, Dream. I'm pretty sure we've got plenty of time for you to finish that."

It looks like he's right, but somehow, sometimes Dream fears, he might blink, and Technoblade might disappear into thin air.

"Fine." Dream hisses through gritted teeth, closing the book to set it aside. He leaves the pen amidst the pages to keep note of where he was. "Your tail reminds me of Ranboo’s." Techno remarks, and as if on command, it whips against cold obsidian and then curls up to hide behind his back. "What- are you just going to- analyze things about me?"

"Well, you're not telling me."

"That's still, like, weird." Dream argues, shaking his head. Something about it makes him really uncomfortable. Something about it is something he didn't account for and it makes him nervous.

"Man, you've been eyeing me up and down the entire time and I can't even catch a quick glance." He snickers at the immediate physical rise he gets out of Dream.

" WHAT?? " Oh, that blush is obvious. "I've- You're an idiot, I've literally-" Dream stumbles over his words, messy locks not disguising enough of his face to hide his expression.

"You're- You're stupid. You're just- you're just saying things. That's not even true!"

"I don't know bro, for an innocent man you're getting real defensive."

"I'm not-- That's not-- I literally have not been doing that." Defeatedly, Dream taps his foot against the obsidian, knees dragged to his chest.

"Uh-huh." Technoblade nods, beginning to redo his braid for the third time that day.

"Fuck yourself, seriously, Techno. I don't even know where- where you got that from."

"Maybe from the guy who's been eyeing me up and down."

" I HAVE NOT??? " (Dream’s heart beats in his ears and it tastes bitter and it's uncalculated and it makes no sense and he has to remind himself to breathe.) And it beats. And it beats. And it beats.

"So, what are you?"

"You're not going to let me live that down, are you?" Dream responds, annoyed. "I'm curious and bored." Technoblade answers, too honestly. Too honestly for Dream’s taste. Dream hasn't planned for this. Dream doesn't like the way he sees through him. "The answer- the answer is going to disappoint you, then." He gnaws on his lip for a moment. "Because I don't- I don't actually know ."

Techno raises an eyebrow curiously. He snorts. "You seriously don't, huh?"

"Yeah- uh- why the hell- why would I lie about that?"

"Uh, I mean, you've got the same tail as Ranboo." Techno deduces. "And he's an Enderman. I think?" He shakes his head. "But you're also not really letting me see anything else."

"You're being weird." Dream pushes, hiding his face in his knees.

"Not any weirder than you."

"Can I see your face?" Techno asks, and is surprised by his own question.

"What???" Dream returns, almost instinctively letting more hair fall into his face.

"Your face." He presses, shifting with his coat. "I wanna see your face. It's been so long since I last did."

"Why?"

"Curiosity." Technoblade shrugs, feigning disinterest. Maybe he's just curious. Maybe there's more to it. Dream hates the way he can't tell and he hates the way it makes his heart beat and he hates the way he squirms uncomfortably and he hates the way the proposed intimacy makes him feel and he hates it.

Dream catches his heart in his throat and chokes it with both of his hands.

"No." He responds, met by a dejected, "awwwh", from the piglin hybrid. "Just a quick glance."

"No." He repeats, with more tone in his voice.

"Just a quick one."

"I said no." Dream cringes, crossing his arms. "It's not like I've never seen it before." Techno shrugs.

"Be satisfied with that, then."

"What's the big deal?"

"We're not friends, Techno." His tone of voice seems insincere, but he wants it to be true. They aren't friends. This is purely transactional. Technoblade is here to rescue him on account of a favor. Something is going wrong with whatever he's got planned and now he's trapped here for the time being. It doesn't mean anything.

"Ow." Technoblade shuffles, moves as if something stabbed him. It's dramatics, Dream reminds himself. He's being dramatic. "First off, that hurts." It doesn't, Dream reminds himself. It's theatrics. It's to pass the time, it's to make him feel secure, it's to fool him, it's to- he doesn't know. Make him forget the plan?

"Second off, it's rude. I thought we've been having a real bonding moment here." Technoblade doesn't mean that, Dream reminds himself. "Well- boohoo." He fiddles with his fingers, with the book in his hands. "We're not friends." He has to emphasize that. (lest he forgets. lest he forgets that that too, is part of the plan.)

"I thought we were." Techno reiterates. "I mean, you've been watching me sleep. Would be real weird if we weren't friends."

"Oh my God, Technoblade. I have not-" He cuts himself off, rolling his eyes. He gives up. It's obvious he's just trying to get a rise out of him. He doesn't understand the point. It's distracting. It's going off the plan. It defies everything Dream did this for. He feels dizzy.

"C'mon Dream, I know you're still grumpy I keep calling you homeless, but I'd say we're friends."

"I'm not- I'm not homeless." (you're the one who kept not believing me I've got a big house filled with Redstone.) The thought makes him laugh bitterly.

Techno raises an eyebrow at the clear silent conversation Dream just had in his head. Some voices tell him something, but they sound drowned. The lack of food is beginning to mess with him bad, Techno eats a lot normally, so while he's not opposed to the potato diet itself, he's really been trying to cut down. If not only to not take away the little food Dream has.

Techno really doesn't like the way Sam clearly doesn't mind feeding him as much - considering he literally even gave him cooked potatoes when he asked for it. (it's all to starve Dream.)

"I know, I know. We're roommates right now, remember?" He snorts, which leads into an amused grunt, then translates into him holding out a baked potato in Dreams direction. "You want some?"

"... What."

"It's baked. Should be better than uh, y’know, the ones you've been chowing down." He gestures at Dream’s stack, which is honestly beginning to show mold.

"Why- how is it- where did you-" Dream stumbles and he looks so extremely bewildered Techno can't help but sneak a little fond smile. (Dream doesn't recognize it as such. His gasping heart categorizes it as him making fun of him.)

"I asked and Sam gave them to me. Under the condition I don't give you any."

Dream frowns. Deeply. He shakes his head. "Under the condition you don't give me any." He repeats, in a tone that makes Techno sick. Wipes the smile off his face and replaces it with a frown. "Hey man, it's not like Sam's gonna know."

"He'll know ." Dream reiterates, shaking his head. He feels sick. Sick. Sick. Resisting everything in himself to not knock it out of Techno’s hand.

"I mean, I'm not telling him. Are you?"

"If- if he asks , if I-if." He stutters over his words, he despises the frown on Techno’s lips. He's not disobeying Sam for some stupid- some potatoes. He could handle himself. The clear favoritism gets to his head, and he needs to turn away so he doesn't just grab the potato and throw it into the lava. Or better yet, he's throwing himself in it next.

Techno sighs. "Alright, man. Just thought I'd offer." He rolls his shoulders, then wordlessly eats it. He's honestly worried Dream might just starve to death one of these days. He certainly doesn't look good.

Dream’s heart beats in his ears. He wishes he could bang his head against the wall until he made a big enough hole for it to escape. Wishes he could reach through his own mouth and pull it up by its bits and pieces and squeeze it until there is finally no feeling left.

In the end he does none of that. In the end he frowns at Techno and doesn't say anything else. In the end he reaches his hands into his hair and tugs until he feels a few strands coming loose.

"You're- driving me crazy." He hisses. And it's unreasonable. And it's a weird mood swing from the Dream who was just confused then horrified and is now- maybe jealous isn't the right word, but he doesn't find any better ones to describe what he is feeling. Speaking of feeling, he hates the way his heart jumps in his mouth when Techno looks at him with that stupid snort. That stupid big nose ring, and those stupid big ears, and those stupid big tusks that hang upwards out of his mouth and-

Breathe. Breathe. "Man, I'm just being friendly." Techno says and it snaps a cord. "You're not! Friendly. You're A- annoying , you're, you're taking up already sparse food, you're, you're clearly being favorited by- mi- by the wa- by Sam -" He tugs and he tugs and he tugs and maybe this way he can get rid of this stupid long hair. "All this has achieved is- you're just stuck here now, too . Why the hell didn't you realize it was a trap? I didn't want you to get involved! You have- you- aaaaah!" He groans, frustrated, tired, exhausted, hungry, and for the first time in the while he's been stuck here he seriously wishes he had died already.

It's stupid. It's such a stupid thing to want to give up over. (was any of it even worth it? was any of it even worth it? was any of it even worth it? was any of it even worth it.) He thinks he hears Techno say something but it's dampened by the dread that's surrounding him. Maybe he's having a panic attack. Maybe he's having two. Maybe three. four five six seven eight-- he's been doing so well holding himself together but now he's crashing he's falling apart he's grasping at the pieces of a knocked over 3D puzzle and it does little to put it back together.

He's been doing so well smiling and talking with Technoblade whenever Quackity wasn't here he's been doing so well and he's been doing too well and it's exactly why he's tripping all over himself and falling and falling and falling --

It's a harrowing realization. That scaling any mountain is going to involve so much tripping and falling in the future. And it's more harrowing to him that he's decided to do it all alone. It's better that way, he tells himself, but for a moment, Dream would rather be dead than alone.

Maybe, if he gave up, while Technoblade, while Quackity- while it's- while he's not- while- while there's someone there- while he's not alone- while- if he gave up now, at least someone would be by his side while he did-

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. In, and out, and Dream hears a voice, guiding him, and he's breathing.

Breathe. Breathe. He closes his eyes. It's dark, and it's orange from the light of the lava and he's just barely catching himself.

When he opens his eyes again, he can breathe again. He sees pink strands and his first instinct is to--

He reaches out and tugs on Technoblade’s already messy enough braid. "Ow! Is that the thanks I get????? Ow- ow- Dream that hurts-" And he tugs and he tugs and he tugs and it's enough Technoblade has to stop awkwardly hovering his big hands around Dream's and instead grab onto them, halting the other’s out-of-nowhere violence. " Good ." Dream hisses, and it's venomous, it's almost- uncharacteristic. Techno pulls his eyebrows together and frowns. "You good? You had a little- panic attack there. And now you're attacking me! Scandalous."

Momentarily, Dream is taken aback by the piglin hybrid’s antics. Only momentarily, because as soon as he manages to wipe the way his expression cringes at his own actions off his face, he's back to pulling his hands out of Technoblade’s, taking one, two, three, too many steps towards the lava and almost falling backwards into it. He stumbles, and has to catch himself on the side of the wall. The lava is sizzling so closely behind him he's unsure if some of his hair, or his clothes might already be catching fire. He nudges just a little bit away from it, although he really wishes he could just let himself fall backwards.

He could, he reckons. No better time than now. No better time than when he's not alone with Sam and Quackity with the warden and sir with the violence and torture and-

His head spins. Technoblade says something again but hovers awkwardly out of his reach. Good. Good. This is better. That's how it's supposed to be. Transactional. As soon as they're out of here Technoblade will abandon him. That's how this was intended. He'll make himself heavy enough of a burden that even Techno will hesitate to dare put that strain on his back. That hesitation will be enough, he hopes. He is sure it will be enough. He closes his eyes, breathing. He should breathe, Technoblade is right. He opens his eyes again and his eyes search for Technoblade, who's looking at him with such a stupid expression of pity (and concern and worry and so many things Dream isn't sure he's identifying right and so many things that Dream hopes he is wrong about.).

Dream prays he is wrong about these things. Because God strike him down if he is right. God if he has to face that possibility.

He isn't sure how much time passes. He isn't sure how long they're just staring at each other.

"You better now?", Technoblade says after a long silence, attempting to approach him. Very slowly. As if he's afraid Dream might just stumble backwards into the lava if he startles him like a scared deer. Bitterly, Dream laughs. "Yeah", he catches himself, "Sorry."

"Nah, it's okay. You have the strength of a toddler."

" WHAT??? " That gets to Dream’s head worse than Technoblade probably intends it to, when Dream stumbles over himself and almost catches fire on the lava. Techno snorts, lifting a hand to move it in a manner that's supposed to make him calm down but is only irritating him more. "You're- you're fucking insufferable, Technoblade ." Dream draws a breath through barely parted lips and for a moment he wants to cry.

The piglin sighs. "You know, I've been really patient, but you're making me curious. What happened? Since when are you so-- dead set on pushing everyone away? I mean, I heard Punz betrayed you, which must've sucked- but, Dream, I clearly don't mean you any ha-"

"Fuck off, Technoblade."

"Eh?"

"Fuck off." He reiterates, and he is so, so close to ending it all he needs to remind himself that part of the plan is that he stays alive. Part of the plan is that his heart keeps beating. Maybe he can respawn at least though. It's bitter. He threw himself in that lava a lot when there was nothing to do and the pain of burning alive was, funnily enough, the only thing keeping him sane. "We're not friends. We're not roomies. We're not- You weren't supposed to be here. You're so fucking- stupid- walking into that obvious trap."

Technoblade's vision swims, before it refocuses on Dream and he raises an eyebrow. "Dream- You do know I knew that, right?"

"Right. Right. And that's why you haven't gotten out. That's why you're still stuck here with me annoying me and trying to get under my skin all the goddamn time-"

"Well, I mean, some things went wrong. I'll be out here in no time, though."

(I, I, I, I, I)

I, I, I, I, I

It echoes in Dream’s head. He stares. " We ?" He whispers, it's hopeful, it's meek, and it's such a sudden change from the way he was just yelling.

"Uh, yeah. We. You're getting out of here, Dream."

They exchange looks. Stares. He's too busy reading every pore on Technoblade’s face to be distracted by the fact that he's doing the same to him. He stares at Technoblade’s pink eyes as if they have the answer to every question he's ever had. He hears his heart beat again and has such a visceral reaction to it; he bites down on his lip, balling his fists.

"I don't believe that. I don't trust you for a second."

The piglin hybrid sighs, toying with his coat to his braid, undoing it, since Dream messed it up anyways. "Right. I'm really beginning to believe that."

Dream thinks he hears sarcasm in that tone but he's not sure. He's not sure of any emotion he reads on Technoblade and it horrifies him. Quackity is so much easier to read: and Sam isn't too difficult to read too, he'd say. They're pretty similar, he'd concluded a while ago.

Quackity wears his heart on his sleeve. Observing him is like you're reading a picture book. Whereas with Technoblade he isn't quite sure he's got a heart in the first place. He isn't sure what he thinks of that conclusion. He isn't sure it's logical. Maybe it makes no sense to interpret it that way, he can't justify dehumanizing Technoblade to himself, but neither can he the way he got addicted to burning in the lava.

"What exactly am I supposed to do to make you-- ' trust ' me?" The Blade speaks up and Dream continues watching him for another roughly 20 seconds, not breaking eye contact. He's finally noticed that he's also eyeing him over and it makes something akin to horror crawl down his back. It settles on his spine and whispers to him. He can't make out exactly what it's saying but he knows it's gripping at the edges of his heart. It's digging its nails in and the only reason it's yet to bleed is that they are still in. Like a stab wound, it'll bleed so much more once removed. But it's bleeding either way.

Either way leads to death.

"Want me to prove I trust you? Do a little trust-fall?"

Dream’s face cringes at the way Technoblade snorts. "I- what - no way- I don't trust you and even if you trusted me, there's no way I can- catch you- in my current state."

"I'm going to be honest, Dream, I don't think you would've been very capable of it previously, either."

"You're----- You're really trying to make me hate you." Dream mumbles, kicking the floor, in a similar fashion as to he would before, and Technoblade takes it as a positive sign. He smiles fondly and it irritates Dream to no end.

The piglin hybrid shrugs. "Eh, sure. I'm not sure I can convince you otherwise, anyways."

Something stings but Dream can't identify it. Briefly, he wonders if the other feels something like that, too. Then he crosses that thought out, because he knows that the Blade doesn't own a heart that feels.

His brain rationalizes the dehumanization in a desperate attempt to drown his own feelings. It's not rational and he knows this, but he's horrified that if he looks at Technoblade like he's a person for too long he might forget the plan.

He wants to choke himself out for going down this path alone. But it's the only way to keep them safe. (dehumanizing Technoblade isn't keeping him safe. it's the very thing that's ended him up in this position. the very reason he can't just sit in his cabin and rest. The very reason he's right here and associated with Dream is because they're the same, the same, the same .)

Dream can't read Technoblade. But maybe he just doesn't want to. Maybe the other is written in a foreign language that Dream couldn't possibly have knowledge of in his young and naive years.

The admin sighs tiredly.

"You can't. I don't trust you and it's not like you truly trust me either." Dream huffs a laugh. "You trust me to keep you alive. For my own gain." He gestures at the lava, then at Technoblade. "Since I'm not going anywhere without you. But maybe you will just leave without me."

Techno frowns. Even to Dream it's obvious this conversation is getting tiring. Maybe he's beginning to regret getting under his skin, maybe he's regretting constantly running his mouth, maybe he's considering just going to sleep for the rest of his stay here. Dream doesn't know because maybe after all this time, he's finally forgotten how to read. He isn't even sure he can read himself anymore.

"I mean, yeah, maybe I will. You're not really making it enticing to take you along." Techno exhales heavily, running a hand through his hair. "I'd say you should know I wouldn't actually do any of that, but maybe I misread you."

None of that sounds like anything Technoblade would say. Good, Dream thinks, he's listening. He's not completely dense. He's not completely naive. Of course, the plan is still for the other to take him along. "W-well, you've got a favor to pay back. Technoblade pays back favors."

"Uh-huh."

"And that's all this is."

"Right."

Dream can't decode the bitter way Techno nods. He doesn't understand the way his throat slowly closes up and he feels like he's choking. He concludes it's been plugged by his heart again and he hates the very way the Blade puts even his organs in a disarray. It's irregular. Makes no sense.

"R-right." He repeats Technoblade’s word, glancing away.

"Hey, you let me see your face."

"No I didn't."

"You did."

"I didn't fucking allow you to." Dream crosses his arms, frowns. Techno shrugs, looking at Dream again. The other doesn't look away. "Yeah, but you're still letting me look."

It's not fair. It's not. It's not fair. He can't even rebuke that one. He's tired.

"You've got a lot of freckles." Techno muses, with such a stupid, stupid fond smile. (this isn't part of the plan. Isn't part of the plan.) "Your cheeks are- fuzzy." He snorts and Dream wants to deck him in the face. ( shut up. Shut up. Shut up .) "And your eyes rat you out."

Don't get him involved. Don't get him involved. Stick to the plan. Don't do that to him. Stick to the plan.

It's not worth it. If he changes the plan now- he can't. The plan has to be the way it is. Punz is bad enough. This is bad enough. Dream suddenly feels so powerless that it's crushing.

"And what stupid things do you think they're saying?"

"I don't know." Techno shrugs now, taking a step towards Dream. Cautiously, as if he fears he might startle him and send him into the lava. "Maybe they're desperate." He guesses, stops just out of Dream’s reach. Dream bites his lip bloody.

"Yeah. Desperate to get you to shut up. Get things under control and get us out of here." He grumbles, fists balling. (for a moment, he imagines himself reaching his hand into the lava, cupping it, and then throwing it at Technoblade. He wonders if his hand would last enough for that, or if the lava would burn through quicker. He wonders if that could kill him.)

He wonders how much of it would hit Techno, or if he'd dodge. If he'd call him insane, or if he'd be worried. If he'd be worried for his own safety, or Dream's, or both.

"I'm at it! I'm at it. Someone's really impatient." Techno lifts his hands defensively. "You're the one who designed this thing so- inescapable." Dream licks the blood off his lips, tail flicking behind him. "It'd kind of defeat the purpose if it wasn't."

The piglin hybrid only nods. Dream only returns a nod. They're silent, observing each other as if they are reading a book.

Dream decides he needs to rip his pages out of Techno’s book. He takes a deep breath, looks directly at the other’s face.

"Come over here." He croaks out, embarrassed, clears his throat after. "Come here." He repeats, clearer now.

For a moment, Dream hoped he'd see hesitation in Technos gaze. He sees something, Techno does need a second to listen, but he doesn't see hesitation. He doesn't know what he's seeing. (Worry? Care? Concern?) Concern, for his own or Dream’s or both of their safety.

Technoblade listens and everything in Dream’s body was hoping he wouldn't. He'd hoped he wouldn't. But now he's standing in front of him, left of him lava bubbles. It's hot and unbearable to him, but Dream knows it's like second nature to the piglin hybrid.

"Do you trust me?" Dream asks, it's flat. The croak in his voice disappeared, it's just cold now. He can't read the expression on Technoblade’s face. He doesn't like the way he frowns. He doesn't like the way he has to break his neck to look him in the face when they are so close together.

"What's this?"

"No, shut up, answer the question." Dream shakes his head when Techno tries to gain knowledge on his intent. That won't work. That won't work. He made a plan and he's sticking by it.

Techno sighs. Rolls his shoulders. Then nods. Smiles. "Yeah, well, I do."

(I do, I do, I do, I do, I do, I do. It repeats in Dream’s ears until it turns to venom until it takes over every part of his brain until he can't hear anything else until it tastes bitter and bile and he wishes he could throw up.)

Everything in Dream hoped he'd say no. Everything in Dream hoped he'd say no.

He doesn't breathe for a good minute. Then he holds out his hand. His hand, small, burned, injured. There's little cuts and scars everywhere. He still has all of his fingers, but he is afraid he won't soon enough. "Okay. If you take my hand and close your eyes, do you trust me to not hurt you?" He continues, and his heart deflates when Technoblade listens. He hoped he wouldn't.

He hoped he'd make a snarky comment and refuse. But he doesn't even give him a snarky comment. The piglin hybrid's hand almost completely engulfs his own and Dream feels so small and helpless and weak, all of a sudden. It's like Technoblade is unknowingly pulling the carpet out from under his feet. It's like the obsidian beneath him disappeared. (The hand-holding is weirdly comforting and suddenly Dream wants to abandon everything he thought of, everything he planned. if he could just fall forward and-)

He grips Technoblade’s hand. Harsh. He's not sure where he draws the strength from, considering he hasn't even eaten one potato today. And he isn't even sure he ate one yesterday. He squeezes it, and for a moment, it may come across comforting, or comfortable, or-

Then he violently tugs on the other’s hand. Then he draws both of them towards the lava. Then, suddenly, both of their hands are touching lava. (Dream's barely is. Technoblade’s hand engulfs his almost completely, but he's probably more fire resistant than he is. He braces himself, grits his teeth, burn, burn, burn, burn, everything in himself is screaming to take it all back, to reverse time, to-)

"Let this be a lesson not to, in the future."

#ask #sixteenth-day-event #crivals #rivalsduo #cdnb #cdreamnoblade #dreamnoblade #cdream #ctechno

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anniesocsandgeneralstore · 25 days ago

Text

from scratch | chef luca x oc

Summary: Emily Tyler had to completely start over nearly three years ago. She got fired from her job as a sous chef in New York, had to move back in with her mother in Chicago, and the father of her unborn child was a complete asshole. Now she is a private chef for a wealthy family, has her own apartment, and her little boy Henry is the most precious thing in the world to her. But what about her love life? (wc: 10840)

Warnings: single mom!oc, inaccurate cooking and chef world things, food and eating mention, language, i gave luca a last name, SMUT 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI (f oral receiving, chef luca king of pussy eating, possibly too many eating metaphors, pinv, use a condom unlike these dummies, Big Boy Luca)

✎……welcome back will poulter phase it's good to see you 🫡 um yeah there's prolly gonna be more of this oops

The only time Emily ever felt truly relaxed was when she was cooking. It was like making art — only this art could be tasted and enjoyed by so many. Who didn’t like to eat? Who didn’t find some comfort in sitting around a table with friends and enjoying some food? If the preparation was the part she liked the most, watching the looks on people’s faces as they took the first bite had to be a close second.

As she cut the gnocchi with the pasta spatula she bought in Florence over five years ago, the ring of the doorbell echoed throughout the house. Setting the tool down, she wiped her hands clean of flour before jogging down the entry hall to answer the door. She knew who was there, there was no need to look at the keypad next to the door showing the live feed of the front stoop.

“Hey, Carmy, how’s it goin’?” she asked with a smile as he stepped inside.

He looked just the same as always. Shorter, stalky, covered in tattoos, curly hair falling in his eyes. He smelled like cigarettes — no doubt having smoked one just before he came inside. She always hated that he did that, but he never listened when she advised him to quit.

“I’m gonna die sometime anyway.”

It made her shake her head even now before pulling him in for a hug.

“S’good, s’good,” he sighed as he patted her on the back, then he pulled away with a look of awe on his face. “This is where you work?”

Emily turned to look into the house as well. She had gotten used to the sight over the past two years. The grand staircase, the baby grand piano sitting perfectly polished in the entry hall, the crown molding, and vaulted ceilings. She remembered that she couldn’t help but gawk in her first few weeks. Now it was like any other house to her. Even if there were ten bedrooms, two kitchens, and an entire wine cellar.

She started making her way back to the kitchen and Carmy trailed after her hesitantly, hands shoved into his back pockets like he was afraid to touch anything. And she really couldn’t blame him.

“Yep, this is it,” she responded. “He owns three businesses here in Chicago and two in Indianapolis — and now he’s running for congress. He bought this place five years ago and completely redid it.”

“Fuckin’ insane,” Carmy muttered under his breath, eyes darting all over the kitchen. With its black and white marble countertops, flat white cabinetry, and beautiful gas-burning stove. It was a home chef's dream. “And the wife doesn’t even work?”

She went to the other side of the island and went back to her work on the gnocchi. She laughed, “Nope. She’s at some mommy and me yoga class right now with their youngest.”

He watched her work for a minute. Her hands moved swiftly and accurately as she rolled out the little balls of dough and pressed them with a fork to get that signature shape. It was just like back when they worked in New York. Like nothing had ever changed.

Only everything had changed.

“H-How’re things goin’ here?” he finally asked, setting himself gently down on one of the barstools pulled up at the island.

“Good. The whole…Private chef thing is workin’ out well despite what you said,” she replied, glancing up at him through her lashes.

Carmy’s face pinched. “Wh-What did I say?”

“That the private sector is where good chefs go to die.” Emily smirked as she scooped up the gnocchi and placed it in the pot she had waiting.

“Ah,” he huffed, resting his arms on the marble and fiddling with his fingers. “This…This seems like a good gig.”

“The hours are still shit but I get paid way better than any restaurant I ever worked at, so…I’ll take it.” Emily snorted as she began working on the next batch of gnocchi. “They actually just asked me to move into the place above the garage. Said it would be easier for everyone while John’s working on the campaign.”

“No shit?”

She shrugged. “They’re crazy rich people.”

“You considering it?”

“Maybe. It’s nicer than my apartment now. Way nicer.”

Carmy made some noise like he understood and they fell into silence while he watched her work. She was slower now than she was when they worked at Empire. She took her time and made sure every gnocchi was handled with care. He supposed that was what happened when you only had to cook for one family instead of dozens of diners every night. When you weren’t being yelled at or bullied or told you were worthless. He asked quietly what she was making like it might disturb the process. She had a small smile on her face when she described her play on steak and potatoes. Potato gnocchi, steak cooked in herbs and butter, button mushrooms, and fennel. HE wished he could try some. Emily finished the gnocchi and wiped off her hands.

“So, uh…What’re you doin’ back in Chicago?” she asked with a small smile as she leaned on the island across from him.

It was like Carmy stared straight through her as he said, “Mikey died.”

“Oh, fuck.” The smile instantly dropped from her face. “I’m so sorry, Carmy.”

“It’s fine. It’s fine. He uh…He left me the restaurant, so…”

Her brows furrowed. “The beef place?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Emily looked at him in that way he always hated but craved. In that way like she cared. In that way like she would genuinely do anything for him at that moment. She always had understood him. Even when they were in high school together. Even when she came over to his house and had to stand there and watch as his mom lost her mind on him. Even when she saw the worst of him in New York. Even when he did nothing when she got fired.

And Carmen looked right back in that way she knew so well. In that way she knew he was ignoring it. In that way she knew things were shit but she wouldn’t push. In that way she was like the sun he could barely look at. Her family had known the Berzattos since before she was born. How could she not understand him in some almost complete way?

“Do you need anything?” she asked gently.

He licked his lips before he replied. “Yeah, I — I want you to come be my Chef de Cuisine.”

Her expression instantly changed to one that screamed really? Brows furrowed over her blue eyes and her lips downturned on one side. He knew that expression well too. It nearly made him laugh.

“Your CDC? At the…Beef shop?” she questioned.

“I’m thinking about gutting the place,” he said, sitting forward in his seat. “Turning it into something high end. Classic. My own restaurant.”

“Do you have the money for that?”

“Not yet. Maybe in a few years.”

“Carmy, I love you…” She trailed off and sighed, ringing her hands in the fabric of her yellow apron. “But no.”

“Em, come on, you’re a fuckin’ great chef. Creative, organized, patient. I never understood why Empire let you go. I mean there was that honey incident but that was an accident —”

“Carm, Carm.” He stopped talking and looked up at her with raised brows. “I didn’t get fired because I got honey everywhere and people’s shoes were sticky for a month. And I didn’t get fired because I took some liberty with the recipes either.”

He shrugged. “Then what was it?”

“I was fired because I got pregnant.”

“The fuck?” he was instant in his reply, sitting up straighter in his seat with his face pinched in anger. “What the fuck?”

Emily sighed as she moved over to the fridge to get out the mushrooms for cleaning and cutting. “He who shall not be named, when I told him, said I wouldn’t be as dedicated so he told me to pack my knives and go.”

“What the fuck?” Carmy repeated.

“Yeah,” she sighed again, taking the mushrooms to the sink. “It was for the best. My mom’s here and I found this job…Lets me be with him more.”

“What’s his name again?”

“Henry.” She smiled, showing all her teeth, when she said her son’s name.

Carmy had seen pictures. He never had thought much about kids but Emily’s was cute. Curly blond hair like his mom, big brown eyes, and dimples on his cheeks. He was curious and, from pictures he had seen, loved to help in the kitchen. Had been helping cut fruit and making sauces since he could hold a spoon. There was a video of him making pizza that he had to show the entire staff of Empire at least three times.

Another silence filled the space between them. Carmy’s eyes were trained on her as she cut the mushrooms from their stems but his mind lost somewhere else.

Then he suddenly muttered, “I still think you’d make a great CDC.”

Emily chuckled. “I appreciate that, but my answer is still no.”

“I thought working in a restaurant was your dream?”

“It was, when I was younger and had no responsibility except myself,” she answered, “I don’t have the freedom to take that kind of risk anymore. I have Henry to take care of. Restaurants have always been risky business and this job is stable. They pay me way more than they probably should and have offered me a place to live for free. I can’t…I can’t give that up.”

More silence. Filled by the soft fump fump of mushrooms landing in the saucepan as they were cut. That was another thing about Emily. She never beat around the bush, she never softened the blow, she never gave any room in an argument. Soft but hard. Kind but stern. It was something Carmy had needed in New York. Back when he thought he was the shit but he was miserable. Back when everything was falling into place but he still felt empty. And then she left…And it was even more empty than before.

“I understand,” he said, quietly.

She cut her eyes over at him from her spot at the sink. “You do?”

“It’s a good gig. The beef…It could all fall to shit.”

“Thanks, Carm,” she smiled, then added, “If you ever need my help though, just let me know.”

Emily walked into The Bear kitchen with her knife bag thrown over her shoulder to complete and utter chaos.

Richie was banging on the walk-in door handle with a hammer, yelling about how he was going to get someone out of there. Three chefs were still trying to make food but were clearly behind. Dishes were piled up yet clearly missing elements. All the while the CDC was still trying to call out orders and call for hands amidst the screaming from Richie and the loud banging of the hammer on the metal door.

It was the most chaotic kitchen she had ever seen. And she didn’t expect anything less from Carmen Berzatto.

She knew at least part of what happened from the very loud call she had received not twenty minutes ago. The Bear was opening that night and one of their line cooks had suddenly been fired. She wasn’t about to ask why. All she knew was that Carmy needed her help and that she could give it. So, with her mother there to watch Henry, she left her client’s house wearing a chef’s coat for the first time in nearly three years.

“Cousin! Hey!” Richie yelled when he spotted her standing just inside the back door.

Emily waved with a tight smile, unsure what the hell she was getting herself into.

“A-Are you Emily Tyler?” the CDC called out from the stand.

She walked further into the kitchen with a nod. “Yeah, I am. Where do you need me?”

“On the line. Tina will fill you in.”

Tina was a small, older woman with short curly hair. She had a motherly air about her and seemed calm enough despite the disarray. Emily quickly went to the empty station and unrolled her knife bag. Tina flashed her a smile but got right to business, telling her what to cook and how to plate the dish that was her responsibility. It felt like getting back onto a bicycle for the first time in over a decade. Did she even remember how to do this? Did she remember what the CDC’s calls would mean? Would she be able to handle the pressure? But it was just like getting back on a bike. She remembered just what to do. It felt like second nature to start the dish and get it together.

“Where’s Carmy?” she asked the pastry chef as she put together a sauce by his station.

He glanced at the walk in while fiddling with some needles. “Locked in there.”

“Oh, fuck.”

Halfway through service, she glanced up at the clock. Just beneath it, there was a corkboard hung up. And on a crumpled piece of paper there was her number and clearly Carmy’s handwriting that said:

If we ever need help, call Emily.

It made her smile.

“So did Carm tell you why he wanted you to stage with me today?” Emily asked lightly as she tied her apron around her waist.

Sydney, the CDC of The Bear, stood beside her behind her client’s kitchen island also wearing an apron. She looked unsure as she tied her hair back with a multicolored silk scarf. But she also looked tired — and for good reason. It was five in the morning. The sun hadn’t even come out yet, the birds weren’t even singing. The large house was quiet and still. All of the lights dimmed save for the kitchen and breakfast nook.

Just another price paid for being a private chef. An absolutely absurd call time to get breakfast on the table before John had to be at work and Cindy had to be…Wherever she was going that day.

Emily had been in the kitchen long before Sydney had arrived. The kids had requested her homemade bread with the dish she was making that morning and she really was a sucker for their puppy dog eyes. So the rustic loaf was already in the oven and close to being ready.

Sydney sighed. “Not explicitly. He just said you were good at making up dishes.”

“Oh, God,” Emily laughed as she opened the fridge and pulled out the ingredients she needed for the breakfast she wanted to cook. “Well, he picked a good day I guess. John is hosting a dinner tonight for the biggest donors for his campaign. He told me to go all out.”

“What’re you making?”

“Salmon Wellington,” she replied with a knowing smile.

Sydney guffaued. “What? How does that even work?”

“Listen, I tried it once years ago when I was working at Ever. The first dish I ever put out there. Andrea Terry called it ridiculous but it stayed on the menu for a few months.” Emily began to chop up the peppers and then pointed with her elbow towards the large tomato out on the counter. “Since you’re here — could you dice that for me?”

She got straight to work, pulling the proper knife from her bag and beginning to cut the tomato easily. They worked in silence for a while. Once the peppers and tomatoes were cut, Emily threw them into a pan with oil and butter. The combination was mashed once it was cooked down and eggs were added into the pan. The eggs were cooked until just done and then Emily added hunks of feta cheese to the top and let them melt.

“That smells amazing,” Sydney added as Emily cracked fresh pepper on top as well as some red pepper flakes.

“Thanks,” she smiled over at her. “This is a recipe I learned in Turkey. Menemen. I ate it almost every day I was there.”

“When did you go to Turkey?” Sydney asked as the timer for the bread went off.

“After I stopped working at Ever but before I worked for Empire,” Emily sighed, pulling the loaf out by the end of her apron. “One of the best years of my life. I traveled all over Europe. Learned from some of the best in the world.”

“What made you come back to work at Empire?”

Emily looked over at her with a smile as she tapped the bottom of the bread to make sure it was done. “Carmy. He called. Said he got CDC and wanted me on his team.”

“Carmen? Seriously? You dropped everything just because he called?” Sydney scoffed.

“Yeah, I did. It’s Carmy. We’ve…Known each other since we were kids. He’s the one who introduced me to cooking. I would do anything for him.” Emily looked down at her watch. “Now get the jams and juices out of the fridge, please. They’re gonna be down here in like ten minutes.”

They worked quietly. Sydney set the table while Emily finished up with the bread and Menemen. Eventually, the entire spread was set out on the table, just before the Yotter family came down the stairs to enjoy it. They all said their thanks to their two chefs before they disappeared back into the kitchen where Emily broke out a diet Coke and a bit of cottage cheese for herself.

“It’s seven in the morning,” Sydney commented with a grin about her drink of choice.

Emily sighed. “Sure is.”

“I gotta know. Did you and Carm ever…Ya know?”

Emily nearly choked on her Coke. She coughed and spluttered and thumped her first into her chest. All while shaking her head.

“No. God, no.”

“Okay, okay, okay — just checking,” Sydney said with a smile.

They moved through the rest of Emily’s typical day. Tending to the garden in the courtyard. It used to be just a patch of grass, but after the Yotters had tasted the fresh produce from the farmers' market, they wanted the stuff as readily available as possible. And gave Emily the free reign to grow whatever she wanted. Herbs, peppers of all varieties, squash, tomatoes, and berries.

Going grocery shopping for dinner that night. Buying fresh salmon, savoy cabbage, shrimp for a pâté, beurre blanc, salmon caviar, and Robuchon potatoes. Sydney could picture the entire dish in her mind and worried whether or not they would be able to pull it off. But Emily seemed calm as a cucumber, even going so far as to pick up flowers for a centerpiece at the table. Sydney wished she could be like that when it came to making a dish. Wished she wouldn’t overthink every little detail or

Visiting her son Henry at her apartment where he was being watched by her mother over the lunch break. He screamed with joy as soon as his mom opened the door, running as fast as his little legs would take him so he could get to her faster. Emily laughed as she scooped up her son, peppering his face with kisses and listening to him giggle. They had mac and cheese with hotdogs and peas for lunch. The eating life of a chef. Just bought caviar but they’re having box mac and cheese for lunch.

“How did you…Do it?” Sydney asked as they say at the dining table, watching Henry play.

Emily looked over at her. “Do what?”

“Have this job and take care of a baby?”

It made Emily laugh softly as she turned back to her son. A thousand memories rushed through her mind. Being exhausted down to the bone. Henry screaming for hours. Her milk drying up from the stress and having to switch to formula. Feeling like a terrible mother. Not knowing how anything was going to work out. She could nearly feel the tiredness of that time creeping back in as she sat at her dining room table. Nearly a year removed from the worst of it.

Now she didn’t have to cook lunch for them. Now she had Sundays as a half-day and Tuesdays completely off. Now her mother was able to watch Henry instead of paying almost all of her salary for daycare. Now her life as a single mother was finally falling into place instead of completely falling apart.

She looked back to Sydney with another, smaller, smile. “I honestly have no fucking idea.”

When they got back to the Yotter residence they needed to start the prep for the dinner. Deboning and skinning the fish, making the pastry dough, all of the mise en place that needed to happen. Emily was more than happy to have the help. There were going to be ten people at that dinner and usually by this point she would be a giant ball of stress. But with Sydney’s help, she felt at least slightly more calm.

Nearing the end of the day, when the Wellington was only a few minutes away from coming out of the oven and the guests had already been served the soup course, Emily looked to The Bear’s CDC and smiled.

“There’s honestly no way to become great at coming up with dishes,” she said, “It takes years upon years of trial and error. Knowing what would go well with something. Experimenting and failing miserably. But you can’t give up…Even though you might want to with Carmy around.”

Sydney cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. Carm is…He’s the best. Gifted. It’s really easy to feel like you can’t do shit around him.”

“I —”

“Just trust your gut and tell him to fuck off every once and a while.”

Sydney sighed with a grin like some weight was being lifted from her shoulders. The timer went off. The Wellington was ready. And only a couple minutes later did they hear, all the way in the kitchen as they prepared dessert, that all the guests thought it was amazing.

Emily got the call about Ever closing its doors when she was home for lunch. Of course, she felt her heart sink at the restaurant closing and people losing their jobs — but she also felt glad for Chef Terry. She was a hardworking woman, and a brilliant chef, but owning a restaurant was hard work. Stressful. All consuming. Emily understood, maybe more than some, the relief Terry must feel at being free from what she had worked for all of her life.

So, of course, she accepted the invitation to Ever’s farewell dinner. She bought a new dress. Finally got a curling iron. Her mother even offered to watch Henry at her place so she didn’t feel guilty about staying out late or getting some well-deserved rest.

But when she stood outside the restaurant doors that Friday night, she felt like she didn’t belong.

She was freezing, and her coat felt like it was doing nothing to stave off the chill. Didn’t help that she had no layers underneath the wool. Just her satin, olive green dress. Nearly felt like she was naked standing in the middle of Chicago, shaking in her platform boots.

Everyone in there was going to be working in a restaurant. Or owning a restaurant. Executive chefs. CDCs. While she was just a private chef. No James Beards. No spots in Food & Wine. Just somebody who cooked for a wannabe politician and his wife who couldn’t be bothered to work or be a homemaker.

She shouldn’t go in there. She would just embarrass herself when she was asked what she was doing these days. Three years ago, she was an up-and-comer. Carmy’s right-hand woman. A brilliant culinary mind that, if put to enough practice, would have made it big. But instead, she got pregnant. Decided to keep it. And faded away into nothing. No one.

What was she even doing there? Standing outside the restaurant where she was told she was a great chef — where she worked tirelessly day and night to be worth something to anyone.

Now she was nothing to no one.

Emily took one step back away from the door.

“Are you going inside?” a voice asked from down the sidewalk.

The voice had a deep timbre, lilted by a British accent. It made Emily jump as she looked over wide-eyed at whoever spoke. He was smiling slightly, hands raised at his sides like he was approaching a wild animal. He wore black pants and a coat, wavy hair streaked in blond cut in almost a mohawk.

She knew him.

He worked as a line cook at Ever when she came in as a commis. They only overlapped for a few weeks but she remembered. Remembered that she thought he was attractive but never made a move. In fact, they never even really spoke to one another save for him telling her he needed more of something for a dish. But she still got invited to his farewell party when he went to work at Noma in Copenhagen.

If only she could remember his name.

She nearly hated that she thought he was still attractive now. Maybe even more so — somehow, despite not having changed much. He took a few steps closer and she reddened to realise she hadn’t said anything yet.

“Y-Yeah, I’m just…” Emily looked back at the front door and tucked her lips between her teeth apprehensively.

“Petrified?” he offered as he stepped up beside her.

She chuckled softly. “You could say that.”

“Me too,” he sighed.

Emily looked over at him with raised brows. “Really? Why?”

“Some of the best chefs have come out of Ever or are friends with Andrea Terry. And they’re all gonna be in there.” He pointed at the door and she got a glimpse of the bell pepper tattooed on his hand. “Fucking horrifying.”

“Do you wanna…Go in together? There’s strength in numbers,” she suggested with a small smile.

He grinned back, showing nearly all his teeth. It lit up his entire face almost too bright for her to look at. God damn it, what was his name? It was on the tip of her tongue. Something with an L? He probably remembered hers and she’s just the dick who forgot.

“Let’s do it,” he said as he took the few steps towards the door and opened it for her. And as she passed by him he asked, “Wha-What’s your name again?”

Some relief flooded her at the mutual forgetfulness. “Emily — Tyler. We worked here at the same time for a few weeks, actually.”

“No shit? God, can’t believe I don’t remember working with you.” There was something unspoken there in the way he looked at her as they paused beneath the dried fruit and other assorted items hanging from the ceiling. He stuck out his tattooed hand to her. “Luca D’Arcy.”

“Nice to meet you.” She grinned up at him as they shook hands.

Luca’s blue eyes glinted in the dim lighting as they caught on the decorations above them. “Just like it was back then, huh?”

“This one was always my favorite.”

She reached up and lightly touched the ball of what looked like cotton candy. Just beside his head. He looked over at it with a crooked smile.

“Excellent choice,” he said.

Humming lightly with pursed lips, Emily walked further into the dining room. There were already about a dozen people scattered about. Standing with glasses of wine or champagne — chatting about food and restaurants and travels and spouses and children. Everyone was finely dressed and looked like they popped right out their articles in the Chronicle or New York Times or the Michelin Guide. Emily’s heart pounded in her chest as she looked out at the sea of famous culinary faces. She was nobody in this room of somebodies. She was even sure Luca had gone on to do amazing things with his talent.

Her breath shook slightly as one of the staff took her coat and gave her a ticket for it. Luca had his coat taken as well, only to reveal his rolled-up sleeves and tattooed arms. A cap, a merman, a nurse, a stick-figure walking up stairs, the Roman numeral four, a rowboat. Random and weird and she wanted to know the story behind every single one.

“Strength in numbers, remember?” Luca spoke low with a wink thrown her way.

It made her smile but it also made her heart pound even harder.

They ordered drinks. A white wine and a champagne. While they waited, they looked through the picture collage out in the entry hall. Emily laughed and recounted the memory of the day a bag of flour ripped on the shelf above her head in the pantry and it got all over her. There was picture proof to prove it. And Luca told the story about how he cut off the tip of his finger, nail and all, just before service. He had to wear a glove the rest of the time and get it sewn back on the next morning.

“So, what are you doing now?” she asked, drinks finally in hand and standing off in a corner of the dining room alone.

She knew the question would be asked back. But if it was from him she didn’t really care.

“Still at Noma, actually,” he replied after taking a sip of his wine. “Finally figured out what I actually want to cook.”

“And what’s that?”

“Dessert.”

“Oo, a pastry chef, nice!” She laughed and he did too. “De Partie or Sous?”

Luca pumped his brows once. “Sous.”

“Oh, damn, okay, chef,” she joked for a second then reached out and patted his arm. “That’s amazing, though. Figuring that shit out is so important.”

“Yeah, I mean, the people at Noma have been so great at helping me grow.” He nodded and sipped some more of his wine. “What about you — what’re you doing?”

Emily looked away from him and decided to stare at the painting on the wall behind him instead. She knew he was going to ask. Part of her thought that maybe he would understand her life choices. But what if she was wrong? What if he told her, like any other chef she had spoken to in the past three years, that she just needed to take the risk? That she just needed to get back into the restaurant game. That she was just wasting her potential.

When she sighed and finally decided to look back at him, he was looking at her with furrowed brows. Concerned and patient. It nearly made her ribs crack.

“I’m…I’m a private chef now,” she spoke quietly just in case someone else might hear. “Work here in Chicago. Keeps me cooking but ya know…Keeps me sane.”

She decided not to mention anything about Henry. Even though she very well could have or maybe should have. But tonight was her night to be selfish, as her mother even told her as she went out the door. Tonight she was talking to a cute guy she used to work with. Tonight she wasn’t a single mom who hadn’t had a date in three years. What Luca didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him anyway.

The pinch of his brow released at her words. Eyebrows ticked up his forehead like she just said the most interesting thing in the universe. He took another sip of his wine while she took a gulp of her own drink in an attempt to calm her nerves.

“Private,” he said, “I’ve always wondered about that. What’s a typical day like?”

He wasn’t disappointed. He wasn’t questioning her decision. He was just genuinely curious about the job. It made her heart soar, feeling lighter than she had all evening as he looked at her with a quirk of his lips and his hand in his pants pocket. So she described a day in the life. Four o’clock wake up time, lunch break, gardening, grocery shopping, meal planning, almost event planning.

“And their house is literally insane. Like, baby grand piano in the entryway insane. They even have a separate apartment above their garage with a full kitchen and two bedrooms.”

“Fuck me,” Luca groaned with a grin. “That honestly sounds amazing, Em. Good for you.”

Em. Nearly everyone in her life called her that. Everyone who knew her for more than ten minutes called her that. But when Luca did it? It made something inside of her flutter. Butterflies or moths or something else with wings that were threatening to escape. And they partially succeeded in the way she looked up at him with a massive grin she couldn’t control and inched ever so closer to him without even really noticing.

He didn’t seem to mind, however. In fact, he seemed to be of the same accord as he pulled himself off the wall to be nearer to her. For her to smell his cologne and the slight hint of wine on him.

But then he spotted someone over her shoulder and he excused himself with about three different apologies. She told him not to worry and watched him go, seeing Carmy standing out in the hall looking at the collages.

There really was strength in numbers. She felt alone in a room full of people without him. Not seeing anyone else she knew, she sat down at a table tucked against the wall.

So many days and nights were spent in that restaurant. Doing mise en place, cleaning, eating family meals, goofing around with friends, making mistakes, learning new things, and garnering an entirely new love for food. Ever was her very first fine dining job. Andrea Terry was her very first mentor in how to create a true eating experience. It made her heart heavy to think that after that night there would be no more mise en place, no more cleaning, no more family meals for this restaurant. Ever was done. She was thankful for the place, despite her attempts to block out the memories because they made her bitter. Thankful for it all.

“Emily Tyler,” a voice spoke from across the table.

There was a self-assured air about the voice. She looked up, startled. Only for her face to fall at the sight of David Fields.

“Chef,” she responded, quiet and small, with a nod.

“I’m surprised to see you here. Thought you would be…I don’t know…Making sandwiches for the hubby or something.” Fields grinned at her, wicked and cruel.

“Nope.” She knew if she said anymore it would just encourage him.

“But, seriously, I heard you’re a private chef now.” He sat down in the chair across from her and she had to resist everything in her body not to groan. “So what’s it like to throw away all your potential?”

Emily glared as hard as she could, but he didn’t even blink. “Fuck you.”

“Fuck me? For what? I’m not the one who gave up.”

“You are the one who fired me — for a piece of shit reason, by the way,” she scoffed, crossing her arms.

Fields shook his head. “You need to be dedicated in my kitchen. You couldn’t have been with a kid.”

“Fuck you,” she repeated.

“Is that all you can say?”

“It’s all I’ve wanted to say for three years.” She shrugged, eyes focused on the little candle on the table between them. “I…I was scared, okay? And I stupidly came to you because — because I looked up to you and thought that maybe you could…Help.

Fields’ face softened for the first time.

“Couldn’t tell Carmy 'cause he’s — fucking Carmy. My mom probably would have lost her shit if I told her over the phone. And I thought…I thought you gave even an iota of a shit about me, so I came to you when I didn’t know what else to do, and you fucking fired me. So yeah…Fuck you.”

Some understanding passed between them then. Some pent-up confusion and rage and hurt went up like smoke as Fields nodded and sucked his teeth. He didn’t say he was sorry. And really he didn’t need to. It was enough for him to know how she felt.

Then he got up from the chair and straightened out his jacket. “Have a good rest of your night, chef.”

And she watched him go with tears burning the backs of her eyes. But she refused to let them fall. Blinking them away hard as she twirled the stem of her half-full champagne glass between her fingers. She had imagined that conversation with her old boss too many times for her to count. Sometimes she imagined punching him in the face. Other times she imagined him begging for her forgiveness. But this, what happened at that table, was what she expected. At least she no longer had to picture it. Now it was over and done. She nearly felt free.

Luca sat down beside her with a smile. “They’re about to bring out the first course. You alright?”

He looked concerned again, searching her face for something she hoped wasn’t there to begin with. Sniffing back the last of her tears she smiled with a nod.

“I’m good. I’m good. Just thinking.” She watched him settle into his seat, legs spread so wide his thigh nearly touched her own. “You don’t…Have to sit here you know. I’m sure there are far more interesting people to talk to here tonight.”

“None as interesting as you.”

He looked at her like he knew that was smooth. And he was right. She felt her cheeks burn as she looked down into her lap.

“Good Lord,” she muttered, hands reaching up to cover her red cheeks.

She heard Luca chuckle from beside her as he leaned in close. “Did it work?”

“Yes, it worked,” she whispered, catching a glimpse of him with a grin between her fingers.

“Come on, now, peach, don’t hide,” he spoke low and sweet in her ear, taking her wrist in his large hand and pulling it away from her face. “Lemme see how cute you look.”

Peach. No one had ever called her that before. And she didn’t know why, but she liked it. Liked the way it made something tingle between her legs. Liked the way he looked at her when he said it. Like she really was the most interesting person in the room. Like he didn’t want to talk to anyone else. Like she was a summer peach sweet and ripe for the taking.

Luca didn’t let go of her hand. Instead, he took it and began to fiddle with the turquoise set ring she wore on her middle finger for a moment. Adjusting the way it sat. Then he set it down gently in her lap.

“Do you do this with all the girls?” she asked, almost sounding like she was out of breath.

He chuckled and shook his head. “No. I — actually this is the first time I’ve done this in a long time. Been too focused on my career for all that love and dating stuff.”

“Been a long time for me too,” Emily answered, “Don’t even think I remember how.”

“I’d say you’re off to a pretty good start, peach.”

A few more chefs joined their table. Their conversation was interrupted by greetings, introductions, and handshakes. A few minutes later, Carmy and Sydney joined them. Emily of course hugged them both. Then the table talk started as the first course was brought to their table. About first dishes and when people knew they wanted to be a chef and funny stories from the kitchens everyone had worked in over the years.

And Emily felt like she belonged among them. Among these accomplished chefs who owned restaurants and published cookbooks. Who tried and failed just like her. Who didn’t judge when she said she was a private chef. Who asked her about her time in the professional kitchen and even remembered some of the dishes she created.

All the while, Luca’s chair had somehow scooted closer and closer to her own. Somehow his thigh became pressed against her own — only a few layers of silk and wool between them. It made her skin feel like she had just been freshly sunburned. Tingly and alive and warm. He caught her eye from time to time. Over the rim of his wine glass. Around the fork in his mouth. It was always some knowing look like they shared some secret.

And maybe they did.

Then she noticed that Carmy had barely said anything all evening. That he hadn’t even really touched his food — even though it was beautiful and delicious.

Leaning over so she could look at him past Sydney she asked, “You okay, Carm?”

“Yeah, who are you staring at?” Luca chimed in.

“Just a fucking asshole over there,” Carmy replied, nodding his head at the other side of the room.

Emily looked, and there was the executive chef of Empire sipping on his wine.

“David Fields,” Luca sighed.

“Oh, shit, from Empire?” Sydney looked over at Emily and she nodded.

Luca leaned back in his seat, arm thrown over the back of Emily’s chair. “Yeah, he’s a dickhead.”

“Yeah, he’s the fucking worst — and one of the best chefs in the world,” Carmy went on, eyes laser focused on his former boss across the room. “Total prick. Fuckface. Bastard. Made me very, probably, mentally ill. Dead inside. Cold. Never turns it off. Accomplishes more by ten AM than most people do in a lifetime. I don’t think he sleeps. I don’t think he eats. I don’t think he loves. Hates black pepper for some reason I’ll never understand.

“Did-Did you know he was here, Em?” Carmy suddenly asked, leaning on his arms against the table.

“I did,” she sighed, trying not to notice Luca’s fingers lightly dancing over her bare shoulder. “We…Talked earlier.”

“Oh, yeah, you worked for Empire too,” Sydney said, looking over at Emily.

“Yep. Most intense ten months of my entire life.”

“Oh, fuck, he’s getting up,” Carmy suddenly said, jumping up from his seat and going out into the hall, ignoring everyone's calls of his name and warnings for him to leave David Fields alone.

Sydney sighed as she turned back to her nearly empty plate of food. “Yeah, that’s not going to end well, is it?”

“Nope.” Luca took a drink of his wine.

“Absolutely not,” Emily replied.

Then Christina Tosi, the founder of Milk Bar, leaned across the table with a smile and a hand outstretched towards Emily. “So, I’ve actually wanted to meet you for a long time.”

“Me?” Emily put down her drink with an unbelieving smile. “Why?”

“I ate at Osteria when I was traveling in Italy four years ago — you were staging there at the time. Girl, I have been thinking about that campfire peach cake with the blackberry compote and pistachio cream every day since.” Tosi patted the table with a laugh. “It was seriously one of the most amazing desserts I’ve ever had.”

“Oh, wow, um — thank you.” She glanced over at Luca to see him already grinning at her. “Gosh, I didn’t think anyone knew I made that dish.”

“I made Fousto tell me.” Tosi winked.

“Well, thank you, I really appreciate that.”

Emily would have to remember to make that for her client's family come summertime. She was sure the kids would love it — would maybe even want to help her make it.

“How did you do it? Those crispy edges that were just a little bit burnt — my God.”

“They’re not called campfire cakes for nothing,” Emily laughed as the next course was brought out. “The individual cakes are cooked in these small Dutch ovens that are set directly into a fire. They bake for maybe fifteen minutes max and while they’re still warm you add the compote and the cream so it's all nice and melty and delicious.”

“How many times did you catch something on fire?” Tosi asked.

“I think I singed like five aprons that summer.”

The other chefs around the table began discussing how much harder it is to make desserts than savory dishes — how most of them don’t even really like to do it. Christina Tosi had a lot to say about that. But Emily was quickly pulled away from the conversation when Luca put his hand on her thigh. Lightly, he just wanted to get her attention, his touch was gone in a moment. But it made a fire shoot up her spine as she nearly jumped to look over at him.

“Peach cake, huh?” he asked with a smirk.

“I do really like peaches. You got me on that one.”

“Would you mind if I stole your idea?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “That’s like rule number one in the chef’s code. Don’t steal someone elses idea.”

“Yeah, but…What if I named it after you?” Luca cocked his head, little grin on his face as his arm returned to the back of her chair.

“I’ve never had a dish named after me before,” she replied, trying not to show how affected she was. “An honor. Sure you wanna name it for a girl you just met?”

“The girl I just met is pretty amazing.”

The meal finished and the previous employees and friends of Ever began to mill about the restaurant once more. Emily ended up speaking with Cristina Tosi more about Italy and her stage at Osteria. About desserts she had come up with since being a private chef. About the Milk Bar and Tosi’s cookbook, they didn’t seem so different from one another.

Eventually, Emily ended up in the kitchen. Memories rushing back to her of late-night prep, family meals, inside jokes, and cut fingers all rushed back to her. Making sure no one was looking, she ducked under the prep table and looked underneath. There, dozens of names were stuck to the bottom of the table with tape. She found her own rather quickly, still stuck near the edge. Her name was written in her usual bouncy letters, bracketed by little flowers she had drawn. Carmy’s tape was towards the middle — letters small and chicken scratch. Luca’s was close to hers, nearly overlapping on one edge. His letters were in all caps and thin. Reaching up, she smoothed down one peeling side. She hoped the next owner of that restaurant never found them.

When she stood back up, Luca was standing beside her with a grin at the corners of his mouth. She knew someone had walked up and she expected it to be him.

“Looking at the tape?” he asked.

Emily stepped closer to him, close enough to touch, with a nod. “Do they have something like that at Noma?”

“I think almost every restaurant I’ve worked at does,” he replied, “On Noma’s pantry wall is the signature of everyone who’s ever worked there.”

“Osteria had a book in the owner’s office. So many famous chefs signed that thing.”

“Including you,” Luca said, scooching in even closer — nearly chest to chest.

Emily looked down and shook her head. “I am not famous. I…I’ve gotta be honest. When I was standing outside I almost turned around and left.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m a private chef. Because I walked away from the restaurant world and I don’t know…I just felt a little less than, I guess.”

She looked back up at him then and his face was so soft. So endearing and open. His blue eyes bore into her and she nearly wanted to look away. But she couldn’t. It was impossible to. Even as he took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

“From everything I’ve heard tonight, you are not less than. You are an amazing, talented chef.” He squeezed her hand again and tugged her into his chest. “Besides, who gives a fuck what they think? There’s an after-party at Sydney’s place and we’re going.”

Emily beamed up at him. “We are?”

“Yeah, we are.” Luca reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and she felt the burn of being seen for the first time in nearly half a decade. “Still can’t believe I never talked to you when we worked together. Wanna kick myself.”

Taking a deep breath to collect herself, regather her thoughts, and stop her knees from turning to mush, she said, “You’re talking to me now. That’s all that matters.”

Why did it feel so natural with him? Most of the time, when a man tried to hit on her, she turned tail and ran. It scared her to think about opening herself up to someone like that again. To open up Henry to someone being in his life with a good chance they might leave. She couldn’t put herself or her boy through that. Not again. But that night, without her son, an entire night, and an apartment to herself, she didn’t feel the weight of all of that. She felt free to flirt and lean into his touch and just for a moment…Just for a moment…She wasn’t a mom. She didn’t have any responsibilities besides her work and herself. She could let Luca, the kind and mellow pastry chef, slip his fingers into her hair and draw her in for a kiss.

She could let him take her to an after-party with a keg of beer, music, and dancing. She could play dice and win. She could help Andrea Terry and Sydney Adamu make frozen waffles and pizza. She could let Luca pull her into his lap and get yelled at for making out on the couch. She could stay out until two in the morning and come home with a boy trailing behind her — his hands on her hips as she unlocked the door.

It was dark inside the apartment, and Emily was glad for it. In the shadows, he couldn’t see the dinosaurs and play construction vehicles all over the floor. The light over the kitchen island was still on. If he noticed the drawings on the fridge he didn’t mention it. She hoped he would think they were from her client’s children or something like that.

After kicking off her boots, Emily opened the fridge and pulled out a container, attempting to delay what they set out to do to wrangle her nerves into submission. She could do this. She could have a one-night stand. She could do this.

“What’s that?” Luca asked as he leaned against the island with his palms flat against the quartz countertop.

“Rosemary syrup cake with mead cream.” She opened the container and put one out on a napkin. “My client had a bunch of his college buddies over for dinner a couple nights ago. He said to make a manly dessert — whatever that meant.”

He smiled as he looked at the dessert then he nodded for her to come closer. “Feed it to me.”

She had to stop herself from rubbing her legs together before she walked up to him with the pastry in hand. Looking down at her with a smirk on his pink lips, he hooked his hands beneath her thighs and lifted her up onto the counter. Those tattooed hands never left her, fingers bunching up the satin of her dress as he clutched her thighs in his wide palms. For not having done this in a long time, Luca was very good. He could have led her into a burning building and she wouldn’t have cared as she looked into those deep blue eyes. And she tried her hardest to hold that eye contact as she held the cake up to his lips.

He took a bite and licked the cream off his lips. Then his eyes rolled back in his head as he groaned.

“Fuck me!” Luca licked his lips again and she laughed. “That’s fucking delicious. Can I steal that one as well?”

“Absolutely not,” she said, taking a bite herself. “I worked hard to make this manly dessert.”

“Mm, can I have another?” He pointed at the cake still in her hand.

She nodded and held the cake back up to him. But before she could finish it off with the next bite, Luca leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. He tasted like rosemary, mead, and cream. It made her moan soft in the back of her throat from the taste as well as the feeling of his lips on hers. She could feel his smile against her lips as he pulled in closer, chest to chest, hands eclipsed on either side of her hips. His tongue slipped in easily, more rosemary and cream, as she dropped the dessert and threaded her fingers into his hair, tugging softly.

One of his hands trailed down and down her leg until he found the slit in her olive green dress. Until he pushed it up and up to find the seam where her leg met her hip. Her hips rolled forward of their own accord, some stunted noise muffled in his mouth as his fingers danced over her inner thigh. Luca broke the kiss just to trail his sugar-sweet lips across her jaw and down her neck — Emily easily tilted her head to the side with a sigh. Hands falling to feel the planes of muscle beneath his shirt and fiddle with one of his buttons.

She parted her legs even further for him at his urging, and she jumped only slightly when he ran his deft fingers over the core of her.

“Fuck, you’re soaked, peach,” he muttered in her ear.

“L-Like I said…Been a long time,” she replied breathily, leaning back slightly on her hands. “S-Shouldn’t we go to the bedroom?”

“I always have been better in the kitchen,” Luca was quick to reply, but then he looked up at her in his gentle way. “Unless you would feel more comfortable there.”

Emily had had this specific wet dream many times before. Only the face of the guy was a generic blur and his voice always matched the sound of whatever audio porn she was listening to those days. But there Luca was. Tall and handsome and wanting to fuck her right there in her kitchen. Her heart was going a million miles a minute. Would she feel more comfortable in bed? Probably. Did this, right there on the kitchen island, scratch some itch she had wanted to for years? Absolutely.

“N-No,” she finally replied, “Here is…Good.”

“Okay,” Luca laughed softly. “You tell me if it’s too much, yeah?”

All she could really do was nod as he leaned back in and kissed her. Soft and slow, taking his dear sweet time as he moved his lips against her own. Something like a growl got caught in his throat as she tugged at his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer. And he couldn’t help but grin at the way her breathing picked up as he pulled at the zipper of her dress.

She only hopped down from the counter for a second so her dress could easily fall to the floor, and then Luca picked her right back up and set her on the cold quartz. Underneath the dress, she wasn’t wearing anything other than her underwear, and Luca groaned like he had about the cake at the sight of her.

“Fucking beautiful, peach,” he muttered as he smeared kisses along her neck and collarbone.

At his gentle urging, she laid down on her kitchen island. She could barely breathe let alone think as he trailed his tongue and lips down her chest and stomach. That hand tattooed with a pepper ghosted up her side, only to come to rest beside her chest. His thumb passed over the pebbled flesh and Emily could not stop the breathy moan that escaped her.

“Luca,” she gasped as he nibbled at her hip bone, his hand kneading her breast like dough.

Her entire body tingled like static on an old tv screen. Her center cried out for attention. She could feel her desire dripping out of her.

He released himself from her flesh with a soft pop. “Doin’ alright, peach?”

“Uh-huh —” But then she shook her head. “Need…Need you to…”

“Need what?” He peppered a line of kisses along the line of her underwear. “Need me to eat you out like your dessert?”

Emily couldn’t nod her head fast enough. He chuckled lightly against her skin, then he peeled her underwear down her legs and kneeled down on the floor. At first, he simply pressed a few experimental kisses to her seam. Making her wriggle and whimper against the counter. But then he parted her with his tongue and her spine curved of its own accord — her hands fisting into his hair as she gasped.

He dipped his tongue into her hole then swirled it around her clit, like he was eating ice cream, then pulled away to practically pant into her inner thigh.

Making sure to catch her eye he whispered, “Taste so sweet.”

A moan hadn’t even fully left her lips before he dove back in. Lapping at her like he was starved for it. A craving finally satiated. He groaned into her like she was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. Hands gripping onto her thighs hard enough to leave marks. He drove her closer and closer to release with every lick, suck, and kiss. Her hands pulled and tugged at his hair as the pleasure tingled at the base of her spine.

“L-Luca! Oh!” she gasped, back arching off the countertop as he gave her clit a hard suck. “So good — So good. Fuck.”

He groaned into her flesh again and this time it shot all the way up her back and made her see stars. It had been so long since she had been with someone like this. She thought that, maybe, she could get at least one orgasm out of it and they would pass out. But no. Luca was taking his dear time with her — memorizing every sound and every reaction. He was eating her out for God’s sake, something she had to beg and plead with her last boyfriend to do on a rare occasion. But Luca wanted to do it. Enjoyed it, clearly, from the way he shoved his face into her so far she feared he couldn’t breathe.

Her toes began to curl and her entire being began to feel molten hot as he pulled that sensitive little bud between his lips again. Her breath came out in stunted little gasps as she moved her hips against his face.

“I’m — I’m gonna —” she tried to get out, tried to warn him.

But he paid it no mind. He just kept going until she cried out and went stuck still beneath his expert tongue. And didn’t stop until she was pushing at his forehead and whimpering at the back of her throat.

Luca pulled away with one final kiss to her now oversensitive clit. It made her whine and he laughed softly as he wiped at his chin. She felt boneless as she lay there and stared up at the ceiling, trying to collect herself. But it felt like she was in a haze as he tugged her to sit up and smoothed her hair back behind her ears.

“That good, huh?” he questioned as he took her hand in his, smiling when all she could do was nod. “Good. Want you to feel good.”

“Want you to…Feel good too,” she managed to string together as she reached out and tugged at his belt.

“Trust me, I feel great.” But when she cupped him, hard and aching, through his wool pants, his chin dropped to his chest. “Mm, fuck.”

Emily’s eyes widened as she felt the size of him. For a moment, she wondered if she would be able to take him. But then Luca was scooping her up by the backs of her thighs and she didn’t have time to think about it anymore. Not when he was mouthing at her neck like that and asking where her bedroom was. Down the hall on your left. Not when he brought her to release with her spread out on her sheets on his fingers. Not when he revealed hard muscles and even more tattoos scattered across his skin like so many stories. Not when he pushed in nice and slow and gave her all the time in the world to gasp and whine and tell him it wouldn’t fit.

“I’ll make it fit, peach,” grumbled against her jaw as his fingers connected with that bundle of nerves once more.

No, she really couldn’t think about it at all once he was buried to the hilt and she felt so fucking full. And she told him so — it made him twitch inside her into something no boyfriend had ever found before. He made her see stars and constellations and entire planets as he hit that spot again and again and again. Until she screamed and cried and couldn’t say anything other than his name.

And when he spilled inside her with a groan and his hand so soft around her throat — she felt on the edge of consciousness. Tired down to the bone but in the best way possible.

She didn’t even bother to say anything as she curled into his chest and let him pull the covers over them both. In the back of her mind, she knew she should have told him to leave. Told him this was fun but it was time to go. But she just couldn’t. It felt too good, too natural, too everything for him to leave her bed after that. It almost felt like he was supposed to be there.

And in some ways, she told him so, when he kissed her forehead and she burrowed deeper into his embrace.

Luca woke up before her the next morning. The sun was up and looked like it had been for hours. Her bedroom was a mess of clothes and empty water bottles. It made him smile to see a photo collage of all her travels and some of her favorite dishes on the wall.

But it made his brow furrow to see pictures of a baby up there too.

Maybe it was her nephew or something?

Luca was careful as he got out of bed and put his clothes back on. He didn’t want to disturb her — she looked so peaceful. Tangled up in a homemade quilt with her hair fanned out on the pillow, mouth slightly open as she breathed deeply. He smiled as he looked at her, not really wanting to leave but knowing that he should.

Then he spotted a notebook and pen on her bedside table. Probably filled with recipe ideas and dreams scribbled down in the middle of the night. He only thought for a split second, knowing if he did it any longer he would chicken out before he scooped up the notebook and wrote down his number on the next available page.

Out in the main room, he gathered up his coat and shoes, noting the toys scattered about the space. Dinosaur figures, little construction vehicles, plushies of some cartoon dog he didn’t recognize.

Maybe the nephew had been over recently and she hadn’t had time to clean up?

He wanted to stay and study the space. Learn just a little more about her before he left. But he didn’t want to be there when she woke up. Didn’t want to put that kind of pressure on her.

So he went out the door with his coat in hand, smiling to himself thinking of the blush on her face or her reactions to his touch. Emily really was amazing. Talented, accomplished, confident, calm, and sincere. He wasn’t a praying man, but as he walked down the hall to the elevator he hoped that she would text him.

Pressing the call button for the elevator, he stood back with his hands in his pockets. It had to go up five stories, so it would be a bit of a wait. And while he did, the door to the stairwell opened.

An older woman with grey hair and a toddler stepped out. He wore a backpack that was a little too big for him and she looked tired but happy. The woman smiled at Luca as they passed and he returned it with a nod. He even waved slightly at the little boy and he did so tentatively back.

The two of them went down the hall from whence he came and he watched them go. The boy was cute, with curly blond hair and a freckle-covered face. He reminded Luca of someone but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

Not until the older woman opened Emily’s apartment door and the little boy ran inside with a shout of “Mommy!”.

i no longer have a taglist, please follow @anniesocsandlibrary and turn on notifications for updates

#oc: emily tyler #fic: from scratch #fd: the bear #chef luca #luca the bear #chef luca x oc #chef luca imagine #chef luca fanfiction #chef luca fanfic #chef luca fic #the bear imagine #the bear fanfic #the bear fanfiction #the bear fic #will poulter #luca x emily tyler

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sunnys-out · 1 year ago

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I've loved you for so long (1) | Lucy Bronze

A/N: Hello! I haven't written in so long but here is something that I have been working on since the WC (she's a short one I know). I didn't post it earlier because I was moving and starting a new job but everything has calmed down and I had time to edit it. Please let me know what y'all think and hopefully, I can post the 2nd part soon! If you like my writing maybe through in a suggestion and I'll try my best! :D

Content: Angst, Fluff if you squint

{Word Count: 2004}

______________________________________________________________

I've loved you for so long

Oh, I'd forgotten how it feels

Feelings come back strong

'I've Loved You For So Long - The Aces'

Lucy and I had met, informally, in 2015 in Canada, we never played against each other in that World Cup but that didn’t stop us from bumping into each other at Tim Hortons. The couple of times that we ran into each other at the World Cup caused small conversations and laughs that left me wanting more. God, even just her smile left me wanting.

I didn’t message her throughout our respective seasons right after the World Cup but sometimes I’d click on her Instagram profile and just scroll and see her thrive in Manchester City. Well I did drum up the courage to message once.

‘It’d probably be weird if I messaged her out of the blue right?... I mean it has been weeks since Canada?’ I told myself as I lay on my small apartment couch in Portland.

My thumb hovered over the send button with a slight tremble.

“Fuck it” My thumb harshly hit the screen and the quick ‘Wanted to say that you had an amazing tournament. Shame we never played against each other ♥️That goal against Canada was a banger meant to send that in Canada lol!” message was delivered.

I swear I threw my phone onto the other side of my couch and took a shower not expecting to see two notifications sent five minutes after me.

‘Lucy Bronze liked your message’

‘Lucy Bronze: ‘means a lot. Hope to see you again soon, miss world champion ⭐️⭐️⭐️’

I didn’t notice the smile growing as I looked at the notifications on the screen. I probably read it 20 times, setting the phone down on my coffee table and pacing the room debating whether I should respond or what I even should respond with.

“Lucy is funny, maybe I can joke about how it’s been long or maybe just a ‘feeling is mutual’” I said aloud to myself.

‘Why am I getting worked up about this?” My hair is now messy by how many times I redid my ponytail pacing the room for 13 minutes. I kept procrastinating and just settled with getting ready for bed.

‘I’ll just respond tomorrow,’ I said, confidently, plugging in my phone and placing it on my nightstand. That sentiment lasted about 2 minutes before I walked quickly back into my room picking up my phone, opening the message, and liking Lucy’s before responding.

Y/N: I would love to see you again! I hope it's somewhere other than Tim Hortons even though I loved that place lol 🙂

My phone immediately locked as I got into bed and turned away from my phone. I closed my eyes tightly trying to go to sleep quickly so that in the rare probability that Lucy would continue the conversation, I could deal with it tomorrow morning, maybe ask Klingenburg for advice. Though she might scold me for fraternizing with the enemy, jokingly of course. Defenders knew other defenders right? Kling would find it funny that a right winger is flirting with a right back.

My thoughts were interrupted by one vibration and then two more in succession. My body slowly turned over to see my phone lit up still and then slowly dimming. My hand, subconsciously, went over, picked up my phone, and opened the messages seeing Lucy liking my message.

Lucy: Let me buy you a cup whenever you’re in Manchester; there are some cafes you’d like here.

Lucy: I would love to show you around 🙂

I smiled at the messages and immediately replied without a second thought

Y/N: I will let you know because I do need a vacation 🥲

Y/N: And I would love to give you a tour of Portland, the coffee capital of the world. Worth it.

I stared at the messages until I saw a little heart appear on my last message. The little dots of a message incoming made me nervously tap the side of my phone.

Lucy Bronze: I’ll take that as a promise 😉

Y/N: And I expect that cup of coffee in Manchester is a promise too ☺️

Lucy would only like the message and I would promptly go to sleep after waiting 15 minutes for a message that never came. I tried my best to not think about it but the feeling that came from reading her messages and the smile that would creep onto my face…I wouldn’t forget.

Hayley Raso came into my life slowly after that. Glances turned to long stares. The lingering touches throughout practice became more than a pat on the back for a job well done. The smiles and laughs echoed off the walls of Providence Park as we walked to our cars until it was just to my car.

The weekly movie nights at my place turned into watching a show and cuddling together after practice for days on end. Another toothbrush appeared in the bathroom and suddenly my queen-sized bed wasn’t as empty.

Mornings were met with a quick kiss, a hug from behind, and sweet nothings whispered in each other's ear.

Going to practice wasn’t done alone anymore and it was nice to have someone waiting on you if you had to stay behind to see the physio.

It was easy since we were both playing for Portland at the time and the team weren’t surprised when we told them.

Little by little the Australian would appear in my Instagram photos and I in hers.

The one that “broke the internet” was Hayley’s post of her kissing me on the cheek at the end of a game when the USWNT and Australia had a friendly. The one that sealed the deal for everyone was my Christmas post of photos of the party I had at my apartment. One, a particular one at the end, Hayley was in my lap while I kissed her.

Something, however, nagged at me every time I saw a certain person's name pop up “Lucy Bronze liked your post” but I ignored it. I now know it was the feeling of the “what if” and “what could have been”.

‘Did Lucy not want this with me? Maybe that’s why she never followed up. I probably said something to scare her away. Hayley didn’t run away’ I remember thinking to myself and as if on cue two arms snake their way around my waist.

“Everything alright babe?” Hayley said into my back, I, immediately, felt my shoulders relax at the sound of Hayley’s voice.

I whispered, “I'm alright, just read some rude comments. You know how some people get”. I lied to Hayley; I was happy in our relationship and shouldn’t be wondering about the “what could have been” with someone that wasn’t her.

Hayley would then go on to say that she’s told me to never look at the comments because when have the mean ones ever done something for us? She’d led me back to the bedroom to get ready for bed as we had an early practice but not after she promised to take my mind off the “negative comments”...it worked.

______________________________________________________________

She Believes Cup March 6th, 2016,

Lucy Bronze’s POV

We hadn’t played the United States in Canada which is a shame to not be able to play the future World Champions. Once, we had heard that we would be playing them in the She Believes Cup. I was excited for multiple reasons.

The US call up was released and I would be playing against (y/n). Since the World Cup, (Y/N) was making a name for herself as a strong right winger and playmaker for Portland and the National team.

On the pitch, she seemed cold and intimidating, but I met her as the complete opposite.

I was able to just watch her tap her lip with her finger with her US cap on backward as she decided which pastry she wanted with her coffee at that Tim Hortons. She whistled quietly as she waited her turn and then adorably, fumbled through her order. Then humming to herself happily as she waited on the side with her warm croissant covered by a napkin.

I was in awe of her. I had seen her play before and was always impressed by what I’d seen but never played against her.

As I went up to order my own coffee and pastry I noticed her scrolling through her phone, laughing to herself. (y/n’s) eyes crinkle when she laughs or smiles really big. She hadn’t noticed me when I stood next to her, also waiting for my drink, there I took notice that she was at least three inches above me and that she sticks out her tongue when she is reading something.

I breathed in and said loud enough for her to hear as she read, “I won’t tell your trainer if you don’t tell mine” I shook my little bag containing the coffee cake I had just ordered. I chuckled at the little jump she gave when she noticed me.

“Shit, sorry you scared me” a nervous laugh leaving her mouth

I extended my hand, “Sorry bout that. I’m Lucy, Lucy Bronze with England”

She completed the handshake, “(y/n) (l/n) with the US…obviously” She pointed to her hat that had USA stitched on the back.

The conversation had good enough banter that we both remained at a table for about 2 hours talking about life and football. I could tell you that I fell for the way she looked at me with her gentle (y/e/c) eyes as she described the antics of her new golden retriever puppy named Chili she had adopted when she went to Portland.

I never really was intimidated or made nervous by any American player, especially on the pitch but watching her warm up with an icy cold expression during the She Believes Cup match made me question if the person I met at Tim Horton’s was the same person.

I don’t think I was nervous but I lost count of how many times I would try to get a glimpse of her as she warmed up. Every time I did I’d feel the blush on my cheeks as I remembered the short text conversation that we had shortly after the World Cup.

I regretted so much for not following up immediately; I got scared. If (y/n) asked me today why I didn’t respond, I wouldn’t have known what to say to be honest. Lack of courage was what Jill had told me as Jordan patted my back while reading the messages.

The moment that I finally gained the courage to message (y/n) on Instagram to invite her to Manchester for a visit, was the day when I saw the picture of Hayley Raso kissing her cheek at a friendly. It was the first thing I saw when I opened the app to message her.

I remember my stomach dropping like the feeling when you don’t feel the bottom of a pool.

I had it all planned in my head that she’d accept and I had a mini itinerary in my head of things she would’ve enjoyed and sightseeing spots. But the photo of her with her face buried in Hayley’s neck as she hugged her made the feeling worse.

Raso had beat me to (y/n) and she didn’t even know it. I kicked myself for not being brave. I would’ve had her in my arms sooner. I tell her all the time that I fell for her immediately and from meeting her I wanted more of her every passing day.

Just seeing her across the field filled me with the tucked away feelings I had for her. I remember thinking…What I would have given to be there again talking about the most mundane things over coffee. Hearing her try her hardest to tell a joke but failing as she laughs remembering the punch line or even unconsciously speaking with an English accent when we spoke… God, I really loved her for so long.

#woso #wwc 2023 #lucy bronze #lucy bronze imagine #woso x reader #engwnt x reader #lucy bronze x reader #barca femeni

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snootlestheangel · 1 year ago

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After the events of Las Almas and everything involving Shepherd gets fixed, Task Force 141 and Shadow Company are forced to spend 8 weeks together (minimum) to repair trust and regain their alliance.

These are some Incorrect Quotes from during the 141's stay. (Moose belongs to @cod-dump )

Graves: All right, Shadows! Welcome to Ceremony Day for Shadow Olympics. Unfortunately, this year we have... guests. The military and government, in their infinite wisdom, have decided we need to repair our alliance with some of Britain's forces. In other words, it's a government ordered get-along-shirt with *long pause* Task Force 141. *loud booing from the Shadows* Graves: Yes, Flash? Flash: I am new here, so why do we hate them? *everyone is now suddenly very awkward* *Woody leans over and whispers the answer to Flash* Flash: Nevermind, sir! *sits back down* Graves: This is gonna be awful

*Ghost is watching something with interest on their third day at Shadow Base* Soap: Watcha lookin' at, Lt? Ghost: *wordlessly points* Soap: You're watchin' one of the Shadows... run laps?? Ghost: Yes. For the last twenty minutes. Soap: Oh god... Ghost: I don't think he plans on stopping anytime soon, either. *Flash runs by and waves dramatically before speeding up* Soap and Ghost: What the fuck?

*Soap has found himself in the motor pool* Soap: Damn, this truck is nice! Truck, appearing behind him: It is, but you aren't, so get the fuck out of my shop. Soap: But I've never seen an American HEMTT before!! Truck, skeptical: You know what kind of truck this is? Soap: Hell yeah! *an hour later* Graves: It seems like everyone's getting along okay, so far. Price, scowling: Sure, we'll go with that. It's not at all like your Shadows are terrorizing my men. Graves: That's a bold accusation- What the fuck? *they both look over to see Truck telling Soap all about the HEMTT and Soap is loving every second* Price: Is that an issue? Graves: Truck doesn't like anyone in his shop... Soap, notices them: PRICE LOOK AT THIS FUCKING TRUCK!! IT GOT COMPLETELY DESTROYED AND TRUCK HERE COMPLETELY REDID IT FROM SCRATCH!! ISN'T THAT SO COOL?! CAN WE GET A TRUCK LIKE THIS?? Price: Absolutely not! Graves, doubled over: The world is ending...

*Another day of Ghost watching Flash run cause he's afraid of the power this kid has* Woody, walking with Moose: I don't think Ghost has any ill intentions here, okay? Moose: You don't know that! Woody: Give me one reason to believe Ghost isn't a good guy. Moose, shaking and pointing: He watches Flash run and I don't know why. *Ghost is standing there with his arms crossed and blatantly watching Flash* Woody: Oh, yeah he does. That's... normal, right? I mean we all watched Flash run like this when he was brand new. Moose: But- *can't form words to convey his concern for Flash's safety* Woody: Tell ya what, I'll get Graves to talk to their captain about getting Ghost to stop. In the meantime, just hang out here and keep an eye on the kid if you're so worried. Moose: Uh, okay... Sure, I'll stay here by myself with The Ghost and be the only thing keeping Flash safe. *Woody shakes his head with a laugh and leaves* *Ghost gets the uncomfortable feeling he's being watched* *looks over to see Moose glaring daggers at him* Ghost, thinking: God that guy really hates me, doesn't he? Maybe I should show I'm actually concerned this kid's gonna drop halfway through his laps... yeah, that'll work, right? Shadows are loyal to each other. Moose, thinking: I'm so fucking scared right now, but if he makes one move towards Flash I'll- I'll kill him! Ghost, calling out to Flash: You need a water break! Flash: Oh shit, you right! *runs over to where Ghost is standing to get his water* Moose, terrified so it comes out harsh: Flash sets a timer on his watch for water breaks. Ghost: Oh, right. Just wanted to make sure he's not overworking himself. Flash, oblivious: 'S okay, Moose! My timer was about to go off anyways! Moose: *grunts* Ghost, thinking again as Moose all but glares at him: Well that backfired... Moose, also thinking: He's gonna fucking kill me, oh god, oh shit, Flash run! Flash, sipping his water and looking between them thinking: What am I witnessing? Is this power play? What even is that?

*Gaz and Soap talking while outside during the sunset* Soap: Have you had a conversation with that kid they call Flash, yet? Gaz: YES! Oh my god, I thought you talked. He's really nice but holy shit can he talk. *they look over upon hearing something in the water* *It's Ness crawling out of the pool in his full wetsuit* *Soap and Gaz scream cause they don't recognize him as a person* Ness: What?! Gaz: You're fucking terrifying! Soap: I wanna go home...

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 1 year ago

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AITA for telling my friend's husband to stop claiming he had a mental illness for his own benefit?

I know the title really makes it sound bad, and maybe it is because I'm actually conflicted now.

I (26f), Grace (27f), and Will (26m) are the key players to the story. They had a baby almost a year ago, and I love her. I am the best unofficial aunt and official godparent- but that is neither here nor there.

I have stayed at their place before and I also have been at hotels, if I stay at their place I try to pay them and they decline. This last time I visited, I stayed at their place because Will wanted to take Grace on a date and get a hotel somewhere so I would watch the baby.

However, Will has just increasingly pissed me off claiming he has OCD and needs to be accommodated. I helped fold laundry, he told me it wasn't right and redid everything I did that was his- fine, we all fold things differently.

Grace pulled me into their bedroom one time to have a private and intense conversation that last over an hour and I sat on his side of the bed. He stripped the bed and put new sheets on and then yelled at Grace for allowing that as "my germs" were covering the bed. Grace felt bad because she didn't know he would care, I felt upset he yelled at her since he had never communicated with her, nor would I have done that if I had known.

Grace has movies displayed alphabetically, and it has ALWAYS been this way every time I have been over. Baby grabbed the shelf and they fell. I fixed the shelf, and put them all back. Will came in the room, saw it, became upset and claimed I was doing it wrong and effecting his OCD. He changed it to genre's, which is fine but it has never been that way. He claimed it had and I was mistaken.

Couldn't change the Baby's diaper because "what if fecal germs get on me?" He has gotten mad at Grace for not cleaning the right way, always falling back on germs being his big "issue" in OCD.

But I've never seen him actually have a compulsion? I have anxiety that can be debilitating at times... for example i have to lock my door 4 times each night for me to feel safe. I have a specific routine I do before bed and if I dont I panic. I got in a wreck two months ago, and now I can't drive that route. Maybe I have OCD maybe not, I know I have anxiety though.

But then Will goes and claims to have OCD and does...nothing. It feels really random to me?? Says his big issue is germs, yet can handle when the cat pees on the floor and can handle cat litter. Got a second cat, a kitten, who is still learning the litter box and does not care one bit and cleans it up.

Will's friend got drunk and laid down on his bed. Will laughed at how drunk he was and helped him stay in the guest room. Went to bed almost 15 minutes later and never changed the sheets or anything like he did when I sat there.

Has shared water bottles with friends (Grace would make sense, they literally had a kid together). He has dropped food on the floor then ate it. Will has made fun of Grace when she cooks, because she has to have steak well done because she got food poisoning one time and has been afraid since, which he knows, but wants his steak rare.

Anyways, I feel he is lying about OCD and using it to justify his actions which pisses me off. Grace has called him out for the double standard before. Grace has also tried to encourage him to get therapy, which he refuses. Grace does give him well grace when he does seem to be anxious to do something (like the movies, she shrugged it off and said if it makes him feel better sure).

The final straw was they were at MY place this past weekend, and I noticed how he kept staring at my pictures hanging on the wall. I already had a terrible day and was on edge, which they both knew.. He ignored our conversation and got up and took down a picture. I asked him what he was doing. He said his "OCD is acting up" because it wasn't in line with the rest of the pictures. I said it was a design choice (for a mental image, imagine three pictures in a row, picture one and picture three are the same shape and size hung at exactly the same level, while picture two is hung above that level somewhat, so it kind of looks like "^" with the points being the pictures, but the middle is not as pronounced). Will told me I was a terrible interior designer.

I'll admit, I saw red because it felt like he just wanted to have a chance to insult me. I told him he was a dick and using mental illness as an excuse to be one. I told him that if his OCD is that debilitating to go to therapy, but it seemed to me he was an asshole just trying to use it to justify his actions. He called me an asshole and a bigot and looked to Grace for comfort. Grace said that Will had no say in my design choices, but that I could have found a better way to tell him. Will didnt like that answer and stormed out and left my house.

Grace is now being told by Will to drop me as a friend. She won't. It is causing me a lot of anxiety because I know it is causing a lot of stress in their marriage and I don't want to be the cause of it. Will is adamant I apologize while I am adamant that he should apologize to me. i would be willing to apologize for what i said if he would apologize for trying to change my house, but he says i "dont understand OCD". AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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friendlybowlofsoup · 1 year ago

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Another Update

Hello Friends,

I have a rather long (but optimistic!) update to share with you all today. As many of you are probably tired of reading these kind of posts, I have a TL;DR here, but I did want to share what has been on my mind in that past half-year that I haven't been here.

It has been rough, and busy as always, but I think I'm finally facing myself and my project for the first time in a very long time.

TL;DR (it's actually long, I have a lot to say (*_ _)人)

I soul-searched and decided to stop compromising on my own feelings with regards to this project. I gave in to everything I wanted to do.

Plot changes, which means some character changes, which means some of the demo is outdated.

GotRM will be switching over to Twine.

----

OH MAN DID I SUFFER THE LAST FEW MONTHS

After my previous update, I hunkered down and really analyzed how I wanted to proceed with GotRM as a project. Because even prior to that post, I had already been going through long periods of hiatuses (which you are all aware of), and while I didn't lie about school taking up my time, I was also harboring a growing dissatisfaction with my own writing that really killed my progress for a long time.

So after everything had settled, I sat down and forced myself to peel apart my work. I know I said I would answer asks, but I uninstalled all of my social media and put aside this blog to focus. I made a note of all the things I liked and didn't like, and I made a list of things I wanted to change or improve on. The biggest point was that I also looked at my efficiency during actual writing sessions: how much of my time was spent writing vs. fighting with code? How could I change that?

And after a lot of deliberation, I figured there were a few things I had to change from the ground up, summed up in four points:

My working style was super incompatible with grad school. I can't spend 20-30 minutes scrolling up and down CSIDE checking code or looking for narratives while also jumping between chapters to make sure events line up. As this story grows, the more difficult it becomes to keep track of all the branches, so I needed an alternative working method, which I am adhering to now, and it prioritizes efficiency.

I hated the way I was tracking and coding stats in-game. I have griped so much about coding stats, and I have adhered to such a rigid style that I really felt trapped whenever I was confronted with balancing them out. So I'm throwing that to the wind and redoing how I utilize and convey them. Player-side, this decision doesn't change much since I never fully utilized stats in the demo anyway, and the stats page with indicators will still exist, but I'm getting rid of stat bars and how I treat stat checks.

The story I want to write now is different from the one I started out with. I've known for a while that GotRM was becoming far more than the tiny, wishful novella that I wrote as a teenager. I held onto that old story for a long time, but there's just so much I want to change that I realized I'd been clinging to a story I no longer enjoyed writing. So I spent the majority of the last few months rewriting GotRM from scratch. I redid some worldbuilding, I changed a lot of plot points, and I fixed a lot of characters' backstories accordingly. This meant scrapping stuff from even the demo, but that turned out to not be the biggest issue because:

I wanted to branch away from ChoiceScript. Honestly, I never really cared about getting officially published, but the camaraderie in the forums and on Tumblr were why I committed to CS and CoG. However, ultimately, I really want the functionality that other tools can offer GotRM, and so after a long internal debate, I will be switching over to Twine. Fortunately, since I was rewriting everything anyways, this has been relatively painless, and passage mapping has made everything so much neater. I am trying my best to make it up to chapter 2 before I release the new demo, so please look forwards to that!

And so yes, I am still here, chugging along.

I love this game and this story: it's been my creative escape for as long as I could remember, and you can imagine how frustrated I was when I realized I was starting to dread working on it.

I am forever learning more about myself and my writing style, and this is simply more of that journey. Thank you everyone for sticking around, for joining the discord, and for checking up on me--that I have all of you has truly been a dream.

Hopefully more updates to come soon! I understand that there may be questions about these new changes, so please ask away! I will (try) to release some asks that I've been working on in the drafts too, but I will wait until at least tomorrow to release them so that this post doesn't get drowned out immediately.

And as always, with a lot of love,

FriendlyBowlofSoup (Mei)

#writing update

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vemaro · 1 year ago

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alone again

[PART 3]

This is a link to PART 1 and PART 2.

Pairing: Astarion x Tav (female Tav)

Word count: ~2900

Notes: Sorry this took so long! I was just so unhappy with everything I wrote. I redid this part a handful of times. Honestly, I’m still not totally satisfied. Oh well! I finished this at almost 2 am and proofread really quickly before work so hopefully this thing is legible. Ngl, this song helped inspire me a little. I hadn’t heard it in a while and it fit the mood.

Here you go!

…

Tav is convinced she’s dreaming.

For years, she’s sent out letters inviting all of her friends to attend numerous affairs; grand openings, galas, holidays, even a simple meal. Most of the time, at least two of them would show up. Sometimes, if luck is on her side, three will appear at once. Never as many as today. Her and Terrick’s wedding ceremony was the last time she managed to persuade them all to come to the city, but even then Lae’zel was absent.

On occasion someone will pass through the Gate without having been directly invited, like when Astarion, Karlach, and Dammon showed up on her doorstep months prior. Although, that is an extremely rare occurrence. And again, never as many as today. She can’t help but wonder what prompted this mass visitation. Deep down, she knows (hopes) they care, but her intuition tells her this is no mere coincidence.

Despite Tav’s inner turmoil, the banter between her and Astarion comes as easily as it always has. His quips are semi-censored due to Callum’s presence, but other than that, it feels like old times. Well, that and the addition of the umbrella. She lets the nostalgia wrap around her like a warm blanket.

Not fifteen minutes into the journey home, Callum falls asleep. He’s nestled comfortably on her side with his cheek resting on her shoulder. Every few minutes Tav will turn her head away from the conversation to bury her nose in his hair or press a kiss to the crown of his head. Having her son so close helps stave off the negativity and paranoia, but it can only do so much.

Tav licks her lips. She might as well ask him now. Get it over with. “Astarion?”

He hums in reply. “Hm?”

She mentally braces herself. “How long will you be in Baldur’s Gate?”

Astarion keeps his voice nonchalant and his eyes trained on the path ahead. “Oh, you know, darling, just until the end of the month.”

Tav lets his words sink in for five long seconds. Then she gawks up at the vampire. “I’m sorry, did you say until the end of the month?”

He smirks, but still doesn’t look her way. “I did.”

“But—” She counts to herself, lightly tapping her fingers against Callum’s back. Then she counts again because that’s way too many days. Then once more for good measure. After checking, double and triple, she balks. “But that’s more than a tenday.”

He chuckles at her shock. “Yes. I’m aware. We rented our old suite at the Elfsong Tavern until—“

She halts in place. “We?” she parrots, voice bordering on shrill. “Who else is staying?”

Astarion internally smacks himself for the slip. Damn it all. He really needs to learn when to stop talking around the woman. “Don’t tell them I ruined the surprise, darling. The slash happy gith will take pleasure in gutting me if she found out.” She continues to stare up at him, waiting for him to elaborate. The vampire sighs. “All of us are staying for the remainder of the month. Even Halsin, Jaheira, and Minsc are supposed to pop in at some point.”

“Everyone will be in the city?” she presses. “Everyone everyone?”

He rolls his eyes in exasperation. “Yes, everyone everyone.”

The question slips out by accident. “Why?”

Astarion is taken aback and the mood is immediately soured. “What the hells do you mean why?”

Why are they here? What could have possibly brought them all together? Is there a new threat looming over them only she isn’t yet aware of? Is that why Gale suggested they spend the day together, to strategize? Is that why Halsin, Jaheira and Minsc will be joining up? Why are they here? She says none of this out loud. She says nothing at all.

He pulls his arm from her grip and takes a step back, exposing Tav to the sunlight. She winces at the sudden brightness. “You literally invited us. We’re here because you asked us to come.”

But why she wants to ask again. Why is this the one time they all decided to show up? Why now? Why not before? Why today? “I-I know that,” she stutters.

“Do you not want us here?” he accuses.

Her panic from earlier returns tenfold. “What? Of course I want you here!”

“Then what seems to be the problem?”

Yes, what is the problem? They’re here, aren’t they? That’s all Tav’s ever wanted. And yet she can’t ignore the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach that something’s amiss. “There’s no problem, none at all,” says the druid, but even she can hear the lie as it passes her lips.

A frown forms between his brow. “Really? It feels as though there is.”

“No, I …” Her desperation for answers is being misconstrued for annoyance. What was she supposed to say? If she keeps talking, it’ll only make things worse. “I …”

“You what?” he snaps. “I can go if my presence is such a burden.”

“Don’t!” She instinctively reaches out to grab him, but aborts the movement at the last second. “I’m sorry, Astarion.” And she’s confused and she’s tired and she deeply regrets starting this conversation. “I didn’t mean to come across as ungrateful. I am happy you’re here. I just …” She stops right as her voice is about to crack. Tav swallows the lump in her throat and tries again. “I miss you.” The back of her eyes sting. To hide the tears building in the corners, she lowers her gaze down and away.

When he sighs, his entire body softens. All the tension melts again and he’s left feeling guilty for losing his temper. “I miss you as well.”

A sinister voice hisses something wicked in her mind. Does he? If he misses Tav as much as he claims, why not visit more often? A much more cruel voice provides a bittersweet answer; because she did this to him. Because he doesn’t miss her at all. How could he after what she’d done? After condemning him to a life in the shadows. Who is she to shed tears when the fault is her own?

She tries to take a deep breath, to steady herself, but the weight of Callum, the tightness in her throat, and the corset of her dress are making such a task seem nigh impossible. It shudders and breaks, coming out more like a sob. She slaps a hand over her mouth, cursing herself for losing her composure. There are people all around them. If they aren’t already watching, they will if she starts openly sobbing.

A cool hand touches her shoulder. “Tav?” He says her name like it’s the most precious thing in the world. It makes her want to openly sob.

She shrugs off the appendage and turns away. “I’m fine.”

His blood red eyes bore into her back. He wants nothing more than to comfort her somehow, the way she used to comfort him and the rest of their friends, but he can’t bear her rejecting his aid a second time. “Why don’t I believe you?”

“Because I’m a mess,” she says through choked laughter.

“Please tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing is going on, Astarion.” But she can feel a tear trickle down her cheek. “Just go to the tavern. I’ll walk the rest of the way on my own.”

“Hold on—” Without thinking, his hand darts out to prevent a hasty retreat. However, he underestimates her speed, so his hand passes the outline of the darkness enchantment. “Fuck,” he growls when the sun burns his skin.

Tav spins back around, horrified. “Oh no. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t think—I didn’t know you’d—I’m so sorry.” Why couldn’t she have kept her mouth shut? Why couldn’t she just accept things at face value? If she had, he wouldn’t haven’t gotten hurt. It’s her fault. It’s all her fault. It’s all her fault. It’s all—

“We need to leave now.”

Without warning, his hand is on her back, pushing her forward. Tav doesn’t fight it, drowning in remorse for what just transpired. He’s not leading her up the main road anymore. They twist and turn down alleys and side streets until she finds them outside an decrepit building. He makes quick work on the lock, throws open the door, and all but shoves her in first. She hears the door shut and the lock click.

A fresh set of apologies are ready to spew out of her like vomit. “Astarion. I am so—“

He’s quick to cut her off with the swipe of a hand. “Stop. It wasn’t your fault.”

She looks at him as though he’s grown a second head. “Yes, it was. If I hadn’t tried to walk away, you wouldn’t have tried to stop me.”

“I was the one foolish enough to lunge after you in broad daylight,” he argues.

“You only lunged after me because I’m on the verge of tears.” She is no longer on the verge, she is in tears, fucking hells. “So let me apologize properly.”

“Alright then. As an apology, I want a godsdamn explanation for whatever this is.”

She shakes her head. “This is nothing. For the last time, I’m fine.”

He throws the umbrella onto the floor. It clatters onto the dusty floor. “I’d be more likely to believe you if you didn’t have twin tear tracks running down your face.” He closes the distance, leaving a foot of space between them. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

She finally lets it explode out of her. “What’s wrong is that you abandoned me like everyone else in my life! And no matter how long you stay, you’re inevitably going to leave again!” Callum stirs in her arms. The little boy’s eyes flutter open and he mumbles something incomprehensible. Astarion backs off, giving Tav room to soothe him until he’s lulled back to sleep. She whispers sweet words of affirmation in his ear and bounces him like she used to when he was a baby.

It takes a few minutes until Callum is sound asleep again. Even then, the silence stretches on a little longer. Tav stands on one side of the room and Astarion stands near the middle, leaning against a ruined cushioned loveseat. They’re eyes are locked, expressions unreadable.

She breaks the silence first. “I miss you. I miss all of my friends. I hate being alone again.”

He cards his finger through his fine, white curls. “No one forced you to stay in Baldur’s Gate or told you to get married.” Most of them tried to convince her not to wed Terrick.

She frowns. “I didn’t have many other options.”

The vampire scoffs at that. “You could’ve left the city and not get married.”

“And go where?”

“Anywhere your heart desired.”

“The only place I want to be is with you—” Her cheeks burn with the confession, though it’s hard to distinguish with her face already flushed red from crying. “—or any of our friends.”

He pushes off the back of the chair to stand fully. “Then why didn’t you come with one of us?”

“No one wanted me to go with them.”

“What gave you that idea?”

She suddenly feels embarrassed and needs to look away again. “No one asked.”

One step forward. “I’m pretty sure any of our friends would’ve been thrilled to have you accompany them.”

“Any of our other friends, but not you.”

Another step. “And what gave you that idea?”

She narrows her eyes at him. “You know why.”

Two more steps. “Spell it out as if I don’t.”

Robby shuffles in place and adjusts her hold on Callum as a stalling tactic. By now, Astarion is standing right in front of her again. She’s too nervous to meet his eyes. “I’m the reason you’re stuck in the Underdark. It’s my fault you’re responsible for thousands of vampire spawn.” She pauses, debating whether she should say her next words. No, she will. “Stopping the ritual was the right thing to do and I don’t regret it. I would do it again, but … I also recognize you suffered for my decision. Why would you want the person who stuck you in that position around?”

Because he’s madly in love with her and nothing would make him happier than to have her by his side. “My life isn’t precisely as I imagined it would be, and yet I am still content with where I ended up.” As content as he can be without her there. “And you’re right. You would’ve been a reminder for the position I’m in; free and out of Cazador’s control.”

She finally feels brave enough to look into his eyes again. Unfortunately for her, the tears are back with a vengeance. “You don’t hate me, not even a little?”

He gently cups the side of her face and uses his thumb to brush away the fresh tears. She leans into his touch and thank the gods his heart doesn’t function properly or else she would’ve heard it pounding. A small smile finds its way on his lips. “No, not at all.” It’s quite the opposite.

“Then why do I see everyone, at most, twice a year?”

The smile turns wry. “Because we’re shit friends apparently.”

She grabs the wrist on the hand cupping her face. “And why is everyone suddenly so keen on staying in the city for more than two days when that’s never happened before?”

“We were trying to surprise you,” he says.

She gets that cute crinkle in her brow whenever she’s in disbelief. “That’s it?”

He shrugs. “That’s it.”

Tav’s eyes flicker between his, trying to determine if he’s speaking the truth. She so, so badly hopes he is. “You swear?”

He raises his right hand and draws an X on his chest. “Cross my heart, darling.”

And just like that, she relaxes. She releases the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding and her shoulders droop. A few more tears leak out as she laughs. “Well, this is humiliating.”

His signature smirk is back in place. “I wont tell if you don’t.” He holds a finger up to his lips and winks. “I’d appreciate it if you pretended to be clueless about our long visit.”

Tav laughs some more. “Deal.”

“Deal.”

She pulls him into a one armed hug to seal the deal. “I’m sorry for being dramatic.”

He should be glad she’s moving past everything that just happened, but it breaks his heart that she’s taking the blame. However, it’s for the best that he leaves it be. “Melodrama is my thing.” He hugs her back. “But I forgive you.”

Being in his embrace feels right, feels safe. Tav pulls him in a little closer. “You know, Callum would love if you came by more often. It doesn’t have to be monthly, but once a season sounds fair.”

“Just Callum, eh?” he teases.

And she’s blushing again. “I wept over how much I missed you. It should go without saying that I also want to see you more often.”

“I could stand to hear you explicitly say—ow!”

Tav leans away and smacks him on the back. “Don’t be an ass, Astarion.”

He holds his hands up in surrender. “Just trying to lighten the mood, Tav dear.” Even with her leaning away, she’s still so close. She’s right there. All he would have to do is lean forward and … “Why, I believe it’s about time we get you home.”

“Yes. Right.” She reluctantly takes a couple steps back. “Don’t forget the, uh …”

The vampire holds back a grimace. “The magical prop that prevents me from burning alive, I know.” He goes and picks up the umbrella with a loud huff. “Let’s try this again.” He saunters over to the door, opens it, and bows lowly. “Lead on.”

Tav comes over and hooks her arm with his. “Okay.”

And they were off.

…

“Why aren’t we killing the bastard again?”

Gale pinches the ridge of his nose. “Because he’s a public figure,” he deadpans.

Astarion matches his expression and rolls his eyes. “So was Gortash and we still killed him.”

“Gortash wasn’t married to our friend.”

The vampire shrugs. “Semantics.”

“Astarion,” Gale hisses.

“What?”

He is well on his way to a migraine. Astarion is a (mostly) trusted friend, but he’s a lot to deal with at best and downright incorrigible at worst. Tav was always the one to steer him in the right direction. “I think we can all agree in our distaste for Tav’s choice in spouse, but it’s a delicate situation.”

“Distaste,” he repeats mockingly. “I fucking hate the man.”

Gale sighs. “I concur.” Astarion opens his mouth, probably to say something smartass, so the wizards beat him to it. “But you agreed to stick with the plan. A plan that I believe will leave Tav and Callum unscathed.”

His eyes snap to the woman he loves across the room. She’s smiling, glowing, as she watches Karlach and Wyll entertain her son. She doesn’t deserve what that monster is doing to her. Terrick doesn’t deserve to continue living. If it was his choice, Astarion would slit the man’s throat and be done with it, but apparently the public needs evidence of his wrong doings. “Fine …”

“Thank you.”

“If he steps one foot out of line though, screw the plan.”

Gale chuckles darkly and pats him on the back. “I know.”

#bg3 #astarion bg3 #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion ancunin #bg3 tav #bg3 astarion #tavstarion #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #tav #vemaro

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