#socks' shitty shitty year | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

teaspacebar · 4 months ago

Text

spiced chai

pairing: carmen "carmy" berzatto x reader

summary: you've been living in chicago for about a year, and you're suddenly managing the coffee shop in the well beloved bookstore, nan's. you meet carmen berzatto on a not-so-good day. you're thrust into the everchanging societal landscape that is making friends in your 20s..

word count: ~9.7k

warnings: language, depictions of mental illness, barista!reader, afab!reader (but tried to be as neutral as possible), neurodivergent!reader, they don't kiss, could be read as platonic tbh but there's crumbs in there if you look, takes place over the course of a few months, probably doesn't follow canon fully (i'm not caught up yet forgive me)

a/n: *dumps this here and runs* but actually this piece of writing appeared in my brain and i've been picking away at it for a couple of months. i feel like i've put more of myself into this fic than with anything else i've written, so this is definitely more of a self insert (pls be kind or don't read if that's not your vibe). i'm queer, non-binary, and autistic and i just wanted to insert that into this space. i feel like there's more to explore here, so i might write more for this if i feel so inclined.

Meeting Carmen Berzatto was not on your to-do list for Tuesday morning.

Not that having to run down to the nearest corner store to grab milk - since the milk fridge was on the fritz…again - at 4am was in your plans either. It always seemed like one step forward, three giant leaps back with the little shop on the corner you basically called home. It was weird, to be thrust into leadership as your manager made an abrupt exit.

The small bookstore, with an even tinier coffee shop, had been your place of work for the last year or so. You loved it. The people were great, and Nan, the shop owner, was absolutely lovely. She was getting up in her years, but the genuine care she had for the employees made all the difference. She put her trust in you to run the cafe, saying “You have the experience, and the care you have for people shows. I know this. Everyone knows this. Now you just have to see it - have confidence.”

“Confidence my ass,” you mutter, carrying five gallons of milk around the corner.

What happens next might have been considered the beginning of a rom-com, but you’re a realist, and the world is shitty.

There’s a crash, and the distinct sound of three of the five gallons of milk dropping onto the sidewalk. You stare, watching in slow motion as the milk forms into a river, dripping off the sidewalk into the gutter.

The person who ran into you curses, “Shit — fuck, sorry, I—I wasn’t looking where I was…dammit.”

You grip the other two jugs in your arms, blinking out of the haze to let out a hysterical laugh. “Great…cool cool.” Cold plastic bites into your fingers, and you take a deep breath. “Yeah, okay, what else was gonna happen?” You finally look up to see the one you collided with. The man looks extremely uncomfortable, foot tapping like he wants to bolt. Plastering on a smile you shake your head, “It’s fine. I’m the one who thought carrying five gallons of milk would be fine.” You ramble on, trying to ease his nerves, “I mean — why would I drive, like, thirty seconds. Park, get the milk, come all the way back. Seemed stupid…but now there’s milk in my socks.” You grimace, fighting the urge to chuck the remaining jugs of milk in the street so you could also hurl your milk-soaked shoes and socks after them. It makes the ache in your chest sharpen.

“Here, where are you —“

You cut him off, “No, no, it’s okay. I got it, thank you.” You gesture to the door that’s just a few feet away from you. “This is me, anyway.” You adjust your hold on the milk, brushing past the man to pull open the door. You catch it with your hip, not daring to look back as you head behind the counter. You release a sigh, setting the bane of your existence on the black speckled marble.

“Fuck,” you whisper, pressing the backs of your hands to your eyes. You shake out your arms, biting your lip. “Okay, asshole, let’s get your shit together.” You quickly put the milk into the small fridge below the bar and walk to the back. The squish of your socks curdles your stomach, and you breathe through your mouth to avoid the smell. You take off your shoes, throwing them into a plastic bag to take home. Tossing your socks into the garbage, you grab your replacement sneakers and socks from your cubby. It wasn’t the first time you’ve dropped something on your shoes, it wouldn’t be the last.

You take your time in the back. You had gotten to the shop around 4am, unable to sleep. You were messing around with recipes, seeing if there was a possibility of baking some of the food in the cafe fresh, instead of outsourcing. It was something you put on your own plate, and you didn’t want to disappoint Nan. You had shown up early, looking to try out some muffins, and noticed the fridge had been hovering at sixty degrees all night. You’ll have to grab some more milk before the day starts, but that could be a problem for 8am you.

Walking through the swinging doors, you jump as you see someone at the bar counter. Pressing a hand to your fluttering heart, you finally take in the man that had run into you earlier. A mop of curly hair on his head, white tee, very blue eyes…and standing behind eight gallons of milk.

“Um…” you look between the milk and him a few times.

“The…uh – the door was unlocked. Figured I owed you one.” He rubs the back of his neck.

“How’d you even get it all here?”

“Made two trips.” His gaze snaps back to you as you laugh, this time more genuine. “Fridge go out, or somethin’?” You’re still staring at him like he has two heads, and he rambles on, “Sorry for just…barging in. I used to go to this place…when I was kid. My sister and I would grab whatever pastries they had left for the day. And, yeah, we’d just sit, read random shit. I work at the restaurant just down the street…’s why I ran into you. Wasn’t paying attention – sorry, again.”

Suddenly, it all clicks. “You own The Bear.”

“Uh, yeah – yeah, I do.”

You feel nervous, out of the blue. Nan hadn’t stopped talking about the Berzatto’s, and Natalie had become a regular while the restaurant was being remodeled. You’re sure you’d seen other employees come in as well, for reading material. You vaguely remember talking to a very sweet man about baking, as he carried a ton of cookbooks in his arms.

You knew Carmen Berzatto, but only through the words of others – and the research you did late one night because you were nosey. To have him standing in the bookstore you worked at, for him to have gotten you milk, is sending you for a loop. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you begin to put the milk in their new home. You really need to call the refrigerator guy again.

“That’s so cool,” the words fall from your mouth, others staying in your head.

It's insane that someone like him is even speaking to you. He’s around the same age as you; He owns a restaurant and you’re barely able to run a tiny coffee bar in a bookstore. You’re an idiot who dropped milk onto the sidewalk. Why didn’t you just take the car? You should’ve just taken the car. Now Carmen fucking Berzatto has bought you milk at 5am because he feels bad for you. How pathetic. Call the fucking refrigerator guy.

“Thanks…for the milk.” You back away from the counter, gesturing behind you, “Lemme grab some money from the cash box real quick.”

“No, don’t worry about it.”

“It’s really fine, you didn’t have to go out of your way. I’ll be right back.” The itch creeps its way up your spine, and you push through the door as a shudder passes through you. You shake out the twitch, going and grabbing the cash box. You do mental math, trying to see how much you should give him. Did he even need the money? “Idiot,” you chide yourself. Today was not the day for your brain.

Snagging a twenty and a ten, you rush back out to the bar, only to find the store empty. A groan escapes through your teeth, and you clench the cash in your hands, crumpling it. You walk to the front door, peering out to see if you can spot the chef. He must’ve made a quick getaway. As you turn to get prepped for the day, you spot a brochure on the counter, far away from its home of the stand at the front of the bookstore. Eat Your Way Through Chicago!

Scribbled on the front is a phone number, and the words:

Fridge Ask for Fak Say Carm sent you

“Fucking fuck.” You whisper, a smile creeping on your face against your will, “Asshole.”

It’s later in the week when you hear the bell attached to the front door – ding! You poke your head up from where you're arranging some alternative milks under the counter, seeing a familiar blonde.

“Hey, Natalie!” You pop up, an easy grin appearing on your face. “Half-caff?”

She nods, “Please.”

“How are you?”

“Oh, you know.”

You ring her up quickly, then grab a pitcher to steam some milk for her latte. Natalie walks away from the counter to browse some books. The steam wand whirs, and you watch the vortex inside the pitcher. You touch the sides every so often, waiting for it to get to the right temperature. Making drinks is all muscle memory now, and you tamp the espresso grounds into the portafilter with precision. Wiping the excess from the lip, you lock it into the machine and press the shot button. As the shot pulls, you wipe down the steam wand with a wet cloth.

“Is this any good?” Natalie has come back over, holding up a book with a half-naked man on the front.

You laugh, “It’s a Nan recommendation, so…” The shots are poured into the paper cup, and you swirl the milk into it, doing a quick tulip design. You sprinkle a little cinnamon over the top, before placing it in front of the woman.

“Smutty then, for sure.” Natalie laughs, then does a little excited gasp when she sees the latte art. “It looks so good every time!”

“Thanks,” you reply, “Gets covered by the lid, but it’s fun to practice.”

“Too bad you don’t have for-here mugs,” she says thoughtfully.

“Ever the idea-haver! There'd be more spills to clean up – Nan would lose her mind if any books got ruined.” You point to the book still in her hand, “You want me to ring you up for that?” It was early enough in the afternoon that the only other person here was a part-timer, Jack, somewhere between the shelves stocking books. You had convinced Nan to upgrade to a different register system (which ended up saving money in the long run), so you’re able to ring up both books and café products at your register.

She shakes her head, sighing. “I barely have any time to read, these days. I was thinking about trying out audiobooks? I used to listen to them at my old job, but it’s way too loud in the kitchen for that to work out.” The latte goes to her mouth, a pleasant hum leaving her as she takes a sip. “You’re the best.”

“Thanks, Natalie.”

She squints at you, “It’s Nat, c’mon.” A big conspiratorial grin makes its way onto her face, “So, I heard that you got some help with your fridge.”

A sharp pain twists in your chest. “Oh, um…yeah.” You let out a soft chuckle, “It’s working, which is great. Neil was a big help.”

“He said you made him the best hot chocolate he’s ever had,” Natalie taps the counter with her pointer finger twice. “Said he didn’t know how you got his number, though.”

You shrug, wiping down the counter, “Nan had it. And the usual guy wasn’t calling me back.” Neil had told you the exact same thing, both about the drink and the number. Something had held you back from saying where you got the number from. Embarrassment, maybe? It felt weird, feeling like you owed anyone favors, or that things would be unbalanced. People usually never give without looking to receive.

“Frankie, right? He’s an asshole. Overcharges for everything.” Natalie doesn’t push you for answers, something you’re grateful for.

“Right! He disappeared one time and said he’d ‘be right back’ and then was gone for like, two hours! And he added that to his hourly!” The two of you giggle at the shittiness of people for a minute, when a ping causes Natalie to pull her phone from her pocket.

“I should run.” She reaches into her purse, and puts a five into your tip jar. “Thanks again!”

As she turns to go, you call out her name. “Would you - maybe - I have some extra muffins. The place we get them from gave us some of the wrong ones…or they’re a tad over baked, or something. I can’t sell them. Would you wanna take them with you?”

“That’s so sweet of you! Yeah, I’m sure they’ll get eaten up.”

You grab the box of muffins, handing them over to her, “Thanks.”

“Thank you, babe.” She leaves with a smile, and you look down to brush the flour off your apron.

“Hey, guys, I got some goodies!” Natalie sets the box of muffins on the table, where everyone is seated for family meal.

Neil immediately grabs the box, pointing to the sticker on the top, “You went to Nan’s? Man, I could use a hot chocolate right now.”

“I’m sure you can walk over there and order one, my love.” Natalie replies, waving for him to put the box back on the table.

Marcus snags two muffins, handing one to Sydney who is sitting on his right. Taking a bite, he stops chewing, eyebrows raised. “Dude,” he nudges the girl next to him.

“Dude,” Syd parrots, popping some muffin into her mouth. “Wait, woah.”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

“Nat, where did you get these?” Sydney calls to the woman now sitting at the end of the table. The muffins are passed down the rest of the table.

Marcus has started dissecting the muffin, “Macadamia nuts, sick.”

“Oh they’re from Nan’s just down the corner!” She tells them how you offered them to her since they were the wrong ones from a vendor and possibly over-baked.

Syd snorts, “Over-baked? These are perfect!”

“What’s perfect?” Carmy walks out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel.

“Bear, come eat!” Natalie waves him over, pulling him into the seat next to hers. “You’ve been at it all morning, take a minute, okay?” She gives him a look that tells him not to argue, and he huffs in response, but does as she says.

“What’s perfect?” He asks again, taking the muffin box from Sweeps as it’s passed to him. As the cinnamon crumble topping hits his taste buds, he leans back in his chair. “Shit.”

“That’s what we’re saying!”

Syd and Marcus begin talking over one another, the dull roar of family making its home in Carmy’s ears. He has another bite of muffin, thumb swiping over the sticker atop the box.

Nan’s Books & Brews

Simple lettering, surrounding a doodle of a coffee cup sitting on an open book.

“When did they,” he clears his throat as he leans closer to Nat, “when did they start doin’ stuff like this?”

Natalie purses her lips, “Not sure, honestly. They only had that small coffee machine and that plastic pastry case when we were growing up, remember? I think they added the actual coffee bar right before Covid?” Carmy nods, looking out the windows, a curdle in his stomach.

“A lot’s changed,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” Nat sighs, a hand over her stomach, “a lot has.”

A few weeks go by, as uneventful as they can be. You try out more recipes, and the staff of Nan’s is always sent home with one treat or another. Muffins, cinnamon rolls, croissants (which were a bust), and the like. Natalie is still a regular, and Neil has shown up to save your ass more than once. The brochure with his number on it taunts you from where it’s stuck up on the corkboard in the back.

Which is what has led you to standing in front of The Bear, a joe-to-go in one hand, paper bag in the other. An envelope burns in the inner pocket of your flannel jacket. Steeling your nerves, you knock on the door. Some yells are heard from inside, nicknames getting passed around like it’s a holiday dinner. You see a man walk towards you, in a nice suit, and he opens the door.

“Can I help you?” It’s not said unkindly, but there’s a look in his eyes that’s making you nervous.

“Coffee delivery?” You say sheepishly, holding up the coffee traveler by its cardboard handle.

“Richie, who’s at the - hey!” Natalie immediately smiles when she sees you, and you sigh a breath of relief. Things were easy with her; she had this amazing way of comforting you without even trying.

“Hi,” you wiggle your fingers, still keeping hold of the objects in your hands. “Wanted to say thanks for all the help Neil’s been giving me, and when Nan found out, she insisted I bring over some coffee for the team, so…”

“You workin’ at Nan’s?” The guy - Richie - asks.

“For the past year or so, yeah.” You reply, thanking Natalie as she grabs the paper bag from you.

“Let them in, Richie, c’mon.” She presses on his chest, causing him to back up with his hands in the air. “Come in! I’ve been meaning to ask if you wanted to come by for a tour.” You follow behind her, taking in the layout of the place. It’s absolutely gorgeous, and a sense of awe falls over you. She has you set the coffee traveler on the bar, letting you take the paper bag from her hands. You pull out a cup holder with two cups in it.

“One half-caff french vanilla latte for you and…a hot chocolate for Neil.” As if by magic, Neil pops through the door to the kitchen.

“For me?!”

You chuckle as he pulls you into a hug. When he pulls away, he grabs his cup with a happy sound, rushing back into the kitchen when “Fak!” is yelled.

“The fuck Fak get a coffee for?” Richie frowns, causing you to bristle. Natalie swats at him, beginning to explain as you continue to walk around the restaurant. As you pass by a wood table, your fingers tap on it, the sound echoing in your ears. It sends a shiver through you, and a small smile appears on your lips.

Natalie calls out to you, tearing your gaze back to her. People have begun to swarm around the bar, placing food on it, and your coffee is suddenly surrounded by things that smell amazing. “Did you want to eat with us, babe?” Attention turns to you, and the itchiness in your limbs reappears with a vengeance.

A tall man, wearing a beanie, grins, “Hey, those muffins were amazing, by the way.”

You sputter, “Oh. Um—“

“Tell the chef, or baker — whoever,” he laughs at himself. “They were fire.”

Warmth rises in you, “Yeah, I’ll pass it on.”

“Babe, lunch?” Natalie says again, louder this time. More of the staff have begun digging into their meals.

“No, it’s okay!” The corner of your mouth curves up in a small smile, this one less genuine than before. You begin to back up towards the door, a gnaw of guilt in your gut as Natalie frowns.

“Cousin! Food!” Richie yells out, followed by laughter from everyone else.

“I’m coming!” A familiar figure bursts through the kitchen door, “You don’t gotta yell like an asshole.”

Carmen Berzatto stops in his tracks when he sees you; the envelope in your pocket burns hotter. You look down at your shoes, but they just remind you of the milk dripping down the sidewalk.

“Carm,” Natalie introduces you, “they work at—“

“Nan’s.” Everyone chimes in, and you have to stop yourself from flinching. You look over at Carmy, eyes meeting.

There’s a moment where you feel like you’re going to get swallowed whole. The pipes are going to burst and water will fill up the room and you’re going to drown.

You walked straight into a den of hungry beasts, and you’re just a measly rabbit.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” Natalie’s words are muffled in your ears, but you manage to shake your head.

“I have someone from books covering me, and they barely know how to work the espresso machine.” You force a laugh. It grates against your vocal chords. “It was nice meeting you guys, though.” With a meek wave, you turn on your feet and speed out the door. Rounding the corner, you keep walking until you’re sure they can’t see you. Veering into the alleyway behind the restaurant, you let out a shaky breath, leaning against the brick.

You press your thumb into the palm of your hand. Inhale, hold four seconds, exhale. Inhale, hold four seconds, exhale. It’s over before it starts, but your chest remains tight. A reminder, which will eventually dissipate once you're back in the shop.

The coffee bar, your shield; apron, your armor.

A door opening causes you to jump, startled. Your eyes meet blue, widening like you’ve been caught. “Sorry! I was just–” You push off the brick.

Carmen seems just as surprised as you, “No, s’fine.” He clears his throat, as the two of you settle into silence.

A fwip of a lighter. Four seconds. An exhale of smoke.

You’re unsure if you should leave, but it’s like the bottoms of your shoes are stuck to the ground. “Did you-” He starts, lifting up his hand that holds a lit cigarette.

You shake your head, “No, but - um, thanks.” Your fingers twitch, and you reach to pull the envelope from inside your jacket. Something that appears so insignificant, held out in the space between you. When he just stares, you wave it a bit, until he takes the envelope with his free hand.

“What’s this?”

“Cash, for the milk you bought.”

“You didn’t have to-“

“I did.” You bounce on your heels, “I should actually get going this time. Just wanted to give you that but…” He doesn’t respond, something you’re getting used to. You wonder where the man who rambled about reading with his sister at Nan’s went, but decide now is the best time to make your escape. As you start to walk toward the street, you turn, “The restaurant looks great, by the way. Good luck with the opening.”

“Good luck with the opening.”

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

"Let it rip, Bear."

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

“-a complete waste of fucking time.”

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

“I’m really sorry you feel that way, Carm.”

Natalie invites you to Friends & Family.

You don’t go.

The next month flies by. Marcus, Richie, and Syd have joined your little group of regulars. Richie even brings his daughter, Eva, whenever he’s able. She’s a joy and absolutely hilarious to have around. Richie has grown on you, the rough edges of him softening after a few cortados.

One night, he had rushed into the shop, Eva in tow, all but begging you to watch her for a few hours. He was supposed to be off for the day, to spend time with his daughter, but they’re understaffed at The Bear. A few weeks in, which confused you, but questions weren’t asked. You said yes - obviously - and had Eva help you with little things around the shop, until you close. The two of you bonded over a shared love of Taylor Swift while making muffins. By the time Richie came to pick her up, Eva was tuckered out in a loveseat, patchwork blanket tucked up to her chin.

“I owe you one,” Richie had whispered, holding his daughter in his arms.

You shook your head, “You deserve to have time with her.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes, “Yeah, bring it up with the Bear himself.”

You weren’t planning on it. The man is barely on your mind. Except for every time someone from The Bear walks in. They look drained, more and more each day. It’s a certain type of pain, to watch people – that once had so much life in them – lose the light that you felt so harshly the first time you walked into the restaurant. You hear inklings; mentions of a changing menu every night, nonnegotiables, and the like.

It worries you. It’s not your place - you’re more than aware of that. But you’ve come to care for these people. And by extension, some part of you wants to see how he’s doing. It’s an odd - biting -feeling. How strange it is, to know someone through everyone else’s eyes but your own. You have to fight back the urge to force yourself into the places you do not fit. You’re resigned to watching from afar, providing comfort behind your coffee bar. It’s what you’re good at. It might be all you're good at.

Some sick twist of fate decides to upturn it all one Friday night.

Carmy had stayed late, to nobody’s surprise. He’d been adjusting the menu, preparing it for tomorrow, when the flashes hit him. He decides to walk it off, popping another thing of nicotine gum into his mouth. He walks aimlessly, trying to push the overwhelming thoughts out of his head. The street is dark - most places being closed - but light pours onto the sidewalk, just a few feet ahead of him. Almost a reflex, he peers into the windows.

A laugh of disbelief - more a huff of air through his nose - leaves him.

You’re dancing, headphones over your ears, as you mix something in a large bowl. It’s unlike anything he’s seen - from you or otherwise. There’s a sense of freedom in your movements, so different from the few times he’d seen you before. The tightness in his chest lightens, some, at the sight of you so obviously in your element.

And you're looking right at him.

“Shit,” he mumbles. You tilt your head at him, doing a little wave. He lifts a hand in reply, and you point haphazardly at the door. Before he can respond, or walk away – anything, you’re heading around the counter. A click of the door unlocking, and you pull it open part way.

“Hey,” you say, a little loud. With a wince, you pull the headphones off to rest around your neck. Music can be heard – a muffled, upbeat song that he doesn’t recognize. “Hey,” you say again, quieter this time. Silence passes between you, and he watches your nose twitch. “…did you wanna?” You jut your thumb behind you. You’re almost unrecognizable from the first time you met, calmer, somehow.

“Yeah, sure.” The words come out, easier than he thinks, and slips through the door you hold open. You lock it behind him, turning back around to slide behind the counter.

You grab a muffin tin, beginning to fill each one with a scoop of the batter you had been mixing. You make quick work of it, pushing them into the small commercial oven, wiping your fingers on the towel that’s pulled through a loop in your jeans.

Leaning against the counter, you finally look at him, “Okay, Pick your poison.”

“What?”

“Coffee? Americano, latte, cappuccino?” It’s like you’re trying to read him, wanting to crack the spine of a book and see what’s inside.

“I don’t really do the…caffeine.”

You hum thoughtfully, tapping your fingers on the counter in some type of rhythm. “Can I make you something? Low-caffeinated, of course.” He nods. “Anything you hate?” A shake of his head.

You grab a cup and get to work. You’re singing under your breath - the song that’s playing from the headphones around your neck. With your eyes off of him, he takes a moment to actually observe the shop. Warm lighting, with dark wood bookshelves making it feel cozy without being too claustrophobic. There’s smaller tables, with different recommendations for certain genres. A sprinkling of string lights and hanging plants just adds to the homey feeling, one so different from the pristine, white kitchens he’s used to being in. So different from his own restaurant. The coffee shop portion is close to the front, dark marble countertops and a chalkboard menu - swirling letters describing monthly drink specials.

“Alright, order up,” you call out softly.

Carmy walks back up to the bar, eyeing the cup. Warmth presses into his skin as his fingers curl around it. You mention that it’s hot, to let it cool for a bit. Silence falls between the two of you - in a way he finds comforting. Your eyes flick between him and the counter you’re wiping down.

“Do you normally do this?” He asks.

“The making drinks thing, or the staying at the shop way too late thing?” You give a wry smile. “Could ask you the same.”

He scratches at his nose, “Noted.”

The minutes pass; you go about cleaning the shop, rinsing dishes and setting things up for the next day. It’s an art he’s well versed in. The muscle memory takes over for you, and Carmen becomes invisible. It feels nice, to just be in a place where nobody has anything to ask of him. He finally tries the drink. It’s good, milky, if a little sweet, but it eases the last of the sourness in his stomach away. A timer on your phone goes off, and you tug on a flowery oven mitt to pull the muffins out of the oven. Chocolate and spice invades his nostrils, soothing him even more. You grab one, hissing a bit since it’s hot, and put it on a plate, bringing it back over to him. Leaning over the bar, you reach for forks that are in a metal cup, right near Carmy. You’re close, with no care about being in his personal space. It’s only for a second, and then you’re back in your previous position.

“You can have some, as long as you promise not to be an ass about it.” You hold out a fork for him. The words cause him to cringe, but he takes the utensil from you.

He stares at the muffin, running his thumb on the underside of the fork. “How much trouble am I in?”

You shrink back a little, “W-what?”

He’s met you what - twice? Both times felt clunky, an awkwardness to the both of you. Here, it’s simpler. Under the cover of night, huh? A voice that sounds awfully like Mikey’s says in the back of his mind. His family won’t stop talking about you. Or drinking your coffee.

“The Bear,” he mutters. “They talk to you, right?”

You laugh, surprised. “Do you actually want to know?” You hold up a hand before he can reply, “Actually, no. They don’t talk to me. I see things, sure. But I’m not getting anyone in trouble with the boss.” You’re on the defensive, not even for yourself, but for his kitchen.

“They-They’re not in trouble.” One look from you and he deflates, sighing. “Okay, yeah. Just…just say something.”

“I haven’t even been to eat there.”

“You should come,” he says.

Another laugh - a scoff, more-like, “You think I could afford your place?” You bite your lip, pinching the bridge of your nose. After a moment, you continue, gently, “Do you have any fun?”

“Fun.” The word is like poison in his mouth.

“Yes, fun. I know that food service isn't the best, but it’s good to have fun, or to at least enjoy it.” You wave your hands around, “That family meal stuff you guys do? That’s so sweet, and you have a whole family unit going on in that kitchen, or whatever. If this restaurant is supposed to be the rest of your life, you should like it, at least a little bit, right?” Your torso melts into the counter, and you rest your head on your arm. “And like, maybe? Don’t change the menu every night, or something. It’s new, right? You gotta work out the kinks first before jumping in all-” you blow air out through your cheeks.

A beat of quiet, then, “The menu, huh?”

“Eleven thousand for butter?” You parrot back. At his frown, you hold up your hands, “I’m just a barista, what would I know?” You say it without heat, and yet he feels guilt crawl up his throat.

“That’s not-”

“I know, Carmen.” A sigh leaves your lips, “You asked, so I talked. Again, take everything with a grain of salt.” The words get softer, as if you’re talking more to yourself than to him, “Just remember who’s going down with you if it ends up crashing and burning.”

You stab your fork into the muffin, tearing it in half. He follows suit, lifting a bite of it to his lips. Spice floods his taste buds, and he grunts. You blink up at him, fork hanging from your mouth. He’s suddenly starving, and he eagerly gets himself another forkful. “S’good.” He mumbles through the food. Carmen watches as you process his words, pressing your lips together to hide a smile. You two finish the muffin, and there’s an ominous sense of peace that covers him like a blanket. “Thanks.”

“For yelling at you?”

Carmy lets the chuckle spill out, “If that’s what you call yelling…” He trails off, sobering, “Do you have fun?”

You hum, contemplating. “Yeah. I mean, it’s coffee, at the end of the day. It’s just nice to see people, to make their day a little better than it was. I like to try out new things, to create, to get recommendations.” You stop, seeing him staring at you, “What?”

“You’re different…from the other day, s’all.”

You’re perplexed, scrunching your nose, “Well I had a bad day, the first time. And I don’t do…well, with new people.”

“Unless you’re behind the counter.”

Your eyes widen, something flickering behind them, like he’s seen something you didn’t want him to. “Touche.” Checking your phone, you clear your throat, “Alright, we should probably get out of here if we want any semblance of sleep.” He follows your lead, as you flick off the lights, throwing you backpack over your shoulder. He waits while you lock the front door, small key dangling on a keychain. You turn, looking at him, before holding out a paper bag, “Muffin for the road?”

He grabs it, an odd feeling bubbling in his chest, “Oh - uh, thanks.”

You suddenly look sheepish, fiddling with the strap of your bag, “And if you’re out late again, feel free to stop by. If you need a break, or something.” A beat. “Oh, again, take what I said with a grain of salt, yeah? Just - maybe - try to take care of yourself a little.” You laugh nervously, and Carmy sees the truth of his earlier observation. You’re still more relaxed, but the nerves have crept in as you step outside your comfort zone. Something he knows all too well. “Anyways, have a good night - morning.” You shake your head, blowing a raspberry through your lips.

“Night. Get home safe.” He murmurs. You turn on your heel, walking down the street. He tightens his grip on the paper bag.

Take care of yourself.

At least enjoy it.

You should like it, at least a little bit, right?

Carmy doesn’t know if he truly remembers what liking cooking is like. He’s found little bits of it, in moving back home. In Marcus’ eyes as he creates something new. In Syd’s determination to make amazing food. There’s a passion there that he’s lost somewhere along the way.

He sees it in you, and it calls out to him - the tide being pushed and pulled by the moon. A curious feeling, gnawing at his stomach. A hunger for something he can’t make sense of, but he pulls the muffin out of the bag to eat on his walk home.

Carmy keeps showing up at Nan’s, usually late at night. You didn’t expect him to take you up on your offer, yet a smile graces your lips every time he does.

He was right, when he said you feel most comfortable behind the counter. You knew it, but having someone else acknowledge it felt…weird. Like you weren’t playing your part right. Yet it also felt good, to be seen.

Conversation between the two of you still feels stilted, occasionally, but you find comfort in the quiet moments. And the not-so quiet ones; with music playing at just above a reasonable level, you mouthing the words as you dance around behind the bar. The mask slowly slides off when he comes around, and it’s easier to be goofy.

You think it surprises him. He’s not quite sure what to do, when you’re cruising on the linoleum tile you call a dance floor. But he never tells you that you’re weird, or too much. You’ve maybe even seen him bite back a smile. You swear there’s dimples hiding somewhere — a fleeting thought that you let fly away before you linger on it too long.

“What do you think?” You’ve turned the music down, notepad on the counter, your favorite pen in hand. You click it a few times, sound satisfying the little itch in the back of your brain.

“Not sure if I’m a matcha fan,” Carmy murmurs. You nod, writing down his response onto the paper. It’s almost filled — you’ll have to turn to the next page soon — with different drinks you’ve had Carmy try, determined to find the right one. He’s harder to pin than others, something you’re not necessarily surprised by.

That's partially on you. You're unsure of how much to ask. How much could you poke the both metaphorical and literal Bear until it breaks? You've been enjoying your time, but you've yet to ask him how work is going. He doesn't ask you about your personal life, so why would you ask about his?

There's a curiosity there, though. To see what makes Carmen Berzatto tick. You fear the two of you might be a little too similar.

You turn to go back to cleaning your mess — the reason being a fresh tray of cookies cooling on the counter, when he says your name. “Did you get a new tattoo?”

Gaze flashing to the wrap you have on your arm, peeking out from the sleeve of your shirt, you turn bashful. “Oh,” you hum, “I did. It’s been on my list for awhile. I’m keeping it wrapped at work while it heals - god knows I spill everything all over myself.”

“Can I — What did you get?” He’s just as sheepish as you, a boyish glow about him. You’d never talked about tattoos before. His evidence is on his arms; yours are mostly concealed — easy to hide with the oversized button downs and jeans you wear.

You pull your phone from your back pocket, “Here, I’ll pull up a photo of it.” Placing your phone on the counter, Carmy grabs it, zooming in on the two-headed calf that’s found its home on your bicep. The tattoo is fresher in the photo, line work popping out against your skin. “The longest living two-headed calf lived 17 months. Her name was Gemini — a little on the nose, I think. There’s also this poem by Laura Gilpin, that just kinda struck me.” Your ramble tumbles off, a half smile pulling at your lips. “It’s sad, but the kind that makes you hurt in a nice way? If that even makes sense.” You wave a hand around, then reach to take a sip from his cup.

The matcha settles the nerves hiding under your skin, the earthy flavor dancing on your tongue. As you set the cup back on the counter, you point at his hand, “What’s that stand for?” Your own fingers twitch, fighting the urge to brush them across his own. “S.O.U?”

“Ah, sense of urgency.” He says, fiddling with your phone.

You laugh, quickly covering it with a hand, “Sorry, I — sorry, that just makes so much sense.” Before he can speak, you shake your head, “Not in a bad way, necessarily. It’s just so obvious how little work-life balance you have.”

“We’re literally at your shop in the middle of the night.” Carmen huffs exasperatedly, corner of his mouth curling up.

You hold your hands up, conceding, “Okay, I get it. Misery loves company - or whatever. God, we’re both crazy, aren’t we? We should get out more.”

He hums in response, tapping his phone twice to check the time. Anxiety swells up in your throat, and there’s something biting at your heels. The silence doesn’t feel comfortable anymore.

You said something wrong, the little voice in your head whispers. You lost the script and got too close and now he’s pulling back. How can you fix it? You have to fix it.

“What’s your favorite one?” His blue eyes glance up at you. Invisible hand squeezing your lungs, you stammer, “Tattoo. What’s the one you like most?”

His words come out softly, “A house boat. I, uh, got it before leaving Copenhagen. I stayed in one while I was over there, and put out water for an invisible cat.” Relief floods you as he talks. It’s the most he’s spoken about anything, and you see a glimmer behind his eyes.

It feels a little too close to home.

“You really loved it over there, huh?”

As if caught, he clears his throat, “It was cool…different.”

Different from Chicago, you don’t say. “I get that,” you murmur instead.

You knew what it was like, to run away. The need for escape pushing you into flight as the metaphorical dog chases the rabbit.

You wonder what Carmen’s dog was. Or is. If it’s even a dog at all.

“What about you? What’s your favorite?”

You’re pulled from your thoughts. “Oh! Um, it’s silly.” You worry at your bottom lip.

“You don’t—”

“No, hold on, it’s just,” you push yourself onto the counter with the palms of your hands. Carmen leans back as you swing your legs over the bar, letting your feet rest on the barstool next to him. You lean over, pulling up your pants leg to show the tattoo on the right side of your calf. He stares at it for a moment, confusion clear in his gaze. “See, I told you.”

“Is it a moth, or something?”

“Moth-man, Carmen. Mothman.”

“Am I supposed to know what that is?”

“He’s a cryptid. There’s literally stories of a Chicago Mothman.” He peers up at you in amusement, causing you to scrunch your face at him. “I swear on my life Carmen Berzatto, don’t be an asshole.”

“I’m not.” He laughs, and your chest loosens. You got Carmen Berzatto to laugh. “It looks good, the style is nice,” he gestures to your leg.

You smile, “Thanks.”

Nodding, he goes to sip from his cup. He makes a face, pulling it away from him, “Yeah, I don’t like this.”

He holds it out to you as you reach for it, laughter spilling from your lips, “More grass for me.” You drink, and let the cup rest on your thigh, fingers tapping on the plastic lid.

“I’m not…” Your head turns to look at him, watching as he runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not really good at this.”

“...at what?” You whisper, scared if you talk any louder you’ll scare him away.

“Talking? Not working? Who the fuck knows,” his hand leaves his hair and passes over his face.

“I’m not either, really.” You pick at your jeans, “But we’re trying, right? You come by more than I thought you would.”

“Really?”

You snort, “Dude, the first time I was surprised you even came in.” Gently, you add, “And you don’t have to be perfect at conversation to be friends with someone.” His eyes meet yours as you nudge his shoulder with your knee. “I’m weird, you’re weird, that’s okay.”

Carmen rolls his eyes good naturedly. His legs are bouncing, and you can almost see him chewing the word around before it finally leaves, “Friends?”

“Friends.” You affirm. Silence passes between you, until a growl comes from your stomach.

The man laughs, looking all the prettier for it, “You hungry?”

“Starving,” you groan.

He gets up from his seat, grabbing his denim jacket that’s hung over the chair on his left, “C’mon.”

It takes a moment, but it clicks. “Oh my god,” you gasp out, hopping off the counter. With a speed you only have during a lunch rush, you run to the back. You untie your apron, hang it up on a hook, and grab your tote bag. “Wallet, keys, phone…phone!”

“Out here!” Carmen yells. You grin, rushing back out to the front, bouncing on your heels. “You good?”

“As I’ll ever be.” You shake your keys with enthusiasm. He laughs as you both leave, and you turn to lock up. There’s excitement buzzing through you, like caffeine would if your brain weren’t wired a bit funky. A thought cuts through the haze, “Oh shit, I forgot to–”

“I got the trash.” The street lights reflect off his blue eyes.

Your heart twinges a little, “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He gestures with his head, “Now let’s go before your stomach eats itself.”

“Hey Carm?!”

The man pokes his head into the office, one hand wrapped around the door, “Yeah, what?”

Natalie raises an eyebrow, “You busy?”

Carmy scoffs, “Yeah, Sugar, I’m busy.”

It’s lunch time. Marcus has pastries, Tina’s running prep. Syd is around…avoiding him. He tries not to think about it for too long. Richie is who knows where.

Fuck, don’t be an asshole, asshole.

Deflating, he asks, “What’s up? Everything okay?”

“I’m spending my hour of alone time figuring shit out here, while Pete watches the baby.” His sister sighs, glancing down at the paperwork on the desk, “I’m managing. Anyways, that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

He wants to ask about the baby. His niece. But Natalie barrels over the topic to say, “Were you here late the other night?” He must have made a face because Natalie sighs, exasperated. “I know you stay later than everyone else, doing god knows what, but I got a notification on my phone the other night-“

“What notification?”

She rolls her eyes, “The alarm system, dummy. I get alerts.”

“No, yeah, I get that. But I turned it off.”

It could only be from the other night, when he brought you back to the restaurant. He’s not sure why he did — he almost had a panic attack in front of you while debating what to make. It's strange, how much an environment can affect someone. Nan's feels so comfortable to him now, like nothing can happen to him when he's in those four walls. Where was the last place he felt like that?

You don’t need to impress anyone, Carmen. It’s just me, you had said.

Simple words that cut through him like a knife. You asked for comfort food, so he made you grilled cheese with tomato soup. The little dance you did every time you took a bite relit a fire inside of him that had been burnt out by years of working in kitchens.

“I know. I’m asking because the alarm was set, and then you turned it off again a few hours later.” Natalie unlocks her phone, showing him her screen that has some app pulled up with timestamps on it. “Are you sleeping? Look, I know things aren’t great right now—" Natalie cuts herself off with another sigh.

“It’s fine. Things are fine.” At her pointed look, he holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m working on it, okay? Just…are you good? Do you need anything?”

“About 48 hours of interrupted sleep would be great.” Her gripe falls off into a laugh, which he returns.

Stepping into the room further, he pulls the door closer, just a slim crack of clean white light coming through. “I’ve been a shitty brother lately.”

“No…” Natalie snorts, “Okay yeah, a bit. I love you, though.”

He mumbles the words back, tapping out a rhythm on his thigh, “Maybe I could come by, sometime. See the baby.” It’s a blessing and curse how his chest aches when he sees the way her eyes light up.

“I’d love that, Bear.”

“Yo, delivery!” Marcus yells out, pulling the attention of the Berzatto siblings.

“The fuck?” There isn't supposed to be a delivery today.

Natalie gets out of her seat, “Oh thank god.” She ushers Carmy out of the office, pushing past him into the dining room. He follows after her, confused, only to stop in his tracks.

You’re here.

You stand next to Richie, talking animatedly, albeit shy. You’re wearing clothes he doesn’t regularly see you in, the worn denim jacket catching his eye in particular. It’s clear that you aren't working, yet you hold two cups from Nan’s in your hands, a few drink carriers littering a table.

“You’re literally my savior, thank you.” Natalie pulls you into a hug, and you look at Richie with wide eyes. Carmy has to hold back a snort at your expression.

“You should expect this reaction by now, kid.” Richie takes a sip from his drink when you gape at him in exaggerated outrage.

“Shut up, Richie,” Natalie is barely paying attention, saying the words more out of habit. Grabbing a cup from a drink holder, she says, “You’re coming home with me.”

Giggles bubble from your lips, and you go to cover them with the back of your arm. There’s a pull Carmy feels, instinctual, to urge your arm away from your face and hear your genuine laughter fill the room.

Your eyes meet his, finally noticing that he’s there. The smile you give him is earnest, a gentle hello without words. He forces his feet to move, closing the distance. Carmy blatantly ignores the looks both Richie and Natalie are making. You hold out the cup in your hand - the one you weren’t drinking from - and he takes it from you.

Condensation clings to the sides, his name hastily written on the side.

⋆⁺Carmy!⁺˚⋆

There’s a heart in place of the dot at the bottom of the exclamation point, little stars doodled around his name. His stomach flips.

“Iced?” He swirls the drink in hand, mixing it up.

You shrug, “Thought I’d try something different. It’s hot outside.”

“You off?” Bringing the straw to his lips, he hums at the taste. You’re watching him eagerly, head tilted to the side as you wait for his review. “This is nice.”

Squinting at him, you huff, “Not perfect, though.” You type something into your phone — most likely to add to your notebook later. “Had to run some more syrup by the shop. Saw Natalie’s car on the street so I texted her to see if she wanted something to drink. I have errands to run after this.”

“You a regular too now, Cousin?” Richie barks, and Carmy watches as you remember where you are. Who you’re with.

A protectiveness rises up in Carmen, hating the way you recoil into yourself. “Fuck off, Richie.” He looks over at you, “Hungry?”

“Dude, we got shit to do.”

“Richie!” Natalie hisses at the older man, shoving him back toward the kitchen. She calls back to you, “Thanks for the coffee! I promise I’ll come by when I feel more like a human again.”

The customer service clicks into place behind your eyes, “Take care of yourself! Hope the baby is doing well!” Once it's just the two of you, you sigh, knocking the heels of your boots together. “I should get going.”

Carmen nods, “Can I grab you a sandwich, first?”

“Grilled cheese?” You tease, stifling a smile.

He huffs, shaking his head, “Nah, but Ebra’s got window right now. I could throw something together real quick.”

“You don’t have to do that.” He glances down; you’re pressing your thumb into the middle of your hand. It's uncanny, the semblance of himself that is mirrored in you.

“I know.” He wants to, though. “Give me five minutes?”

A moment of hesitation, then, “Okay.”

“Cool.” And he’s off.

Chaos erupts the minute he’s back in the kitchen.

“Since when did the two of you become buddy-buddy?”

“Can we please get back to work? Richie, respectfully, what are you doing back here?” Syd is working on pasta, flour covering her work service.

“I got shoved outta my space, so here I am,” Richie waves his hands around.

The overlapping voices turn into white noise, and Carmy inhales sharply, “Fak!”

“Yes, chef!” Neil appears out of nowhere. Sometimes Carmen thinks there’s a series of underground passages that makes it so easy to get ahold of him. It’s not that crazy of a notion.

“Go and say hello to them, okay? I’m gonna throw together something, give it to them, and then I’ll be right back.” The last part is meant for everyone to hear, but is pointed more toward Richie. “Seriously, just leave it, alright?”

“I’m leaving it,” Richie snarks, but nudges Fak with his elbow. “Think there’s a drink out there with your name on it anyway. Snag me another one of those apple-donut-things too, eh?”

“Fritters!” Marcus calls out from his station.

Carmy sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s queasy; he’ll have to take some pepto later.

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

Let it rip, Bear.

Neil barrels into you, wrapping you in a hug. He talks your ear off for the next couple minutes; you smile when you need to, laugh when you remember.

The yells from the kitchen are playing on repeat in your ears.

They’re talking about you.

The urge to flee tickles the back of your throat. You thought it would be nice to stop by and bring Natalie a coffee, but then you had felt bad about not bringing anything for everyone else, which turned into you jumping behind the bar to make ten drinks. It’s not like you were going to make Morgan, the barista on shift, make them all.

You always had a hard time not working on your days off.

“You should absolutely come!”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” You reply, still not fully checked back into your conversation with Neil.

He smiles, “Great! I’ll send you the info!”

Before you can ask what you actually agreed to, Carmy pushes back into the room, to-go container in hand. “Hey, uh, Fak, can you go take a look at the toilet for me?” You barely notice Neil leave, focusing more on how your chest releases as Carmen walks closer to you.

He hands you the container, and you murmur a soft, “Thank you.”

“I’ll walk you out, yeah?”

The thought is nice. Glancing behind him, you see Natalie and Richie watching through the window. “It’s okay, you really don’t have to.” You take a step back just as Carmy reaches out to you. You can’t run, they’d see you. Ask questions. They probably see a caged animal.

“Hey,” he whispers your name, “it’s just me.” He’s repeating the words you said to him the night you were here. You tear your eyes away from the kitchen, looking at him. “Lemme walk you out?”

With a nod, you let him guide you out the front door. The warm summer air washes over your skin, and you take in a deep breath. You count the lines in the sidewalk as you pass them, sipping at your iced latte. “It was cool of you to come by,” Carmy says. “And your jacket’s dope.”

He’s trying to make you feel better.

“Did you just say dope?” You peek over in his direction, catching his shrug. “You’re so old.”

“Fuck off,” he laughs, and your smile widens.

You make it to your car, a little thing that has a new problem every other week. It’s been with you for years, moved with you to five different states. More of a sentimental object, than a real mode of transportation. You mostly used CTA these days if you were able, but it was nice to have a car for when you’re running errands all around the city.

“Sorry if they bothered you,” he apologizes, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“No, no, no,” you push out the words, throat tightening, arms hugging your middle. “I thought I was going to try to be a human today. May have jumped the gun on that one.” Fiddling with your keys, you continue, “It was nice to see you. Thought you might be a vampire or something, since I only ever see you at night.”

The joke causes Carmy to roll his eyes, “Is that considered a cryptid?”

You perk up at the word, “Oh, don’t get me started.”

He smiles big enough for his dimple to appear, “Oh, yeah?”

“Unless you want me to talk for hours on end. I’ll make a power-point presentation and everything.” You might already have one in the works, but he didn’t need to know that.

“You could - I mean, it wouldn’t bother me. If you did, you know?”

You blink a few times, frozen in shock. He looks shy, almost. Like the first time you met him, but there’s something between you now. A plant that will keep growing - might even bloom - if the two of you keep watering it. He keeps pecking away at your carefully crafted walls that let people see exactly how much you want them to.

Carmen Berzatto keeps seeing you. Whoever that is.

He coughs, scratching the side of his head. “I’ll see you later?”

“You know where I’ll be.”

“Yeah.”

You walk around to the driver’s side of your car, opening the door. You slide in, turning the key to let your car sputter to life. You roll the windows down, and music starts to blare from your speakers. “Kick ass tonight!” You yell the words as you pull away from the curb. You spare a glance in your rearview, watching Carmy wave before he starts walking back to his restaurant.

When you're parked outside your apartment, it hits you. You dig into your tote bag, pushing aside old receipts, chapstick tubes, and fidget toys. You cheer to yourself as you pull your notebook out, favorite pen hooked over the cover. Flipping to the back, you stare at the list of drinks you've had Carmy try.

You think you want to keep seeing him, too. Whoever that is.

You scribble at the bottom of the page, circling it twice.

Spiced Chai ~ HOT, xtra cinn

#carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear fanfic #neurodivergent!reader #— moth writes

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boowritess · 4 months ago

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i love love love the headcanon of the 141 not having kids and babies and ewey.

i think that john price is still very relevant to that. kinda. i don't really seeing him having a pet honestly. unless you wanted one... sure... but nah y'know... he's old tired af. maybe a cat. probably definitely a cat.

but it's been you and john for as long as you can remember.

happy to be in each other's presence from morning to night, or simply just exist in a shared life that means you two don't have to always be around each other.

you could be shopping and he could be sleeping. he's outside tending to the stuff he had supposed to finish before he left deployment while you're reading on the couch inside. he's on a long deployment again, and you're at work.

plus the prospect of kids just never seemed to work into the schedule. "nah," john says to one of your friends, "can handle kids fine, but when i'm home, this old mans bones are good for sleep and not much else. i mean the breeding kink can get me goi-" john grunts when you elbow into his side.

"crude." you huff with an eyeroll.

"but true." he says into his beer as he takes a sip, eyes sparking with mischief.

your friend turns to you. "but doesn't it get lonely?" they asks. "wouldn't you want a little one running around?"

and well sometimes the days may be lonely for you when he's gone...

but that's become impossibly hard to focus on when your phone is being constantly blown up - not by price though. by the 141.

it's never really anything outrages or civil conversation. it's gaz asking which tie he should wear at an event because price said the black one but gaz doesn't really like the black one. then it's johnny sending you a video of him besting his previous time on a training course. though it doesn't stop there. ghost is messaging late nights for him but mid-day for you, asking about how to deal with insomnia. ghost is asking you because he knows you're awake and the others are asleep, he doesn't want to bother them.

you answer every single one, with so much care and attentiveness. you save every picture, every video and boost about their achievements to other people as if they were your own. however, people always assume you're talking about little kids not grown ass men.

yet on days when you're at home or you've come home from work. you're hardly surprised to find one of them had invited themselves into yours and johns home as if it was their own.

sometimes it's gaz crashed out on the couch who's in a desperate need of a shower but definitely needs sleep more.

or the sounds of soap in your fridge, raking around to find something to eat. "lass, ye out of cheese-" he ate the cheese. the whole newly bought block of it.

gaz and soap like to hover around you when they're home. whereas ghost helps price around the house.

but when it's just you and ghost, the oldest boy. it's quiet. there's no forced conversations but probably a few shitty jokes. it's you or him making food and the other doing the dishes. yet ghost opens up and the conversations turn into some of the most randomist, boyish, silly conversations.

when everyone's at home, it can actually be pretty hectic. so you go do the grocery shopping, but you take ghost along cause he's a little like you in regard for a need of quiet time.

oh and can't forget the days you go out by yourself only to come home with a few other things. socks for john - socks for all of them. you bought johnny a new pair of jeans and gaz a couple of shirts. and simon some more sweaters.

christmas, easter, new years - every single holiday is always hosted at yours and price. where everyone comes. farah, alex, laswell and her wife. rudy and alejandro making their way- then of course your boys...

and it's there where you've kinda realized.

you and john do have kids.

just in the form of grown men.

which both you and john don't seem to mind.

you end up shrugging your shoulders as you look at your friend, "honestly i have my hands full when they're all home. so... i'm good." you say with a hum, sipping from your own drink with a small smile as john just chuckles softly.

a/n: realized I never posted this. oh well. the no baby saga continues with john price. drink water be well ya'll xx

#boowrites #captain john price #captian price #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #john price #captain price x reader #cod #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish

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mangocheesecakes · 11 months ago

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the scammer @/rescueplease has now been deleted, but since a lot of people are still reblogging my posts about it, i'm changing my pinned post to a list of currently active scam accounts

scammers with the same m.o., sometimes similar profile pics and linktrees/paypal addresses:

> numberonegoateeeagle (paypal name 'Jeff Owino') new

> nour-samr (paypal name 'Nour Samar') >> nour-samr0 new/remake

scammer pretending to be a sick Black person, using the paypal name, 'Alafred Opondo'

> enchantingqueencreator

the 'insulin scammer''s latest blog (at least i think it's their latest blog:

> fancycoffeepeanut

empty blogs who are mass-reblogging the scam posts and are likely just the scammers sock puppet accounts used to pad the notes of their posts, pls block them too:

> chopra-79

> futuristicphilosopherartisan new

deleted/deactivated/changed url:

maina-3

immariaanszz >> iammarinassaa >> iammarinassaass

jovialsuitdonutai (paypal name 'jeff owino')

khalilhan (paypal name 'samuel obiya') >> khaliilhan

marylinfwaznassar (paypal name 'maryline lucy')

stickytreephilosopher (paypal name 'jeff owino')

perfectlyminiatureface (paypal name 'jeff owino')

optimisticalpacalady (paypal 'jeff owino')

omarkhalini (paypal 'fred odhiambo')

marylinefwaznassar (paypal 'maryline lucy')

khalilhani (paypal 'samuel obiya')

weepingpersondestiny (paypal 'jeff owino')

as always, please block and report these blogs, and more importantly, warn your friends, mutuals, and followers if you see them reblogging their scam posts. if you see a donation post/blog that you believe may be a scam, please do look their url up first on the tumblr search bar to see if someone has already called them out. i will try to update this post with the scammers' new accounts/url as we discover them. please also go to @kyra45's blog, as they are faster and more thorough in updating about newly discovered scams.

some red flags to look out for before sharing donation posts/donating:

new blog, or a couple years old but has only a few random, sporadic posts

backdated posts

spamming asks to a lot of other users, even the ones they don't know or have just followed, and even when the user has made it clear they don't want to receive requests to boost dono posts

is asking you to answer their asks privately, or is sending you a message directly

is straight up asking you for money, and usually for impossibly large amounts

do not put their paypal/money transfer links on their post itself, usually claiming it's to protect their 'privacy'

is using Zelle for their money transfer account, especially if the person is claiming to be in Palestine

please don't be so quick to entertain donation requests and to give away your money, especially if the user ticks a lot of these boxes. if you are familiar with the place they say they are from or the language they are supposed to speak, try conversing with them for a bit to see if their claims would hold. you can also browse my 'donation scam' tag or kyra45's blog to compare if the user has any similarities with past scammers that we've discovered.

that's it po. let's all try our best to look out for each other and make sure that our resources are going to the actual people in need, especially in the case of Palestinians asking for help. the last thing they need right now is for shitty lowlifes to use their suffering to make a profit.

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vivwritesfics · 1 year ago

Text

All You Need is Love (and sleep)

Uni is hard. Lando and Oscar turning up on your doorstep makes things much better

Landoscar x reader

1.7K

Moving to London to study music was Y/N's dream. At eighteen years old, she got that chance. Y/N packed up her things and moved into halls. That was the beginning of the best time of her life.

Well, it was supposed to be. And the first year really was. She made good friends, learnt valuable life skills and showed what she could do in her studies.

Her second year was much the same. She had to deal with finding her own place to live and people to live with, had to deal with paying bills and keeping the house clean. It taught her how great and shitty living with other could be be, though.

Third year was a whole different barrel of fish. Y/N ended up living with many of the same people from the previous year, a group of girls. Even though they were shitty to her, there was politics involved.

Third year was filled with essays. Too many essays. Whenever Y/N got a spare moment she was locked in her room, completing her essays. Which meant she had to miss all of her boyfriends races from September onwards.

Lando and Oscar weren't happy about that one. They hardly got to see her when University started again. But they weren't mad about it, they understood. That didn't stop them from missing her terribly.

Being a university student meant that Y/N spent her nights awake, doing her work, and sleeping during class.

On this particular evening she was at her desk, working away. Her eyes were tired and an empty can of energy drink was beside her.

Down stairs, knuckles met plastic as somebody knocked on the front door. Y/N ignored it as she continued working. One of her friends lived downstairs and somebody was bound to be cooking in the kitchen. She'd let one of them answer it.

The knock came again.

Y/N pulled her headphones from one ear and listened.

Down the stairs, Melina, Y/N's housemate, pulled open the front door. "Can I help you?" She asked the two boys in the orange hats, her voice bored. She recognised Lando from the previous year, but the slightly taller boy was new to her.

"We're here for Y/N," Lando said as he looked into the house.

When she'd first moved in, Y/N had sent her address to the boys. Just in case they wanted to send her anything in the post. Lando and Oscar hadn't yet seen the place she now called him.

Melina left them standing in the doorway as she turned around and called for Y/N. "She'll be down in a minute," she said and pushed the door shut, with Lando and Oscar still outside.

Y/N came running down the stairs. "What is it?" She asked Melina as they passed each other in the hallway.

"Visitors," Melina replied and walked back into her bedroom.

Y/N looked towards the front door. Nothing, there was nobody in the entryway. She looked at the pebbled glasses in the front door, at the silhouettes of the boys outside. Through the glass they could just about see the orange at the top of their heads.

Y/N ran through the house, her sock covered feet sliding across the wood. Wasting no time, she pulled open the front door and threw herself at the boys. "Osc! Lan! What the fuck are you doing here?" She asked as they wrapped their arms around her.

"We're here for you, you muppet," Lando replied as he pulled away from them. Oscar held on for just a moment longer.

"Actually, we're here to take you to mine," Oscar continued. "Give you a break from studying."

That pulled a laugh from Y/N. "Good one, guys," she said and stepped back to let them into the house. "You know I don't have time to take a break, right?"

Lando pulled a face. "Sure you do. And, you don't have a choice."

Well, Y/N wasn't going to argue with that. "Let me get my things," she said and shut the door. When she ran up the stairs the boys followed behind, following her into her room.

Y/N's room was surprisingly clean. Especially for a university student. Instantly, Oscar knew what Y/N had done. She'd stress cleaned to procrastinate and then gotten herself more stressed about work by not doing it.

Her laptop was open on her desk and Lando grabbed it as he sat on her bed. "I don't get any of this," he said as he read through her work. When he got bored it, he started looked through her Chrome tabs. It wasn't malicious, Lando was simply nosy. "What's a Valkyrie challenge?" (my smj girlies get it)

"Don't worry about it, Lan," she said with a laugh as she packed her things into the bag.

But then she went to take the laptop from Lando and put it in her bag. "Oh no you don't," said Oscar as he grabbed the laptop from her hands. "Coming with us means no work, okay?"

"Oscar-"

"It's for one night. Please, for us."

Well, Y/N wasn't going to argue with that.

Swinging her bag over her back, she grabbed her keys and the three of them set off. Y/N locked her bedroom door behind her and led the boys down the stairs. She ushered them out of the front door and locked it behind them, not saying anything to her housemates.

Y/N climbed into the back of Oscars car with her things. Without her laptop there, without being able to do any uni work, she felt guilty. She should have been at home, working as hard as she could for that degree.

She was tired. So, so, tired. Y/N yawned as Oscar drove them through London, heading towards his apartment. Ever since he and Lando had decided to kidnap Y/N and take her back to his, he'd been buzzing, excited.

It had all been Lando's idea. Every time they got a text from Y/N, it was the same thing. 'uni work is kicking my ass' or something along those lines. It all meant the same thing. It all meant that Y/N needed a break.

When they got to Oscars apartment, Lando took Y/N's things from her and carried them inside. He slung her bag over his back and grabbed her hand as Oscar locked his car and led them inside.

Once they were inside of the apartment, Lando dropped Y/N's things in the bedroom. The bed wasn't quite wide enough for three, but they made it work. (It was a good thing winter was on it's way. Late at night they'd cuddle close but by the morning the blanket was on the floor).

"Right," Lando said as he threw himself onto the sofa, taking up all of the space. Grabbing the remote he turned on the television and began flicking through the channels.

Y/N settled herself down in the armchair, legs draped over the arm. She folded her arms over her chest and turned her head to the side to look at Lando.

"You could sit here, you know," he said, patting his legs. "Could come and lay on me."

"Then where would Oscar sit?"

"We can all squeeze on here together," Lando answered.

Oscar, who was currently sorting out snacks, let out a laugh. He walked in with a bowl full of popcorn and packets of other food, none of it healthy. "Or, you could go and get us all something to drink," he suggested and Lando jumped up.

As he walked past Y/N, Lando placed a kiss on the top of her head and disappeared into the kitchen.

He was in their for a while, going through Oscar's cupboards for his and Y/N's preferred cup (I don't trust anyone that doesn't have a favourite cup or mug - mine is shaped like a hippo). By the time Lando emerged with three drinks, Y/N was already asleep in the arm chair.

"Osc," he whispered to the Australian, who hadn't yet looked over.

When he did, Oscar let a smile pass over his face. "Should we move her to the bed? She'll get a bad back if she stay's there."

Oscar was the worrier in the relationship. Especially when it came to Y/N. Lando he had with him every weekend at least, Y/N he got to see rarely. So, when he was with her, he showed his love by worrying.

As carefully as he cold, Lando lifted Y/N from the sofa. She stirred slightly, but she didn't wake up. Oscar opened the bedroom door as Lando walked her in. Pulling back the covers, Lando laid her down. The boys carefully worked to get her changed into pyjamas. They wrapped her up in the blankets, kissed her head and waked out of the room, leaving her to rest.

***

When Y/N woke up, she was completely lost. She looked around the room, Oscar's room, and everything came back to her. Yawning, stretching, Y/N stood up. She looked at the pyjamas the boys had changed her into and walked out of the bedroom.

Lando and Oscar were sitting on the sofa, watching a movie when Y/N walked in. They were cuddled up, untouched snacks still in front of them.

They didn't notice her at first. It was only when Y/N laid herself on top of them that they finally looked away from the movie. "Hey, baby," said Lando, his arm wrapping around her and holding her close. "Good sleep?"

"The best," she replied and leaned forward to kiss him.

Oscar cleared his throat. "Alright, you big baby," Y/N muttered and leaned forward to kiss him too.

"I'm the baby? You just took a nap in the middle of the day!"

"Shut up, you love me."

"Yeah, I do."

And then Lando cleared his throat.

"Love you too!" They chorused.

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astridthevalkyrie · 11 months ago

Text

oh my god, bakugo's kind of my friend! | k. bakugo x reader

----> summary: You'd never dare tell anyone that he was your friend. You'd never be so bold. Katsuki agrees. He's definitely not your friend.

----> warnings: quirkless university au, video game violence, fluff n feelings

----> a/n: title blatantly stolen from the office—"oh my god, dwight's kind of my friend!"

----> word count: 2k

God, no, you’re not friends with Katsuki Bakugo.

No one is.

Yeah, okay, that’s not totally true. He’s sort of friends with Ochako, that’s how you met him. He’s actually fairly close to Izuku and Eijiro, his roommates. He tolerates Shoto, might even begrudgingly respect him. And he’s got some weird mutual-depression pact going on with Kyoka.

But you’re not any of them. And you vehemently deny it when people ask, lest he, heaven forbid, think you’re going around telling people he likes you. You saw what happened to Neito last year when he, just once, said something about his friend Katsuki. You’re pretty sure it was the reason behind his switching majors, too, just to avoid being in the same classes with the terrifying blonde.

Sure, you’re in his apartment. Neito’s never stepped foot in here (aside from The Incident). And you’re well acquainted with the people he does clearly consider not-enemies. Earlier today, you and Momo had been out getting chips and soda for tonight. Just half an hour ago, you’d been playing blind karaoke with Eijiro, Izuku, and Ochako on Kyoka’s old laptop and mic that somehow both still had really good audio quality. Not to mention, you and Mina have had at least one class together every semester since you both started—she always races to slide into the chair next to you on every first day.

And you’re currently sitting on Katsuki’s couch, two feet away from Katsuki, playing a battle royale on Katsuki’s console.

“Behind the building,” he mutters, and you hum in acknowledgement, running to the spot he generously marked on the map.

It started a long while back. You and Denki had been playing some shitty racing game, and you’d very easily kicked his ass, leaving him groaning and flopping back onto Kyoka’s lap, where she offered no pity, rolling his head off with a light shove. As you were laughing at the display, Katsuki had taken Denki’s place on the floor, and all but demanded you pick up the controller once more.

(You’d won again. Terrified, you simply claimed that your controller must be broken before racing out of the room.

Imagine your surprise when, the next time you visited, he’d barked at you to assist him with a multiplayer, ordering a pouty Denki off the couch.)

You like playing, and you don’t have a console with as much storage back home, and you’re too broke to be buying multiple games anyways, so you don’t mind taking advantage of Katsuki’s appreciation for your skill. It’s usually a nice way to end the night, whether you and Ochako end up leaving or if you fall asleep right there on the couch.

Shivering, you bring your feet under the wool blanket you’d brought with you. You’re the only one who finds the apartment freezing. Everyone else typically sheds their extra layers, while you once hunted down Eijiro’s sock drawer to steal a pair of He-Man stockings for the night.

“Up in the window,” you warn, at the same time he says, “Oi.”

Both of you meet each other’s gaze for a second in bewilderment, before rapidly turning your attention back to the TV. He dodges the shot from the window, and then continues.

“You been tellin’ people I hate you?”

“What?” Your hands almost drop the controller, but you regain control just quick enough to roll out of the way of a grenade. “No.”

“Kirishima said Tetsutetsu told him that Kendo told him that Tokage told her that you told her I hated you.”

If you weren’t nervous, you’d tell Katsuki you were surprised he even knew all those names. “I didn’t say that. I just said we weren’t friends.”

There’s an awfully long pause. You can still hear the sounds from the game, and the chatter of everyone else in the apartment—Hanta’s trying to rap?—but not a word from your couch partner. If it weren’t for the screen in front of you, you’d be nervously biting your nails or just full on escaping, honestly. Not that you’re scared of Katsuki, at least not more than one should be, but…

Well, the truth is you did see him as a friend. Or, screw it, as more than that, if those little arrhythmias you observed in yourself every time he would raise his hand in greeting when he passed you on campus were any indication. And you know it’s going to hurt—it already does—to hear him confirm the same thing that you told everyone when they asked. That you meant very little to him, in the long term.

“We’re not friends, huh?” he finally says, as more of an inquiry than you’d expected it to sound.

Your mouth feels dry, but you don’t stop staring straight ahead, spamming X to whack someone over the head with a bat. “Um. Are we?”

“Isn’t this your favorite game?” he shoots back, as though that answers your question.

“Yes? So?”

Another pause. You climb up to the roof of some building and emote pointlessly before hopping down and ducking behind a bush to heal. Katsuki lets out a mix of a sigh and a grunt, dashing across an abandoned minefield.

“So,” he snarks, “I only bought it after you told me it was your favorite.”

Faintly, you feel the tips of your ears grow hot. Is that true? That can’t be true, can it? The timing does line up. You think it was back in the first week of October that you mentioned it, and then by Halloween you’d already played several rounds. Between that and losing to Momo in several games of pool, finals month had flown by.

But…

“I didn’t even tell you that.” Your voice comes out meek, and even though you’re in a safe space now, you’re still too nervous to turn your head and look at him. “I was talking to Shoto.” You’d even been half sure that Shoto wasn’t really registering what you were saying, with Ochako an inch away from him shrieking starships were meant to fly-y-y-y-y directly into his ear.

Katsuki grunts. “I was there, wasn’t I?”

If you wrack your memory, you can sort of remember it. He was…on Ochako’s other side? When she got drunk, she usually wanted to whack something, and Katsuki’s arm had been her victim that day, her palm smacking against his elbow at every other sung word.

The heat from your ears travels down to your neck. Over the singing and over everyone else’s conversations, was he paying attention to…you?

“I appreciate it,” you squeak quickly, wincing when you’re shot in the leg, “I mean, that was nice. Thank you. I just—I didn’t think you wanted me telling people we were friends, after what happened to—”

“If you bring up Monoma, I’ll take away your blanket,” he threatens; it makes you chuckle weakly. “You’re not that shithead. He pisses me off. You’re…you know.” You don’t know, actually. “You.”

Yeah, you’re you. You play games with him. You know his friends. You’re the only one who can try to outdance Eijiro to Rasputin in Just Dance. What does any of that have to do with…

“Do you think I ever fuckin’ carried that dick’s bag to class?”

“I don’t—”

“Do you think I had his stupid long ice cream order memorized? Pistachios, on the sides only,” he mimics, and you huff in an affronted sort of way, defensive of your topping choices. “Telling people to shut up so that I could hear what he was saying? Turning up the heat and burning up everyone in the apartment just to keep him warm? Was I inviting him to my place every two weeks just to fuckin’ watch him play Kingdom Hearts 3?”

And so, you finally look to the side. Katsuki’s cheeks are red, and his gaze is still on the television. His thumbs move furiously against the controller, and you have to bite your lip to prevent a quiet you’re really cute, you know that? from carelessly slipping from your mouth.

“But, to be fair,” you attempt, still confused, “you don’t exactly do all of that for your other friends either, Katsuki.”

At your words, he slouches into his seat more, the creases on his forehead deepening as an uncharacteristic frown—a frown, not a scowl—forms on his face. One would think you’d just told him you hated his guts.

“Yeah.“ His glare flickers over to you for a moment. “Exactly.”

There’s a blast from the TV and a realization that hits you at the same time.

You’re not his friend. He doesn’t see you as a friend.

The heat finally reaches your cheeks, and your mouth falls open slightly.

Then, realizing something else, your head immediately snaps back to the screen to see that blast sound had actually been your character getting blown up.

Your mouth falls open. You’d looked away for a few seconds at best. Which aces are in the lobby tonight?

“I lost,” you tell him, crestfallen.

Katsuki snorts. “I didn’t.”

He keeps playing, and your cheeks don’t take any time to cool down. Instead, you stare at him while he’s distracted trying to escape the same vicious bastards who hunted you down, and you note that his face doesn’t look any less heated either. For once, it’s clearly not because he’s just getting into the game.

You wonder if that was ever the case at all, or if he just felt the same striking little jolt you did everytime you two accidentally bumped into each other while playing on this exact couch.

“I think I’m done for tonight.” The announcement comes out a bit louder than you expected. “I’ll probably head back.”

“I don’t think so.” Without breaking his eyes away from the TV, he nudges his head in the direction of the bedrooms. “Uraraka’s dead on her feet, and you’re not walkin’ back alone.”

Has he always purposely caused the fluttering in your chest? “Okay, well. Izuku’s still awake, I’ll just take his bed for now.”

Katsuki’s tongue clicks in a fuck-around-and-find-out kind of way. “Alright. Put the controller back before you go.”

“Fine. Where’s the, uh…” You turn your head this way and that, looking for the little box that they all go in.

“On my right,” he offers casually, not a hint on his face that he essentially just confessed to you.

Feeling a little spiteful, you reach to the side, blanket and all, instead of just standing up and going behind the couch like you would any other day. Purposefully blocking his view of the screen as you reach over him to toss the controller into the box, you smirk slightly when another blast signals that he’s died as well.

Only to yelp when a firm arm shoves you down against his chest.

“Would you look at that,” he murmurs, red eyes glittering in amusement as he watches you struggle on his lap, “I lost too.”

Tokage is going to hear a very different story tomorrow. “And how’s that my problem?”

His grip tightens, fingers gently digging into the thick cloth of the blanket that’s draped over you. “I wanna play again. And I’m cold.”

There’s a small, dumb grin on his face that you’d consider kissing off if it wasn’t mirrored by an equally dumb one of yours. You’re pretty sure Katsuki’s never ever complained about the cold in his apartment. But then, he’s never complained about the heat either. If he wants to be a sauna under you, who are you to deny him? Besides, you’re feeling cold too, you might as well just take advantage of the free insulation.

From the table, in the midst of pouring something that looks like cookie batter into a bowl, Kyoka raises her brow at the sight of you, then pats Tenya’s arm and points.

He mouths something like, “Finally.”

Face burning once more, you bury your face in Katsuki’s neck, and relax in his hold while he presses X to replay.

#bakugo x you #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugo x y/n #mha x reader #mha x y/n #mha x you #bnha x reader #bnha x you #valkyrie stories

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crushmeeren · 4 months ago

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AMORTENTIA WITH A TWIST 𓍲𓍲

⋆ ft. gojo satoru ⋆ ⋅˚₊‧ FEM READER‧₊˚ ⋅

..⃗. master list link

Spicy cinnamon.

Mouth watering, freshly baked pastries.

Sugary and saccharine vanilla icing.

Cinnamon rolls, Satoru realizes with a start. You smell like hot out of the oven fucking cinnamon rolls when you walk in the front door, and his stomach flips, the muscles in his lower abdomen clenching.

Satoru swallows drily and he runs his mouth before his brain catches up, blurting the first thing that comes to mind.

“You smell.” He winces.

He watches as your head whips towards where’s he’s perched on the couch, eyebrow arching with a roll of your eyes as you toe off your shoes. Satoru tries to plaster on a playful smile but he knows his gaze is heated, intense.

Satoru’s voice takes on the familiar teasing lilt it always does. “Silly me! You smell good enough to eat baby. Is that a new perfume you’re wearing?”

You pad towards him, socked feet silent on the wooden flooring and the cinnamon scent so thick he can almost taste it on the back of his tongue. His grin stretches even further when you come to stop between his spread legs.

“No, it’s not technically a perfume. One of the girls at work got their hands on some sort of love potion experiment. Apparently the scent changes based on what’s important or attractive to the wearers object of affections. Someone spilled some on me and I came home early to change,” you complain, nose scrunching in irritation. “I can’t even smell anything.”

“Oh how sweet! Am I the object of your affections? Your lover? Your sweet and handsome husband?”

You cross your arms over your chest and huff through your nose. “Of course that’s all you focus on. What if it had been something dangerous?”

Satoru’s fingers curl in the edge of your shirt and tug gently, lower lip pushing out.

“But it didn’t.”

“You’re unbearable. At least tell me what I smell like to you?”

“Curious sweetheart?” He pulls at your shirt like a child asking for attention until you take the hint and straddle his lap, arms circling your waist and guiding you to lean into his chest. “Cinnamon rolls,” he says dreamily and nuzzles at your throat. His lips tickle your skin and a familiar warm lust lights up in his belly when you sigh.

“Cinnamon rolls?” You settle your elbows on his shoulders and tangle your fingers in soft, snowy white hair, scratching gently at his scalp.

“Yeah… like the ones you brought back for me after your mission last winter.”

“That’s what you’re attracted to? Cinnamon rolls?” You ask incredulously, leaning your forehead on his temple.

“I had forgotten how shitty it was to be alone,” he says softly. “When you came home, I realized just how much you fill my heart. Whenever I smell cinnamon rolls, I remember how the for the first time in years, I was truly happy.” Satoru hugs you even tighter as he confesses.

You pull back to frame his face with your hands, staring at him with what equates to literal hearts in your eyes, and Satoru bites the inside of his cheek, toes curling in his socks.

He’s certain he could melt into a puddle underneath you and his cock twitches at the thought, filling steadily out against his thigh. He grips your hips and tightens his fingers in an effort to not tear your clothes off.

Yet.

Your words are sincere and adoring when you whisper, “I love you, Satoru.”

Satoru is fucking gone.

He cradles the back of your head and wrenches you down into a bruising kiss, absolutely shameless in the way he pushes his tongue into your mouth and moans like a whore.

You even taste like sugary icing and he has the strongest urge to devour you — or let you eat him alive. He’s not sure which will win out.

All Satoru can focus on is wrestling you both out of your clothes and getting your tight, velvet like pussy to sink down on his achy cock. You cry out, sitting down a bit too eagerly and your forehead knocks into his. Satoru lets out a shaky breath and inhales even sharper as a moan tries to crawl out of his throat.

The spicy scent of cinnamon makes his mouth water and then he’s digging his fingers into the backs of your thighs and forcing you to bounce up and down on his thick cock, biceps flexing in an effort to lift you quickly and letting his hips thrust upwards to meet you.

You push Satoru into the back of the couch and follow him as he goes, bracing your palms on his sweaty chest and riding him until you’re both sent spiraling into white hot pleasure that rushes through your limbs.

Later, when you’ve gone to bed and showered off the spilled experiment, you’re curled into your husband’s chest and he softly exhales, ruffling your hair.

“Baby, you should really get your friend to give you a bottle of that love potion.”

You hum noncommittally and half heartedly punch him in the stomach, causing Satoru to wheeze in laughter.

“Or I could just bring you more cinnamon rolls, idiot.”

“That works too.”

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru smut #gojo x reader #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #jjk x you #harry potter reference #amortentia #soft gojo #jjk gojo #dividers by strangergraphics #dividers by enchanthings

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joeshiestyslover · 11 months ago

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hotel room

pairing: cocky!joe burrow x reader

summary: you and joe have been hooking up for the past year, and joe wants to stop, but he just can’t and continues to string you along, so you make the choice for him

warnings: language, angst, slight smut

masterlist

part 2

a/n: i’m back???? also this is mad shitty, but it’s been a year, so i’m a bit rusty

the sound of your phone ringing is enough to wake you from your sleep. you roll over to face the nightstand and grab your phone. you check the time and it’s 3:13 am. who the fuck is calling me this late? you think. your question is answered when you check the caller id, joey<3 is in big white letters across the top of your phone screen.

“hello?” you answer. “you busy right now?” joe immediately asks. really? no greeting? “no joe of course i’m not busy at 3:15 in the morning.” “good. come over.” he demands. “didn’t you say the last time we did this that we couldn’t do it again?” you inquire. “i know what i said y/n. just one more time. please. i need you.” joe basically begs you. you sigh. “fine give me fifteen minutes.”

you slowly begin to get up from your bed and head to your bathroom. you brush out your hair and pull a claw clip from your drawer to put into your hair. you walk out of the bathroom and into your closet; you grab a pair of spandex booty shorts and an oversized tshirt. you find some socks and your air forces and slide them on your feet. you take one last look at yourself in the mirror before grabbing your phone, wallet, and keys and heading out the front door.

why do i do this to myself? you ask yourself every single time you leave to meet up with joe. you know how this ends; you hook up, he tells you it’s the last time, then you leave. it’s an endless cycle. he has you under his thumb, and no matter how hard you try, you can’t escape him.

the drive to joe’s place gives you the time to think about how you wound up here, driving in your car to go hook up with joe burrow.

you met joe at your friend’s bachelorette party which was at her favorite club. that night, joe was there with his teammates celebrating the bengals’ win against the chiefs. the moment he walked into the club his eyes were drawn to you immediately, and yours to his. about thirty minutes went by before he actually approached you.

you could feel the tension lingering in the air just begging to be released. joe asked you to go home with him and how could you say no? looking back on it now, you should have.

your thoughts are cut off by your phone ringing. you look at the caller id, and surprise surprise, it’s joe. “yes?” you answer. “where are you? you told me to give you fifteen minutes and it’s been twenty.” joe asks you. “joe i’m literally pulling up right now, calm down.” before he’s able to respond, you hang up and pull into his driveway.

you get out of your car and walk towards his front door, but before you can knock, the door swings open revealing a shirtless joe standing in front of you. you take a few seconds to admire him before he grabs your hand and pulls you into the house.

before you can even get a word in, he’s kissing you roughly, your tongues and teeth clashing together. “jump.” joe tells you breathlessly. you jump and wrap your legs around his waist, with his hand coming to rest on your ass. he begins to walk to his bedroom that you’ve become way too familiar with. joe kicks open the door and sits down on the bed, so you’re sitting in his lap. you mindlessly start to grind against his clothed cock.

joe breaks the kiss to look into your eyes. “you’re so beautiful, you know that?” he says to you, and you almost believe him. “joe please don’t say that.” “why not?” he asks you, confused. “because when you say things like that you make it so much harder to leave.” joe gives you a look you can’t decipher. “we both know you’re not gonna leave.” he smirks at you. “this is the last time joe i mean it. listen, there’s something i have to tell you.” you can’t look him in the eyes at this point. “what is it baby?” joe brings his hand up to hold your cheek. “i got a job offer in new york. it’s my dream job and it pays well, so i have to take it.”

joe stays silent for a few second before he moves you off of him so he can stand up. “so you’re leaving? just like that? you’re gonna throw everything we have away?” he says while beginning to pace back and forth. “everything we have? joe we’re fuck buddies! that’s all we are and that’s all we’ll ever be!” you raise your voice at him. “if you think we’re just fuck buddies then you’re fucking blind y/n!” “how am i blind joseph? please enlighten me!” you spit at him. “have you not noticed that every time you come over, i try to convince you to stay? i’ve offered to make you dinner, i’ve asked you to be with me on valentine’s day, i’ve tried everything to make you see that i’m in love with you!” the moment those words leave his mouth, you freeze. “you’re what?” “i’m in love with you y/n. i have been since the night i met you. every time you leave, i get this feeling that i hate. i don’t wanna be away from you.” he tries to step closer to you, but you don’t let him. “joe, no. don’t do this. don’t say you love me; we both know you don’t mean it. you’re only saying this because you don’t wanna lose the only girl that will be at your beck and call whenever you please.” you can feel the tears prickling at your eyes.

“what? no y/n. i love you. i really do. please stay in ohio, and let me prove it to you.” he begins to beg. “joe i can’t. we both know that we wouldn’t work. i’m sorry i can’t do this.” you stand up from his bed and walk out of his bedroom. you can hear joe’s footsteps following behind you. “y/n please don’t leave.” you don’t respond and continue walking towards his front door, but before you can open it, joe’s hand is on the doorknob. “don’t do this. don’t take that job. stay here with me, just give this a chance. please.” you find the courage to look up, and you see a tear going down his cheek. “joey listen, if you had told me this a long time ago, i would have given us a chance, and i wouldn’t take the job. it’s too late for us. i’m sorry joe, but i have to go.” he says nothing and lets go of the doorknob. you open the door and begin walking towards your car. the moment you get in and lock your doors, you break down. of course you’re in love with joe, but this is your dream job. you can’t let anything or anyone stand in the way of that, not even joe. you compose yourself and put your car into drive, not looking back. deep down you know you’ve made the right choice, but you can’t help but think about what could’ve been.

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow oneshot #joe burrow fic #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow angst #joe burrow fluff #joe burrow smut #nfl #cincinnati #cincinatti bengals

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 2 months ago

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I saw Charlie was on your list and screamed! (get it?) I would love Charlie secretly having sex with the popular school princess after she got sorely dumped by her popular boyfriend. They can wear cute matching halloween costumes and get caught together on the couch by Kirby. She is the only of her friend who wouldn't make too much fun of her

Some late (slightly) spooky vibes with Charlie. There is not enough fics about him *crying*

Warnings: mention of cheating, secret meetings

—

While everyone thought you were heartbroken after getting cheated on by Trevor, you were having the best time bouncing on Charlie Walker’s cock. You and him were an unusual match — the popular princess and the history geek —, but you worked.

It all began two weeks ago when you and Trevor got into an argument in his truck. He was supposed to take you to his place since his parents were out of town for the weekend, but when he stopped for gas on the way there, he left his phone unlocked and you saw a new message coming in from ‘Tamara🍑’ — a fucking nude. You confronted him about it and he called you out for invading his privacy and snooping through his phone when it was his fault for leaving his phone unlocked and sexting with other girls behind your back. Because apparently, there was more than one.

What a piece of shit.

Between the heated voices and the tears, Trevor stopped the truck and told you to get out…on the side of the road. Thankfully, you knew where you were, but it wasn’t less shitty of him to dump you on the street like that.

You tried to call Kirby, but it went to voicemail. Where was she? And to make the situation worse, your phone was running low on battery.

It was shortly after that Charlie found you. He was walking home from Robbie’s and found you sitting on the curbside, crying. It was dark and difficult to see, but he knew it was you. He recognized your pink socks peeking out of your sneakers.

He approached you slowly, coming to a stop beside you, and looked down at your tear stained face. “Uh, hey…You alright?” Charlie knew it was a stupid question. You were clearly upset, but he asked anyway.

‘’I think Trevor and I just broke up,’’ you said simply.

‘’What happened?’’ he asked, not really caring but willing to be the ear or shoulder you needed. Charlie would do anything to get close to you.

You hesitated. You would have preferred to talk to your best friend about this, but Kirby wasn't picking up your calls. Charlie was just your table neighbor from Spanish class, but he was right there.

‘’I caught him sexting other girls.’’

Disbelief and anger crossed Charlie’s face. You said girls in plural, as in more than one.

He shook his head slightly, looking at you with sympathy, and sat down next to you on the curb. ‘’Fucking asshole.’’

You couldn’t agree more.

Charlie pulled his sleeve up in his hand, carefully wiping the tears off your face. His hand lingered on your chin for a moment before letting his arm fall back to his side. “If you were my girlfriend, I could never cheat on you. You’re the prettiest girl in this shithole.”

His kind words caused a blush to form on your face. You’ve never really paid attention to Charlie before. All you knew about him was that he was president of the Woodsboro Cinema Club, which Kirby was part of. You’ve also been to last year’s Stab-a-thon with her. It was your first time seeing Stab. You remember Charlie sitting next to you and telling you all sorts of facts about the movie. It was sweet of him, and surprisingly interesting.

When you were in her car, Kirby pointed out that he’s been crushing on you for a long time.

You didn't remember how it happened, but you kissed Charlie. Maybe it was because you were hurt and needed comfort, or maybe it was because you needed to feel loved after finding out Trevor’s side girls. If he was sexting with other girls, he clearly didn't love you enough. So, you decided to find affection from someone who would give it to you. It was wrong to take advantage of Charlie’s feelings, to use him to make yourself feel better, but your heart was hurting and it was clouding your judgment.

Charlie was stunned when your lips touched his. He didn't think he would ever get a chance with you. Popular girls never fall for the geeks. That only happens in rom-coms. But here you were, kissing him and grabbing the front of his hoodie to pull him closer.

As you kissed, he could feel the damp streaks of your tears on your cheeks, and smell the sweet vanilla of your perfume. He let you pull him like a puppet, just happy that you were kissing him and finally giving him the attention he’s been dreaming of for so long…even if it was just you needing comfort.

You took comfort to another level when you followed Charlie to his house and asked him to take you to his bed. He should have pushed you away and offered to walk you home, but his dick was so hard and straining against his pants from the feeling of your tits pressing against his chest.

After that night, you started seeing each other regularly.

Despite his lack of experience, Charlie was a good listener and a quick learner. He was sweet and funny…and a little bit of a freak too. He let you do things Trevor would never have, like letting you on top and taking full control, or putting a finger up his ass. It sounded unpleasant, but Charlie never came faster. You were both shocked.

Tonight was the Halloween party at Kirby’s. You usually were not that excited for Halloween, but you couldn’t wait to see Charlie’s reaction to your costume. The horror movie nerd in him will love it. You spent the day helping her put out decorations and made spooky snacks. Cooking was not your best talent, but the mummy dogs and graveyard brownies were looking good.

‘’Laurie Strode?’’ Kirby said with a frown when she saw you later that night, dressed in a blue shirt and a blond wig. ‘’Since when do you watch horror movies?’’

‘’I’m not a fanatic like you, but I do watch some of them,’’ you corrected, making yourself a drink and taking one of the graveyard brownies.

Skeptical, Kirby hummed, and bit the head off a green sour patch kids. ‘’Charlie!’’ she called toward the living room. ‘’I think I found your other half!’’

Your heart started pounding in your chest, thinking you had been discovered by Kirby, but she actually meant your costumes. You were Laurie Strode and he was…Michael Myers.

With a drink in one hand, Charlie Walker entered the room. He raised his eyebrows as soon as he saw you, a smile forming on his face. Your shirt was visibly too small and tight around the chest, which triggered mental visuals of what was underneath.

‘’Not babysitting tonight?’’ he asked, trying to compose himself. Even after a few weeks of being together, he still got a little flustered around you.

You shook your head. ‘’No one needed me, I guess.’’

‘’Just because you’re off duty doesn’t mean I won’t stab you tonight.’’ Charlie took a sip of his beer, hoping it would make you laugh.

You did laugh, as a matter of fact. It was a dorky joke, but his delivery was charming enough to amuse you.

‘’Do you want to take a picture,’’ you asked, pulling out your phone.

Charlie nodded and you posed as your characters — you screaming while he attempted to stab you. It wasn’t strange for you to get close to him, and to be touchy — you’ve touched each other a lot more intimately —, but the other people at the party were surprised to see you both socializing with each other. To their knowledge, you and Charlie only knew each other through mutual friends. The complicity and the comfortableness between you should not have been there.

After taking pictures, Olivia snatched you away from him and began telling you about the guy she just made out with but was now avoiding because she didn’t want him to think he had a chance with her. You felt bad for leaving Charlie like that, but you couldn’t tell Olivia you were talking to him because she would have asked questions. You didn’t want to deal with her judgment. She may be your friend, but she would judge you for having sex with Charlie.

The only person who wouldn’t judge you too much is probably Kirby.

But you liked having a secret affair with Charlie. It was something that was only yours. A part of your life you didn’t share with anyone.

You crashed on the couch with a tired yawn as the house started to empty out. The party had been fun, but after hours of loud music and chatter, the sudden quiet felt like a welcome relief. You took the tv remote and flipped through the channels. It’s Halloween night, there must be something good on.

Ah, Nightmare on Elm street.

Settling back into the cushions, you tried to catch up with the scene on the tv. The movie was only fifteen minutes in, so it shouldn't be too hard to follow.

‘’The reboot isn't half as bad as people make it out to be,’’ a voice chimed in from behind.

You glanced up to see Charlie leaning over the back of the couch. A smile curled on your lips, pleased to see him. You assumed he had left with Robbie.

‘’The lead acting sucked, the CGIs were horrible, the kills were nothing new, and come on, Krueger was already a child killer, it was unnecessary to make him a child rapist too—’’ Charlie went on.

You shot him a glare. ‘’Don’t spoil the whole movie! I’ve never seen it.’’

Charlie’s expression changed. ‘’Are you serious?! Never?’’ He stepped around the couch and flipped through Kirby’s DVD collection under the tv. It was small, but he knew she had the Nightmare on Elm street box set. ‘’We’re fixing that right now. You must watch the original. This is garbage compared to it.’’

‘’But you just said it wasn’t bad,’’ you said, quirking an eyebrow in confusion.

Charlie looked over his shoulder, correcting you. ‘’That’s not what I said. I said it isn't half as bad as people make it out to be. Not that it was great.’’

He set the disc in the DVD player, then sat with you on the couch.

You were quickly captivated by the movie, your eyes never leaving the tv screen as you watched Freddy torment these teenagers in their dreams — well, nightmares. The character of Freddy looked different from the one in the remake, and Charlie explained that it was because it wasn’t Robert Englund under the makeup.

When you got to the scene where Glen overheard Tina and Rod having sex in Tina’s parent’s bedroom, Charlie shifted on the couch. The scene was over thirty seconds, and hearing moanings while sitting next to you was making his mechanic suit feel tight in the crotch area. At his house, he would have made a move, but you were at Kirby’s. She could come in at any moment.

His shifting got your attention. You looked at Charlie, who was staring at the tv with a clenched jaw, and immediately figured what was happening. He was terrible at hiding that he was turned on. Mischief in your eyes, you couldn’t resist having a little fun. Quietly, you moved your hand towards his thigh.

Charlie’s body stiffened automatically as he felt your hand on his thigh. He was hoping you didn’t notice how he was getting hard, but it was too late for that now.

He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, but then you moved your hand higher. ‘’Stop,’’ he muttered through gritted teeth, covering your hand with his. ‘’Kirby—’’

‘’She’s not here. Everyone’s gone home.’’

‘’It’s her house. She’s somewhere.’’

You sighed. ‘’Then, let’s go somewhere else.’’

—

Scream taglist: @misfityanii@beautybyfire@iluvscream191@mariposa555@bella7866 @o638 @lulubelle14@luvvtxinityy@frasersgf @Eddiefrickenmunson @jasperr-the-friendly-ghost @ghostf4cee @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom@wandaswigglywoos @xjennyx2 @jennasslut@thatonesblog@mikaelsonsstuff@icarly23@tcddszn @bt.oliana @skyesthebomb@a1mzcruml3y@red1culous @iluurmom @popeheywardssecretgf@michaelangdonsslut@byhrxb@kamthecoolest@kattybug@ravenstrueluv@landryslxys@die4niyahhh@sl4sh3rfuck3r @radiant-whore @Meadzy21 @luci1fer@nomorespahgetti @bloodyhw @depthsofdespairr @bellysbeach @wilmalovegood @loupiotesworld @wenvierismycomfort @t-candy@s-al-em @darylscvmdumpster @tommysaxes @adaydreamaway08 @johannelis2302nely @aqshua @lynbubble @luiise @planetkt @vampyrgoff @adrluvh @mymultiveres @miqi-16 @not-liah @lovenats01 @doestalker@lonelywitchv2 @lausley336 @arinexeisnotworking @halforangecuts@l3ndryz @ilovelandry @your-platonic-gay-lover @danniackerman @angelxxrose @lottiefromsam @thecrowdedstreetin1944 @cinnamonbun222 @angelxxrose @lottiefromsam @zoeynicolas @thecrowdedstreetin1944 @cinnamonbun222@pumkinnroses@cruzgrecia @sunnysunny133696 @aesthetixhoe @gizmodecaprio @bingsbitch@buckyswhxre @emerald-09

All and more taglist: @kenqki@hawkegfs@gillybear17@black-rose-29@fudge13@cece05@laylasbunbunny@gemofthenight@beautyb1ade@mellabella101@vxnity713@bisexualgirlsblog@queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly@ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart@xyzstar@graceberman3@mikeyspinkcup@jackierose902109@daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom@fanatic4niall@peterholland04@idkwhattonamethisblogs@lexasaurs634@notasadgirlipromise@zoeynicolas@thejuleshypothesis@multi-fandom-bi-bitch@lexasaurs634 @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis@katherinejess@rafesgirlstuff @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity

#charlie walker #charlie walker x reader #scream #scream 4 #scream imagine #charlie walker imagine

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